June 3 2015
I began this blog in Fall of 2011, after watching for the first time in years, Twelve O’Clock High. I began blogging the series before I was in some ways completely ready to, and recent reviewings have convinced me not to start all over again, but to engage in some renovations, particularly of the earlier episodes. Successfully watching 12OCH took some practice, and I discovered themes, images, recurrences which I could not see in my first raw engaging with the series/
This site will be reappear, episode by episode–as I review the series after a number of months–going on years–I am going to refurbish the entries with new observations and additions.
Prelude . . .
This episode-by-episode description of “12 0’Clock High” (hereafter 120CH) is going to start with the second season, and loop back to the first—because that’s how I first watched this series, back in 1968-69. I watched it in syndication—and it aired at 11:00-12:00 on Saturday night.
I stumbled on the show somehow (with only three channels in those days, not much variety!). Without knowledge of the show’s past history (I was only 10 years old when 120CH commenced in Fall 1964 when I cared nothing about war shows) I did not know about the cast change in Fall 1965. When I started watching in 1968, I came into the show sometime in the second season (thinking back, I wonder if the episodes were out of order) you can imagine my feelings of “whhaaatt?” when the series looped to the beginning and suddenly there was “this guy”—General Savage–who the heck was he? My sister then found and read the novel, and informed me that General Savage was the original character—so we wondered “what happened” with the cast change and patiently awaited the second season and third season’s return. In those days before the Internet (how did we live without the Internet?) accessing information was impossible! We just had to assume “something happened” between the first and the second. The syndicated run ended in 1969, and I never saw that show again—buried under antiwar sentiment, I guess. Until recently.
Restless in the middle of the night in July 2011 I turned on the sub-digital channel MeTV which had recently began broadcasting—within 20 seconds I recognized General Savage and then the distinctive theme music hurled me back over forty years. The next morning I began Googling for information. Rather than trying to watch it at that ungodly hour I hurriedly found an excellent series of DVDs, and, a great believer in delayed rewards, began watching the series again, one episode per week, on Saturday night—but I could not stand to start with the first season; I had to start with the second—frankly, I admired Savage but never liked him; and Robert Lansing to me, always seemed to be hamming a bit (although he did have many great moments, particularly when he is counseling a bombardier on his loathsome duty). His broad, lank face and piercing eyes made me uncomfortable; Gallagher and Komansky seemed more approachable—and I guess this is what the producers had in mind when the characters changed. Well, it worked! . . . and mulling things over I honestly think this show steered my life in some fashion, leading me to read history, study film, and teach English.
After some concern I was going to hate the show, be embarrassed by it, and wondering “what did I see in it?” when I was 15 years old, I bit the bullet, watched “Loneliest Place,” and was so enthralled seeing “my old friends” after so many years, still fighting the good fight from Archbury, England, that I could not help start writing about it. I was seeking to understand my strong feelings for the show which, I realize, has to be my all-time favorite series. And, the more I wrote, the more analyzed, the more I analyzed, the more I wrote. If you can fight the good fight and read these blog entries, I hope you will gain more appreciation of this well-written, admittedly melodramatic, but very rousing and intriguing show. These are not merely synopses of the plots; these are full-blooded analyses that bring in “a whole bunch of stuff” I have learned over the years—not just World War II history, but literary knowledge (the shows are full of literary, biblical, and classical allusions; with a sprinkling of folk tales, mythology, and Arthurian sagas); knowledge of film conventions and techniques; knowledge of narrative, and knowledge of acting. Along the way I spot weaknesses, but I spot of lot of strengths.
So here, beginning with
“The Loneliest Place in the World”
Writer: Harold Jack Bloom
Director: Richard Donner
-“…it’s the skipper…”
Opening shot—B-17s in battle formatting, flying high . . . Lt. Colonel Gallagher, who has achieved rank at the 918th and flying “The Leper Colony” glimpses what seems like smoke coming from Savage’s plane and questions it. Just a contrail, he is assured. It is understood that this older, wiser Joe Gallagher is committed to the other pilots and planes as they conduct some undescribed bombing mission into Europe.
A pilot in a straggling B-17 requests permission to join, and it is given. The smug face of the pilot is matched by his swastika ring. Too late. The Piccadilly Lily, perhaps in an act of revenge, is shot down. Joe has to refuse the squadron giving any kind of help. Lt. Colonel Heindorf tells Joe, the squadron leader, “it’s the skipper…” That can’t affect Joe’s decision; some of his last words in the scene are “Tighten up, tighten up, you’re flying all over the sky!”
A new face, belong to Alexander “Sandy” Komansky (my hats off to whoever invented that name!) comes into the Picadilly Lily’s cockpit, sees Savage (at least his shoulder of the actor sitting in for Lansing) and is told to jump for it by the co-pilot. He will be only survivor of the pirate ship attack. Gallagher, sickened, demands the formation hang together, and General Savage goes to meet his fate in the body of his lover and his lady, The Picadilly Lily.
Twelve bongs—over the face of the stunned Joseph Gallagher…
-“If orders could make leaders, then this war could be won by a mimeograph”
Act I—A new face, General Britt, climbs out his staff car and enters Operations…
In Operations, in the office of Savage, Harvey Stovall, in shock and grieving, rubs a hand over his tired eyes as Heindorf and Bailey, crushing cigarette after cigarette into an overflowing ashtray, plot revenge, or rescue. Britt enters—asks where Lt. Colonel Gallagher is and what is going on. Heindorf and Bailey, probably the worshippers of Savage that Joe is not, are plotting out some kind of attack—and extend hope for the skipper coming back—probably recalling how Savage escaped imprisonment. For an answer to this unlikelihood, Britt grimly unblinkingly removes Savage’s picture from the org chart, and tells them that only the flight engineer, a Sgt. Komansky survived, and is being smuggled back through the underground. Gallagher enters—he is wise enough not to engage in any posse acivity; theirs is to fly the mission planned by others. To reintroduce (and change Gallagher’s family story in which two brothers have been lost) Britt tells him that he has been in Washington, where he has met his father, General Maxwell Gallagher, and says his brother Jeff is making quite a name for himself in North Africa (foreshadowing of “Big Brother”). Gallagher corrects him (and the story), saying that his brother Jeff died at Bataan, but his older brother Preston is still alive. Life and death—and the war continues . . .
Britt and Joe have their first clash—as Joe shows his “impudence” though he is not deliberately naughty. When Britt remarks about Savage “I heard he was one of a kind,” Joe retorts, though nicely “I believe we are all one of kind” which Britt interprets, rightfully, that Joe was not one of Savage’s worshippers—Joe does not realize it but Britt probably can see that Joe is his own man—Savage influenced him, improved him, and made him a grow a spine, but Joe is himself not a pale image of the former 918th commander. Britt reveals his belief in the individual by saying, as he snatches up the phone, “Oh Colonel, if orders could make a leader, this war could be won by mimeograph machines”—again, Joe is no mimeo of Savage, and Britt doesn’t want that.
–“we fly together”
This second season of 120CH started off very daringly—killing off General Savage rather than Savage having a breakdown and leaving, which is what happened in the book. Whatever the case, it’s a stunning opening and acknowledgement that in the war, even heroes get killed. The writer and director pulled out all the stops to make the show transition from Savage to Gallagher.
There is a lot going on in “The Loneliest Place in the World” –on the surface, and below the surface. On the surface, at its most superficial level, the episode has hokey war movie elements in it—but “hokey” needs some explanation; here I mean these are themes that are recognized and used because they are simple, powerful, and to a degree reflect situations of wartime. There are qualities about war time and men at war that create extraordinary experiences—and if you are filming a drama about war, these elements can frequently create “cardinal points” which launch or change the action. For instance, a common feature in 12OCH is the pilot or the airman redeeming himself. Interestingly enough, as I write this, I recall turning into an episode of Gomer Pyle USMC. The marines were helping to film a movie with a cheesy title: “Leathernecks of the Air.” The scene being filmed was a celebration for a marine “who redeemed himself—you all thought he was a spoiled kid, but he proved himself in the air.” However, the theme of redemption is so common to war movies—really, it’s an integral theme—that there is some basis in reality. In war, there are many chances to do something bad or stupid, because events beyond your control are happening quick and fast and hell for leather and bad decisions are made or decisions made in confusion and fear and some “wrong but right” decision must be made for the safety of others (re “Grant Me No Favor”). Sometimes they are the right decision but hard to follow, or to condone, such as Gallagher’s command for the squadron to stay together after Savage’s plane went down due to the Nazi pirate ship. (Naval and sea-faring allusions will be treated in their turn.) It turns out that his insistence on “staying together” will be his principle and watchword for running the 918th (“stay with me” is heard in several episodes.) They had to complete a mission; moreover, lingering or slowing down would perhaps put everybody in danger. Then on a second mission, he ordered another straggler (quite a coincidence on the next mission, but oh well . . .) to be shot down, and this one “had ten American lives” in it. From the beginning of this episode, Gallagher has a lot of redemption to seek.
-“Is that an order Sir?!”
Another common feature—again integral features–of war movies are the clash of personalities. In Sands of Iwo Jima most of the men under John Wayne’s command dislike him—including a young soldier who finally comes to realize how great a leader he is. In army life, any kind of military life, differing people are thrown together—and have to make the best of it, which many times does not happen or it may happen, and sometimes a fight is the quickest way to settle differences–such as in The Quiet Man when John Wayne and his brother-in-law Victor McLaglen finally beat the stuffing out of each other– but their bad bitter relationship is reborn with respect, and even seems to prepare McLaglen to properly woo the local widow. Of course, there will always be clashes between officers and the underlings; between sergeants and other non-coms; and there is a lack of respect, hatred, and people finally learning to work together is critical—the building of esprit de corps and high morale among a unit can work miracles. In the novel, this was one of Savage’s great contributions to the 918th bomber command; he got the men working together. This theme introduced Paul Burke in “Golden Boy Had Nine Black Sheep” was a lesson in this: Savage assigned the screwing up Gallagher, along with other misfits, to the Leper Colony and challenged them to work together. They did, and even decided to keep the name after they had redeemed themselves.
There are plenty of clashes between the people in 12 OCH; the senior officers are clashing in several ways; Bailey clashes offscreen with Komansky, and then clashes with Gallagher about Komansky—Joe and Frank’s first confrontation is over the hard-headed sergeant who rubs a lot of people the wrong way. When Joe stands pat on his assignation of Komansky to Bailey’s crew, Baily demands “Is that an order sir?” Joe is hard-put to stand up to this confrontation with a man he considers his friend: “Yes Frank, that is an order.” Joe’s troubles with the non-com are brought up again when he meets Britt at the Langham to discuss—or protest—“General, I don’t want this job!” With the sight of Susanne and Sandy chatting in their vision, Britt tells him more about the charming young woman and when Joe asks “What is she doing with Komansky?” “Cause you don’t like him?” “Because I like her!” Interest in Susanne aside, Joe tells Britt of his clash with Bailey—“I felt like I should be saluting him!”
Komansky clashes with the “guys” and of course Komansky and Gallagher have the worst and most extended clash: it begins in Joe’s office as Sandy retorts to Joe’s sincere questions about Savage; ratchets up in a more refined head-butting session at the Langham in which Joe review Sandy’s record and then seems to taunt Sandy—“hypocrites? Maybe you’re the phony!” Susanne’s coming in belays the results of this, and Sandy shooing the interested Joe off from his date is wonderful. Of course, their clash explodes at Susanne’s door—and then climaxes in the air. Of course, in typical tight narrative fashion, they make up their differences and become allies, and this happens in dramatic fashion when they are suddenly working to save their lives, their fort, and to avenge General Savage by bringing down the pirate ship.
“you’re flying with me”
What I always found interesting in 12OCH post-Savage episodes was the bond between Gallagher and Komansky—it was strongly set up in this episode, in which the two men came into each other’s “orbit.” Gallagher had been thrown into a “lonely place” and into this place comes Komansky, who is described as a “loner”—a maverick as Gallagher describes him to Britt, although he will learn the true definition of maverick in “The Hot Shot.” This relationship through their episodes was never overplayed or overdone, but there was always a sense that these two airmen shared a bond of loneliness, and that they always “watched each other’s back.” At the age I was watching the show, and the fact that I had recently lost my father (who had “flown the hump” in India-Burma during the war) I appreciated Gallagher’s interest in and “mentoring” of the capable but troublesome (and troubled) Komansky. This relationship always remained within the bounds of correctness; meaning that they were never “pals”—but they were friends and frequently gave the other unquestioning support in their individual difficulties. Gallagher and Komansky make an interesting duo in a narrative—they were in a way “twins,” while at the same time, “foils.” Both were dark haired and blue-eyed; both had three-syllable “ethnic” names—beyond these superficial qualities, each had to prove they weren’t as accused—Gallagher was no hypocrite as Komansky saw him, and Komansky was no shirker as Frank Bailey suggests. Foils—Gallagher is an officer, and came from privilege—a general for a father, two officer brothers (one dead; changed from “Golden Boy,” in which he claims both other brothers are dead—which means he would have been withdrawn from combat, right?), and a West Point education (and a brandy drinker to boot). Komansky is a noncom, had joined the service underage in desperation, is an orphan without family, and had endured a difficult childhood. Also, Gallagher is a more static character, while Komansky might be described as “dynamic”—which will explored later.
“Oh, Susanne, I’ve always wanted to meet a girl who makes mobiles”
A romantic triangle?—I wonder if this happens in real life military as much as it does in the movies; American movies usually have some kind of love story to cement, as some scholars claim, conventional belief in the heterosexual couple—see Creating the Couple, which is a little “over the top”
but does make some profound observations about this recurring element of many movies. You could make a point, I guess, that in wartime, women are not always available, and for two men, emotionally starved from training and war, would fasten their affections on a single woman, be she a nurse on the frontlines or a secretary or a bright little thing. Besides, it makes a great collision point, which produces conflict that makes great grist for story. It really surprised me that in “The Loneliest Place in the World” the writers actually were able to get this point into a 55 minute episode—and do it quite well. It wasn’t just shoehorned into the script—and it becomes the final flashpoint between Gallagher and Komansky. And the “woman between” was certainly an interesting character, both in the show and in real life—none other than Claudine Longet, some ten-twelve years before her accidental (?) shooting of her lover, Spider Sabich in Aspen Colorado. In the show she played the liaison for the Free French and the English language media. (Journalists played a role in the series, not always positively, either; and Komansky, weirdly, nearly destroys one in “Show Me A Hero . . .”) Her question to Komansky, who had been rescued and passed along in the underground by the Free French, “did you have any language troubles?” was certainly interesting!—that’s something you would never think about and makes me realize that many of the writers and other staff working on the show (which was filmed less than25 years after the war had ended) had WWII experience and probably brought in a lot of interesting stories and sidelights—I frequently pick up on some political sidelight of the war in many episodes, things that would have rushed right over me when I was in my mid-teens. Her character was well developed—we learned that her family was all gone (another lonely person) and that her father had been a sculptor (she used to think the forms had dead people inside of them) and she took pleasure in making mobiles, which decorated her surprisingly large ground floor apartment (in London?—how close was Archbury to London?) that I wonder if the writers were interested in extending her role to be some kind of permanent third point of the triangle; or, the writers were so taken with the fetching, gamine Claudine Longet that they built her role up a lot.
-“I am sorry to be chosen for you by this”
In any case, refreshingly, she had not made a choice of either man—she had barely met Komansky, and Gallagher was paying his first visit to her—upset, grieving, and tipsy—and she gently parries his charm and his “way off base” move on her. After admiring her mobiles, which were probably making him as dizzy as hell, he tells her “I always wanted to meet a girl whom makes mobiles,” and sweeps her intoa kiss…and her reaction, s more understandable to me now: “I am sorry to be chosen by you for this”—a gracefully Gallic way of saying that she did not want to be the target for tonight to help a drunk Gallagher deal with his anger and guilt over the ten lives, as well as his guilt in how he had “cursed Savage” for the decisions he made that he didn’t like. Could we all be as understanding and good as she was to Joe—even after such a clumsy move, she doesn’t kick him out, but insists they have coffee…Joe, maybe glad to be off the sexual hook, sincerely admires her mobiles—she has 17—and asks her about her family. She too is lonely; they are dead, and she can’t cry for them until France is France again. She makes a curious statement, considering that Joe is visiting her to get over 10 bodies left in France—“she though that her father’s sculptures had dead bodies in them…
Into this interlude comes knocking at the door—and she opens it to reveal Sgt. Komansky, apologetic about showing up, but her telephone lines were not working…
Komansky’s reaction to finding Joe he too came to her flat is taut and brilliant: he was already extremely angry with Gallagher—and even Gallagher seeming surprised with him being there makes sense because he may have thought that Komansky had professional dealings with her—he saw her when in the company of General Britt who advised him about her. He probably gave him the address that he tipsily consulted before knocking on her door, while burbling a nondescript tune. The last time we see her she calls out after Komansky, who is leaving her—and then she disappears. She might have been an interesting continuing character who served for romantic purposes. According to the “12 0’Clock Logbook” (2007) Paul Burke requested more romance needed to be injected into the stories, and introducing various women into Joe Gallagher’s life provided plot points and a chance to see Joe in various moods—infatuated, impressed, slightly “taking for granted,” and provoked when a woman is stolen from him…as will be seen, Joe’s romances fairly well concluded by mid-second season, and by the third season, Sandy was given the romantic chores.
Conflict is always the basis of any well told story and that describes “The Loneliest Place in the World” from beginning to end—conflict in the skies, conflict between fellow officers, conflict between emotions and duty, conflict between men and women, deeply personal conflict between sudden decisions and their aftermath, and conflict between officers and enlisted men. Gallagher entered the story in the first season as a man torn between duty and just plain fear, and now is on a new rack of duty vs. conscience; personal feelings vs. military bearing.
-“well, the bad penny—“
Gallagher and Komansky have a rough start with their relationship, which made their relationship at least to me unusual–which reminds me, that 12 OCH, with the exception of service comedies like “McHales Navy” and “F Troop,” were about only war shows I ever watched!—“Combat” never interested me and though I watched “Rat Patrol” (also in syndication) it was more action-oriented than the more psychologically-oriented 12OCH High and ultimately, I find, less interesting. (I don’t like to admit that yes, I watched Garrison’s Gorillas too but would not touch it now with a ten foot pole although the “gorillas” portrayed an interesting range of personality types from the suave Italian to the the uncouth Cockney to the Native American and they fought a lot as well each other and their boss.) Komansky had been flight engineer to Savage and the only survivor when the plane went down; that seems to be a point not in his favor, and it seems to lead Lt. Col. Bailey to suspect his sense of duty. After his first appearance in the damaged B-17, his next appearance was a little startling—he jumps out of a jeep, waits while Savage’s memory is saluted and then rather breezily greets Sgt. McVeigh, who greets him as “Well, the bad penny just showed up”—he gets labeled a lot. He refuses to talk about Savage, instead saying he was the “first one to know it” that Savage is gone and that he fell into cutest French brunette, and he’s late to report—and off he goes, turning his back on them with “Guys, I gotta report.” He runs away, as it turns out he has run from many things in life.
Komansky’s feelings or—lack of deep feelings–for the dead Savage are hinted at when he quickly opens the door to Savage’s outer office and he bumps into the men who are clearing him out. Savage’s nameplate goes flying off, hitting the ground (very symbolic that)—Komansky picks it up, looks at it a moment, and then goes on—but even then it’s a bit ambivalent—maybe he and Savage got along because both were walled in characters in their own way. He seems a little embarrassed when he reports to Major Stovall who rather grimly tells him, “I’m glad you’re back Sergeant” and takes his report about the incident– perhaps holding his own tears back and distantly hating Komansky because he survived. Then, when he later meets Gallagher, and Gallagher questions him about his report (“is there anything you left out? Was there anything that could have been done for the general?”) his anger burns through—he felt abandoned (there’s that “loneliness” theme again) when the rest of the planes kept going, and he jumped from a “flying coffin being torn to shreds.” Gallagher knows he is angry, but elects at the moment to just “deal with it” rather than demanding respect—he’s new at this command job and perhaps does not yet feel like chewing people out. Komansky’s anger is just one of many confrontations he having to deal with; Frank Bailey is hot on his heels. He too labels Komansky–“sour apple”–which is quaint, but makes it point.
Gallagher is badly conflicted as well but it’s more subtly played. Based on the character of “Gately” in the original novel (GAllager and GAtely). As previously mentioned, he seemed to advance incredibly quickly but, advancement in the Air Force during the war could be very swift, because men were lost in missions or were in POW camps (64,000 apparently) so men kept taking their places. Although it does seem a reach that Gallagher went from being a screw up to deputy commander of the 918th, but, that is television—or maybe Savage recognized Gallagher as a leader after he overcame his fears—though Gallagher says “sometimes we got along just fine and sometimes we fought”—this may have prepared him for the demands of command. Perhaps Savage privately noted his confidence in Gallagher to Britt—who comes seeking Gallagher deliberately, although he questions Heindorf, and the handsome but perhaps devil may care Frank Bailey about their own fitness for command. Bailey may not have been the man for the job because, according to Britt, nominated himself for command, and maybe jumps to conclusions too quickly such as his opinions about Komansky shirking his duty (as Gallagher asks, “How do you hide in a B-17?”)
Gallagher spends most of the episode making “wrong” decisions (though they were right in their own because he was following orders) and dealing with the aggravations of being in command, fighting both fellow officers, paper work, and a nasty noncom and admits halfway through the episode that he does not want the job. Already weary of new demands, he pulls aside the blackout curtains of his office to stare outside—is he seeing nothing but blackness in his future, or is seeking the freedom of the skies?—but General Britt, an old hand, senses that Gallagher is the right man, and keeps leaning on him, hectoring him, and mentoring him. Mentoring will be a recurring theme in future episodes.
Gallagher soldiers through—and succeeds–by taking chances. Every chance on the ground is linked with a clash with Komansky; but his final chance-taking in the air succeeds with Komansky’s help. His first “chance” is when he sees Komansky at “the Langham,” where he is meeting General Brit. He pauses when he sees Komansky, literally turns his back on him, and then turns back towards him—upholding a belief by which he kept the formation together earlier; that is, “we fly together.” This might be the first time in the sergeant’s life that somebody “scales the wall” that Komansky has placed around himself.
Gallagher invites himself to the table where they have their first off the record talk, which reveals his interest in the prickly noncom, who remains prickly. Typically, they are face to face, which is the position of confrontation. He only becomes gracious when Susanne Arnais shows up—and perhaps he uses Gallagher’s rank and bearing as a selling point for himself. After Komansky’s startling introduction of himself, Gallagher has read up on him—and by way of character exposition (as Britt earlier “exposed” Gallagher by speaking to him about his father and his brothers) some information is imparted to the viewer, including that Komansky was among the first to be appointed a B-17 flight engineer, and that he qualified for OCS, but went AWOL for a week. That angle on his character interests me because I wonder, when the writers were designing changes to 12OCH, if they sensed—or had been told by some viewers—that noncoms and privates also were in that war, by George! 12OCH was dominated by officers, which makes sense because it was based on a novel about the terrible responsibilities of command. But a noncom would represent the underrepresented—and did the “fact” that Komansky was selected for, but ducked, officer school, make him into a sort of officer?—at least it shows he was intelligent and capable. However, ducking officer school gives him a depth of character; here is a guy who seems to go against things, but for what reason?– he is no rebel to the army. When Gallagher asks him about his past, Komansky’s answers that he finds officers to be hypocrites—which Gallagher will soon disprove. Gallagher calls him on it, but doesn’t yet know that Komansky’s barbed attitude covers up personal wounds, many of them raw.
Gallagher, when they all collide at Susanne Arnais’ flat, takes a stupid chance when he allows Komansky to taunt him into grabbing him by the lapels. The taunting scene is particularly well played as Komansky, hurt as well as angry, says a “certain lieutenant colonel can make little girls and great big generals feel sorry for him”—and that “even the neighborhood I came from there were rules.” I have to remark here hat I swear Robinson is doing a New York accent—nasal and tough—but it would be easy to think that a Komansky, as an Eastern European, would have settled in the teeming New York area.
Gallagher is still fairly “over-indulged” when it happens (drunk because of a terrible decision he made to shoot down the “innocent” B-17 straggler) but it may have severe consequences for him. His third chance is when he demands Komansky come with him as flight engineer. (Bailey’s plane is scrubbed, and Gallagher’s own flight engineer is conveniently sick, but, what the heck, it’s television and they have to wrap this story within a few more minutes). They hate each other’s guts (typical war movie thing but always effective), and Bailey has warned him about Komansky, but Gallagher perhaps is tackling the situation head-on, as well as maneuvering Komansky into a kind of trap: as the sergeant goaded him on to violate one of “The Articles of War” (officers don’t even touch enlisted men, but much less striking them), Gallagher now threatens Komansky: if you disobey a direct order, you will be court-martialed.
Nicely done, Colonel!—but what happened to the tipsy, upset, vacillating Lt. Colonel?
To go back in time, Gallagher departs Susanne’s apartment, embarrassed and perhaps shocked out of his wooziness—and heeding Britt’s words given to him at the Officers Club hours earlier—that decisions are tough; he made the right one, he can’t play God. The next morning—I guess—there is a time rumple in the story I think as Heindorf remarks that the straggler was like the plane “we chopped up last week”—was this the B-17 that Joe ordered fired on? However, in the final scene, Britt refers to Gallagher and Komansky’s trouble as being “the night before.”
-“I might have a choice in this sir?”
We see a sober Joe authoritatively briefing the men about their bombing run (which seems about the third in three days, which strikes me as excessive, but may be they had not been on a bombing missions for weeks previous). The change seems startling, but, you have to assume that off-screen Gallagher has realized that he’s gone pretty low—though cleared by Wing, he was publically tipsy, fairly well forced himself on Susanne, and “violated The Articles of War”—and the realizations has brought him up short with himself. Perhaps he even read some truth in Komansky’s remarks that he found officers to be hypocrites—which links with General Britt saying to him, jokingly, that an officer is never drunk—he just has “slightly overindulged.” From then on, he is direct, authoritative, and in command, from briefing the men, to goading the blackmailing Komansky fly with him, to telling off General Britt when it’s all over—and of course, taking on the pirate ship.
-“he’s headed for us”
What a climax!!—with Gallagher’s big chance—in the air. And Komansky, tellingly, is by his side, though it’s not his choice. After Bailey’s plane is grounded, Joe sees his opportunity and orders him to fly as his flight engineer. After Sandy’s smug “Yes sir, Colonel sir” you’d like to see him get pounded too– Sandy attempts blackmail by reminding Joe about a few things—and when he retorts about him having a choice—Gallagher defines the choice: either follow orders or get court martialed—and he doesn’t fall for Sandy’s threats. So they climb the cockpit stuffed with all sorts of issues and worries and hatred, etc. and of course, that pirate ship reappears. Gallagher’s plane malfunctions—which is not surprising, considering that all Flying Fortresses had an engineer on board, and the third most important person after the pilots. After being struck, the malfunctioning planes drops behind the formation (and now he is literally in a lonely place again), and after the pirate infiltrates formation, does damage, banks and turns back, he is heading on a collision course (yes, another collision!) with Gallagher—well, it’s improbable, but possible, and creates a situation of “playing chicken” which is fantastic for tension (the frame keep cutting away to the other pilot’s face; German pilot’s tight smirk to Gallagher’s tense eyes and twitching lips) and a great way for Gallagher to completely redeem himself and avenge General Savage. Their plane malfunctioning gives Komansky a chance to do his stuff and redeem himself—and he is a supposedly skillful flight engineer, but sometimes it’s hard to see this aspect of character and role in the episodes (on best display in “We’re Not Coming Back”).
The “playing chicken” is literally conducted at “12 O’Clock High”—And, to really go out on a limb, that final showdown is akin to a medieval joust, with two armored men bearing down on each other. That led me into reflections on the show having qualities of an Arthurian saga—Savage was Uther Pendragon, the old and gone king, Gallagher was Arthur, the incoming king, General Britt is Merlin, who helped both kings, and even Komansky starts out as Mordred, the malevolent knight, but soon matures into Sir Lancelot, Arthur’s most trustworthy knight. They will all go on many quests for their lady, the Picadilly Lily.
Unfortunately, in this climactic scene, an annoying-funny “tradition” gets started: the co-pilot gets killed or injured (Komansky: “he’s done for, sir”). Also, the officer’s name is Lowell, which is the name of the pilot who dies and is left behind in Yugoslavia (“We’re Not Coming Back”). It seems pretty callous just to knock these guys off (sort of the way they knocked the guys in the red shirts off in “Star Trek” but, in terms of the theme of partnership very effective because Komansky then occupies the co-pilot’s seat and becomes in effect Gallagher’s equal as they become partners. Komansky gets the engine started, and Gallagher plots the action of “playing chicken”—they will attack as the plane passes overhead. Komansky then takes the initiative—though not after some harsh words with Gallagher–which clears up any lingering notion that he doesn’t really do his job and gets into the top turret—and clobbers the Germans. I wonder if a one blast could take care of a B-17 that way; they apparently could take a lot of punishment and still get home, but, Komansky, as engineer, knew exactly where to aim the 50 caliber machine gun to get maximum results. (As it turns out in a later episode–“The Hot Shot”–he did go to gunnery school.)
Gallagher is exultant and praises Komansky—and Komansky, when he returns to the cockpit says, before he reoccupies in the co-pilot’s seat, “With your permission sir,” which is a veiled apology to his CO. Both of them are now on the same wavelength. When a crewmember calls for a celebration, Komansky answers, wearily, “yeah fellows, big party,” and Gallagher immediately warns everybody “we’re still in their backyard and we’ve got a long ways to go.” But the two men have put their guards over each other down, and when Komansky flicks a glance at Gallagher’s steady on profile, you know that all is going to be all right between these two.
-“cut an order making Lt. Colonel Gallagher a colonel”
So, the epilogue—Komansky, on his way to the CO’s office pauses quickly to shine his shoes before reporting—to General Britt apparently. General Britt is in the CO’s office demanding answers from Gallagher for his amazing work in the air—which also goes against protocol such as staying in formation, and what about this engine that conveniently came back to life?—Joe even puts a few word of defense in for Komansky—“he sweated blood to get that engine started.” Joe gives them, straightforwardly and angrily—which is the first time he is really angry, or soberly angry. Of course, General Brit approves of Gallagher’s spirited defense of his actions, which is what he wants all along and gives him a promotion to full colonel. In a moving scene earlier, Britt had told Gallagher that his hardest decision had been to order a scared kid to cut off his damaged leg—he did it because he did not want to play God with himself, which is what he wants Gallagher to quit doing—he has a job, and he has to do it. That little talk had led Gallagher to really get boozy—and now he deals with the aftereffects, that of laying hands on Komansky.
Gallagher apparently reported the incident—and Komansky is quick enough—and honest enough (hatred of hypocrisy now turning on himself?)– to say “that he had provoked him” and “that he could have pulled rank but did not.” This ending of this theme puzzles me a bit and I once more have to think back to Komansky’s dislike of hypocrisy of officers—and maybe he had heard Gallagher’s report on downing the plane. Gallagher was honest about it, and maybe that is what provokes Komansky’s declaration to Suzanne, who told him that she would not bear witness if he tried to “blackmail” Gallagher. “He won’t deny it, he’s that kind of guy,” Komansky says and Gallagher has proven to him he’s that kind of guy.
-“is that a direct order sir?” – “Yes, that is a direct order!”
Happy ending?—oh yes. General Britt tosses Gallagher his own colonel’s eagles (did he bring them especially, or did he always carry them with him?). He then leaves, with a kind of blessing that Gallagher and Komansky are going to work together from now on. As Gallagher changed quarters to the CO office, Gallagher commands Komansky to change to the appropriate quarters as a member of his crew (from what I understand, B-17 crews barracked together—and did Gallagher’s former flight engineer get a little angry at being replaced?). In a refreshingly lighthearted moment amidst all this grief and private travail and air heroics, Komansky, with a hint of teasing, asks “Is that a direct order sir?” to which Gallagher reacts with some amused exasperation, though this makes him realize that Komansky is now in his corner, and comfortable enough to engage in some humor with the boss—something that he probably did not dare to with Savage. Gallagher’s response—“Yes, that’s a direct order!” brings the whole episode into focus—the confident and confirmed Joe Gallagher is now the one issuing the orders for the 918th. With his mentor General Britt, and his new ally Sgt. Komansky, he will get the job done. Komansky exits, and leaves him alone, but Gallagher is no longer in “the loneliest place in the world.”
And so, Season II is on its way . . .
In honor of Veterans Day (11-11-11) and in honor of December 7, 2011, marking the 70th anniversary of America’s entry into the world war, and to my Dad, a long time gone, who flew the China-Burma-India “hump” I dedicate this blog on the television show “12 0’Clock High” (“a QM Production”), a rousing, melodramatic, darned well written and acted “romance” of the bombing missions of the “Mighty Eighth” over “Festung Europa.” On a weekly basis I will be posting summaries and musings upon each episode (starting with the second season and looping to first) of this great old television series. Happy reading. I have to warn you, that I am an English instructor, believe in writing,and will bring in a lot of literary allusions!–hope you enjoy. My thanks to Alan T. Duffin’s and Paul Mathes’ The Twelve 0’Clock High Logbook. These two authors supply background information, personnel information, and plot synopses–the rapid-fire plots can be hard to follow and I appreciate their help while I examine character development, motivations, stand-out moments, and “grace notes” which make a television show a delight to watch, over and over. However, there are some errors in their summaries which I will draw attention to.
Prelude . . . This episode-by-episode description of “12 0’Clock High” (hereafter 120CH) is going to start with the second season, and loop back to the first—because that’s how I first watched this series, back in 68-69. I watched it in syndication—and it aired at 11:00-12:00 on Saturday night. I stumbled on the show somehow (but with- only five channels in those days, not much variety!). Without knowledge of the show’s past history (I was only 10 years old when 120CH commenced in Fall 1964 when I cared nothing about war shows) I did not know about the cast change in Fall 1965. When I started watching the show in syndication in mid-late 1968, I came into it sometime in the second season (thinking back, I wonder if the episodes were out of order) you can imagine my feelings of “whhaaatt?” when the series looped to the beginning and suddenly there was “this guy”—General Savage–who the heck was he? My sister then found and read the novel, and informed me that General Savage was the original character—so we wondered “what happened” with the cast change and patiently awaited the second season and third season’s return. In those days before the Internet (how did we live without the Internet?) accessing information was impossible! We just had to assume “something happened” between that season and the seasons we had watched.
The syndicated run ended in 1969, and I never saw that show again—buried under antiwar sentiment, I guess. Until recently. Restless in the middle of the night in July 2011 I turned on the sub-digital channel MeTV which had recently began broadcasting—within 20 seconds I recognized General Savage and then the distinctive theme music hurled me back over forty years. The next morning I began Googling for information. Rather than trying to watch it at that ungodly hour I hurriedly found an excellent series of DVDs, and, a great believer in delayed rewards, began watching the series again, one episode per week, on Saturday night—but I could not stand to start with the first season; I had to start with the second—frankly, I admired Savage but never liked him; and Robert Lansing to me, always seemed to be hamming a bit (although he did have many great moments, particularly when he is counseling a bombardier on his loathsome duty). His broad, lank face and piercing eyes made me uncomfortable; Gallagher and Komansky seemed more approachable—and I guess this is what the producers had in mind when the characters changed. Well, it worked! . . . and mulling things over I honestly think this show steered my life in some fashion, leading me to read history, study film, and teach English.
After some concern I was going to hate the show, be embarrassed by it, and wondering “what did I see in it?” when I was 15 years old, I bit the bullet, watched “Loneliest Place,” and was so enthralled seeing “my old friends” after so many years, still fighting the good fight from Archbury, England, that I could not help start writing about it. I was seeking to understand my strong feelings for the show which, I realize, has to be my all-time favorite series. And, the more I wrote, the more I analyzed, the more I analyzed, the more I wrote. If you can fight the good fight and read these blog entries, I hope you will gain more appreciation of this well-written, admittedly melodramatic, but very rousing and intriguing show. These are not merely synopses of the plots; these are full-blooded analyses that bring in “a whole bunch of stuff” I have learned over the years—not just World War II history, but literary knowledge (the shows are full of literary, biblical, and classical allusions; with a sprinkling of folk tales, mythology, and Arthurian sagas); knowledge of film conventions and techniques; knowledge of narrative, and knowledge of acting. Along the way I spot weaknesses (why didn’t someone hear Sandy getting shot in “Day of Reckoning” but did hear his gunshots when he was signalling for help?) but I spot of lot of strengths. Overall, I attempt to “tapestry” the episodic stories–that is, build them into a single, continuing story. For example, Gallagher’s growing devotion to duty finally makes him forgo casual romance in “I Am the Enemy”; Komansky is so hurt by Susan Nesbit (“Show Me a Hero”) that he doesn’t see a girl until “25th Mission,” and Stovall’s grief for his MIA son causes him to hastily bolt from Operations in “Decoy”when he learns that Gallagher is missing. So here, beginning with
“The Loneliest Place in the World”
Writer: Harold Jack Bloom
Director: Richard Donner
“Savage is dead”
Opening shot—B-17s in battle formation, flying high . . . flying lead, Lt. Colonel Gallagher, who has achieved rank at the 918th and flying the lead in “The Leper Colony” glimpses what seems like smoke coming from Savage’s plane and questions it. Just a contrail, he is assured. It is understood that this older, wiser Joe Gallagher is committed to the other pilots and planes as they conduct some undescribed bombing mission into Europe. A pilot in a straggling B-17 requests permission to join, and it is given. The smug face of the pilot is matched by his swastika ring. Too late . . . A new face, belonging to Alexander “Sandy” Komansky (my hats off to whoever invented that name!) comes into the Piccadilly Lily’s cockpit, sees the dead Savage (at least his shoulder of the actor sitting in for Lansing) and is told to jump for it by the co-pilot. He will be the only survivor of the pirate ship attack–and this scene is important because it shows that Komansky is the hapless survivor, rather than the result of jumping early and leaving everybody else to their fate which is implied by Lt. Col. Bailey. Gallagher, sickened by what has happened, demands the formation hang together, and General Savage goes to meet his fate in the body of his lover and his lady, The Piccadilly Lily. What an ending, and what a beginning–of the episode and the second season: the fact that Savage could die, and a man that he kicked, cuffed,and inspired to be more that he was proving himself to be, taking over for him, and carrying his command forward into the war proves Savage’s greatness. And after all, in the novel, Savage left the 918th too, well before the war’s end. The writers and the directors will “pull out all the stops” in the transition from Savage to Gallagher, and although apparently a lot of people didn’t like it, I still think it’s the pivotal moment of the series–the war goes on and the 918th continues its fight under a man inspired by the departed warrior–but this man will prove to be more of a “good shepherd” than a warrior, which is perhaps what the vigorous 918th needs now.
Act I: In Operations, in the office of Savage, Heindorf and Bailey, crushing cigarette after cigarette into an overflowing ashtray, plot revenge, or rescue. Britt enters—grimly but unblinkingly removes Savage’s picture from the org chart, and tells them that only the flight engineer, a Sgt. Komansky survived (who will prove to be both a thorn in Gallagher’s side as well as a force for keeping him honest) and is being smuggled back through the underground. Gallagher enters. To reintroduce (and change slightly Gallagher’s family story) Britt tells him that he has been in Washington, where he has met his father, General Maxwell Gallagher, and refers to his brothers. Gallagher corrects him (and changes his own story which sometimes happens in television series to make things “work better”), saying that his younger brother Jeff died at Bataan, but his older brother Preston is still alive. Life and death—but the war continues and decisions have to be made.
-“that plane . . . had ten American lives”
There is a lot going on in “The Loneliest Place in the World” –on the surface, and below the surface. On the surface, at its most superficial level, the episode has hokey war movie elements in it—but “hokey” needs some explanation; here I mean these are themes that are recognized and used because they are simple, powerful, and to a degree reflect situations of wartime. There are qualities about war time and men at war that create extraordinary experiences—and if you are filming a drama about war, these elements can frequently create “cardinal points” which launch or change the action. For instance, a common feature in 12OCH is the pilot or the airman redeeming himself. Interestingly enough, as I write this, I recall tuning into an episode of Gomer Pyle USMC. The marines were helping to film a movie with a cheesy title: “Leathernecks of the Air.” The scene being filmed was a celebration for a marine “who redeemed himself—you all thought he was a spoiled kid, but he proved himself in the air.” (This same theme occurs in “Decoy.”) However, the theme of redemption is so common to war movies—really, it’s an integral theme—that there is some basis in reality. In war, there are many chances to do something bad or stupid, because events beyond your control are happening quick and fast and hell for leather and bad decisions are made or decisions made in confusion and fear and some “wrong but right” decision must be made for the safety of others (re “Grant Me No Favor”). Sometimes they are the right decision but hard to follow, or to condone, such as Gallagher’s command for the squadron to stay together after Savage’s plane went down due to the Nazi pirate ship. (Naval and sea-faring allusions will be treated in their turn.) It turns out that his insistence on “staying together” will be his principle and watchword for running the 918th (“stay with me” and “fly close” are common phrases.) They had to complete a mission; moreover, lingering or slowing down would perhaps put everybody in danger. Then on a second mission, he orders another straggler (quite a coincidence on the next mission, but oh well . . .) to be shot down, and this one “had ten American lives” in it. From the beginning of this episode, Gallagher has a lot of redemption to seek.
-“you’re flying with me”
Another common feature—again, an integral feature–of war movies is the clash of personalities. In Sands of Iwo Jima most of the men under John Wayne’s command dislike him—including a young soldier who finally comes to realize how great a leader he is. In army life, any kind of military life, differing people are thrown together—and have to make the best of it, which many times does not happen or it may happen, and sometimes a fight is the quickest way to settle differences–such as in The Quiet Man when John Wayne and his brother-in-law Victor McLaglen finally beat the stuffing out of each other– but their bad bitter relationship is reborn with respect, and even seems to prepare McLaglen to properly woo the local widow. Of course, there will always be clashes between officers and the underlings; between sergeants and other non-coms; and there is a lack of respect, a bunch of hatreds; people finally learning to work together is critical—the building of esprit de corps and high morale among a unit can work miracles. In the novel, this was one of Savage’s great contributions to the 918th bomber command; he got the men working together. This theme introduced Paul Burke in “Golden Boy Had Nine Black Sheep” which was a lesson in this: Savage assigned the screwing up Gallagher, along with other misfits, to the Leper Colony and challenged them to work together. They did, and even decided to keep the name after they had redeemed themselves.
There are plenty of clashes between the people in 12 OCH; the senior officers are clashing in several ways; Bailey clashes off-screen with Komansky, and then clashes with Gallagher about Komansky; Komansky clashes with the “guys” and of course Komansky and Gallagher have the worst clash. Of course, in typical tight narrative fashion, they make up their differences and become allies, and this happens in dramatic fashion when they are suddenly working to save their lives, their fort, and to avenge General Savage by bringing down the pirate ship. What I always found interesting in 12OCH post-Savage episodes was the bond between Gallagher and Komansky—it was strongly set up in this episode, in which the two men came into each other’s “orbit.” Gallagher has been thrown into a “lonely place” and into this place comes Komansky, who is described as a “loner”—a maverick as Gallagher calls him, although he will learn the true definition of maverick in “The Hot Shot.” This relationship through their episodes was never overplayed or overdone, but there was always a sense that these two airmen shared a bond of loneliness, and that they always “watched each other’s back.” At the age I was watching the show, and the fact that I had recently lost my father (who had “flown the hump” in India-Burma during the war) I appreciated Gallagher’s interest in and “mentoring” of the capable but troublesome (and troubled) Komansky. This relationship always remained within the bounds of correctness; meaning that they were never “pals”—but they genuinely respected each each other and frequently gave the other unquestioning support in their individual difficulties. Amusingly, as will be seen, when they openly express their regard for the other–it was rarely to the other man’s face: it was spoken to others–Komansky’s gratefulness for Gallagher being saved is spoken privately to Harley Wilson in “The Outsider”; Gallagher salutes a burning airplane in which he thinks Komansky has died in “Between the Lines,” and when Gallagher expresses his pride in Sandy being “just a bit tougher” than a German sergeant (“Day of Reckoning”) Komansky, recovering from a severe wound, is barely conscious.
Gallagher and Komansky make an interesting duo in a narrative—they were in a way “twins,” while at the same time, “foils.” Both were dark haired with penetrating eyes; both had three-syllable “ethnic” names, and both were descended from a people and a nation which had been historically trounced on (Ireland by the English and Poland by all its neighbors–I wonder if Komansky was so designed to be a kind of salute to the nation of Poland which suffered the worst at the hands of the Nazis). Beyond these superficial qualities, each had to prove they weren’t as accused—Gallagher was no hypocrite as Komansky first sees him, and Komansky was no shirker as Frank Bailey suggests. Foils—Gallagher is an officer, and comes from privilege—a general for a father, two officer brothers; education at West Point, and a brandy drinker to boot. Komansky is a noncom, and had joined the service underage in desperation. He is an orphan without family, and endured a difficult childhood, complete with rats, and drinks beer and an occasional whiskey. Also, Gallagher is a more static character (he changed the most in “Golden Boy” though he grows progressively tougher under Britt’s expectations and harsh experiences as commander) while Komansky might be described as “dynamic”—which will be explored later.
-“I really didn’t want to be chosen by you for this”
A romantic triangle?—I wonder if this happens in real life military as much as it does in the movies; American movies usually have some kind of love story to cement, as some scholars claim, conventional belief in the heterosexual couple—see Creating the Couple, which is a little “over the top” but does make some profound observations about this recurring element of many movies. You could make a point, I guess, that in wartime, women are not always available, and for two men, emotionally starved from training and war, would fasten their affections on a single woman, be she a nurse on the front lines or a secretary or a bright little thing. Besides, it makes a great collision point, which produces conflict that makes great grist for story. It really surprised me that in “The Loneliest Place in the World” the writers actually were able to get this point into a 55 minute episode—and do it quite well. It wasn’t just shoehorned into the script—and it becomes the final flashpoint between Gallagher and Komansky.
And the “woman between” was certainly an interesting character, both in the show and in real life—none other than Claudine Longet, some ten-twelve years before her accidental (?) shooting of her lover, Spider Sabich in Aspen Colorado. In the show she played the liaison for the Free French and the English language media. (“Media people” played a role in the series, not always positively, either; and Komansky’s jinx, weirdly, nearly destroys one in “Show Me A Hero” and “Angel Babe” absolutely refuses to go along with their plans.) Her question to Komansky, who had been rescued and passed along in the underground by the Free French, “did you have any language troubles?” was certainly interesting!—that’s something you would never think about and makes me realize that many of the writers and other staff working on the show (which was filmed less than 25 years after the war had ended) had WWII experience and probably brought in a lot of interesting stories and sidelights—I frequently pick up on some political sidelight of the war in many episodes, things that would have rushed right over me when I was in my mid-teens. Her character was well developed—we learned that her family was all gone (another lonely person) and that her father had been a sculptor (she used to think the forms had dead people inside of them) and she takes pleasure in making mobiles, which decorate her surprisingly large ground floor apartment (in London?—how close was Archbury to London?) that I wonder if the writers were interested in extending her role to be some kind of permanent third point of the triangle; or, the writers were so taken with the fetching, gamine Claudine Longet that they built her role up a lot. In any case, refreshingly, she has not made a choice of either man—she has barely met Komansky, and Gallagher is paying his first visit to her—and her reaction, when the tipsy heartsick Gallagher suddenly kisses her, is more understandable to me now than it was when I was 15: “I really don’t want to be chosen by you for this”—a gracefully Gallic way of saying that she did not want to be the target for tonight to help him deal with his anger and guilt over the ten lives. It makes sense for Komansky to overreact as he did when he too came to her flat to find Gallagher there, because he was already extremely angry with Gallagher (though Komansky’s anger has far deeper roots than this event, but Gallagher becomes a focus for years of rage). Gallagher seeming surprised with him being there makes sense because he may have thought that Komansky had professional dealings with her—he saw her when in the company of General Britt who advised him about her work–and probably gave him the address that he tipsily consulted before knocking (and using his Zippo lighter).
The last time we see her she calls out after Komansky, who is leaving her—and then she disappears. She might have been an interesting continuing character who served for romantic purposes. According to the 12 0’Clock Logbook (2007) Paul Burke requested more romance be injected into the stories. I imagine, if her character had been continued, she probably would have been one of Gallagher’s girlfriends—maybe they got rid of her because Gallagher and Komansky were to be allies, and she would be a perpetual sore point. Also, as will be seen, the theme of Joe’s “flames” pretty well flamed out by mid-season.
-“well, the bad penny just showed up”
Gallagher and Komansky have a rough start with their relationship, which makes their relationship at least to me unusual–which reminds me that 12 OCH, with the exception of service comedies like “McHales Navy” and “F Troop,” was about only war show I ever watched!—“Combat” never interested me and though I watched “Rat Patrol” (also in syndication) it was more action-oriented than the more psychologically-oriented 12OCH and ultimately, I find, less interesting. (I don’t like to admit that yes, I watched “Garrison’s Gorillas” too but would not touch it now with a ten foot pole.) Komansky had been flight engineer to Savage and the only survivor when the plane went down, and it seems to lead Lt. Col. Bailey to suspect his sense of duty. After his first appearance in the failing Piccadilly Lily his next appearance was a little startling—he jumps out of a Jeep, waits while Savage’s memory is saluted and then breezily greets Sgt. McVeigh, who greets him as “Well, the bad penny just showed up”—he gets labeled a lot and some of them he seems to deserve (Gallagher helps him find his own true identity, but not without trouble!).
He refuses to talk with them about Savage, instead saying he met the cutest French brunette, turning his back on them with “Guys, I gotta report.” After watching “The Survivor,” I fully realized that Sandy here is particularly challenged–a survivor may be greeted with more suspicion than joy, particularly since the person he survived was no less than General Savage..! Komansky’s feelings—or lack of deep feelings–for the dead Savage are hinted at when he quickly opens the door to Savage’s outer office and he bumps into the men who are clearing his effects out. Savage’s nameplate goes flying off, hitting the ground (very symbolic that)—Komansky picks it up, looks at it a moment, and then goes on—but even then it’s a bit ambivalent—maybe he and Savage got along because both were walled in characters in their own way. He seems very uncomfortable when he reports to Major Stovall who brusquely tells him, “I’m glad you’re back Sergeant” and takes his report about the incident– perhaps holding his own tears back and distantly hating Komansky because he survived–which the sergeant may realize, because he immediately directs his eyes toward the ceiling rather than at Stovall. (A variation on this scene occurs in “Storm at Twilight” when he is once again questioned by Stovall, but about the older man’s disastrous flying. This time Stovall keeps his eyes directed away from Sandy who stands behind him.)
That evening, when breezily picking up a pass, he is directed to see Gallagher (the duty sergeant who tells him this treats him like a virus). Warily, he enters the office and a friendly Gallagher questions him about his report: “is there anything you left out? Was there anything that could have been done for the general?” Komansky’s anger produces his response—though perhaps is it a lashing out at the resentment he is feeling. Ironically, Joe, who is the best position to understand Komansky’s feelings (he too has been thrust into a position he did not ask for) gets the brunt of his anger. But there is more than the men’s attitudes; he felt abandoned (there’s that “loneliness” theme again) when the rest of the planes kept going, and he jumped from a “flying coffin being torn to shreds.” Gallagher is startled by his anger, but elects to deal with it. Komansky’s anger is just one of many confrontations he is having to deal with; Frank Bailey is hot on his heels. The duty roster has put the sergeant into his plane and he won’t have it– he too labels Komansky–“a sour apple”–which is quaint, but makes it point.
-“we fly together”
Gallagher is badly conflicted as well but it’s more subtly played. Based on the characters of “Gately” and “Davenport” in the original novel he seemed to advance incredibly quickly but, advancement in the Air Force during the war could be very swift, because men were lost in missions or were in POW camps (64,000 apparently) so men kept taking their places. Although it does seem a reach that Gallagher went from being a screw up to deputy commander of the 918th, it can be argued that Savage recognized Gallagher as a leader after he overcame his fears. Perhaps Savage privately noted his confidence in Gallagher to Britt—who comes seeking Gallagher deliberately, although he questions Heindorf, and the handsome but perhaps devil may care Frank Bailey about their own fitness for command. Bailey may not have been the man for the job because, according to Britt, he nominated himself for command, and maybe jumps to conclusions too quickly such as his opinions about Komansky shirking his duty (as Gallagher asks him, “How do you hide in a B-17?”). Gallagher spends most of the episode making “wrong” decisions (though they were right in their own because he was following orders) and dealing with the aggravations of being in command, fighting both fellow officers, paper work, and a nasty noncom and admits halfway through the episode that he does not want the job.
Already weary of new demands (the minutia of supply for one) he gets up from his desk, and pulls aside the blackout curtains of his office to stare outside—is he seeing nothing but blackness in his future, or is he seeking the freedom of the skies?—in the future, in times of trouble and grief he will resort to the window and skies for some comfort. But General Britt, an old hand, senses that Gallagher is the right man, and keeps leaning on him, and mentoring him. Mentoring will be a recurring theme in future episodes. Gallagher soldiers through—and succeeds–in folk tale fashion by taking three chances and a final fourth big chance in the air. Every chance on the ground is linked with a clash with Komansky; but his final chance-taking in the air succeeds with Komansky’s help.
His first “chance” is when he sees Komansky at “the Langham,” where he is meeting General Britt, the same evening of their first unhappy meeting. He pauses when he sees Komansky at a table in the lounge, literally turns his back on him, and then turns back towards him—upholding a belief by which he kept the formation together earlier; that is, “we fly together”–and a preview of one of Gallagher’s most engaging qualities, his desire to be the “good shepherd”–and a good shepherd will go to any length to find the missing flock member. This might be the first time in the sergeant’s life that somebody “scales the wall” that Komansky has placed around himself. It also reveals one of Gallagher’s traits that makes him Savage’s opposite–simply, the guy has charm, which Savage most certainly lacked.
-“maybe the rest of the world is right, and you’re wrong”
Gallagher invites himself to the table where they have their first off the record talk, which reveals his interest in the prickly noncom, who remains prickly (“Sir, I could have read that off the bulletin board,” snipes the sergeant at Gallagher after being told of his assignment with Bailey). Typically, they are face to face, which is the position of confrontation. Sandy only becomes gracious when Susanne Arnais shows up—and perhaps he uses Gallagher’s rank and bearing as a selling point for himself.
After Komansky’s startling introduction of himself, Gallagher has read up on him—and by way of character exposition (as Britt earlier “exposed” Gallagher by speaking to him about his father and his brothers) some information is imparted to the viewer, including that Komansky was among the first to be appointed a B-17 flight engineer, and that he qualified for OCS, but went AWOL for a week. That angle on his character interests me because I wonder, when the writers were designing changes to 12OCH, if they sensed—or had been told by some viewers—that noncoms and privates also were in that war, by George! 12OCH was dominated by officers, which makes sense because it was based on a novel about the terrible responsibilities of command. But a noncom would represent the underrepresented—and did the “fact” that Komansky was selected for, but ducked, officer school, make him into a sort of officer?—at least it shows he is intelligent and capable (and creates a situation akin to Gallagher’s own thinking of “ducking” command of the 918th.) However, avoiding officer school gives him a depth of character; here is a guy who seems to go against things, but for what reason?– he is no rebel to the army; he’s very squared away and does not unduly resent the discipline. We learn later that joining the army was his choice; this is no angry draftee. When Gallagher asks him about his past, Komansky answers that he finds officers to be hypocrites—which Gallagher will soon disprove(though he hears the truth in Komansky’s words later on). Gallagher calls him on his opinion, though charmingly, saying “maybe the rest of the world is right and you’re wrong;” he doesn’t yet know that Komansky’s barbed attitude covers up personal wounds, many of them raw.
-“you have just violated an Article of war . . .”
Gallagher, when they all collide at Susanne Arnais’ flat, takes a stupid, brainless chance when he allows Komansky to taunt him into grabbing him by the lapels. The taunting scene is particularly well played as Komansky, hurt as well as angry, says a “certain lieutenant colonel can make little girls and great big generals feel sorry for him”—and that “even the neighborhood I came from there were rules.” Gallagher is still fairly “over-indulged” when he “assaults” the sergeant but it may have severe consequences for him. His third chance is when he demands Komansky come with him as flight engineer. (Bailey’s plane is scrubbed, and Gallagher’s own flight engineer is conveniently sick, but, what the heck, it’s television and they have to wrap this story within a few more minutes). They hate each other’s guts (typical war movie thing but always effective), and Bailey has warned him about Komansky, but Gallagher perhaps is tackling the situation head-on, as well as maneuvering Komansky into a kind of trap: as the sergeant( somewhat undeliberately) goaded him on to violate one of “The Articles of War” (officers don’t even touch enlisted men, but much less striking them), Gallagher now threatens Komansky: if you disobey a direct order, you will be court-martialed.
Nicely done, Colonel!—but what happened to the tipsy, upset, vacillating Lt. Colonel? To go back in time, Gallagher departs Susanne’s apartment, embarrassed and shocked out of his wooziness (his toppling over her couch reveals how far gone he is) and the next time we see him he is authoritatively briefing the men about their bombing run (which seems about the third in three days, which strikes me as excessive, but may be they had not been on a bombing missions for weeks previous). The change seems startling, but, you have to assume that off-screen Gallagher has realized that he’s gone pretty low—though cleared by Wing, he was publicly tipsy, fairly well forced himself on Susanne, and violated one of “The Articles of War”—and the realizations has brought him up short with himself. Perhaps he even read some truth in Komansky’s remarks that he found officers to be hypocrites—which links with General Britt saying to the plastered Gallagher, jokingly, that an officer is never drunk—he just has “slightly overindulged.” As in “Golden Boy,” he grows a spine–From then on, he is direct, authoritative, and in command–and never again drunk; he does not even keep a secret bottle in his desk. –In “Gauntlet of Fire” he tells Britt that he keeps no bottle in his desk, and, when a bottle finally appears in “The Fighter Pilot,” it seems to be for others’ use–such as the scared and weeping WAC and Commodore Crompton in “The Hunters and the Killers.” Joe seems to drink coffee by the buckletloads, with an occasional dollop of brandy. Now tackling things from a 12 O’Clock High approach–from briefing the men, to goading Komansky to fly with him, to telling off General Britt when it’s all over—and of course, taking on the pirate ship–Joe has taken command of himself, of the sassing sergeant, of the 918th, and briefly, of the skies.
-“Yes, sir, colonel sir”
What a climax!!—with Gallagher’s big chance-taking—in the air. Once more, Komansky is along. After Gallagher threatens Komansky with court martial (with his smug and breezy “Yes sir, colonel sir,” when Gallagher calls him over you want to see him get pounded too) they climb into a cockpit stuffed with all sorts of issues and worries and hatred, etc. and of course, that pirate ship reappears. Gallagher’s plane malfunctions—which is not surprising, considering that all Flying Fortresses had an engineer on board, and the third most important person after the pilots. The plane’s malfunction drops him behind (and now he is literally in a lonely place again), and when the pirate banks and turns back, he is heading on a collision course (yes, another collision!) with Gallagher—well, it’s improbable, but possible, and creates a situation of “playing chicken” which is fantastic for tension (the frame keeps cutting away to the other pilot’s face; German pilot’s tight smirk to Gallagher’s tense eyes and twitching lips) and a great way for Gallagher to completely redeem himself and avenge General Savage. Their plane malfunctioning gives Komansky a chance to do his stuff and redeem himself—and he is a supposedly skillful flight engineer, but sometimes it’s hard to see this aspect of character and role in the episodes (on best display in “We’re Not Coming Back”).
The “playing chicken” is literally conducted at “12 O’Clock High”—And, to really go out on a limb, that final showdown is akin to a medieval joust, with two armored men bearing down on each other. That led me into reflections on the show having qualities of an Arthurian saga—Savage was Uther Pendragon, the old and gone king, Gallagher is Arthur, the incoming king, General Britt is Merlin, who helped both kings, and even Komansky starts out as Mordred, the malevolent knight, but soon matures into Sir Lancelot, Arthur’s most trustworthy knight. They will all go on many quests for their lady, the Piccadilly Lily. –And is there ever a specific moment when Gallagher assumes command of Savage’s “lady”?–and would a pilot do such a thing? Just curious . . . Unfortunately, in this climactic scene, an annoying-funny “tradition” gets started: the co-pilot gets killed or injured (Komansky: “he’s done for, sir”). It seems pretty callous just to knock these guys off (sort of the way they knocked the guys in the red shirts off in “Star Trek”) but, in terms of the theme of partnership very effective because Komansky then occupies the co-pilot’s seat and becomes in effect Gallagher’s equal as they become partners. Komansky gets the engine started, and Gallagher plots the action of “playing chicken”—Komansky then takes the initiative, which clears up any lingering notion that he doesn’t really do his job and gets into the top turret on his own—and clobbers the Germans. I wonder if one blast could take out a B-17 that way; they apparently could take a lot of punishment and still get home, but, Komansky, as engineer, knew exactly where to aim the 50 caliber machine gun to get maximum results. (As it turns out in a later episode–“The Hot Shot”–he says he went to gunnery school.)
A note: a quarter of the way into the season, somebody must have noticed that the co-pilots were getting clobbered, and finally came up with “Bobby Johnson”–who then seem to become “Bob Fowler”– to be Gallagher’s apparently indestructible co-pilot; he is seen in the final episode, “The Hunters and The Killers.”
-“with your permission, sir”
Gallagher is exultant and praises Komansky—and Komansky, when he returns to the cockpit says, before he reoccupies the co-pilot’s seat, “With your permission sir,” which is a veiled apology to his CO. Both of them are now on the same wavelength. When a crew member calls for a celebration, Komansky answers, wearily, “yeah fellows, big party,” and Gallagher immediately warns everybody “we’re still in their backyard and we’ve got a long ways to go.” But the two men have put their personal guards over each other down, and when Komansky flicks a glance at Gallagher’s steady on profile, you know that all is going to be all right between these two. As will come up in future episodes, Gallagher is described as having charm (“but you had charm,” his father tells him in “Grant Me No Favor” and “Is he always this charming?” asks Capt. Patricia Bates in “Which Way the Wind Blows)–and he proves it early on in this episode; he has not only proven his courage and commanding sense–and honesty–to Komansky, but he has charmed and will further charm this obstinate outsider into sincere loyalty.
-“is that a direct order, sir?” – “Yes, that is a direct order”
So, the epilogue—Komansky, on his way to the CO’s office pauses to quickly to shine his shoes before reporting—to General Britt apparently. General Britt is in the CO’s office demanding answers from Gallagher, who gives them, straightforwardly and angrily—which is the first time he is really angry, or soberly angry. Of course, General Britt approves of Gallagher’s spirited defense of his actions, which is what he wants all along and gives him a promotion to full colonel. In a moving scene earlier, Britt had told Gallagher that his hardest decision had been to order a scared kid to cut off his damaged leg—he did it because he did not want to play God with himself, which is what he wants Gallagher to quit doing—he has a job, and he has to do it.
That little talk had led Gallagher to really get boozy—and now he deals with the after effects, that of laying hands on Komansky. Gallagher is through with taking chances this time around and apparently reported the incident himself—and Komansky is quick enough—and honest enough (hatred of hypocrisy now turning on himself?)– to tell Britt “that he had provoked him” and “that he could have pulled rank but did not.” This ending of this theme puzzles me a bit and I once more have to think back to Komansky’s dislike of hypocrisy of officers—and maybe he had heard Gallagher’s report on downing the plane. Gallagher was honest about it, and maybe that is what provokes Komansky’s declaration to Suzanne, who told him that she would not bear witness if he tried to “blackmail” Gallagher: “He won’t deny it, he’s that kind of guy,” Komansky says to her, planning to use it to his own advantage. But Gallagher has really proven to him he’s that kind of guy. Happy ending?—oh yes. General Britt tosses Gallagher his own colonel’s eagles (did he bring them especially, or did he always carry them with him?). He then leaves, with a kind of blessing that Gallagher and Komansky are going to work together from now on. As Gallagher has shifted to the CO office, Gallagher commands Komansky to change to the appropriate quarters as a member of his crew (from what I understand, B-17 crews at times barracked together—it seemed dependent on how the CO ran things–and did Gallagher’s former flight engineer get a little angry at being replaced?).
In a refreshingly lighthearted moment amidst all this grief and private travail and air heroics, Komansky, with a hint of teasing, asks “Is that a direct order sir?” to which Gallagher reacts with some amused exasperation, though this makes him realize that Komansky is now in his corner, and comfortable enough to engage in some humor with the boss—something that he probably did not dare to with Savage. Gallagher’s response—“Yes, that’s a direct order,” brings the whole episode into focus—the confident and confirmed Joe Gallagher is now the one issuing the orders for the 918th. With his mentor General Britt, and his new ally Sgt. Komansky, he will get the job done. Komansky exits, and leaves him alone, but Gallagher is no longer in “the loneliest place in the world.” And so, Season II is on its way . . .
“Rx for a Sick Bird”
Writers: William B. Gordon, William Hamilton, Mark Huntley
Director: Richard Donner
“Rx for a Sick Bird” originally struck me as an overdone title, particularly when I learned that “Sabotage” was the original title. Quinn Martin productions always have the same format: four acts, an epilogue, as well as a moody or striking title. But I was engaging in some earthbound thinking—for example, thinking the “bird” was a single airplane, when actually, the bird may refer to three things: a single plane, the entire 918th, and possibly Ilka Zradna, the Polish national, who, in the end, floats like a bird down into Poland, a deeply sick and wounded country, its rape by Germany commencing the war. It may even refer to Gallagher, a “bird colonel” who is sickened by his sabotage-riddled base. Bird imagery and references are frequent in this episode, to the innocent caged bird in the saboteurs’ Archbury flat to such phrases as “the 918th will dry up like a dead chicken.”
First, let’s talk about the 918th being the “sick bird.” Like any living thing, the bird has many parts: wings, head, tail, body, legs. If all are healthy, the bird flies. Like a bird, the 918th bomber command has many parts to it; ground crews and flight crews must work together like a fully articulated body to make successful runs. The 918th at episode’s beginning is sick, as a rash of problems and breakdowns create fear and hatred between the air crews and the ground crews. In the episode the crews are beginning to distrust each other, and morale is beginning to plummet due to saboteurs as well as Allied agents detecting the saboteurs. This situation helps to create a dense and somewhat muddled episode (there were three writers listed) that takes a couple of viewings to get all the parts together—which is always good for a re-viewing! There is a lot going on, a lot of people to keep track of including the three saboteurs, Ilka Zradna, Gallagher’s old friend General Creighton, Major Adams from Counterintelligence, and the CIC agents, such as Sgt. Podesta, and Cpl. Thibideaux. Also, two rich stories intertwine—the 918th being beset by problems due to the saboteurs, problems due to G2’s deliberate delaying of catching the saboteurs, and returning Ilka Zradna to Poland, despite damaged ships and morale. Colonel Gallagher is up against terrific challenges to keep things together, particularly when he learns that the challenges he is facing are known about—and are being watched by G2, military intelligence, who are setting a trap to net them all. Being that they are on “our side” Gallagher must obey orders and let things go as they will—which means that Gallagher is not really in full command of the 918th anymore. The difficult, and at times muddy issues of command are being addressed once more, as in “Loneliest Place,” “Grant Me No Favor,” and the original novel. Gallagher learns that even a colonel can feel as though his wings have been clipped.
It is at this point that I will say that when I was first watching 12OCH in the late sixties, I was watching it on a black and white set, finally replaced in 1971 with a color set—and well after 12OCH disappeared from my local station. I have never seen the color episodes and am sort of looking forward to seeing these guys with natural color tones. However, I may also cringe at seeing them “in color” because the black, white, and gray tones of the original palette add to the grimness of the situation, the gritty quality of life on a bomber base in soggy England, and certainly to the black/white situations of war, and the many gray tones that exist in war when national defense and “our side” dominates and twists clear thinking. This story is outstanding for its look into the deeply gray areas of war because “our side” was grimly letting people, including skilled pilots, be killed as saboteurs were identified, observed, followed, smoked out, and eventually caught. One story I heard about World War II that makes me want to weep was a group of ship survivors watched, day after day as they drifted in the Pacific, the sight of planes going overhead, and no rescue was at hand. The planes could not rescue them for fear of bringing the enemy’s attention to a certain area. You want to cry, “that’s not right!”—for them to be sacrificed that way, but that is the riddle of sacrifice: giving up in order to gain; killing in order to protect life; things dying so that other things may live. It’s great when the sacrificial victim has a say in the matter, but more often than not, the victim is innocent.
Ilka herself is a “victim” of sacrifice too, but knows about what she must do, and she does it, fulfilling the war-movie theme of “duty, above all.” The divided nature of sacrifice is one expression of the overarching theme of the episode: division. Division in appearance, division among people—Poland itself is described as a “divided country”– division between what is good for all and what is bitter for the individual. There is a lot of bitter medicine swallowed during this episode—medicine as in a pharmaceutical prescription, an “Rx.” We will return to this point later. Of course, the saboteurs feature division in appearance, sporting uniforms they don’t believe in, and being cooperative to destroy cooperation. The resident saboteur, TSgt. Hansen, is all-American in that he is good looking and rather than undistinguishable—I kept losing track of him. The other saboteur, Captain Zoller, is Polish, but has sold out to the Nazis. He has triple layers, pretending to be a Polish officer in the service of the Allies, while being a Pole in the service of the Germans. CI knows about him too; General Creighton, who “was” an old friend of Gallagher (after this affair, they may avoid each other in the future) remarks to the colonel, “His pre-war record was lousy”—so they have been using him, too. Of course, there are CI officers in the mix as well. Allied soldiers, in the service of the Allied cause, are also masquerading.
-“I know Americans”
In some ways, both sides are viruses, infecting the base, with each man or woman on base passing on the infection (and symbolized, briefly, by a pool game).The German saboteur explains his methods to the Polish officer in a rather nicely done scene of exposition in the Archbury flat. “I know Americans and they must have heroes,“ says T/Sgt. Hansen to the Polish captain, explaining if their central hero, Gallagher, begins to fall apart, then all will fall apart. Their small apartment-rendezvous point in Archbury features a bird in a cage, and it is around the cage that they wrap the wires of communication. This caged bird is part of a continuing series of references to birds and cages, beyond the title reference. The saboteurs are keeping Ilka in a cage, and they were in the process of building another kind of cage around the 918th’s morale, and a cage around the planes, so they cannot not fly.
-“he was very brave”
The first demonstration of their processes come after the episode in which Ilka is being transported; all seems to be well: the ship is guarded; Gallagher’s best men were going out, including his own flight engineer Komansky (nice touch; the son of Polish immigrants escorting a Polish National back to her country). There is a heartbreaking “snapshot” of a doomed pilot: The pilot, who is a better “night flyer” than Gallagher, is a friendly soul, and who enjoys declaring impossible rewards to people: he promises ground engineer Podesto a stateside bond tour with Dorothy Lamour and then, during the flight, declaring “Sandy, my boy, get our pretty passenger, and tell her to pack her cloak and dagger and I will double your salary.” “Twice nothing is still nothing,” retorts Komansky, who loses his taciturnity for a moment. Immediately, the ship begins to break down, and they beat a retreat to England, and apparently are forced to ditch. Gallagher is in Archbury Tower when they receive the final communications from the “sick bird” and their distress is evident—failure of a mission, failure of yet another plane due to malfunctions, and possibly the loss of an important person for the Allied cause and some of his best men.
When the episode began I was a little impatient with the introduction of the woman into the story, knowing that of course she and Gallagher would have a relationship—it’s just going to happen and Paul Burke did request that more love interest be added. However, I appreciated the story point that she was important to the war cause in Poland, which makes her into a feminist character, and makes a point that women won the war too, not just the guys in the uniforms. (Women’s role in modern warfare is still being investigated; a startling recent read of mine is Hitler’s Furies which examines how women in clerical and nursing roles helped promote the “killing fields” in the East). However, her character is never fully explained—was she an intellectual dissident? A professor who rallied against the Nazis? A poet? Indeed, she seems in many ways to be Viktor Laszlo in Casablanca, turning Colonel Gallagher into a kind of mix of Rick and Ilsa. No simple love interest, she was also the reason why the 918th came under strong attack by saboteurs as well—and she is used, as Gallagher is told, as a kind of bait to draw them out. And, far from being some bombshell, she is an attractive woman, but no raving beauty; her clothes are substantial but not that attractive. Rather, her beauty comes from her warmth and understanding—including her understanding that as rotten as the saboteurs were, after all, wouldn’t allied saboteurs try to do the same thing? Isn’t she trying to do the same thing by arousing the Poles against the Nazis? She seems perfectly calm with the storm she has created, as though regarding the saboteurs as colleagues rather than as menaces. In all, she is a warm and inspiriting woman, the kind that you want Colonel Gallagher to fall in love with. She is certainly his most “worthwhile” paramour as well as being the one he will most likely never see again.
The intricacies of her relationship with Gallagher—plus tying her story into the saboteurs—comes in the recurring theme of coffee. Coffee serves quite a few functions in this episode: it indicates an exchange of roles, it is an elixir of love, an image of postwar conventional relationships, and, in the end, a weapon—a Thermos of “coffee” is nearly taken on board the Piccadilly Lily; it is the explosion that Hansen pledged he could make.
-“it’s terrible but it’s warm”
Coffee appears in several scenes and has certain meanings. It indicates a change of roles when Gallagher offers her coffee when he first meets her, that she accepts and drinks—“it’s terrible but it’s warm.” It is an exchange of roles in a way; normally, the woman brews and serves the coffee; but on this masculine base, the colonel makes and serves as she is assuming a masculine role in her calm acceptance of parachuting into Poland. When Ilka visits Gallagher early in the morning before a mission, he is gulping coffee—as a stimulant for his masculine job of flying and bombing. At the end, just before she calmly parachutes into Poland, she and Gallagher joke about coffee, and she asks, “how do you like yours in the morning?”—which would be “quite racy” (as it was described in the “12 0’Clock High Logbook”) if the two were not in a plane and about to be parted by a parachute, half a continent and war. (If you want racy, consider how the three sergeants drool over journalist Susan Nesbit in “Show Me A Hero . . .” and Vern Chapman sticks out his infected hand to her in a kind of phallic gesture.)
“How do you like your coffee in the morning?” strikes me as more of a tender phrase that looks toward a peaceful world and peaceful, conventional relationships with a beloved partner brewing the coffee at home, rather than a busy colonel making coffee on a potbellied stove in his nerve-center office, or a committed partisan drinking a cup before parachuting down into her racked homeland. Their drinking coffee at their first meeting and at their parting reminds me a bit of the Arthurian-related legend of Tristan and Isolde, who fall hopelessly in love by a magic potion, and their love is never fulfilled– Isolde is committed to Tristan’s Uncle Mark as Ilsa is committed to Poland. Coffee also becomes a weapon in this episode—and an interesting analogy of how the familiar and the accepted can be dangerous. The saboteurs have been superbly trained to pass as Americans, much as the homely coffee Thermos bottle is changed to a weapon of destruction—phallic shaped, interestingly enough in the men’s realm of war; in Ilka’s female presence, coffee is served in a cup, which is a female symbol for the womb.
-“you see I am obedient . . . “
Back to Ilka . . . it irritated me for a moment when Gallagher returns after a successful mission and finds her waiting for him, like a warrior’s good wife. However, she suggests Penelope waiting for Ulysses for twenty years. Ilka’s presence there and in the story in general, even with her masculine abilities, creates or suggests a stability that Gallagher needs, and the base needs. Obedience is going to pieces because there are too many strains. His men are giving him trouble (the trusted Komansky badly misbehaves) and an old friend, General Creighton, is doing his duty, but his actions are tearing apart the fragile fabric of morale, and Gallagher can’t do a thing about it—unless he wants to land in more trouble. Gallagher learns of a terrible situation—that a bombing mission he is about to fly may have bad bullets, bullets set to explode in the breech. Gallagher declares he can’t take such risks, but Creighton’s threat to him—“I’ll rack you for this”—makes him obedient and grimly assume duty. When he and Creighton first meet the general is happy to see him, and delivering Ilka–when the two men part at this threat, Creighton is angry, and slams the door . .. Ilka brings a deeper level of man-woman relationships than is seen on the surface. She waits obediently in his office, the mission Gallagher has been on went reasonably well, though a bomber was lost. The return of presumably the Piccadilly Lily to Archbury after the mission is a lyrical shot, with the heavy bomber being filmed through trees as it settles nicely, like a graceful bird, onto the runway (some footage is so overused in the show that you can’t help but notice a new or at least underused clip).
After debriefing, Gallagher returns to his office to find Ilka sitting there, and saying gently, “You see, I am obedient,” which to a woman with any kind of feminist beliefs can only flinch at. However, Gallagher requested her to be waiting for him, and she is, and her remark about obedience underscores how “disobedient” men and events have been on the afflicted base. Since her presence there is probably creating these problems she is perhaps trying to assuage him, which he does not fall for. But he remarks “You always figure you’re coming home—but it’s nice to have someone to look forward to”—which is a phrase that envisions a peaceful world with conventional male-female relationship.
-“he for God and she for nature”
Her next words are interesting—and dive down into some of the deepest levels of mythology which recur throughout the show, particularly forcefully in “Angel Babe.” She tells him that he identifies a fighting and flying bomber as a “he,” and the wounded or “sick” bomber as ”she.” “It’s very touching,” she says to this pilot, who truly loves flying (in “Between the Lines” an impatient Gallagher helps fly his own rescue plane home, a contented smile on his face when he takes the controls). Ilka, the intellectual, is speaking about one of the fundamental principles of ancient mythology in which people attempted to sort out the universe based on what they knew: the “masculine” sky god and the “feminine” earth goddess: “He for god, and she for nature,” she says, which seems cryptic . . . unless you have had the good fortune to read Joseph Campbell’s books on mythology. I have a feeling that some of this dialogue was cut; it was heavy, heaven knows, but profound and touching . . .as said, the image and idea will recur–in “Falling Star” and “Which Way the Wind Blows”–and in spades in “Angel Babe.”
“-All right, PRIVATE Komansky–”
The 918th being wounded in airplanes and morale is first spoken about, and then is nicely portrayed in a scene when Gallagher snatches at his phone and a model B-17 flies off its holder and is damaged (that model B-17 recurs several times, taking on a variety of meanings). In a particularly well done scene in the NCO’s club, the bad feelings are rampant and building as the men grumble about the lost plane. Sgt. Clem Garnet comes in, calling the ground crew “murderer’s row,” and saying “Komansky was a friend of mine.” The men agree that “we all liked Komansky” but there are no tears shed. Unbeknownst to them—perhaps known to Podesto who is present—is that TSgt Hansen is there, listening, and waiting.
Then Komansky, still dressed in flight fatigues, comes in. He is angry, so angry that he probably did not report as expected to Gallagher, rebuffs the men’s honest pleasure in seeing him, calls the ground crew names “greaseballs,” (which is pretty pedestrian but makes its point) and creates a situation ripe for exploitation. Komansky and Podesto exchange words, but they are holding back—until Hansen propels Podesto on top of Komansky. Startled, they begin fighting, and Hansen is yelling encouragement, inciting the edgy non-coms into a mob. In Gallagher’s office, Harvey Stovall alerts him that things are getting out of hand; an open window carries the noise of the near-riot. Furious, he charges into the club, throwing the two men apart, busts both Komansky and Podesto, closes the NCO club, tells them to clean the place up, clean themselves up, and report to him. The look on Komansky’s face is not anger or defiance—it is fear, one of the worst qualities to summon up in a soldier.
The fear is gone when he reports to Gallagher, and anger has replaced it. The normally wary Komansky has not realized what happened to him in the club—he was pushed into the fight. Defending himself, he speaks of how the recent losses “gave me the right to hit somebody” (Komansky hits three people in the first half season: Podesto in this episode; an MP in “Show Me Hero”–which results in a lengthy punishment which seems to begin in “Runway in the Dark”–and a frightened MSgt. Trask in “Between the Lines.”) Gallagher has calmed down, and more or less apologizes to him, saying he did not deserve to be busted in public, and reminds Komansky that he is a “key NCO on the base” (which is never defined or explained but we later see evidence of it particularly in “Day of Reckoning”). Komansky, with a hint of angry tears in his voice, retorts “Sir, I am a private,” which provokes a snap from Gallagher: “don’t smart-mouth!” –if this were real life I would imagine that Gallagher would have something saltier to say, but his reaction shows how much he is on edge.
The scene ends with some welcomed humor when Komansky, who has been told how he can get his stripes back, takes Gallagher’s orders and then pulls on his jacket—with the stripes intact. To Gallagher’s reaction, he says “Sir!” and hastily leaves. Gallagher looks frustrated—was this an act of disobedience or forgetfulness?—which underscores Ilka’s soft words of “You see, I am obedient.” By the way, we never learn when Komansky gets his stripes back. He is referred by Stovall as “private” twice.
-“If I can’t trust them, the show’s off”
Komansky, however, obeys Gallagher’s orders and starts searching for Podesto. And, at this point, I can’t help but think “little man, you’ve had a busy day”: flying a mission, ditching and being rescued, getting into a fight, getting busted, and now apparently patrolling half the night for Podesto, with some violence to mark the event. A nice scene with the “Donner Touch”: Komansky comes to the NCO’s club, now calm, with a game of pool replacing the mob violence. The pool game is a nice visual flourish of the problems; one ball knocks another ball, which knocks another ball, which is akin to a virus spreading. When Komansky interrupts the game, to ask if anybody has seen Podesto, he picks up one of the balls (out of nervousness?—the other sergeants are treating him like a virus). Isolating one of the balls from the other is slightly symbolic of trying to find the problem.
Still searching he enters the armory shed, and is struck from behind; it’s a light blow, but one that knocks him down. He gets up, dislodging his necktie from his throat. He’s finally stumbled onto something, and rushes into Gallagher’s office with evidence. Such circumstances forces Gallagher to do something—he refuses to go any further without letting in Stovall and Komansky in on the skullduggery—“If I can’t trust them, the show’s off,” he declares. Here I find it interesting that in an episodic television series, how much transpires between episodes—in the previous episode Gallagher and Komansky were at each other’s throats, and although they made up, Komansky has seemingly swiftly become a trusted member of his staff or his informal inner circle. Well, it covers a lot of ground and reveals a change in Gallagher’s life: his friend, General Creighton, will no longer be trusted by him ever again, which the general probably accepts as part of duty. Gallagher seeks people he knows he can trust, and identifies them as such. His relations with Creighton will be cordial, but he will probably always remember what went down.
-“I can cause an explosion at any time”
Eventually, the saboteurs get their comeuppance: with “the law” coming in to the Archbury flat, the captain is shot while attempting to get out through the window (like a bird) and the other being shot while shooting his defiance. The coffee Thermos, which he tried to deliver to one of Gallagher’s crew has been recognized by a CI man who calmly lets him know that the “show’s off.” The saboteur, caught, is running out into the fields, and then shooting, is a kind of riff on the western “showdown” an iconic image of Americana—settling the fight without words, but with guns. Gallagher then takes the lead in destroying the vermin destroying his base. With a rifle, he aims, shoots, and blows up the Thermos. The explosion is a kind of violent absolution for the physical violence and the mental violence the men of 918th have had to suffer—from the German agents and from the Allied agents.
-“How do you like your coffee in the morning?”
General Creighton at one point in the story, leaves Gallagher angrily, dealing Gallagher a furious look. Is their friendship over? Possibly. But Gallagher’s thoughts at the end are turned toward the “obedient” Ilka, who is finally successfully parachuting into Poland. This time he is at the controls of the plane, making the jump possible. Joe and Ilka’s conversation—spoken rather normally considering they were conversing over the roar of four B-17 motors and an open bombay—looks forward to their reunion, which both of them probably understand will never happen. Her question of how he likes his coffee in the morning is a charming projection into the future, and a dream of their being together—or at least a dream of normal life, when the morning brings not another fight, but a cup of coffee with a loved one. She willingly, efficiently, jumps to her fate, whatever it will be—the earth goddess returning to earth to succor her people. Gallagher watches her without regret, and rather with pride. In the end, both he and Komansky watch her descend (in this case, into Komansky’s ancestral homeland) and a sort of triangle is once again broken, and Gallagher returns to his masculine pursuits with his sergeant by his side. The sky gods fly on, to conduct war in the heavens.
So, the sick bird has been healed—by obedience and by sacrifice. Sacrifice of American lives by a shadowy agency, and the sacrifice of Ilka. Sacrifice of the “scapegoat” is an ancient trope—best figured in Oedipus Rex when Oedipus blinding himself and driving himself away from Thebes after he realizes the horror of his transgressions. Oedipus, ironically, started his own spiral into destruction by seeking out the cause for the blight on his land—he is the blight, and he must sacrifice himself, thus enacting an ancient ritual of cleansing. In time before memory, a village would clean itself by loading sins on a goat, and driving the goat from the village, by exile, or by death. Thus, the poison is purged, the rot cut out, and the body politic healed. The name of this ritual?—“pharmakos”—where the term pharmacy comes from, the pharmacy that deals prescriptions—such as the prescription for a sick bird.
The Rx for the 918th is a not a pleasant one—it is bitter as good men are made expendable in G2’s pursuit of saboteurs, and are sacrificed for the greater good—in this case, Ilka’s future in Poland. Ilka herself may be a kind of scapegoat herself, as she leaves to help Poland; it is an exile as well, but she is bringing life and hope back to her country’s own sick body.
“Then Came the Mighty Hunter”
Writer: Jack Paritz
Director: Laslo Benedek
This story features a rather formulaic finish—you know it is coming—but which is also an important theme for war movies: shame, guilt, and redemption. In this story an underaged, overeager gunner fails, embarrasses and exposes himself, but ultimately redeems himself—though redemption is swiftly followed up on with an escort out of the Army Air Force, which he deserves not only for his age but for sheer disobedience. Along the way there is emotional turmoil, a difficult mission to accomplish, and victory—victory on the ground when a factory is wiped out (maybe, it’s never made clear), victory in the air (the 918th got the hell out of there and alive!) and a more quiet but significant victory that Komansky makes over himself and which Gallagher wants and senses. As Steve Corbett redeems himself, so does Komansky, though both redemptions are far from perfect. Corbett has a lot to answer for, including youthful arrogance and betrayal of trust; Komansky still has a ways to go before he breaks out of his shell.
The original title for this episode was “Almost A Man” (a rewrite of “The Short Day of Private Putnam” on “Combat” which I have never seen but would like to); this title is multi-leveled in two ways—the underaged gunner is “almost (legally) a man” and the damaged Komansky is “almost (socially and emotionally) a man” as well. The original title comes up in the hospital ward sequence, when Steve is teased by the injured: “He’s almost a man, he killed a kraut,” a fellow gunner declares, which identifies a terrible way to achieve manhood—and recalls the Spartan warrior citizen whose initiatory rite was to murder a slave. The new title—“Then Came the Mighty Hunter”– is somewhat QM-typical in its floridness; it alludes to the Old Testament figure of Nimrod, a “mighty hunter before the lord.” This figure, who has many different versions in religious literature (Judaic, Christian, Islamic, as well as appearing in ethnic legends) has characteristics that develop and describe both the Steve Corbett as well as Komansky. Supposedly, the great grandson of Noah, and the builder of the tower of Babel Nimrod’s description—“a mighty hunter before our lord” actually means that he defied God, or “was in God’s face”—and affronted God in his arrogant beliefs, which he extended to his people. According to the Judaic-Roman historian Josephus, “He persuaded them not to ascribe it to God, as if it were through HIS means they were happy, but to believe it was THEIR OWN courage which procured that happiness.” Also, to defy God, he decided to build a tower which, if God ever drowned the world again, would be so high that people would be safe. His arrogance did not destroy him, but the builders of the tower were struck with diverse languages and were scattered, with the tower unfinished.
To a degree, in “tonight’s story,” the confidence, the courage, the arrogance, the self-centeredness—and the terrible weaknesses of Nimrod–and of the young are on display. The story also relates how a valuable, caring mentor can help a young man grow out of these qualities and grow in wisdom. Indeed, there are three mentoring relationships detected: Britt to Gallagher; Gallagher to Komansky, and Komansky to Corbett. The characters of Corbett and Komansky demonstrate that 120CH High was a character-driven show about the war—sometimes the character address problems exclusive to war, and sometimes universal problems of humankind that create additional problems and tensions in the turmoil of war.
-“this is suicide”
The mission is to successfully bomb (some kind of) factory in “Hagensburg,” a mission which is turning into near suicide, and what Gallagher describes as an “Achilles heel,” meaning a weakness that ends up destroying what seems invincible (as a colonel, and the 918th’s CO he should have invincible qualities). By the end of the episode, their success at Hagensburg is overshadowed by Corbett’s and Komansky’s mistakes and attempts to resolve them. In many ways, they are still both “almost a man,” which brings up how exactly is a “man” defined? –that is explored throughout the episode. The final result is quite contemporary: a real man is someone who cares about others, and this caring includes listening to them—as either a superior, or a subordinate.
-“call me Old 1000”
In the teaser, after a punishing and unsuccessful raid on Hagensburg (“this is suicide”) the battered B-17s fly home with their wounded. Steve Corbett, watching the shaken men disembark and the wounded being carted away, excitedly declares they are the real stuff, and actually pursues Komansky, demanding a chance. Komansky, with his back literally turned to him, tells him to qualify he “should ask for a Section 8 and talk with the chaplain.”
Far from being squelched, the kid only grows more determined—but his records talk for him. The next time we see him, Komansky is escorting him through the rain into Gallagher’s office as a replacement gunner. He’s so charming and open (“they called me Old 1000” at the Yuma training grounds) that Gallagher takes a liking to him, and even Komansky seems in favor of him—but he’s got his “poker face” on, which will slip. There are many unanswered questions about the “almost a man” Steve Corbett, which proves to be fun to figure out—where is his immediate family? How did he manage to join his cousin at the 918th? His older (and wiser but far less confident) cousin relates that they were “raised together” which makes Corbett an orphan, either literally or figuratively. Perhaps his aunt and uncle helped Steve to enter the army with their son, because they did not want to go off on his own—it’s hard to let a child go out into the world, particularly a world at war. Maybe his cousin filched the documents and helped Steve alter them because he did not want to go into the army by himself—he does not possess half the confidence of his cousin. He is cautious, and apologetic; when later in the episode he comes into the hospital ward to apologize for Steve’s actions, he is clutching his hat in a frightened way. He calls his cousin “Stevie”—and Stevie probably led him around by the nose, by his charm.
Yet, how does a 14-15 year old boy join the Army? As I understand, shady recruitment of this nature was sometimes done out of desperation (men were needed as war raged on two fronts, the Pacific and Africa-Europe), or sometimes a recruiting officer liked to keep his numbers high, so he winked at the induction of underage boys who could pass for older and helped falsify the records that Gallagher manages to consult after he learns the truth about Corbett. I remember once reading about a boy who was only 13 when he joined the Navy—and served honorably until his age was detected, and he was discharged. An older man, he could not get badly needed Veteran’s benefits, which were morally due him because he had fought. Steve Corbett has succeeded so far with charm and complete confidence in himself—and these are not phony baloney qualities either. When he seems too happy about the left-waist gunner’s clavicle being shattered (putting him in the position to be his replacement) he honestly apologizes, but is still glad that this gives him a chance. He was probably naturally confident and his record at the Yuma training fields could only have boosted it. He apparently stood up to all kinds of training very well, and didn’t even let a case of the mumps phase him; he cheerfully admits that he was held up from coming over with his outfit because of them. He has youthful enthusiasm when he reaches the 918th and even the embarrassing incident of his gun jamming on the training flight over Scotland (and his kid-like words of “Oh, please work!”) do not derail him.
-“it’s like being a cat left out in the rain”
As Gallagher’s crew pick up their passes later that same day of training flight over Scotland, they laugh about the new gunner. Gallagher asks about Corbett’s whereabouts. Komansky, standing apart from them, observes in a taut voice that matches his clenched face that “Perhaps he doesn’t want to be laughed at half the night.” Komansky is actually concerned about Corbett’s feelings, so much that it gives Gallagher some pause. Komansky’s character is really dived into in this episode, and strengthened in terms of being Gallagher’s foil. In the first two episodes his character is undefined and disturbing—In “The Loneliest Place in the World,” he comes off as a hardheaded loner, unpopular with the guys and with an inclination for professional suicide, such as taunting a colonel. In “Rx for a Sick Bird” he is quick-tempered, which seems understandable in the circumstances, but there still seems something “not quite right” with his anger when he mouths off to Gallagher. In “Then Came the Mighty Hunter” it is suggested that his anger is not just from being “an angry young man” (and he’s too old to be a disaffected teenager) and his maverick qualities not simple arrogance; rather, both grow from painful roots. I wonder if the producers of the series had this in mind when they created the character, or Chris Robinson’s acting talents extended Komansky’s possibilities.
In any case, he developed a dynamic character, capable of changing and shifting and growing, in some contrast with Gallagher’s more static character–though Gallagher grows as well–which is best seen when he has the strength to yell at a heartsick chaplain in “Day of Reckoning,” stand up to his father’s ambitions in “Grant Me No Favor,” and overcome severe personal demons in “Gauntlet of Fire.” Gallagher’s personal stake in Komansky’s development is revealed after the sergeant “opens up” briefly. When they are departing, Gallagher calls Komansky back, with “You got a minute?” With hooded eyes and a tense voice, Komansky says he knows what it is like to be laughed at: “It’s like being a cat left out in the rain” which makes me recall one of my own cats, whose semi-feral howls during thunderstorms rise above the downpour–it’s a great image of fear and desperation. Gallagher asks Komansky if he worries for Corbett out of vanity—after all, Komansky selected him. Komansky insists it’s not vanity; “I want an efficient crew”—but he reveals his concern by getting back to the idea that the young and vulnerable Corbett has been laughed at, and agrees with Gallagher to “get him into the fold,” a nice referencing of Gallagher’s “good shepherd” identity.
After he leaves, Gallagher and Stovall have a conversation about the sergeant and how part of Gallagher’s job is to see him grow. This brings in an angle that many people overlook in military command: a good officer sees that the people under him (or her) “grow”—the way a good mentor does. Komansky, like Corbett, needs to grow; he can’t get away from his “self-concern” as Gallagher states it. Another writer defines this as a wall Komansky built around himself to keep people at a distance. A good choice of words and images: Komansky is not “self-centered,” believing “it’s all about me” because he on occasion reveals low self-esteem (he beats hell out of himself in “Show Me a Hero” as he is progressively victimized by Vern Chapman, Wyatt Kirby and Susan Nesbit), and seems to humbly submit to punishment for punching an MP. His yet undescribed personal problems block his development: simply, the guy’s in a shell. I can’t help but wonder that as rich as this storyline is, would a commander of an airbase during the war have time to think of such things? Actually, according to a manual I read a long time ago, a plane’s commanding officer was encouraged to get to know his men, and take care of them, even paying for them when necessary.
When I reflect on this interesting angle of the overall story of 120CH, is Gallagher motivated by the loss of a brother at Bataan, or motivated by his big brother Preston’s example? Pres took care of his younger brother, making sure he grew up well (it’s indicated in “Grant Me No Favor” that Gallagher has a distant relationship with his father). Gallagher does seek to help his men, which shows his dyed in the wool decency, and Komansky should think himself lucky to serve under such a man; and he finally realizes it: quiet personal loyalty to Gallagher becomes a “grace note” in future episodes, particularly well seen in “Duel at Mont St. Marie” when he unquestioningly accompanies Gallagher on a special mission as a radio liaison.
-“well, you pulled my fuse”
As it turns out, Steve is pretty easy going about the gun-jamming incident—Komansky’s worries, which he insisted he did not have, seem misplaced. As he and Komansky talk in the little “cellar place,” the Denby Lion Pub with its motherly keeper and wholesome daughter, Steve exudes even more charm and confidence. He asks Sandy not to call him “Ace” (he does not deserve after this performance that afternoon), exclaims delightedly with “how English” the place is, and when Komansky tells him that they should be with the guys, not in this place, he explains that he does want to join the guys at the more convivial Star and Bottle because he does not yet deserve it—he fouled up, but when he succeeds the guys will accept him—he has to earn their respect.
Komansky is relieved and a little put off, saying, “Well, you pulled my fuse,” which is something an engineer might indeed say. Far from comprehending Steve, and not realizing his age, Komansky asks the young lady at the bar (Judy Carne, pre-Laugh-In and pre-troubles that derailed her career, life and health) for a friend, and one is fetched, polka dot blouse, cheap fur wrap and all. When Komansky sees Steve with the virginal Gillian, he changes his order from two beers to three whiskeys, takes both young ladies on, and when he sees Steve disappearing into the kitchen with Gillian, in quest of milk, he remarks “And I thought I was going to teach that kid a few things.” My wicked imagination makes me wonder where and how Komansky and the two young ladies ended up; it’s my “clean living streak” that makes me want to believe that no such shenanigans (even off property) would be condoned at the wholesome little cellar pub, and Komansky bade them a civilized good night, and reported to the base early and on time. This is Komansky’s first time with the girls since his non-affair with Suzanne Arnais (“Loneliest Place”); his friendly ease with the two young (sort of for hire) ladies vividly contrasts with his wretchedly abortive romance with the journalist in “Show Me A Hero.” When he finds love again, it’s season’s end, and it’s a wonderfully strange triangle between a British traitor-heroine (“the Danzig Lady”) and her heartsick sister, Helen.
Steve once again effortlessly charms the owner’s 17 year old daughter Gillian Denby (who is actually two years older than he is but seems younger). Life is easy to him, so easy that he gets a date with the young lady, and they go to see the Deanna Durbin film in the local cinema, supposedly after his precious glass of milk. His confidence and so far good luck in the world gives him the remarkable ability to get what he wants. He wants to crew Gallagher’s ship—and he gets it, abetted by his record which impresses Komansky. In the pub, he wants a glass of real milk—not the powdered stuff, which is all that is available. But by George, he gets it. Later, he wants to get away from the men in the hospital teasing him—and he walks right out and off the base. He wants to return to prove himself, and he does it . . . He does not get/do these things because he’s a brat; he is just terribly young. It is known that the human brain finishes forming when the adult in his/her early twenties; and notably young men’s insurance rates are high until they turn 25. In a profile of the most typical person to die in the Grand Canyon it was determined that the young man who believes himself invincible was most likely to die from heat exhaustion, getting off trail . . .and I guess that is why young men are sent to fight in the wars, a theme picked up in “Storm at Twilight.”
In any case, Steve is years away from full maturity in reason, good sense and even physically. His extreme youth is hinted in the briefing the next morning when he is yawning—Deanna Durbin and the wholesome young thing he was with surely did not keep him up that late (particularly since there is a training mission in the morning and they had to report back early) but a young man that age needs a lot more sleep than an adult. The adult Komansky gives him a verbal shove—“Are all my gunners awake?”
-“I killed a man”
Komansky becomes a foil as well as a twin to Steve; both characters throw light on the other. Komansky is older, wiser, more professional, more cynical, and less sure of himself than Steve Corbett who is innocent, friendly, easygoing, and utterly confident—at least for the moment. On the other hand, they are alike in that they are both apparently orphans, gauche, make mistakes, and in some cases are blind to consequences—and try to avoid responsibility, try to refuse responsibility or are shocked by what responsibility means—at least in terms of “I am my brother’s keeper” whether it’s a faceless German pilot, or a fresh-faced kid. They both need a firm, older, and experienced mentor to help them: as Gallagher is mentored by Britt, Komansky is mentored by Gallagher, and Corbett is mentored (somewhat) by Komansky.
Britt’s mentoring started in “Loneliest Place,” in which he takes certain measures to select Gallagher and then ascertain him militarily, mentally, and emotionally as the new commander of the 918th and when he does, Gallagher gets his eagles. In this episode, Britt’s mentoring can be seen, but it is subtle: When Gallagher meets with Britt and two British air officers to discuss unsuccessful bombings of Hagensburg, Britt listens to Gallagher’s confession that it’s his Achilles heel, and then his alternate plans to accomplish the job, with a slight smile on his lips and knowing eyes. “His boy” is coming along nicely, at least for now; Gallagher will need advising in the future and he eventually advised enough to start fighting back: “my pilots, my rules,” he more or less tells Britt in future episodes (“Grant Me No Favor”). Gallagher is mentoring Komansky, though the prickly sergeant may not be aware of Gallagher’s efforts to help him. Finally, Komansky is Corbett’s mentor. Komansky mentors to a degree; he’s new at this work—he sympathetically speaks to the upset boy (“C’mon Corbett, you did okay”) after the training mission in which Corbett brought down a German pilot. When mentoring becomes “baby-sitting” Komansky rejects the job, but finally takes up his responsibilities—with some success. Corbett has too many problems and still too young with too big of an innocent ego to be helped easily. He won’t listen to Komansky’s advice, and makes mistakes right up to the end.
“Mentoring” actually derives from the character of Mentor, who travels with young Telemachus as he seeks news of his long absent father Odysseus (The Odyssey, Books I-II). In “reality,” Mentor is the goddess Athene, who loves Odysseus and protects his son as well. In the original saga, Telemachus, after seeking news of his father in the court of Menelaus, returns home. In its extension, The Adventures of Telemachus, The Son of Ulysses (1699) Telemachus and Mentor (still Athene is disguise) has a full set of adventures– everything from unwise love to commanding armies. But these adventures are not told for the sheer qualities of the adventure; rather, the work was meant to be a “mirror for princes,” and was created by Fenelon, a priest and preceptor to the Duc de Burgogne, grandson of Louis XIV, and heir presumptive of the throne of the “Sun King.” Supposedly the young duc was so inspired by the saintly Fenelon and by the book that he was intending to be a great king—but was felled by smallpox when only nineteen. Telemachus, a young prince himself, undergoes challenges to his strength, but even greater challenges to his goodness, his fairness, his morality, his faith. Nearly all of these adventures are guided by Mentor, who constantly counsels the young man, points out what he should learn, what he should reject, how he should behave, and the wiser decision to make. Telemachus by turns fights his advice, gladly receives it, and seeks to listen and learn. Telemachus finishes his adventure the complete equal of his father, and prepared to take the throne of Ithaca.
-“am I to be a babysitter?”
During a second training maneuver over Scotland, when Corbett unexpectedly brings down a German fighter, and is unable to help a fellow crewmember with his wounds the reality of the war is plain to him. When Sandy tries to assure him, he tearfully asks “to talk to my commanding officer,” and Joe, revealing his compassion, come to him in the body of the Piccadilly Lily. He makes his miserable, embarrassed confession about his age to Gallagher (crying like the child he still truly is), he is sedated, taken to the base hospital, and the seniors decide what to do. As always, 12 0CH brings in realistic touches about the war: Gallagher worries how the Nazis would exploit his story; “not to mention the lobbyists in Washington,” Frank Stovall adds as he and Gallagher discuss his case. Interestingly, Stovall will soon present his own age problem as he, an overaged pilot, tries to take on combat duty in “Storm at Twilight.”
Komansky and the doctor arrive to help with the strange case and Gallagher decides that Komansky will take “protective custody” of Corbett until they can get him home safely. Komansky is appalled, and the first flicker of his anger sends Doc Kaiser out of the room: “Excuse me,” he says quickly, and leaves the two men together. Komansky redefines protective custody as “baby sitting” and exposes his embarrassment about bringing Corbett in—“he was a good gunner,” he says trying to defend his attitude, but Gallagher points out that being a friend to the boy does not start or end with him being a good gunner—and that Komansky is only thinking about himself again. Would a sergeant stand up to a colonel this way? Dramatically, it’s great; realistically, I wonder. . . But Gallagher is willing to go out on a limb for his aggravating sergeant; they have been bonded by combat and growing trust, and Gallagher senses Komansky’s potential, as Britt sensed Gallagher’s potential–and more or less encouraged him to get “over-indulged” to deal with his guilt in “Loneliest Place.”
-“he’s almost a man”
At the base hospital, before they have time to isolate him, Steve’s well-meaning cousin then spills the beans on Corbett, and exposes his age to the rest of the guys in the ward, who have a good laugh, baby talk him, calling him “snookums” and saying “get him some toy guns from the PX and so he can play cowboy.” Startlingly, the voice of William Christoper who played the saintly “Father Mulcahy” in MASH comes up with a teasing remark, as he crutches away to the cafeteria. Corbett takes it for a while, then suddenly declares he wants to eat with the rest of the men and leaves—in reality, he is running away—and runs to Archbury to the motherly woman and her sisterly daughter at the pub (“he can stay in my brother’s room,” she offers as though all Steve had to do was leave his duties). Like a kid, he’s thinking only of himself, in the moment, not of the consequences—which sounds familiar. When Komansky, dawdling in the outer office of Operations (perhaps feeling guilty for turning his back on Steve), learns what Steve has done, and how the men in the ward laughed at him, his protective instincts are aroused: calling the other men “thickheaded gold bricks” (in real life he would have used harsher language, including the m-f word, I imagine), he demands “Do they think it’s some kind of mistake to be a kid?” opening another window into his own past. He takes off to go help someone who needs him although the kid doesn’t know how much and maybe never does.
-“I’ve turned my back . . .” The scene between Komansky and Corbett at the pub is tough, yet with a tender edge to it. Komansky finally gets Steve to come out of hiding; and he comes out, but asks for a second chance to prove himself—he must have heard Komansky admitting to Mrs. Denby that “I didn’t laugh at him—but I tried to sweep him under the rug.” He probably really tuned in when he heard Komansky separate his age from his skills: “a great gunner can save your bacon up there.” Komansky, with a hand holding the young man’s tie (standing in for his throat throat), gives him the facts about the troubles he is causing, and refuses to take pity on Steve’s desire to go back up in the air again: “I want to show I can do it without crying or bawling.”
Corbett won’t listen—he just wants what he wants. Komansky, nevertheless, catches a glimpse of himself in Steve—and sees better motivation. He admits, perhaps for the first time, that he too lied about his age to enlist (“I was older, but not by much”) and he joined not to fight Germans but to get away from “school, the cops, the whole bit.” (A bit of mid-sixties youth revolt getting into a wartime setting?—anyway, I figure Komansky must have enlisted pre-war; maybe 1938 at the earliest.) He finally admits to a terrible failing: that he has turned his back on countless guys (including, perhaps, General Savage, because he seemed not that upset when the man died; his real anger toward Gallagher was over being “abandoned”) and that he tried to turn his back on Steve too. Several future episodes feature Komansky redeeming himself by not turning his back on others who really need him, such as Ray Zemler in “Back to the Drawing Board,” and helping a pilot from stubbornly destroying himself in “The Survivor.” In so doing, he also displays qualities of the “good shepherd,” though more subtly than Gallagher. But Corbett does not really listen, does not really understand, or does not care about Sandy’s exposure of his past and his failings—he’s too young to know or to care about the critical problem he is causing.
Komansky’s confession has little impact on him, and Komansky probably does not realize how little. Actually, Corbett will even betray Komansky’s trust and his good turn–the sergeant covers for Corbett’s error, telling Gallagher, when they return to Operations, “that I found him on the road—he wasn’t off base.” Gallagher accepts his story but his words to Stovall, after Komansky and Corbett leave (“put this young man to bed” are his paternal-sounding orders), indicates he knows it isn’t the truth. “I’ve never known Komansky to lie, even to save his own skin” he tells Stovall, but pleased that Komansky put his own honesty into question by covering things up to help the young man. Stovall agrees that Komansky has had a “breakthrough.”
-“turn you over my knee and paddle you”
Corbett has not! Comes the dawn, he has somehow sneaked out, charmed his way, or simply walked out (betraying his cousin as well), and has run away again from his responsibilities. He gets onto the Piccadilly Lily and identifies himself as one of the gunners. The Lily is in the air when the cousin discovers “Stevie” missing and informs Stovall who radios the plane. There’s no turning back; the specialized, carefully timed and set-up raid on Hagensburg is on. (This situation is repeated in “25th Mission” and “The Hollow Man.”)
When Komansky finds Corbett, the other gunners defend him—but Komansky has had enough and threatens to resort to physical violence, which may be the one thing never tried on Corbett: in an embarrassing image, Komansky threatens to “turn you over my knee and paddle you”– and leaves him, with that threat, in the radio room. Of course—the kid proves his mettle during the mission when BOTH waist gunners go down when the fighters swarm up. It had to happen, but how else could you climax this plot?—particularly since he was, after all, a good kid, and a good gunner, just immature as hell. The radio gunner is wounded so he escapes and when he sees what is happening, he takes on both sides, and Old One Thousand “saves the bacon” of the Piccadilly Lilly and its crew. Gallagher says, in awe, “I guess that kid is back there shooting.” Redemption? You bet—he hangs in, and he saves lives. The plant getting clobbered becomes secondary. I’m glad that poor Corbett is not killed; that would have been very sad as well as creating a potential scandal for the Army Air Force. And, storywise in a 55-minute melodrama like 12 0CH the kid had to triumph. It’s a tainted triumph though, similar to many other triumphs in the show—so many times a victory has a terrible price of planes and men. The better victory is conquering some lack in yourself—a lack of maturity (“The Jones Boys”), a lack of real self-identity (“Decoy”), a lack of self-control (“Cross-Hairs on Death”).
” . . . one who can shave”
The epilogue: After the mission, on the tarmac, beneath the eyes of the “painted lady” Piccadilly Lily (which he managed to save) Steve Corbett accepts his dressing down from Gallagher, who himself brings up the embarrassing image of paddling him like a child. At the end, he says “Yes sir,” salutes, and walks away (clumping awkwardly in his flight boots) and there is a feeling that he won’t run away anymore. True, the MPs have him, but there is a new maturity in his face and he will accept a military responsibility—of taking orders, which he has not done successfully yet. He is becoming a true soldier–and an adult– as he is being escorted out. Accepting responsibility is one of the ways you can prove you are an adult. Komansky also gained in his own reaching for adulthood (not just manhood) by finally completing an act of responsibility for another person. Doc Kaiser rather unnecessarily says “I guess you’re glad now you had him along.” Well, yes, which is why I sometimes object to the at times too-tidy, predictable finishes of some of the episodes (in “Storm at Twilight” the overaged Stovall similiarly “saves the day.”) Gallagher, revealing his kindness and decency, asks Komansky to write up the report, and that he is going to recommend Corbett’s promotion, and nominate him for a Silver Star—he just wants it on the boy’s record; Corbett will never get these tangible rewards, nor does he really deserve them. In a refreshing bit of humor, Gallagher asks him to find another gunner—“one who can shave,” and Komansky can summon up a smile as he salutes. He knows the Colonel is not laughing at him.
One has to assume that Komansky has learned a lesson about mentoring—the “mentee” has to listen!—and he could learn a lot if he does. He has and he will, though not without lapses and goofs, even late in the game, such as when he insults Dula in “Long Time Dead,” but these qualities and events are what make Komansky such an interesting character. So, in conclusion, both “mighty hunters,” like Nimrod, did not complete their towers. Steve Corbett faces an unsure future, and Komansky still has a ways to go. Fortunately, Komansky has Colonel Gallagher, who will continue to help him make progress.
“The Idolater”
Writer: Gustave Field
Director: Laslo Benedick
The simple title, which contrasts with the multiple-word previous three titles, is still rich in meaning: rather than simply meaning “a worshipper of idols,” the word also suggests “excessive worship” as in placing too much faith and devotion in the deity. It also suggests excessive dancing, singing, incense and prayers offered to the deity—which, in Judaic-Christian-Islamic beliefs, is a false god, a graven image. The more deeply the word is inquired into, particularly in the story of this episode, and in the character of First Lieutenant Josh McGraw, exactly who the “idol” is becomes more and more complex.
At first thinking that McGraw was idolizing Gallagher, I realized that McGraw was attempting to smash an idol—or seek idolatry for himself as he seems to expect from his crew. He does not realize that an “idol” is essentially empty and the only powers it possesses are those imagined by the worshipper. As always, 12OCH proves itself a character-driven show, and this character becomes more and more deeply ambivalent, and his death at the end is equally ambivalent. As long as we are in religious themes, Biblical connotations have their place in this analysis: beyond the declaration of the Ten Commandments, “thou shalt not make unto graven images,” we have the names of Josh for Joshua, who is Moses’ lieutenant, and eventually is responsible for turning the Israelites into an army, and beginning their conquests for the “promised land.” The name Joseph, in contrast, identifies two non-military men: first, Joseph and his brothers. The jealous brothers cast him into a pit and then fearful of his death, sell him to traders who carry him into Egypt where after years of servitude and imprisonment, he finally gains position and glory as the pharaoh’s trusted man—and saves Egypt from a famine—and then welcomes his brothers with the open arms of forgiveness. Joseph is also Mary’s husband, and Jesus’s foster father, who protected the child by taking him and Mary into Egypt, and taught the boy carpentry.
The names are telling as Lt. Josh McGraw attempts to turn himself into a hero as quickly as possible, and Colonel Gallagher tries to protect him, tries to teach him, and tries to reach him, by saying “I’ll make you better than me.” Josh is more like Joshua, as a leader of people in a spectacular victory (“And the walls [of Jericho] come a-tumbling down”) and, as will be considered later, another Samson, the long-haired hero (and sun-deity) from the Book of Judges. This episode is the first to really feature Joe as the “good shepherd” who leads his flock to safe (or at least safer) pastures.
Oh, that’s heavy stuff!—actually, by the end of the episode, and in keeping with there being frequent changes in titles from something simple, to something more complex, I decided that an alternative (and highly improbable) title would be “Bridges, Bombs, Baseball, and Bingo.” Actually, the full version of this alternative title was “The Bible, Bridges, Bombs, Baseball, Bingo, and a Bastard.” The Bible is for biblical references, and the bridges and the bombs (and the bastard) are self-explanatory, as the 918th is appointed to bomb five vital bridges in Poland with McGraw contributing. “Bingo” is the name of the fifth bridge, the one that Josh McGraw takes out in spectacular fashion, and the name of a gambling game. Finally, baseball is the image that Joe Gallagher invokes in the episode. Both bingo and baseball are games, which is how Josh McGraw are respectively treating the war in a way, as his own personal field of glory. But bingo and baseball are different sorts of games, with different objectives and different methods of playing (the gambling motif figures in “Grant Me No Favor” as well and the words “game” and “gambling” constantly recur). Josh sees his job as a pilot as “Bingo”—big chances and big rewards for doing relatively little–and Gallagher sees his much tougher job of command in terms of a baseball game. Bingo is a gambler’s game—not as money-sucking and complex as cards and more calculating than slot machines, but the player is, by putting down money, and getting a numbered card, and trying to match the numbers, is betting against a faceless machine, and a faceless process—something akin to worshipping an idol. There is competition against other players; but it’s really only naked personal (and passive) competition against a soulless hopper which spits out the number. Baseball, obviously is a competition as well, but it is a complex, ever-evolving, every-game-is-different tournament between two teams of players, with the players relying on their skills, and following the rules, not just luck or the gods of fate. I personally know little about baseball, and rely on others’ understanding and fascination with the game to create and enhance a basic understanding: that baseball can teach you fair play, democracy, and about life itself. I am not kidding about democracy; I read somewhere that MacArthur, or one of the generals of the occupational army refused to punish the Japanese by refusing to let them play baseball, or besoboru. “It will teach them about democracy,” the person claimed, as the Japanese people came out from under the warlord Tojo’s (mis)rule. Being that I loathed playing sports of this kind–when I was forced to play softball in grade school I was always in the outfield and hoped a ball would never come my way; and suffered the embarrassment of laughter and sneers when, after I actually made a sputtering contract with ball on bat and ran for the first base, carrying the bat—and it was a foul anyway! Rant over, I still don’t quite get baseball, but I get its meaning and importance. Gallagher wants to get McGraw onto the team and helping them to win out against the enemy, but all McGraw wants to do is gamble on success. He’s a savvy gambler at times too—a river showboat gambler, taking some outrageous chances.
But, despite all these references from Bible to gaming, this episode really recalls All About Eve, Bette Davis’s last great starring role as Margo Channing, the consummate Broadway star, and whose star is beginning to dim. Eve is Margo Channing’s ambitious secretary, who cleverly undermines the star every chance she gets—she steals her parts, her man, her writer, and finally her starring life. Eve is clever; McGraw is a little more bumbling, and they both get caught demonstrating their ambition (Eve wearing a costume and curtseying to a pretend audience and Josh studying the Poland bridges map) and they both make bold strikes in their own particular warzones. Gallagher is no Margo Channing, and spends most of the episode navigating people, lovers, issues, problems. The bombing runs are full of flak, and, on the ground, flak explodes from professional duties and personal issues that get pretty tightly bound together. This episode also recalls “Then Came The Mighty Hunter,” in the individual’s self-centered qualities. Steve Corbett’s self-centeredness comes from heedless youth, while the older McGraw’s stems from something uglier, some fixation that he heaps on Gallagher and has been unable to outgrow, which is somewhat akin to the fraternal combat in the upcoming “The Jones Boys.” Also, Gallagher once more casts himself as a mentor-helper to McGraw, as he is with Komansky. And, in comparison and in contrast with Komansky, McGraw proves to be intractable, unable to grow, or defiantly turns down the chance.
-“that should get their attention” The episode opens with B-17s coming in, only these are not back from the aerial front lines; these are replacement crews coming into the 918th. Despite his crew’s expectations of him, McGraw willfully ignores the tower radioing him, even to taking off his earphones—he’s going to meet a friend from childhood days, who everybody told him to look up to. Even with a red light on the tower, he comes in, and buzzes the field—at not a good time. His landing, by the way, gives us—supposedly—an aerial view of the rather pastoral 918th base, which is usually viewed in small snippets of Operations, the tower, the hospital, Quonset huts, and fairly tight shots of crews getting on or getting off their planes, trying to hide the fact that they are filming in warm, sunny, semi-desert California, near Chino. The base is waiting for returning bombers, and the lead man, Captain Newman, has trouble. At the moment, all is orderly.
A crisply uniformed Komansky crisply knocks at Gallagher’s open door with the message about his lead pilot, coming in from a mission. Gallagher is relieved, knowing that at least Newman is still alive. Then disorder sets in: both look up as the base is buzzed by the smirking McGraw, and while Gallagher peers out with field glasses, Komansky gets the tower—and the pilot is told to report immediately. “Well, if that didn’t get their attention, nothing will,” says the co-pilot as they land. McGraw is unworried, and sails into Gallagher’s office with old pal aplomb—and Gallagher is delighted as Komansky ushers him in—an old friend is good to see and to break up the tension of waiting. –Where is Major Stovall, by the way?—probably taking a well-deserved vacation; in the previous episode he remarked, upon Gallagher giving him important instructions, “No sleep tonight, huh?” In his absence, it looks as though Komansky has taken on being the duty sergeant, another indication that he is growing more and more indispensible to Gallagher—and is preparing to be his aide which seems to be the case (as in punishment) after “Show Me A Hero.” And we need an “ear” for the exposition;Komansky is frequently called upon to provide this ear, particularly if Gallagher is winding up the episode on the flightdeck.
-“I pulled a few strings”
Gallagher explains to Komansky that McGraw’s dad was adjutant to Gallagher’s dad, and the two grew up together. (Is there a kind of evil/good twin relationship going on here?—after all, both their names start with “Jo”—Jo/seph and Jo/sh). Komansky’s observation is rather acerbic: “There’s a lot of second generation rank in here sir.” He is still distrustful of officers; his eyes, switching back and forth from Gallagher to McGraw indicates he has little use for latter, and maybe losing some respect for the former who is being too nice to an old friend willfully ignoring safety operations. How did McGraw get to the 918th?—“I pulled a few strings,” he tells Gallagher, telling how General Britt, and his daughter Martha came in on the plan—and casting himself as a puppeteer, a rather godlike figure controlling the movements of wooden subordinates (his plan all along).
The auld lang syne breaks up and off when Newman’s plane comes in—lands, pivots badly, and explodes. (This is the first time this season that the clip from Command Decision is used; it will be over-used before long, and oh, for CGI!—how it would improve matters.) As the flames crackle, Gallagher controls his shocked face and his pain over the loss of another pilot, in this case, one of his best, for he was a leader. (This crack up previews McGraw’s own crack-up and perhaps inspires him …) Joe then goes into action—and tells Josh “you can buzz my field again after 25 missions,” and leaves, with Komansky following. Josh stays behind, in Gallagher’s chair, seeming to take a test drive. For a first lieutenant, he has big plans—but has no sense of the responsibility that Gallagher has assumed and is dealing with. It’s an interesting pre-vision of one of his most famous roles, of the semi-tragic Gary on “Where No Man Has Gone Before,” in Star Trek. Like Josh, this Gary is an old friend of Kirk, and a conniver, as he steered a woman Kirk’s way in order to distract him. He is endowed with incredible power, grows arrogant and godlike and of course, fails soon after making Kirk kneel to him.
-“just to dinner, Joe, just to dinner!”
Plot exposition—at the old country manor house which is now used for American operations. Gallagher is called in to consult with a new series of missions in Poland–to compensate for the delay in opening the second front as Stalin kept demanding the Western Allies to do) and indicates that he is more than just friends with a beautiful woman officer, Captain Phyllis Vincent, who “does something” at Operations. (She seems to sit with papers in front of her, but she does courier duty to London at a point in the story. At least her hair looks a little fortyish!—the women in this tv series usually look pretty sixtyish. She will reappear, with better duties and a more contemporary hairstyle in “The Outsider.”) Well, anyway, she is Gallagher’s love interest (in four episodes, he kisses three individual women!), and this time she is an American (a former Miss America no less—Lee Meriwether, Miss America, 1957), and a WAC captain.
After he learns of the mission—to strike five bridges in Poland—Gallagher comments he feels he is flying for the Russian air force. Britt brings in the larger picture; they are responding to Stalin’s call for strengthening the front in Russia in lieu of a second front in Europe. Gallagher a little too cleverly renames the difficult Polish bridge names as “1, 2, 3, 4—and “bingo.” In the meantime, at Joe’s urging, because he will be late, his friend Josh is trying to play bingo with Phyllis, as they have beer at the Star and Bottle (I think they should be drinking from pint glasses, not mugs.) He begins subtly undermining Gallagher—“you’re different from anybody else he’s ever been with,” he remarks. When they finally leave, the German photo-recon zooms by—“Bedcheck Charlie,” she remarks, and they are physically thrown together when he drops a bomb—which seems to do little damage or create much excitement in Archbury, but maybe that is just stiff upper lip behavior. McGraw and Phyllis kiss—she is not exactly willing, but is rightfully curious about this character. Gallagher actually sees this moment, but revealing his “Joseph in Egypt” character, who forgives his brothers despite their terrible treatment, he merely calls for them to get into his Jeep. To his questions about where they were going, “Just to dinner Joe, just to dinner,” Phyllis replies, knowing and embarrassed.
If McGraw takes umbrage at Gallagher’s observation—“How long you been wearing lipstick Josh?”–he would probably smirk. So the rest of the episode goes, with Gallagher taking flak, dodging flak, being struck with flak, but always steady on course in his job of holding 918th together as a fighting unit. Refreshingly, the usual flak-throwing Komansky does not contribute; his single line in Act III, “I’m sorry sir!” as he fails to bar Josh from barging into Joe’s office seems the only time someone apologizes to Joe during all his travails, that stem out of professional behavior and some personal misjudgments which stem from him trying to be a fair, compassionate, and team-building commander.
-“he’s trying to slit your throat”
Showing good professional sense, Joe steadfastly breaks up Josh’s aircrew (“we’re good Joe, we’re good” Josh protests, and they are) to give them experience with veteran pilots. Mission one, he is the pilot; mission two, Gallagher is co-pilot. He also takes no action against McGraw even after Phyllis Vincent twice warns him that McGraw is going behind his back when she observes him studying the bridge map at headquarters, remarking “Joe’s tired,” and covering up by assuring Britt he is waiting for Martha to call, using her to soften the man’s face and feelings. “He’s trying to slit your throat” Phyllis finishes when she corners Gallagher in his office, after he forgot to call her. He apologizes, but that is all. As Joe tells her when they meet at the Star and Bottle, they are free, that, is, free to see other people if they wish, and she smiles at this—but does she have something more permanent in mind? Gallagher with incredible godlike patience says “McGraw is a good pilot and I need him” and even chides her for carrying tales. No wonder, halfway through the episode, he is pouring patrician brandy into his cup of coffee at the Star and Bottle (though it may have been killing the taste of wartime British coffee!).
-“I choose to believe McGraw . . . “
Act III: Well, on to complete the mission. Carrying the name “Bingo 1” Josh takes his chances—and his crew—on his own mission to bomb the fourth bridge, while the rest of the 918th proceeds to the third bridge: “I’m going to get a bridge of my own,” he announces, and when his co-pilot both approves and disapproves of his actions, Josh announces “who’s going to make me a liar for sixty miles?” This sequence is interesting for the uninformed viewer—an ongoing concern is keeping the formation together, and steady: it seems hard to believe that they could a lose a plane that big, but apparently it might happen in the pilot or navigator fouled up the heading. “Get one for McGraw!” he announces upon the successful bombing, belying his supportive crew. “I’d like to see Gallagher’s face when he hears of this.” Gallagher’s face is impassive during debriefing as McGraw arrogantly-humbly describes his success. He probably already knows he has to answer to General Britt, and he does, being called into his office, where Britt awaits, twiddling his cane, which he uses for a variety of purposes, including a mock salute to McGraw later on. He is the picture of flouted authority.
This scene brings up a point that I have learned over the years—that no matter how old you get, or the authority you attain, there are always mistakes to be made, misjudgments to own up to, and to be answered for to a higher authority–Joe will face this in “Grant Me No Favor” and “Falling Star.” Gallagher is being called on the carpet—which he handles with aplomb but aplomb is not enough. Calling the affair “Two missions for one,” and he says he “chooses to believe McGraw.” Britt knows better—he does not accuse Gallagher, but points out that unchecked insubordination leads to more trouble—and it has. Gallagher has let his professional and personal priorities get mixed up, and even though he attempted to cultivate McGraw’s abilities by choosing to be supportive of him, it’s backfiring. When McGraw comes sailing in, with a friendly salute to his would-be-father-in-law, Britt snaps a “Congratulations!” at him which indicates how angry he is—anger that he does not want to take out on Joe, his hand-selected colonel.
-“do you remember . . . you hid my glove?”
Joe has a heart to heart with McGraw—in that kind of dramatic conversation that impels plot, and clears up a lot of things, the kind of conversation we frequently wish we could have in real life—only things are not being cleared up, they are getting worse. In his conversation with McGraw Joe puts forth the two controlling images: baseball (“do you remember when we were six, you hid my glove, and how sore you were when I found it?”) and gambling “(you’re gambling, and gamblers, sooner or later, lose”). It seems a little silly for Gallagher to be recalling an incident some 25 years before (having his baseball glove hidden! How traumatic!) but there are incidents in my own young life that stay with me—you wonder why, until years later, they suddenly make sense—you know why you weren’t merely angry, you were hurt or you could not understand why that person is acting so. That incident had obviously bothered Gallagher for years and it’s becoming clear—McGraw has always wanted to trip him up, pull him down, make him look bad. Gallagher offers to be a baseball manager to McGraw (“I’ll help you to surpass me”) evoking the moment in “Then Came the Mighty Hunter” when he describes part of his job is helping his men grow.
But, it doesn’t work, and McGraw sails off to test his damaged plane—actually a covering action; there was nothing wrong with his plane, as he claimed) and decides, in his flourishing arrogance, to bring down “Bedcheck Charlie” which HQ exploits to take misleading photos. His new act of insubordination is called in to Gallagher when he is taking heat from Britt at headquarters—and Britt, the foiled mentor, who is beginning to sense that not only Gallagher but he himself has been taken for a ride by McGraw, is livid.
-“General, please!”
Gallagher does not demand but pleads for Britt’s permission to let him handle it—it’s his base, it’s his men, but he knows from bitter experience in “Rx” that does not necessarily mean he is in charge (“General, please!” he begs, with a taut face and alarmed eyes; they match Komansky’s fearful face when he beholds the livid Gallagher in “Rx”) and Britt backs down from taking on Gallagher’s work, and lets him take charge, as he wanted him to do in “Loneliest Place.” But Gallagher still has to learn to forego his personal feelings when a decision must be made about the abilities of a pilot. There’s a second heart to heart between Joe and Josh—started when the co-pilot has tipped Gallagher off to Josh’s secret agenda, with proof in Josh’s note. Joe still gives Josh a chance to talk before turning him over to the general. Josh still smirking, still defiant; still two-faced; “I’ll call my father, he’ll drop one word,” and “you’ll hold me back” and that Joe is perfect–
Joe, of course, calls his bluff, telling him that he “came over to prove something to his family and his friends,” “you’ve been trying to climb over me,” and “that I’ve made plenty of mistakes.” One mistake might be is that he pulls out photos of his lead pilots—who were good, but they are now dead. Joe perhaps makes another mistake by telling Josh that he is a gifted pilot, and he needs gifted pilots. Josh finally backs down, and admits to some of the truth of Joe’s words. Then, and only then, does Joe turn him over to the General, who, though a possible future father in law, does not mince his words. He calls McGraw immature, and, as always, injects a note of reality, this time economic: he is risking a quarter-million dollar airplane—as well as the lives of his crew. Britt also brings in another picture of war—that a good pilot not only “showboats” but he also deals with boredom and fatigue. Chastened—or is he?—McGraw and the general emerge from Joe’s office, and gives Joe the decision. McGraw asks to stay on. At this point, a sappy, sentimental version of the 12OCH theme rises up—maybe to lead the viewers into an “Aww, that’s great,” moment. McGraw is going to reform, or at least to begin to reform like Komansky. Act IV proves the moment wrong.
“-Fly us out of here! Fly us out of here!”
Act IV: The next morning, in formation, planes rumble on toward the Bingo Bridge. Flak is bad, the turbulence is playing havoc with the mission. Josh McGraw, despite everything, is in command of his own plane, which is unfortunate (another mistake on Gallagher’s part?). He’s not the lead plane, but he is in command of his own ship again. What happens next is dense and muddled—muddled because the story is moving too fast, or that Josh McGraw’s character is so cryptic?—is it deliberately ambiguous?–which matches McGraw. Bingo 6, observed by Komansky, veers off. McGraw reports trouble; his engineer feathers an engine. Joe’s co-pilot remarks “he’s like the little boy who cried wolf.” They start going down into the flak. Soon they are really in trouble. He orders the crew to bail.
McGraw’s co-pilot yells “Fly us out of here! Fly us out of here!”—which McGraw probably could have, but dumps his crews into enemy territory, and elects to fly on alone, aiming at the tunnel to the bridge—the bombs have missed and Gallagher figures they will have to return—McGraw once more gives them “two missions for one” and crashes the plane right on target. Redemptive as all get out, I would say! But is it? Maybe Josh is looking down the tunnel of his life, and sees only darkness from behind and in front. The one flickering light is the grand, crazy gesture. The idol he tried to smash turned out to be more than simply what he thought it was; Gallagher has god-like qualities of forgiveness and forbearance, and for seeking the best for all, like his namesake in Exodus. The anger that has seemed to fuel Josh for years has dissipated, but what is left seems to be empty man, a tunnel. There’s nothing left, at least the way he sees it. Josh makes his gallant farewell speech, as if he has prepared for it for years—though there may be some truth in it: “I am not sore at anybody anymore, not even myself,” he claims, but even now he may be lying as he sends himself away in a flourish. “If I make it, I’ll send you a postcard, and if I don’t, remember my name.” It seems as if he wants Joe Gallagher to pull his name or his picture out of desk drawer and wave them in somebody’s face as an example of a great pilot, who is also now a dead pilot. Even him getting his men out of the plane before crashing it is ambiguous; perhaps even in death he wants his name only to be remembered. I end up thinking, “what is it with this guy?”
-“if . . . bad things only happened to our enemies”
I can’t quite get to the bottom of his problems, which is maybe how the story was to play out. War brings out strange things in people; good things, bad things; a desire to live, a thirst for glory, thrills of combat, a chance to make a difference somehow. Some men never let their combat days go, and may end up matching beers and stories at the local VFW for the rest of their days. Some men will walk away, closing that chapter of their life, and keeping their medals in a drawer, as my Dad did, and I can see Joe surely doing. Josh has some kind of neurosis that was either propelled by or roused to idolatry and hatred by the war as he observed a childhood friend of his own age pulling way ahead of him and not being able to think or realize that such a position entails strains and hardship and heartache. He’s left a lot of heartache behind as Joe loses a friend (as well as an enemy) and yet another pilot. The unseen Martha has also been left behind, and General Britt will probably never tell her that she had been just another stepping stone for McGraw. Though the Russian officer makes a kind of toast to the hero, Britt laments for him: “if in war the bad things only happened to our enemies.“ This story and this theme will play out again in “The Outsider,” in which the pilot is more feckless and more likable than McGraw, but still, the center of his problem cannot be identified.
Finally, to return to Biblical references, he reminds me of Samson, whose incredible strength is akin to Josh’s “gift for flying.” As Samson’s incredible strength made him enemies and was responsible for his fall, so was Josh’s gift which he selfishly tried to use for himself, rather than for all. Finally, both fell, gloriously, with the ruined Samson destroying the idol and Josh destroying the tunnel to the missed bridge—which describes his life in some ways.
“We’re Not Coming Back”
Writer: Philip Saltzman, Daniel B. Gordon
Director: Jerry Hopper
This rather jauntily titled episode makes a welcomed departure from Season II’s first four grim episodes addressing the burdens of command; the loss of friends; the horrific experience of seeing the 918th riddled from without and from within by saboteurs and counter-intelligence; mentoring offered and mentoring betrayed; weeping fifteen year old boys; murdered sergeants; and pictures of pilots being removed from the org chart. Instead, “We’re Not Coming Back” escapes the emotional turmoils—at least in England—to begin adventures in Yugoslavia, North Africa, and over France; an important strategic bombing plan is shown to work; Joe has an unexpected family reunion; they help win a battle in North Africa, Gallagher and Komansky’s partnership deepens with mutual respect and loyalty; and P-51 bombers are introduced as an important new weapon in the air war—but not without Komansky’s jinx quality creating some problems.
And there is a problem with this episode in that it was and still is apparently telecast way out of alignment with other episodes, which is strange, considering its scheduling was crucial–it kicked off a three-part series of episodes. My thoughts on its weird scheduling will be discussed–and maybe explained along the way is why, in my “12 OClock High Awards” I nominate this one as Season II’s worst episode–though enjoyable! In this episode, the emotional turmoils are given over to a hardy but squabbly band of Yugoslavian partisans while Gallagher and his crew have an adventure-packed 24 hours on the ground to repair the Lily and continue their mission.
King Arthur and his knights depart Camelot for a quest—by which they inaugurate “shuttle raids” which were intended to create and draw a tighter net around Nazi Germany, and defend the honor of their demanding lady, The Piccadilly Lily. Shuttle raids were a reality in the European Theatre of Operations; but this episode is apparently not featuring a real or even a possible one. There were British shuttle raids from England to North Africa. The first one to Russia was conducted by the RAF in 1943, and the first American effort was in 1944, and dubbed “Operation Frantic”—the squadrons flew on to Russia for rest and refueling, before returning, and taking either supplies or bomb loads–and dramatized in “Massacre,” in Season III. A cursory check on Wikipedia does not reveal any American shuttles going to North Africa, although it is an intriguing idea, and perhaps we should consider that this important mission of the 918th as a dry run to see if such an idea could work. In any case, it gets the 918th out into the field (literally!) and some on the ground action with guerillas, in Yugoslavia.
This was no idle choice for a country for the “Miss Lily” to land in because it teemed with partisans fighting both the Nazis—and each other. After the Nazis conquered Yugoslavia, they divided it into weak mini-states, and then more or less departed with a token army in place. The cream was going to Operation Barberossa, the Russian campaign, while the dregs—the older, the sick, the disabled–went to Yugoslavia. The country was soon rent by civil war. The Partisans (note the capital P; that is a proper name, from the Spanish “partidos”) and the Chetniks, led by Mihailovich, were Nazi-fighting but took on each other, as their ideologies clashed. The Partisans, led by Tito, took the Communist Line, while the Chetniks were committed royalists, for King Peter, the deposed young king, in exile in England, and under the patronage of Winston Churchill. The mountainous country of Yugoslavia, was, in many ways, a perfect land for such warfare, with mountain passes and caverns within which to build redoubts. Now this is a very bald summation of the tortuous relationships in and between groups in perpetual clashes—yet indicates that partisans helping the downed crew of the Lily wasn’t just some war-film trope. Both sides helped American airmen, particularly in 1944 when nearly 250 downed airmen were hiding with the Chetniks after the terrible (and not terribly successful) air raids against the Ploesti oilfields.
Who was this group that the crew encountered in Yugoslavia? Chetnik or the Partisans led by Tito?—perhaps wisely, the script did not tackle that issue, the writers perhaps reasoning that too much was going on to address internal warfare, which is more bitter and ironic than two clearly identified groups, like the Allies and the Axis, slugging it out. Actually, and factually, they could not have been Chetniks because this group, following Russian Orthodox beliefs, wore beards, which was a sign of mourning for the departed; in this case King Peter and the nation itself. However, there was never any Communist creed being spilled or pictures of Tito or Joseph Stalin in the surprisingly homey caverns that they inhabit. Perhaps this group exists in a partisan lifestyle for survival and for any sabotage they can commit, including “nuisance raids.” The figurative mine field of guerilla warfare is indicated how Gallagher and his men are treated as both prisoners and enemies, rather than allies, even after the group decides to help them. But in their shadowy world, with daily fear and future in doubt, they could not have acted in any other fashion. We also don’t know (due to dates never really being identified; like television westerns, which always seem to be set sometime in the 1870s, 12 OCH seems perpetually in early and mid-1943–however, a Kasserine Pass reference in the upcoming “Big Brother,” and in “Show Me a Hero” a date of June 1943, and of course, “Gauntlet of Fire”‘s identification of the 6th of June 1944, and the assassination attempt on Hitler on 20 July 1944 finally pins down some specific dates) if the Allies were beginning to seek out and help the Partisans, because their support was needed for the Allied invasion from the Mediterranean area. Anyway, that is the historical and political mis-en-scene, so let the (very busy) story commence . . .
-“Boys, we’re not coming back”
Teaser: In this episode, the 918th penetrates 200 miles deeper into Germany than is thought possible to reach “Wesselhaven” (another German city that does not seem to exist.) As the episode begins, the formations are already in flight, and Komansky notifies crewmembers to gather in the radio room for a briefing—all the other pilots are probably doing the same, including Frank Bailey, who was one of Gallagher’s “rivals” for command of the 918th. (It’s good to know he is still alive, because Lt. Colonel Heindorf, also a rival, has been killed since then; Gallagher memorializes him in “The Idolater.”) Complete radio silence on this one—Gallagher tells them, after outlining their secret mission, “Boys, we’re not coming back,” and describes how shuttle raids will make the Nazis draw their defenses ever thinner. A straight-shootin’ southern boy grins and says “Right, by golly.” His name seems to be Hugo, and he must have had a bigger part of the story, but action is the keynote in “tonight’s episode” and his folksy humor gets reduced. If his scenes had not been cut, as I suspect they were, we may be better able to understand a humorous comment Komansky makes at the end of the episode.
-“All the way across Germany”
As the formation continues in the eastward flight, Komansky, usually rather taciturn, reveals his excitement: “All the way across Germany,” he says. “If the Krauts only knew”—an expression of his ancestral past of Poland?—which was the country most raped and terrorized by the Nazis, at least after Russia. They soon know, as the bombers keep flying over expected targets of Strasburg and Stuttgart. A period of back and forth scenes heightens the tension; the pilots and crew at their work, while “Somewhere in Germany” a cool and professional group of Nazi officers are tracking their movements. Something is different; a Colonel Falkenstein, played by Gunnar Hellstrom, declares that the “918th has had two secret meetings” (I don’t think it is explained how he knows, which suggests how much was snipped from this episode.) Colonel Falkenstein seems positive that they are only asking for trouble; and predicts they cannot get out of this one; and the anti-aircraft will get them. The surprise comes: the bombers release their payloads, and the formations pivot south. The officer scrambles and joins a training squadron, which includes some interesting “enemy footage” of pilots climbing into their fighters and taking off in pursuit of the 918th.
What follows is a riveting air chase and battle. Although familiar footage is used, the editing and the pacing are superb as the fighters chase the Flying Fortresses and they fight back, belly, nose, tail and waist gunners going at it. A new clip is seen—two Nazi fighters knocking into each other in mid-air and both are hurled to the ground, among the trees. I can’t help but wonder a bit if the whole story was built around that clip—creating hour-long episodes for a weekly series can be a grind, and writers look for inspiration. The clip is exciting, arresting, disturbing—that is a real event, rather than toy planes in a coordinated crash, and real young men (fighting for a rotten cause but they were still young) were killed. The Piccadilly Lily is having problems of her own. Gallagher’s co-pilot, Don Lowell, is hit. (Not to be snide, but being a co-pilot for Gallagher seems to guarantee death; this is the second in five episodes, and more are to come.) Before Komansky can take care of him, engine troubles start. Number 3 begins to fail and 4 begins to run hot. “We can’t go far on one wing sir,” Komansky says, and Gallagher turns operations over to Bailey, and takes the plane down to cool off the engines. He checks with the navigator to learn they are flying over Yugoslavia. –
“welcome to Yugoslavia”
On the ground, in contrast, blissfully drinking wine with a pretty peasant girl (dirndl, apron and all) a young and friendly German private resumes duty when he sees a B-17 flying overhead. “An American plane,” he says (although that far east, and in the hinterlands, would he recognize an American plane?). Well, anyway, a foreign plane has been sighted, and he hastens away from his “beloved” to sound the alarm at a local Nazi facility, which is a handy depot for supplies and technical support. (I wonder if they dressed a California highway or forest facility for this filming site.) Thankfully finding a field amidst the mountainous terrain, Gallagher brings the Piccadilly Lily in for a rough landing. Komansky, wide-eyed but non-plussed, looks around, and says, “Welcome to Yugoslavia.” So concludes a busy and violent Act I, and North Africa is far away.
-“we have to protect Miss Lily”
Act II commences with Gallagher making quick decisions about their next steps as they sort out the sudden disruption in plans (see also “Between the Lines” which I subtitle “What now?”)—and it’s easy, when you are watching a television series that you know will end on some positive note, you know they will get away. Yet what would have been like for real?—strange land, Nazi-held, and your means of getting away is damaged, who knows how badly—which emphasizes the point of the planes being called “fortresses”—they were built for a siege. Gallagher orders Captain Lowell to be carried to a nearby gully, and for the crew to take their standard equipment knives and start hacking brush and “cover Miss Lily here”—an interesting allusion to “Rx for a Sick Bird” when the Ilka Zradna pointed out that Gallagher always referred to a wounded plane as a “she.” Komansky, perhaps more practical but less adoring of Miss Lily, about why they aren’t blowing the plane up. Gallagher, her pilot (and figuratively her lover) defends her, acknowledging that the place is crawling with Krauts and “you can’t make a secret about a B-17 landing.” However, he thinks positively; they might be able to repair her, and tells Komansky, “From what I’ve heard, you’re the best shadetree mechanic in the whole 8th Air Force”—if you don’t understand the reference, it refers to repairs outside of a facility—the car is parked under a shadetree and the repairer goes to work. Komansky protests that he’s no magician, but Gallagher, as always, encourages him, and for the first time that we can see, a brief grin lights up Komansky’s face. Joe’s charm has worked a kind of miracle on the taciturn young sergeant, but more miracles are needed.
-“what did you just say?” – “I don’t know—it’s Ukranian”
Act II begins with Komansky leaving Miss Lily to find Gallagher ministering to Lowell in the gully, and reports on the wounded bird he is ministering to: he has to rewire the starters. They are suddenly surrounded by partisans who are used to moving quietly. Efficiently disarmed, Gallagher tries to disarm them: “Roosevelt! American! Colonel!” They are not impressed, not even with the code word, “Roosevelt” (it could be a Nazi trick). Hugo says, “Hey, Komansky, you know Polish, right?” His memory stirred, Komansky blurts a number of phrases in another tongue.
The partisans look at each other, and then motion for them to pick up Lowell and go with them. Then comes an odd moment and welcomed in all this sturm und drang. Gallagher asks Komansky, “what did you say?” “I don’t know,” Komansky admits. “It’s Ukranian. The fellow upstairs said it to his wife all the time.” “Well, let’s hope they loved one another,” Gallagher says, with some gallows humor. (Duffin and Mathes in 12OCH Logbook have Komansky speaking Polish.) This opens a window into Komansky’s past, suggesting crowded tenements and frustrated immigrants getting on as they can in a strange new world—which rather describes them at the moment. The viewer gets a growing impression of these two men’s deeply contrasting pasts, which is intensified by this episode being framed by “The Idolater” with Gallagher’s old friend of a privileged childhood, and “Big Brother” which presents a brother from Joe’s loving supportive family. An upcoming reference suggests yet another contrast: while Gallagher probably partly grew up on or considers himself an east-coaster, Komansky grew up on the west coast.
The partisans don’t understand Ukranian either, but probably figure that if they were Germans they would probably have a better ploy than that. They take the crew to a kind of staging ground where two subjects are addressed: food and sex. For once, food comes first. Hugo sniffs something—“I smell greens,” he remarks and goes after them. I wonder if the inner-city Komansky is thinking “What the heck are greens?” but is distracted by the domestic sight of drying laundry—including something dainty—which contrasts with all the testosterone on recent display. Komansky displays his occasional gaucheness by saying “I think they were expecting us,” and taking up a piece of female wear. This action provokes a shout from the lady, who defends her clothing with a rifle, though it is slung over her back. Gallagher, a West Point-bred gentleman officer, snaps at him to put that back and apologize. Komansky seems startled by his own bad manners, returns it and apologizes, and then observes the lady—a mature, dark-haired woman with her hair wrapped back in a scarf—observing Gallagher (I imagine she is ready for the sight of somebody new)—which is observed by a dark-haired hulking fellow who interferes.
“She likes you, I can tell,” Komansky remarks. “He doesn’t,” Gallagher responds, knowing that an unwanted triangle is beginning (which is the third romantic triangle involving Gallagher in five episodes and in this episode it is rather clumsily introduced and then never fully developed!). “Something like this happened to me in Oakland,” Komansky says, almost cheerfully. “He almost killed me.” He will reference Oakland again—one always thinks of the Lower East Side of New York as European immigrant ghettos, but the Bay Area in California was host to European immigrants too; I remember seeing a Serbo-Croat Meeting Hall in Berkeley. I also wonder about Hugo and the greens, which must launch a sub-story about Hugo feeding the crew something strange. This is one clue that this was “over-written episode”—and indeed, considering that they inaugurate shuttle raids, conduct an aerial battle, suffer damage and land, meet up with partisans, deal with their problems, conduct a raid on a Nazi depot for wire, repair the plane, and get out of there (which happens in approximately 24 hours) and have it done in approximately 55 television minutes, stuff had to go. The domestic problems of the partisans are rather murky and the relationships are not well developed; interesting situations such as the triangle between Mihail, Mara, and Joe are not exploited. In one scene, when Yellich, the leader of the group, speaks to Gallagher about “the war I fight”–the scene is cut badly, with Yellich suddenly walking away, with a moving speech probably cut. Also, the actor playing Mikhail, who though no star, had a respectable acting record, deserved more than the few bad lines he speaks, which once more indicates that probably a great deal was reduced.
-“he is so young”
The partisans take Captain Lowell into their caverns, which are roomy, rather well-furnished, and well-lighted for a cave—however, lighting for a tv series has to be done quickly, and so reality has to be sacrificed for speed. Gallagher and Komansky are also brought in, where they first see an older man at a table (the leader Yellich, an older man) eating and uninterested in anything but that, including an airplane coming down nearby and American prisoners being carried in. Gallagher sees the captain placed in the back chamber and tells the woman, “I need a doctor, a doctor!” His honest desperation cracks her reserve, because she speaks in English, “He is so young.” Her lament for all the young men in the war contrasts with Mara’s brutish “boyfriend” who speaks in English too, warning Gallagher not to romance her (“after war, we get marri-ed” he says.) The use of English, like the remarkably good lighting for a cave, is also for speed; you can’t have subtitles without slowing the action down. But maybe Yellich was a former professor, who knew English, as his daughter does, and his intellectualism makes him rise above both partisan groups. They don’t seem to have ideology, save for survival. But what are they doing out there? Conducting nuisance raids, but again, to what purpose? Oh, well . . .
-“a gift from my Polish grandfather”
In the first room, Yellich’s reserve cracks, but for other reasons, and in his odd exchange with Komansky may lie the key to understanding Yellich’s desire and the deal he finally makes with Gallagher: wire for his daughter’s safety and some kind of future for his blood. Komansky forcefully introduces himself: “My name is Komansky.” Yellich shows some interest: “Polish?” “No, sir, I’m American—but my grandfather was Polish.” Yellich regards him with interested eyes.
Sandy then takes out a pack of cigarettes, taps it, lets one fall, while talking about other cigarettes the guys have; Yellich unashamedly seizes it and then snatches the whole pack. “Well, take it all,” Sandy says, but then offers his valuable Zippo lighter for the “peace pipe” so to speak, and, wise to Yellich, gracefully snatches it back in time—but then offers it as a gift: “From my Polish grandfather,” he says. A wheel has been greased, and the leader suddenly declares himself ready to talk with the American colonel. This is one of three times Komansky deals with cigarettes; his first and only “puff” occurs in the final episode, “The Hunters and the Killers,” when he snags a light from a seaman admiring his would-be date, and then instantly snatches it from his mouth, suggesting the actor did not smoke. Gallagher is “caught smoking” many times, but his smoking tapered off notably in Season III.
-“I have a war to fight too”
Gallagher joins them and asks Yellich for help for Capt. Lowell (“If he lives, he lives, if he dies, he dies, that’s our medicine here”) and then the supplies for repair. “We’ll pay you,” he offers, sending Komansky back to get their emergency funds–$460.00 in American currency, which Yellich accepts and then declares “It will save me the trouble of taking it from you.” Komansky’s had enough and he tries to grab him, Gallagher stops him, and then the messy scene and mixed motives break off when Nazis are reported nearby. Gallagher is taken as a hostage (actually Komansky is left as hostage while Gallagher is taken as a “prize”) and in the field they lure two hapless German soldiers who openly (and stupidly) roam through the fields in search of the B-17. Yellich calls to them, shows them Gallagher (who suffers the terrible situation of being threatened with a knife to stand up and show himself so he can be captured or killed), and as they stare at Gallagher, the Yugoslavians kill the poor jerks or dumkopfs. Yellich refuses to accept Gallagher’s thanks for “killing them and not me” and he says, “he has a war to fight too” and he walks off, suddenly. His fight seems to be for simple survival, but he is seeing a way for his daughter and his family to survive. However, the words he surely speaks to Gallagher are jerked out, with a jumpy cut.
-“two soldiers are now looking for it”
Act III: Colonel Falkenstein arrives at the rural Nazi depot in Yugoslavia and finds a kind of “F-Troop” atmosphere. Indeed, the two hapless Germans are from there. The young German private tells him, to his questions, that their commandant is having his dinner in the village, eight kilometers away, and yes, he saw the plane, that two soldiers (now dead) are looking for it—about twenty kilometers away. Falkenstein snaps out orders, to which the young private says, “Heil Hitler” and takes off, probably wishing he had never made the report. The easy times are over; the war is edging into their peaceful countryside duty. Later, Falkenstein, while consuming a plate of something, simultaneously chews out the returned commandant for failing to do his duty, and tells him to keep one group for guarding, and two groups for searching—and threatens the commandant with arrest and imprisonment. I imagine the nice commandant would like to see the partisans get this guy. (By the way: When do Gallagher and Komansky ever eat? In five episodes, I’ve seen them tippling, but never eating. Even Falkenstein gets a plate of food, Yellich has dined, and supposedly the crew, who, somewhere in the partisan camp, and, probably under guard, are munching on “greens.” Gallagher has to wait until “Underground” until he finally visibly eats something. Komansky never does eat, poor soul; though he suspiciously regards a plate of Swedish food given to him in “To Seek and Destroy”. . . ) Meanwhile, back at the partisan’s redoubt, Yellich’s humanity is shown as he crosses himself over the dying body of Captain Lowell. Gallagher returns, his frustration heightening, and he probably senses that Lowell can’t make it either, and perhaps that is why he leaves Lowell in Komansky’s hands and goes to the Piccadilly Lily.
-“I don’t make myself beautiful for you”
On the way to one lady, he encounters another–Mara, sitting on a log like a wood nymph. Her scarf is off, her rifle is gone, and she is wearing a dress—a godawful dress too, with sixties styling, but it still is a poignant reminder that whenever normal life stopped for her, she had been a city girl of a type, and that this the only dress from the old times. Gallagher is startled, and she is uneasy, and an awkward love scene follows–partly because it’s damned stupid, but the scene does arise out of a variety of emotions and motives—and all watched by Yellich who set his daughter up for this meeting (it vaguely reminds me of Shakespeare’s The Tempest in which the lonely Prospero must see his daughter leave him, but arranges the meeting with her lover). The scene and the conversation is disjointed and too sudden, but they are living in disjointed times . . .When he asks “why have you made yourself beautiful?” she says “for myself”—and that she does not care for him, but then ends by saying, “Hold me, hold me.” She probably wants to be held too; not just romantically, but emotionally, with a feeling of safe harbor a pair of arms can bring. An awkward scene followed by an awkward kiss–Gallagher knows that something is going on. (This is the last kiss we at least see Gallagher bestow–he has a few more dates ahead, but we never see him actually kiss another woman from here on out!)
Yellich emerges from the brush, orders Gallagher off, and Gallagher once more finds himself being taken someplace without understanding the reasons or what might happen. Mara is probably wondering too but we don’t get her side of the story, except at the end, and it’s so rushed it’s not well done (again, making me think this episode was over-written and cut all to heck to make it fit in allotted time.) Gallagher knows by the time he reaches the one woman he really loves, the Piccadilly Lily, and he asks, “what’s your deal?” In exchange for taking his daughter away with them, Yellich will help them raid the Nazi depot. (But what was the point of Gallagher being lured by Mara and then ambushed? Was it some kind of a shotgun wedding? However, maybe Yellich wants to cover up his true motives to Mara’s beastly boyfriend.)
-“my men will do their best”
Act IV roars into action, and what a lot there is!—emotional and physical. It begins at night, at the Nazi depot, with Gallagher, Yellich, Komansky, Hugo and another fellow, whose blonde hair contrasts with the blackened faces of the partisans and their temporary partners. Yellich confirms his deal with Gallagher, and asks if his men understand the deal if he were killed. “My men will do their best,” says Gallagher, which is an honest answer, and the veiled truth—but if Gallagher were to be killed, who would fly the plane out? The co-pilot is wounded, and dies during the night and the navigator, the only other officer on board, admits later, “I can’t take her up.” This is a cloudy point, again suggesting the script was squashed, cut, filmed quickly, with hopes that nobody will say, “Wait a minute, why isn’t this non-pilot the one to die?” Well, real life isn’t as easy as constructing a logical plot, perhaps. Maybe it was meant to put Gallagher in an untenable position, a frequent result of survival amidst war. I wish there had been time for Gallagher to confer with Komansky about what he is doing, and the corner they are in, and he is making promises he might not be able to keep.
However, in these terms, by Gallagher losing his co-pilot, he must fall back on Komansky, which strengthens their partnership: indeed, Komansky helps “take her up” when they escape. But the raid goes well. Diversion of noise; an uneasy guard decides nothing has happened; the fence is climbed over, a lock is broken, Gallagher and Yellich set a trash barrel ablaze for a diversion, Komansky gets the wire. A bad moment occurs when the depot’s commander arrives, in a chauffeured car, expressing disgust over the goat trails he has supposedly been following (by Falkenstein’s orders) and without success, and still easygoing, asks about the blaze, and decides someone was careless with a cigarette and his guards agree. The gate is locked and Gallagher and Yellich are trapped, but Yellich knows another way out.
-“I hope I’m wiring them right”
Comes the dawn (after a long night; did this group really hoof it 40 kilometers back and forth in one night?) and while the crew keeps a lookout at the Lily, Komansky rewires the starter switches. This is the first time that we really sense Komansky is an engineer; his skills so highly praised by Gallagher have so far has been largely checking gauges in the cockpit, although in “Loneliest Place” “he sweated blood” to restart an engine. “I only hope I’m wiring them right,” he remarks, perhaps out of exhaustion—in the busy 20 hours since they landed has he gotten any sleep? (Maybe Robinson himself fell asleep because I think I detect a wedding ring on the actor’s finger.)
But adrenaline can do wonderful things, including carrying Gallagher and Yellich through the night, taking detours, and arriving at the redoubt in the morning, to Mara’s intense relief. She still has her dress on, and Yellich, refreshingly, draws attention to the odd sight: “Are you going to wear this dress the rest of your life?” But why does she have it on, still? Maybe it’s a pleasure to wear a dress again, and perhaps this feminine quality was the last sight, her dark dress, hair, and eyes, that Captain Lowell had, before he passed on, during the night. She tells Gallagher this, gently, and though sorrowful, he cannot wait. He goes in, fetches his flight jacket and cap, and presumably Lowell’s dogtags—leaves a fellow American behind for a quiet unmarked burial in Yugoslavia hinterlands–and prepares to leave—and Mara is told that she is going with him.
-“they’ll either start or they won’t”
They head for the Piccadilly Lily, where a tense but calm Komansky (who apparently trusted that Gallagher would make it) is waiting. He has already refused to try the motors (too much noise and “they’ll either start or they won’t”) and waits, while the men are donning their gear. Suddenly, a whistle, and Gallagher comes, dragging a family feud with him—and a clunky, far less romantic version of the Casablanca “airport farewell” scene takes place. Yellich is Rick, Mara is Ilsa, and Gallagher is—well, I guess the pilot although he is a kind of Viktor Lazlo. In this version, “Ilsa-Mara” decides to stay with the man she loves (her dad) and Viktor Lazlo (Gallagher) goes on alone. This analogy breaks down, but, we have to remember, that as Major Strasser speeds for the Casablanca airport to stop Lazlo from flying out, a Nazi officer is also speeding (as fast as he can over dirt roads) to stop this plane from taking off.
-“I’m glad you’re staying where you belong”
The fight between Mara and Yellich is unfocused, for two reasons. First, their relationship is never developed; and although the first time we see Mara she is efficiently sporting a rifle (by which she mainly defends her laundry) the lack of feminist consciousness in the mid-sixties has made her motivations cloudy—she is being drawn from other war and television figures of the female partisan, who were fighting the Nazis and uninterested in anything else—but no bad goal, that. However, she still defends herself by stressing how she cooked and washed for him, and now he is throwing her out? In threat, he declares that he will make her marry Mihail. She decides to go (tight dress, heels, and all, but does she have any papers? A passport?—a change of the underwear that she has recently laundered?) but realizes she must stay, in order to help her father keep living, rather than being a martyr. Gallagher can’t help but encourage this. He tells Komansky to “start ‘em up,” ignores Komansky’s advice to keep the goodbye short, and says goodbye to the confused but adamant Mara: “I’m glad you are staying where you belong; maybe that’s what it’s all about.” And Rick, in Casablanca, also stays where he belongs to join the fight. But she is staying for female chores and a possibly forced marriage to Mihail—and to keep her father living and fighting.
You know Gallagher is relieved of the burden of bringing in a Yugoslavian woman to North Africa—and besides, what would have happened to her? She would be termed, most likely, a displaced person, and interned. In the meantime, Falkenstein has returned, chewed out the hapless commandant once again for his foolishness (“but there have always been nuisance raids” and “there is some wire missing” he says) and once again, takes off in pursuit—you almost feel sorry for the man!—he’s been dealing with dumkopfs at a Nazi Fort Courage. We will see him again, in action, in “The Hot Shot.” Gallagher is finally back in the Lily’s cockpit, who has been resurrected with the hard-won wire and Komansky’s skills. There is a heart-stopping roll down the fields, towards the hills they have to clear, and just then Falkenstein finally makes contact with his prey—though his prey his sailing above, and his handgun is merely defiant. Hopefully, the partisans will be safe, but their fate is unknown as the story follows the Piccadilly Lily as Gallagher, with Komansky assisting him in the co-pilot seat, gets her to clear the ridge, and once more, they are back where they belong. The navigator’s report tells them that their squadron has passed over here 21 hours ago—and they are on the way.
-“you’re a worrier”
Gallagher, once more back with his lady, and free of deals and partisans (and death has settled the problem of Captain Lowell) displays spirits that are climbing with the altitude. To his questions, Komansky reports on their gas supply (they will have enough if they don’t have any more troubles; and gas is the bone of contention in the continuing episode, “Big Brother”), and their chances (if they run into fighters they’re done for because their ammunition is low). “You’re a worrier,” he breezily tells Komansky, claiming he will have him in North Africa by noon, with wine, song, and “Tunisian dancing girls.” The Lily will make it; she’s not very complicated, which, in contrast with the partisans and their own internal problems, is the truth. Komansky then tells him about the crew: the guys are a little sick from the “hugo-burgers” that country-boy Hugo probably created from the “greens” he smelled cooking, once more suggesting a cut sub-plot. On that unappetizing but humorous note, we leave the Picadilly Lily bound for the next step in the shuttle, North Africa.
—Further musings: This episode was shown out of sequence; it was scheduled for #13 slot, seven episodes after its chronological position of Episode #5, Second Season. A theory: it was originally written to be a two-hour episode, and the editors realized they had too little story for two hours, and too much for one (which may explain why it had two writers, rather than one!) It had to be held back for editing and reshaping; they slashed the heck out of the episode to reduce it to one hour—which may explain why Mara and her father’s relationship seems undeveloped; the potentially violent triangle between Mara, Mihail and Joe never develops; the editing is choppy, and the story of Hugo and his “burgers” gets lost. I wonder if they had to rewrite and refilm some scenes to make it work which further held it up. And what was the point of the “detour” trip of Joe and Yellich; why did they have such an odd escape, and then really did nothing with this?—I think that perhaps this separate journey gave Joe and Yellich the chance for some conversation; maybe it could be linked back to Yellich’s wonderful little go-round at his first meeting with Komansky: if Mara could escape, perhaps he too might have a grandson in America—even if he would never see him– would be something; life is going on and his family will survive. But, that’s just musing . . .
“Big Brother”
Writer: Jack Yellen
Director: Jerry Hopper
A wonderfully simple title—but it brings two dimensions: family relationships and mentoring. Indeed, the “Big Brother” organization is so named to impel the importance of an older, wiser, and concerned person can have on the life of a younger person, as in Preston Gallagher’s love for and guidance of his little brother “Danzo.” This episode does not really explore the concept of mentoring as does “Then Came the Mighty Hunter,” which would be a bit ridiculous as Nazi tanks of the Afrika Korps rumble toward the captured airbase while the profoundly weary and grieving Pres fights over supplies with his brother. Both have an objective to accomplish and the solutions for both endanger each other, their men, and own particular victory against the enemy: Pres’s victory is immediate; Gallagher’s more personal and more long-ranging; by standing up to his brother, he displays abilities that Pres helped him develop, and shows that he is a commander. Joe has another victory: Sandy’s walls finally crumble and the two men become friends.
Of course, this episode completes the second step of the 918th’s shuttle raid commenced with “We’re Not Coming Back,” which was nearly the truth. Gallagher and his crew were luckily only delayed with their forced landing; as Lt. Col. Frank Bailey reports, ten or eleven ships were lost during the daring first leg. While the remains of the 918th successfully flew on to North Africa, Gallagher and his men dealt with searching Nazis and domestic problems of a Yugoslavian partisan band all the while seeking supplies to make repairs to Piccadilly Lily. Miraculously, they get away but things were left behind: the body of Capt. Lowell, and the hopes of a partisan band leader to get his daughter away a terrible reality; we never know their fate and, we must remember, an angry German colonel is in their vicinity and probably “on the war path” as he experiences a near miss with capturing an American plane and its crew. (It’s sobering to think what may have happened to the crew if he had been ten minutes earlier.) As it turns out, the airborne Gallagher’s predictions to Komansky about wine, dancing women, and song figuratively go south as their planned landing as Nem Wadi (somewhere in Tunisia) go awry (from rain). An unexpected family reunion goes a little awry as well. Setting the scene of this episode in North Africa created the second season’s most exotic location—though how likely was it that planes from the 918th could have actually engaged in some action in North Africa?
It depends on the time situation; as remarked in an earlier analysis, the time period for 12OCH seems always perpetually prior to 1944 (although in “Show Me a Hero” a date is pinned down: June 1943; Komansky is awarded his Silver Star at this time.) Because Kasserine Pass is involved in this story, it makes me wonder if the time frame for 12OCH was moved back a bit in order to shore up the rather loose time quality of the first season.
Africa as a theatre of war: the Italians had first gone to Africa to colonize, followed by their Nazi allies. The British had been in Africa since 1940; and in November 1942, American forces literally came on shore to join the fight. In the American campaign, green troops were up against seasoned Nazi forces, including Rommel himself. Based on information given in the episode (“Rommel’s broken out of Kasserine like the measles,” Frank Bailey reports) we have to figure that the 918th has flown into Tunis in late winter; the absence of sweat on their brows and their wearing of jackets indicate that it must be; plus, the rains fall during this time. In February 1943, in and around the Western and Eastern Dorsals (a mountain chain defining an area in central Tunisia) American forces were fleeing across the waist of Tunisia but stopped to confront their pursuers, at Kasserine Pass, a gateway to Algeria and the town of Tebessa, a vital Allied communication center and supply depot. Rommel may have been able to smash them here, but there was a two day delay while Field Marshal Kesselring flew in from Rome to settle command issues between Rommel and another officer. The Germans then advanced on Kasserine Pass and American and British forces created a bottleneck, which Rommel broke, but not without trouble and not without a counterattack. In a notable incident, at Thala, an American howitzer division reinforced a British unit holding out, and an Allied thrust, predicted by Rommel, halted him. He was also aware of the wealth of Allied supplies, and soon Rommel ordered a retreat in order to save exhausted supplies and to meet the British Eighth Army at Mareth. He pulled his troops out of the pass so quietly that it was 24 hours before the Allied forces realized Rommel and his men were gone. Rommel shifted the front to the east, “back to the ridges of the Eastern Dorsal,” and in so doing, abandoned the town and airfields between the mountain ranges, and once again engaged the British Eighth the first time since El Alamein. Rommel launched spoiling attacks with his panzers. However, warned of Rommel’s advance by air reconnaissance, the British had a chance to camouflage a line of anti-tank guns, and then waited for the panzers to get within close range and then let loose with a holocaust of shells. Soon after this defeat Rommel returned to Germany to ask Hitler to abandon North Africa, which he did not–and so advanced the career of General Patton, which is another story and a big-budget Oscar-winning movie. The facts of history are echoed in the episode: use of air to assist the ground forces, and the creation and springing of a trap.
In terms of story and history, Preston Gallagher and his decimated “backwash” army are presumably located somewhere between the Eastern and Western Dorsals, and are occupying an abandoned German airfield when Rommel breaks out and one of his motorized divisions is headed back to reclaim. And so begins our story of the crew of the Piccadilly Lily scrambling out of the frying pan and into the fire, almost literally. The questing knights have entered into another kingdom, this time with a maimed king, but as the sterile Fisher King in the Grail Quest regains his powers, so does Pres Gallagher.
-“He’ll fight the Germans singlehanded”
As the teaser takes up, Piccadilly Lily is flying alone when Komansky checks the gauges, slapping Gallagher’s arm to point to the nearly empty tanks, previewing the bone of contention in the family reunion: fuel. The other officer in the cockpit must be Johnson the bombardier who, without a payload to deliver, has emerged out of the bowels (or the breast) of the Piccadilly Lily to enjoy a window seat. Gallagher contacts the men at the pre-arranged landing field, “Nem Wadi,” only to learn that heavy rains have turned the clay landing strips into muck—and such conditions forced Eisenhower to delay certain operations in North Africa; he knew that equipment would bog down, and the footage shown of grinding wheels and spraying mud indicate that his decision was wise. Gallagher is given the option to bail the crew and do a belly landing, or to fly on to Magadar, 100 miles to the east—there’s a captured German-Italian weather base, with a blacktop, and there he will find the rest of the 918th. They will also find the 105th division under siege.
“I thought our guys had won North Africa,” Komansky says. (Odd remark that; General Patton had yet to arrive with his tank corps, trained in the Mojave desert!) Gallagher is fairly jubilant—he has a chance to see his brother; and, like the little brother he is, brags about him to Komansky: “He’ll fight the Germans single handed” to make sure they can land. Landing won’t be easy because Stukas suddenly swarm on the lone B-17, thoroughly underscoring the fact that North Africa has not been won. These Stukas keep reappearing as they swing into anything coming in or going out. On the ground, Lt. Colonel Preston Gallagher, arrives near the landing area, commandeering binoculars (“is that him?”) and waving a rifle—vainly—as he shouts to the Stukas “Get off his back!” and “Come on, Joey Boy!” Using the last of their reduced ammunition, the gunners defend the Lily as she comes in for a landing. Preston Gallagher glows with pride—“that’s my famous kid brother,” he brags in return. (Although I can’t help but wonder, why is Joe Gallagher famous?—however, he is commander of a bomber group, and in “Target 802” Axis Sally refers to Colonel Gallagher and his crew of his “famous Piccadilly Lily”). Bailey’s men and Preston drive to the landing field and greetings are joyous as the Piccadilly Lily returns from the dead. Bailey even happily greets Komansky; at some time between “The Loneliest Place in the World” and “Big Brother” Bailey’s poor opinion of the engineer (“sour apple” and “you’re saddling me with him”) seems to have alleviated; Bailey is later present at a small but key moment between Gallagher and Komansky. Gallagher and Bailey are particularly happy to see each other, despite bad news—they lost ten planes; they got jumped after Wesselhaven—a situation which previews the next episode which (correctly) introduces the long-range P-51.
-“Boy, do you have a brother!”
Gallagher asks if he knows anything about his brother—“Boy, do you have a brother,” Bailey exclaims (a remark that cuts both ways) and tells Joe that Preston is in charge of 105th—and trouble is on the way, because Rommel has broken out and is coming. Gallagher’s worry is deflected and his joy is crowned when his big brother drives up. They engulf each other in a hug, stand back and regard each other; the remaining two Gallagher brothers, in North Africa, in the center of combat. Pres gives Joe an affectionate clap on the side of his head, an action which Joe repeats, but with Sandy later on. The men can’t help but look at the sight of two battle-hardened veterans giving into honest emotion; Bailey, irritable with Pres Gallagher, looks away, while Komansky regards them with quiet interest.
-“my guys hold”
Pres cuts the sentiment short and the men scramble into the trucks. Gallagher rides with his brother in the Jeep, and along the way proudly and eagerly reports on their adventures—finding a “flat place” in mountains Yugoslavia to land the plane, commandeering parts, and his flight engineer Komansky getting his plane running again—“Some brother I am,” Joe suddenly interrupts himself. “Tell me about you!” What he gets is a man pressed beyond endurance, and despite the warm welcome he has cold news and attitude: Pres could care less about Joe’s shuttle mission, he held the field for him and that’s all; and he’s a “collection point for backwash”—though he doesn’t say so, his brother is included in this unflattering description. “My guys hold,” he says, in ugly contrast with the aircrews who come in and then go out. He has American, British, and Aussie forces, and now a bunch of “wild-eyed flyboys”—and calls Bailey “a wise guy.”
When a sobered Gallagher asks for supplies—“Pres?” he says to his brother’s gritted face—Pres says “that’s an air corps problem kid.” The seriousness of the situation—the approach of the enemy, the lack of supplies, the wounded that need evacuation—is real, but is Pres, as a long-time infantry officer not really convinced of the airplane’s role in the war?–which was a real problem of certain officers in the war; apparently, in the early days of the North Africa campaign, the British army and units of the RAF were not really communicating with each other–Montgomery could see the value of air support. In any case, Pres has a lot on his mind, and it trumps any reunion with his younger brother.
-“I’ll take mine upstairs”
They arrive in remains of a native village, scarred by war. A couple of women, deeply robed, walk through the scene, belying Gallagher’s promise of Tunisian dancing girls; and there were such things in the major cities, including a famous dancer who was also a spy for the Germans. Gallagher surveys the place: “Well, it’s not a country club,” he says and indeed the place must make the 918th back in green and pleasant England look pretty darned good. To make things perfect, another air raid greets them and all dive for cover. When Pres asks Gallagher how he likes “this kind of action” Joe answers “I’ll take mine upstairs.” Meanwhile, under a truck, a startled Komansky snaps at his crew, “All right, you hot shots, out on the streets!”—perhaps he’s embarrassed at how his guys ran for cover (him too); indeed, they look like scared rabbits—but everything is like a rabbit warren, including the smoking airfield, motivations, and the fight over supplies and fuels. When Gallagher surveys the field and says, “What a mess” (in real life he would have “described” the mess in stronger terms I imagine) he is describing the whole situation. Nothing on this shuttle mission has really gone right, and once more, he is in need of supplies, and no (un)friendly partisans to help them steal needed fuel. Instead, the supplies are being sat upon by his own brother.
-“A little walk in the garden, Joe“
The true picture comes into focus. The 108th was decimated (literally meaning every tenth man was lost). Pres has ordered a retreat, which is why he is sitting on the fuel. The men are being prepared physically and emotionally for evacuation—an efficient nurse is getting things ready, and Pres, despite the incoming Germans and a sudden reunion with his brother, takes time to kindly talk to one of the wounded in the hospital tents. Pres leaves, out of the back, and a doctor warns the nurse, with the All-American name of Betty, that Colonel Pres Gallagher is on the brink—“Watch him.” Joe Gallagher has learned from Bailey that Pres is keeping the fuel, the lifeblood of an airplane—and rescue vehicles as well. Joe has to get an answer from Pres, and follows him to a tidy but stark graveyard, some of its crosses “decorated” with helmets. This might be a new sight to Gallagher—in the Air Corps many men would be lost in Europe, such as Capt. Lowell, left behind in Yugoslavia and bailed crews either returning, dying unknown, or ending up in POW camps. The men who die in England—they would be disposed of in other situations, such as the somberly beautiful, heart-gripping American military cemetery I visited near Cambridge, England—the resting place for those who had come “to these friendly skies,” as a monument reads, and died there.
“A little walk in a garden Joe,” Pres tells him; a garden of the dead. “I knew them all.” It’s a grimly fitting location for Pres to tell Joe that he’s blowing the planes up—he held the field long enough to his brother to come down, but the planes are nothing but targets and he has to kill them—including his brother’s demanding lady, Piccadilly Lily. “I’ve got a mission,” Joe protests. His brother matches him, and then, perhaps for the first time in his life, will not give into him: “I’ve got a mission too and I warn you little brother, do not interfere.” Joe can only stare at him, but does not protest—older brother has spoken. He does not expose his recently earned colonel’s eagles to his brother’s hard-earned oak clusters.
-“the gas is mine”
Act II begins with grimly rolling tanks, over a scarred desert landscape, under observation of an Aussie and an American. They ring a report in, which does not arrive until a frustrated Gallagher is talked to by Betty, whose loose hair is as mussed and limp as the camp. She relates the battle to him—“they fought like demons” here, and to Gallagher’s angry expression, says that he must know about battle fatigue. Joe misinterprets her concern: “[Pres] won’t lose his nerve,” he snaps, but his feelings are arising from brotherly concern—he has never seen Pres like this. At the sandbagged, claustrophobic underground HQ, the profoundly weary Pres takes the report about the oncoming tanks. British Major Dutton, second in command (played solidly by Bernard Fox; he was soon to become the bumbling Colonel Crittenden, perpetual POW—with the blessings of the British high command– on Hogan’s Heroes), suggests they retreat for Montgomery’s lines; they have to move out, they can’t take another siege. Joe again tries to reason with his brother—pleading for 1500 gallons, so they can fly out. Pres is nasty, asking if he“wants to get a medal,” a cheap shot at Joe’s motivations. He stands up to Pres, pointing out that successful shuttle missions will change the Nazi system of air defense—the Allies will strike from every point, around the clock—and if these missions had started a month earlier, maybe those Stukas would be in Festung Europa, protecting the fatherland. Pres can only make a disgusted noise; what’s “a month earlier” to him? But he has a mission for the living–not to join the already 1000 men already lost, and “the gas is mine.”
Joe does a brave thing, but under the circumstances, the only thing—he defies his brother, countermands the order (as a full bird colonel, he outranks his brother) leading Pres to finally collapse. Joe panics—it’s horrible seeing a beloved family member suddenly going to pieces; in his fear Joe can only cry out, like a child he suddenly feels like, “Pres, what’s wrong, what’s wrong?” Pres is sedated by the doctor, who knows he is dealing with an aged man: “He used one year of his life in the last ten days” and that Joe gave him the final blow to his fatigue. Joe is quiet with fear and shame for what he has done—and once more, finds himself sitting by the bedside of a downed officer, this time, one of his own blood. Betty tells him that his sergeant is here to see him and Joe dons his military personae and meets with him, but asks Betty if she will sit with his brother. “I have patients to prepare,” she answers curtly, but asks for a second chance—and, in words that echo General Britt’s advice to him, “you can’t play God.” He meets with Sandy who, when Gallagher needs him to be, is quiet and efficient, and heads out to check on the planes. He has probably heard about Pres but knows Gallagher doesn’t need to talk anymore about that pain, and they both go about their business.
-“There were three of us”
Gallagher arranges for fuel to be flown in, and asks Sandy how many planes can be flyable by 15.30, and if at least they can get three “forts” in the air. Sandy says he will try, and leaves on his difficult mission. Joe asks Major Dutton, now in command, for anti-aircraft, and the dour, tired officer points out that there are other affairs. “Everything will go down the drain if you don’t,” Gallagher says, pointing out that he has lost at least 110 men already, and in the face of twin failure in the air and on the ground, Dutton curtly agrees. Gallagher has been strong, and gotten his demands, but now he returns to Pres, and to reminisce with Betty. “There were three of us,” he says, recalling happier days before the war. Jeff, as we have already learned, died over a year ago at Bataan—in defense or on the death march afterwards? “Yes, I know,” Betty says, for she has been privy to Pres’s family sadness. The Gallagher family will never be complete, and Joe must wonder if he is about to lose another brother—maybe he has already lost him, either in spirit or in love. (Which of these two brothers was to marry a young lady destroyed by one of Joe’s enemies?–see “The Slaughter Pen.”) Joe speaks lovingly about Pres as a wonderful older brother—“he would learn things, and then he would come home and teach us,” possibly giving Joe a model for mentoring which he is passing on to Komansky. Joe asks her if she loves him—“Madly, all of them,” she said, but he knows. For once, there is a triangle of love and “blood”—they both love Pres and want to save him, but Joe’s insistence on duty may have done him in. Yet, would Pres want Joe to do anything else? For the third time, Sandy calls for the skipper; the fuel has arrived. Joe, believing he is on his way out of Magadar, tells Betty to tell Pres—yes, she knows what to tell him.
-“How about this kid, huh? . . . We called him ‘Danzo'”
Act III is packed with action, decisions, emotions: Gallagher gets to the airfield to see the lone B-17 coming in with fuel and their relief is great; even Sandy is grinning. Joy is cut short when Stukas come swarming and they scramble into the machine gun pits. After dealing with so much trouble Gallagher probably really enjoys grabbing the carbine and shooting like crazy—on target too, but it’s not enough; their B-17 plane lands badly, pivots, and blows up (a scene already viewed in “The Idolater” and unfortunately does entirely too much duty in future episodes, including “Grant Me No Favor” when Gallagher tangles with his father). The sound of disaster brings Pres Gallagher out of drugged sleep, into a Jeep, and foolishly roaring down to the airstrip, with the doctor and nurse in pursuit. Pres arrives in time to be nicked by a bullet and driven to the ground.
Once more, Gallagher runs to his brother, now wounded in body. “What blew up?” he asks. “My gas,” Joe says, in embarrassment and growing feelings of despair—is anything going to go right? Yet, things start, at last, to go right. Pres’s brief nap has set him up; his wound seems to exhilarate him, and his head is clear, and when Major Dutton finds him in headquarters, he is calmly reassuming command—to take off on the preceding title, “We’re not coming back,” is Pres’ new motto of “We’re not leaving.” Pres, no longer maimed in spirit, gives a new greeting to his anxiously hovering brother: “How about this kid, huh? His name was Joseph Anson,” he says,clapping him on the face, apparently taking pride in the fact that Joe defied him and countermanded his order. “But he couldn’t say it, so we called him ‘Danzo.’” Joe reveals no embarrassment in having his nickname known, knows he is forgiven and even better, Pres admires him in front of witnesses and just how much he is soon to show. “Anything you say,” Gallagher says and Pres launches a plan for the encampment to hold by drawing the oncoming column into a trap—by using the planes he was once planning to blow up.
-“where’d you get all this dedication?”
But gasoline is still first on Joe’s agenda, and when he asks for it (“since you’re staying . . .”). Pres remarks, “Where did you get all this dedication?”—is he being jovial, or is he remembering a younger, breezier Joe Gallagher that General Savage finally shook by the scruff of the neck (or another part of his anatomy)and gave him the “dressing down of his life” (“Golden Boy Had Nine Black Sheep”)and set his feet on the path of duty above all? Joe outlines the plan—three forts can get in the air, fly out to the appointed base, gas up, pick up their payload, and fly back to help them with the approaching Nazis. Pres is proud: “We may make a hero out of you,” at which Joe beams, but waits until Pres says, “Go get your gasoline.” After asking Bailey if he knows where the motor pool is, Bailey says “I can find it,” and he and Komansky dash out like teenagers. (This is followed by real footage of Tunisian men rolling out fuel barrels; this footage and Tunisian references, such as an Arab gentleman helping with the Piccadilly Lily makes you wonder about the native people going about business and lives while two other powers from Europe slug it out, while paying them for their services.) Things at last are rolling. In HQ, Pres, surrounded by his lieutenants, outlines the plan, which of course, is a little too simple, but possible and probably modeled on the real attack made on the Afrika Korps, discussed above.
When Major Dutton asks a question about what happens if– Pres admits, “then we’ll be destroyed.” As Pres outlines the timetable of the advance, within 25 miles of their location, he remarks, “they will see the B-17s take off—and come on.” The men go out and Joe, drinking a needed cup of coffee, and smoking, asks Pres if he is sure of the plan. No, Pres is not sure, something he would admit to a brother. He also admits that he wanted somebody to volunteer to stay and fight, but he finally took the initiative. But he is sure that Gallagher has a lot at stake. Gallagher questions Pres’ motivations. “You’re not doing this for me,” he asks. “Kid, if you had a headache I wouldn’t give you a pill,” Pres answers, his better spirits allowing him to joke a bit. Yet, it is possible that Pres, the adoring older brother, has factored in his younger brother’s work, success, and growing fame.
-“Sir, I’m staying with you”
Joe drives out to the Piccadilly Lily, being prepared for takeoff. He finds Bailey in the waist, and Komansky as well, who is checking out the 50 calibers (the flight engineer is supposed to be handy with every piece of machinery on board). Quickly Joe gives Bailey his orders: he’s leading the planes out, and he is to fuel up, pick up a “split bomb” load (half regular, half fragmention), and time their return at dawn, which is the time of the Nazi column arrival. Bailey, startled, asks if Joe is aborting the mission—no, Gallagher is saving the airfield, and the planes. And—if he doesn’t make it, then Bailey will lead the remaining planes home, finishing the last step of their shuttle (to bomb Saarbrucken).
The next thing that happens is one of the “grace notes” of 12OCH: Gallagher and Komansky’s relationship advancing from respect to trust and loyalty. Orders completed, he starts to leave but Komansky, says, suddenly, “Sir, I’m staying with you”– It’s a small but telling remark, particularly since it is spoken in the presence of Bailey. In the first episode, Bailey had confronted Joe about “saddling him with Komansky,” which partially leads the curious Gallagher to read up on the problematic non-com, and sets into a motion a series of events which climaxes with a serious clash, concludes in mutual respect and partnering, but Gallagher still works to crack Komansky’s isolation. This seems to be the first time that Komansky does not “merely” demonstrate loyalty to Gallagher; he speaks it aloud, openly, in front of a witness. Gallagher is surprised and pleased–but turns him down. “No, Sandy, you’re flying—who else is going to get these guys back?” He then claps Sandy on the side of his head, which recalls Pres’ affectionate gesture to his younger brother, and departs, leaving two worried men. This is the one of the most open moment these two men have. With the possible exception of Gallagher bestowing the Silver Star on Komansky in “Show Me A Hero,” they never confide their respect and admiration to each other’s face–it is always done alone, confidentially, or in odd circumstances. The title, “Big Brother,” takes on some new meaning–Joe has become a kind of “big brother” to Sandy.
Per Joe’s command, the forts take off, witnessed, as planned, by the Nazi column. Two young Nazi soldiers, their faces filthy with dust (and white where their goggles have been), observe this, and radio the news. Back at base, Pres looks up at the planes, and in a romantic gesture, but which conveys his respect for the planes he was planning to destroy, salutes them. Then, the waiting starts.
–“If Dad could only see us now”
Act IV rolls forward in rising suspense. In contrast with the usual hymn-like music of the 12OCH theme, there is a rattle of drum taps. The night is over and in HQ, the phone rings from the outpost observers. Joe jerks awake (he’s finally gotten some sleep; when was the last time he did? Hopefully, Komansky’s getting some sleep too while the planes are refueling and reloading.) Pres takes the message; the Nazis are coming, yard by yard. Pres and Joe both get cups of coffee, and Pres mutters, with a smile, “If Dad could only see us now,” thus bringing in another member of the family who trained them both in military responsibility to men and to the mission. Pres’ own sergeant marks the Nazi’s progress on the wall map.
The doctor and Betty come in; the doctor offers bourbon, to break the tension. Pres, who is calm, refuses a drink (which contrasts with an upcoming scene in “Grant Me No Favor”: Joe has been startled by his father’s sudden appearance and before commencing a confrontation, gulps down a drink). The scenes shift from the tanks, to the observers, to the faces of the people in the dugout; their progress keeps being announced—and they advance into the trap, yard by yard. Joe needs to contact his own men—on the way, he can only hope . . . his persistent attempts to contact “Bankrupt shuttle leader,” aren’t good; the signal is weak . . . so, on the ground, below the ground, in the air, are all waiting. Major Dutton looks at Pres as the Nazis continue into the trap. “Don’t fire till you see the whites of their eyes,” he says, and smiles at Dutton, “or was that another war?” His reference to the American Revolution, or the War of American Rebellion, underscores how enemies can work together, which is something he and Joe are doing, using air power and ground power to knock out the enemy. Finally, contact: Pres orders his men to open up; and Joe makes contact with Bailey. Gallagher directs Bailey’s attention to the Beacon Zone for artillery (this show is always good for detailed military “stuff”), and the planes, looking like mother birds dropping their young, do their work.
-“. . . and thanks, Danzo”
Pres and Joe emerge from the underground to watch the planes. “Thank those guys for me,” Pres says. “And thanks, Danzo.” Maybe the attack would have succeeded without air support, but it didn’t hurt, and surely saved a lot of lives—and shored up the two brothers’ love for each other. (Did Jack Lord get the idea for calling Dan Williams, his associate in “Hawaii Five O,” ‘Danno’ from Danzo?—the nicknames are similar.) The concluding scenes begin with a quiet moment of aftermath. Pres has probably just seen his brother and his men off and away, and he is reflecting on the dangers they have been through—military and family. Betty, coming up to him quietly, says that she told Joe, perhaps erroneously, not to be sorry about anything. Pres is more realistic. “You have to be sorry and live with it,” a statement that grows more true the older I become. What is Pres sorry for?—for being a jackass? Well, he had to be, though he almost took it too far and lost his little brother, in more ways than one. Pres remarks that “Joe is a bright guy, and he’ll make it anywhere”—a prediction for Joe’s future after the war? “I’m just a soldier,” but he’s happy with it. He ends up admitting, “I was pushing too hard”—pushing at supplies, family, the well being of his men—his own success too, in a would-be disaster that turned out well. Betty, “madly in love,” asks, “You won’t again?” Perhaps this remarks edges on Pres’ hard-headedness—who is a nurse, a woman, to ask him such a thing? “Who wants to know?” he asks, with a faint snarl, though it is joking. They walk off together, and perhaps they will continue walking through life, with Betty’s understanding of her difficult lover forever cemented by what she saw him go through at Magadar. Pres is not alone now; the maimed king of this kingdom is becoming whole again.
-“. . . never walk when you can ride”
In a consistent framing device (both episodes so far start and end with Gallagher, with Komansky beside him, in the cockpit of Miss Lily) Gallagher is once more with his own lady, and they are heading for France then a target in Germany, and then home–to another issue, but that is the grist of the next episode, “The Hot Shot.” Gallagher announces, like an airline pilot that they are leveling off—and then warns the crew to keep their eyes open for fighters. Nice cue!—Komansky says, “from what I heard sir, we left a pretty good fighter on the ground.” Joe beams with pride. “So why is he down there, and you’re up here?” “My instructor at West Point told me,” Gallagher says, “never walk when you can ride.” Komansky and Gallagher do a rather charming double take, and they are off and away . . .leaving the viewer with some visions of the young Joe Gallagher, in army gray, rising to reveille, eating in the great dining hall, wearing himself out over studies, wearing the cadet uniform, cheering as well as playing at Army-Navy games, and developing the qualities that eventually General Savage forced Gallagher to own and live up to and go on rich display for Gallagher’s “Big Brother.”
“The Hot Shot”
Writer: Robert Lewin
Director: Richard Donner
I offer the alternate title of “Little Brother”—which follows the previous episode of “Big Brother.” But this is “(recalcitrant) Little Brother,” or, blunter “(pain in the ass) Little Brother”. However, that is a joke, and not a good one, because the “little brother” or little friends in this episode is the affectionate name for the long range P-51 Mustang fighters which zoomed about their bigger, serious older brothers, which were operating as “bombing platforms.” Fighters allowed the great B-17 formations to penetrate all the way into Germany with fighter cover, and later turned the defensive air war into an offensive air war as P-51s started going after Luftwaffe, rather than simply protecting the heavy, long-range bombers. Prior to the introduction of the P-51s, in the winter of 1943-44 to the England-based air forces, the B-17s had been protected by fighters on their raids, but the P-47 Thunderbolts and the P-38s were limited in range, and frequently were forced to turn back leaving the B-17s unprotected to penetrate to their final target. Originally, it had been devised that the B-17s, flying in tight formation, and massing their firepower, could fight off the Luftwaffe fighters after their escorts were forced to turn back. The Luftwaffe masses and skills proved that idea wrong.
However, the scrappy P-51 Mustang, named after the tough, ownerless wild horse of the American West, an iconic image of the United States’ idealized vision of itself (and apparently dubbed by the British; see “The Slaughter Pen”)could fly longer escort all the way (and back) into the deepest targets in Germany. Suitably, this important new step in the air war is introduced in this episode–or re-introduced in way of correction as a P-51 was brought in too early in Season I–see Episode 22. (I get the impression that the first season tried to “do it all”–Savage is nearly killed with flak; he is shot down in France and tried by French peasants; blinded though temporarily, has a slight case of amnesia; he is imprisoned in a POW camp and escapes; he is critically wounded and has that “rare blood type,” he falls in love with a dying woman–wow!! with all that, why not haul in the P-51s before their time?).
The third part of three connected stories, commencing with “We’re Not Coming Back” (the deepest raid yet into Germany and then turning south, rather than returning west), and continuing with “Big Brother” as Gallagher and his decimated crews land in North Africa and the mission nearly goes on the skids as big brother Pres Gallagher hoards needed fuel for his own decimated troops’ evacuation. Collaborating with the infantry and helping to drive back a motorized division of the Afrika Korps, Gallagher and his men secure their fuel and fly home “successfully” after dropping their payloads on Saarbrucken—thus telling Nazi Germany that air power could come from all directions. But, despite completing the mission, Gallagher and his bosses know that the losses have been terrible and Joe actually sees victory as somewhat pyrrhic. But rather than crying over spilled milk, Joe looks to the P-51s as a new hope for saving planes and lives. However, he has to make the hope work by confronting the leader of this new group, Colonel Troper, or “Trope,” a “hot shot” (or “hot shit”) who regards the war as his own private playground. Of course, this character is typical of war movies; the guy who won’t “play ball” with the other guys; who insists that it’s me, and only me—and indeed, there is a lot of “Top Gun” in this episode (“I have the need for speed”).
The story always creates a good cautionary tale; and the viewer can always enjoy the hero both getting a good comeuppance, as well as gaining laurels after proper redemption. However, in the story, the “Hot Shot” is not a hero—at least in the best sense. Although he might be seen in terms of an “adventurer”—as described by Brian Taves, he is “a lively figure” and his “character is expressed through speech and deed.” Furthermore, “never remaining passive, the adventurer’s view of the world is enunciated by his deeds, and he is often at his best in the midst of history in the making.” All this defines Troper, but he lacks important qualities of the adventurer, including a sense of politics and morals; the ability to accomplish a good defining and fulfilling of his existence; and in his “determined embodiment of adventure ideals . . . [to] bring about desired goals.” He finally displays villainous qualities, which arise from his adventurer persona—caring only for himself (his men are more his followers than partners); refusing to join with others; and using his abilities and strengths for his own ends. He is eventually is recognized as such, including by his own guys. Described at first favorably as a maverick, the loner is left all by himself at the end, literally and figuratively. Though the episode has some connections with “The Idolater,” even the ego-driven Josh McGraw had nine men who followed him, and they left him alone at his orders. Warren Oates, who is simultaneously handsome and scruffy looking was a good choice. A popular actor in westerns, he brings a roughshod “cowboy mentality” to his role—and reveals what Gallagher comments on in “Show Me A Hero”—how Americans in England were labeled as “cowboys and Indians”.
Whatever, a lot of screwed-up guys wandered into the 918th, and not all were set straight by Colonel Gallagher who embodied the best traits of a hero: “pure in purpose, brave in war, honorable, fair and chivalrous. Behaving as a gentleman and recognizing a code of conduct.” Also “peace-loving at heart, [see “Back to the Drawing Board” when Gallagher cuts short a scientist’s rhapsodizing over “smiting the bully” with “it is, huh?”] the adventurer only kills the most dangerous villains, often in highly stylized duels” (Taves, 112). Indeed, “The Hot Shot” is a duel of sorts, as two different men compete for control of the P-51 squadron attached to the 918th.
-“We have a kicker”
As the episode begins . . . a pattern set by the two previous episodes is broken. Rather than opening on Gallagher and Komansky in the cockpit of the Piccadilly Lily this episode starts, somewhat deceptively, seemingly back in Camelot– in a beautiful country house, in a peaceful setting of water and trees: Pinetree, or Operations of Wing Headquarters. Rather than an image of tired and tense men completing a mission, well-dressed officers, including General Britt and the long-absent Major Stovall, are all gathered–to talk with the media about what has just been accomplished. As noted previously, the war journalist is a frequent figure in this show as he or she seeks to bring news to the public, but under the auspices of the United States army. This journalist will turn out to be an okay fellow, in contrast with the ambitious journalist coming up in “Show Me A Hero.” A uniformed journalist, with the interesting name of Roy Saxon (literally “Saxon king,” though the name has no bearing on the events) is on hand for General Britt, who has been identified as the New Wing Commander, to “expose” the events of the last three days: a shuttle mission. Referring to a glass map of Europe, Britt details the mission: Wesselhaven, North Africa, and then bombing an oil refinery at Saarbrucken. Though losses are heavy, Britt declares, somewhat frighteningly, “that if only one craft gets back” then the Allies have proven a new step has been taken in the conquest of Nazi Germany. However, I guess this kind of thinking, done even when people you care about it are involved, gets you the general stars–and explains why Joe twice evades promotion (“Grant Me No Favor,” and “Falling Star.”) Saxon, who has won a Pulitzer Prize (which takes guts as well as talent) has sufficient experience to point out that surely the Luftwaffe will jump them in western France as they fly for home.
Britt introduces their “kicker”—a secret weapon will join the homecoming 918th—Colonel Troper, neat and professional appearing as he makes his first appearance: he is leading the new P-51 attachment. His RAF insignia demonstrates he flew in the Battle of Britain, among the Canadians and Yanks who took up the lonely and seemingly hopeless cause with their British brothers and cousins. And, although the Brits were outnumbered 60 to 1, they prevailed, and this new P-51 will have the same results. Has it truly been only three days since 918th left England?– Well, going back over the two previous episodes, Gallagher and his crew were in Yugoslavia all of 21 hours; after they are airborne they land shortly after noon at Magadar. Events get a little fuzzy timewise in that hard-driving episode, but apparently only one afternoon and night passes before the Nazi attack at dawn (a lot goes on in that afternoon with Pres collapsing and reviving, gas being delivered, plans created for the trap; the planes departing only to return in the morning).
Presumably, the 918th flies out the next morning after the attack, and starts out to Saarbrucken, and then returns to England. A little snidely, when did these guys have the time to shave?—they all still look a little too groomed and clean, particularly after three days in the same flight suits; but then again, the knights of the Round Table never worried about showering or shaving either. Maybe the crews were under orders to look good upon their return (for the waiting journalists) and so shaving kits were included—I’m not kidding!
-“General, you’re smiling”
But the questing knights are still on the quest and expecting both a dragon, and a new weapon with which to slay the dragon. General Britt fulfills the role of Merlin, in giving King Arthur his new weapon. Back in the cockpit Gallagher asks Komansky about his knowledge of the P-51—only the picture he has posted in his top turret gunsite, he replies. They know the P-51s are coming, and in the expected air battle they need to know what the new P-51 looks like, side and front. (By the way: Gallagher has another co-pilot, probably left over from a crippled B-17 left behind in Magadar. Never identified, the guy is going to “get it” just like three previous co-pilots—they seem to act like a shield to Gallagher. Hugo, country boy accent intact, is still thankfully alive, and on duty in the waist.) The P-51s are seen taking off, silver and sleek and pugnacious. Troper seems relaxed, organized, and on the dime; then, a worried Stovall, on the phone, listens for reports. Britt seems relaxed and confident—part of it is an act, of course, but after all, his boy, Colonel Gallagher is up there; the smile conceals his worries. He agrees that the P-51s will be outnumbered, but so were the pilots at the Battle of Britain. These planes are even better; “American ingenuity” he remarks to a mild-mannered British officer who smiles in return. The journalist is amused: “General, you’re smiling,” he remarks. Britt tells him not to print that—“It would ruin his reputation.” Images, then, as now, are important. Smiling would make him look too jovial during a dangerous period; or perhaps kick back for looking too confident at a critical period.
-“you’re shooting at us!”
Nobody is smiling in the Piccadilly Lily. They are nearing the target, and the German fighters are beginning to swarm and the P-51s are due—but they are late for their rendezvous. The bombs are dropped—and Gallagher knows something else has gone wrong; “I didn’t feel them let go” he tells the bombardier. Like your own car, you know when something is wrong; I can imagine that when a payload is dropped, the plane rebounded more than a little. The bombs are stuck; they can’t even be dropped over the channel. And an old enemy is hot on their trail, and tail: Colonel Falkenstein, last seen in a car, rather than a plane, and trying to stop the Piccadilly Lily from taking off from its temporary Yugoslavian landing field. During the attack the hapless co-pilot gets it, but apparently is only wounded—in contrast with poor Captain Lowell left behind in Yugoslavia.
Not in the nick of time, Troper and his boys come in. Troper gives Gallagher a cocky greeting. It’s too late; Gallagher’s crew is firing, and he has already sent Sandy up into his “cage” to take on the fighters. Sandy does, a little too efficiently, and shoots a P-51 down. Troper roars at Gallagher “You’re shooting at us!” A startled but still steady Gallagher apologizes.
Back at the 918th, two airmen throw a baseball to each other, while waiting the terrible wait. The baseball imagery is important; as discussed in “The Idolater,” the planes and the men must work like a baseball team; without a pitcher the batter can’t hit; without a batter, where and why and at what is the pitcher pitching? It’s an important image for this episode as well.
-“congratulate the man who shot it down”
Here they come! General Britt, Stovall, and Saxon are there as well, to welcome the men and have a media opportunity. Stovall politely warns the general that Gallagher is not in good condition; he has wounded aboard (poor co-pilot!) and a full load of bombs as well, which makes landing a delicate affair, just what you need after three terrible days. Britt, in character of a fearless leader for the journalist, who probably is not fooled, still announces that the landing inaugurates a new concept in air warfare and they start down to greet the tired men—at least he is not pinning medals on their chest, as I understand the crew of the Enola Gay had to suffer, after changing history at Hiroshima. Troper, already landed and back from Holypoole, dressed, and in a Jeep, greets the general. He lost one of his flyers, and he’s on the way “to congratulate the man who shot it down.” He tears off, leaving Britt to climb into the staff car.
Troper meets Gallagher at the hatch. Gallagher, exhausted, greets him with an apology, and that he saw the pilot get out, but Troper yanks him down to the tarmac. (Shoot first, ask questions later.) Komansky slides out the hatch, conveniently between them. He is smart enough to pretend he hasn’t seen anything, but asks “Are you all right sir?” “I just slipped,” Gallagher says, and says the same thing to General Britt, who also knows there has been a collision of sorts. He also does not tell Troper who exactly shot the man down, which was Komansky, thus standing firm behind his men and this man in particular. He also, at the time, does not accuse Troper of being five minutes late. “We’ll pretend that didn’t happen,” he tells Troper about their near fight and maybe about that five minute delay. This situations recalls “The Loneliest Place in the World”—and Gallagher’s first harsh meeting with Komansky as well as a near physical fight. As he elected to ignore Komansky’s rude introduction of himself, Gallagher pretends to ignore the situation and so give Troper another chance. Perhaps he is recalling the horrible situation in “Loneliest Place” when he ordered a B-17 to be shot down when it did not identify itself.
-“it’s your job to put up with guys like Troper”
Act II—at base operations, and the joint is busy, with two MPs standing guard. In Gallagher’s outer office, Saxon is interviewing Komansky and a young man with bright blond hair (was that the bright blond head I saw on the Nazi depot raid?) who correct the journalist’s assumptions and agree that yes, despite of the loss of the P-51, the “raid paid off.” General Britt distantly oversees the interview, and perhaps selected the two good looking and intelligent men for speaking to the press; at any rate, country boy Hugo is not around. But they are killing some time before speaking with the Shuttle Leader, who is in office having it out with Troper—Major Stovall has a discreet ear to the door, and is waiting for an all-clear before announcing General Britt. In their altercation, Joe Gallagher is snapping at Troper for not following procedures. Troper, as will prove typical of his immature character, shoves the blame on Gallagher, telling him that he can quote procedures “until he’s blue in the face,” but he can’t “whitewash the fact that you shot us down.” Gallagher, a lot stronger than he was in the first similar incident with the B-17, won’t back down—but neither will Troper.
The fighters are parted with the entry of General Britt, whose never failing aplomb brings calm. He directs Troper to the Officers Club (“we’ll have a chat later”) and talks directly with Gallagher, whose exhaustion is beginning to show. He tells Gallagher he needs to speak with Saxon (Gallagher would rather not), and mentors “his boy” about the burdens of command: “It’s your job to put up with guys like Troper”—and journalists. He then allows Roy Saxon the honor of speaking with Gallagher alone, trusting that the colonel will say the right things. One of the qualities that I appreciate about 120CH is that they never glorified war, and frequently identified its horrors, with a lot more subtlety than, say, Alan Alda pontificating in MASH. When Saxon tells Joe that he’s a hero—two strikes in three days—Joe, lighting a calming cigarette, can only speak of the losses (men and planes)—not to mention he landed with a plane full of bombs and he shot down one of our own—“If that sounds like a hero . . . “ he finishes, previewing the theme of “Show Me a Hero” in which Komansky struggles with the difficult title and attendant responsibilities. Gallagher looks out the window, maybe searching for the freedom of the skies to overcome the realities confronted in his stuffy ugly office, and remarks that Troper pointed out that “Anywhere else, I would be charged with manslaughter.” Saxon is a wise man—with a Pulitzer he has nothing to prove, so he agrees to leave the remarks off the record—but does ask for a “usable quote.” Joe delivers what he really wants to say—and that the experiences “suggest” that long-range fighter escort needs to be “studied”—the first experience has not proven promising. Little does he know that Saxon probably seeks out Britt at the Officers Club and relays Joe’s ideas, but not after Trope checks with him, and makes sure he gets a mention in the newspaper. Trusted journalists had their roles in war; Saxon is wise to his.
-“Sir, I aimed, shot, and scored. Don’t do me any favors”
Joe would probably like to get to the Officers Club himself (for a tall brandy), but first he calls in Komansky, who enters with wary eyes and an elaborate salute: this is the third “grace note” of their developing relationship in this trilogy: first, in Yugoslavia, when Gallagher’s confidence in Komansky’s abilities provokes a grin from the flight engineer; second, in North Africa when Komansky speaks his loyalty aloud and receives a sign of Gallager’s affection for him; this third scene crowns their relationship though it takes an odd and humorous turn. The informality of the last three days is over, and his excellent work at rewiring the starter switches, and keeping the planes running in North Africa, has gone down the drain with the P-51 incident. It’s placed Gallagher in hot water and this to a man he just a day earlier he announced personal loyalty to (“Sir, I’m staying with you”) and he’s blown it, big–Gallagher assures him to be at ease—“relax”—but Komansky is adamant about his guilt, in complete contrast with Troper.
Gallagher asks about the camera mounts on Piccadilly Lily; Komansky says his mount filmed it, but no evidence is needed; he shot it down. Gallagher interrupts, saying there will be an inquiry. “I’ve been busted before,” Komansky says firmly, resignedly. Gallagher realizes what Komansky is saying: “I ordered it [the shooting].” Komansky: “Sir, I aimed, I shot, and I scored. Don’t do me any favors.” Gallagher brushes aside his bravado: “We’re on the same side,” and asks Komansky to secure the film and with that, leaves.
Komansky is left in Gallagher’s office, looking a bit exasperated—He may have been planning to march into hell for Gallagher and has been brushed off. (I can imagine Komansky wanting to say, “Hey, Colonel, I’m sacrificing for you here!”) Soon he realizes that Gallagher is doing one of best things a superior can do for subordinate–protect. They don’t throw others to the dogs in order to protect themselves.
On the way out the door, not realizing that he has left a slightly baffled Komansky (Robinson’s expression is priceless), Gallagher finally gets a nice surprise: RAF Lt. Faye Vendry, who works at the “listening post,” is hand-delivering transcriptions of the pilots’ conversations. “I forget you are listening to us,” Gallagher says, in way of explanation for the audience. Film, listening in, transcriptions—Troper seems blissfully aware that his own movements are being tracked and documented, unlike the panicky but more carefree days of the Battle of Britain. Vendry perhaps has volunteered to courier the documents to Gallagher; first, she wants to say Trope can be “just horrid”—she knows because her roommate Allison is his lover or concubine (and that he flew her down from Scotland on a C-47 ). Also, she wants to meet Gallagher—and it’s successful because, when a romantic tune suddenly plays in the background, Gallagher, as a reward to himself, makes a date with her. He’s on his way, and so is she, but she suddenly remembers her purpose and hands Major Stovall the transcriptions for his inbox. Stovall takes the envelope and amusedly taps it on his desk, perhaps recalling his own romantic encounters.
-“I’ve never shot down a B-17 before”
Gallagher finally enters the rustic comforts of the Officer’s Club, which, in keeping with Donner’s direction, features period music, a ballad. Britt is there, with interesting news: Troper’s 511th has been attached to the 918th (and will be located at Holypoole–that is more likely the correct spelling; in England, in my experience, ‘holy’ such as in Holyhead, is pronounced as “holly.”). As Gallagher feeds the stove, and gets a cup of coffee (probably wishing for some brandy; he’s had a hard three days and this news is terrible). Britt charges him with the responsibility of carrying out what Joe has suggested—to study how fighter protection needs to work with bomber formations. Gallagher has been ordered to “stand down” for 10 days while this new program rolls; no rest for the weary. In need of diversion, Gallagher later escorts Faye Vendry to a pub, where “Chattanooga Choo Choo” is jangling in the background, an interesting counterpoint to these pilots and a preview of the train strafing. They encounter Trope, his men, and a tall brassy blonde (Allison, who is also using the war for having fun) happily occupying the bar. They seat themselves in a booth and order (scotch and water for her, brandy of course for him) and in the middle of small talk about Bournemouth and Brighton (where Faye hails from, and hates both places) Allison, eyes bright with drink, suddenly pokes her head through the slats of the booth—and the beginnings of a nice evening go sour as Trope takes over. Trope and Allison move in on them, with Trope straddling a chair, like a cowboy on a horse.
Allison gets a triple gin to add her inebriation, and Trope, already well oiled, calls Joe his temporary boss, and that he will cooperate with a nice guy and a “gentleman.” “I’ve never shot down a B-17 before,” he remarks, and Joe knows it’s a kind of threat, maybe not literally, but figuratively.
-“I’m neither a chaplain nor a psychiatrist”
The triangle is inserted: Trope whispers to Faye—she grows excited; “Oh, I couldn’t,” she exclaims, and every thing she says to his whispers sounds worse and worse. He takes off, with her after him. Allison shouts after him, “Oh, I hate you!” which Gallagher, deeply humiliated as Trope captures his date, can only agree with. Saxon has observed this, and comes to Troper’s defense. “He’s a dyed in the wool maverick,” he remarks. “He built his own plane when he was 14, from a kit”—Joe stares at him, trying to figure out how this secures an excuse for the man, and maybe realizing how little he understood the work “maverick” when he first applied it to Komansky. (“He’s a maverick,” he said to Bailey’s protests against gaining him as his flight engineer. Bailey had him nailed better as a “sour apple”—which puts your teeth on edge.) Trope defines the word with his “to hell with you” and “I’ll do as I please” approach to life and the military, which Komansky, for all his prickliness, never quite approached—indeed, Komansky always seems very “squared away” when taking orders, at least with people he respects (or has no reason not to respect). One of Trope’s men puts in a word for his boss, but he shows the cracks that his own men can see: “he’s a different guy in the air.”
Gallagher doesn’t know how to deal with such a naked display of balls, stating, “I’m neither a chaplain nor a psychiatrist.” He starts to leave and meets the somewhat anxious and complacent Komansky, who must seem the soul of obedience and reason—and has Komansky seen what happened to his colonel? In any case he has the film from the camera mounts, and a limited time to view it. Before they leave, Joe makes a phone call to the 511 Operations. Enraged, and maybe modeling himself on his recently visited brother, Gallagher demands the duty officer get the 511th together for a briefing at 0400. He’s the boss, and he flourishes his authority to get this sloppy crew together. It is interesting to note that Gallagher’s first decision to nail these guys arises somewhat out of Troper’s embarrassing actions with his date–however, this rather questionable motivation is legitimized by what he will learn about Troper’s cavalier attitude about timing.
-“How long are you going to put up with this guy?”
Act III begins with Gallagher and Komansky at the movies—the films from the attack on Saarbrucken, now playing in his office at Operations. With some slight bloodlust, Joe admires the hit made on the P-51—and asked who made it. “Me, of course sir,” Komansky says, now with a touch of pride. “You did go to gunnery school,” Joe says, and “keep that up and you’ll be an ace.” “Thank you sir,” Komansky says, actually thanking Gallagher for protecting him from Troper and a possible busting. As the film continues to roll, Sandy looks up curiously as odd stuff appears—factories, roads, and explosions which the P-51 flies through like a brutal angel–“Low level stuff” as Joe calls it. Komansky confirms that the films were of this mission. Joe realizes something: ”Troper.” He was late for rendezvous because he was strafing trains. Sandy speaks his mind, or starts to: “Sir, how long are you—“ “Let’s have it Sandy,” Gallagher says, valuing his sergeant’s opinion, at least this time. “How long are you going to put up with this guy?” he demands. “Don’t worry,” Gallagher says. Joe knows how to punish as well as protect, and in the ensuing ten days, he combines both to bring the 511th to heel.
The “heeling” at 0400 the next morning with the 511 pilots stumbling into the briefing hut with ties askew, jackets slung over shoulders, coffee cups still in hand. Gallagher, with only a few hours sleep under his belt (Komansky is not there, maybe he’s catching up on some sleep; at least Joe got a nap at Magadar); lectures them on appearance and attitude, and sends them out again for a new entry. The guys come in “hupping,” which may be a sneer at Gallagher. But they stand at attention while Gallagher counts them, and demands the duty officer, Major Marriott, to come front and center. Out of 17 pilots, only 12 are present—and Troper is conspicuous by his absence. Their first duty of that godawful hour is for them to find the other five pilots—and to place Colonel Troper under arrest. When the startled major asks if he is to place him under the arrest, Gallagher says no—“Major Stovall will do it for you.” The men go out into the pre-dawn world, maybe realizing that a new day has come, literally and figuratively.
-“you just shot down two of your own men”
Training gets underway; the seated pilots intently listen to Komansky’s lecture about the B-17, which he is delivering confidently to his audience that he addresses as “gentlemen”—ironic in terms of their behavior. Next he takes them on an inspection tour of a B-17, which they obediently follow. Troper, under arrest, is pretending to ignore their willing compliance while lounging on some equipment. After training on the ground, there is training in the sky: Troper, looking surprisingly small in his co-pilot seat, learns the qualities of the B-17. On the ground, Gallagher drills the uncautious Troper with plane profiles, while, snapping out conversation—such as he thinks his guys are enjoying working together as a team—and with pleasure tells of Trope’s misidentification: “you just shot down two of your men.” In turn, Joe gets to know the P-51; he flies one like an ace in “The Jones Boys,” “The Outsider,” and “Day of Reckoning.” More training in the sky: Troper at last gets back into his own lady love, the P-51 Mustang. . . Things don’t go exactly right (60 second delay in rendezvous) and Gallagher says they will try it again.
Troper radios in an old dodge: engine trouble and goes joy riding by himself. At last, he is released from the “surly bonds of earth” and his smile, and the lyrical soundtrack suggest he is with his true mistress, the plane, the sky, and the air . . . for good measures he flies through an amazingly handy flight hangar, a stunt trick from barnstorming days that does not belong in practice, or during war. As lovely as the sequence is it underscores the point that Troper is not fit for command.
-“he’s just trying to make us look good”
As Act III concludes, the men are back at the pub, and Troper, reasonably sober, is with them. Though still under arrest (though he seems to have gotten some enjoyment from his outlaw status), he has joined the men—but they are different. Though calling Joe Gallagher a “galvanized bus driver,” they think he’s “pretty good.” When Troper objects, Major Marriott says, in a friendly way, “He’s just trying to make us look good”—for their benefit, not for his. Maybe that strikes something in the soul of Troper—that he has relied on his guys to make HIM look good. In a second, he has turned surly, and tries, too late, to demand the respect they are giving Gallagher—button up, give me a salute—but he knows he has lost them, and maybe to a better man. They leave him—alone. Troper perhaps envisions himself in a western saloon, the lone cowboy—but he doesn’t buy it this time. He angrily demands from the waiter how much all the glasses on the table will cost—he will pay for them—and knocks it over. Gallagher, maybe a little too foil-like to all this, is busy in his office, studying maps. The phone rings, and it is Britt—following up like a good mentor should, asking Joe about his problems with Troper, and what is this about differences over a young lady?—who in a previous scene has already sought out Joe with an explanation and an apology (Troper lured her away with a promise of 24 pairs of nylon stockings; “that will get me through the war”), and a statement, “My conscience is clear.” Joe, as gentlemanly as ever, greets her kindly, and indicates there are no hard feelings, but perhaps uses his excuse of business to clear out and away—but Lt. Vendry will reappear in “Runway in the Dark” but surely she has lost all chance for any kind permanent arrangement with Gallagher. Still the gentleman, Gallagher admits to Britt he has never seen a better pilot than Troper.
Britt has other reasons to call—stand down time is over, and a real mission has come up and he must call in his pilots. Before he has time to search for Troper, Faye Vendry, who was probably hit on by Troper as she sought out Allison, Faye’s roommate, has managed to get the sodden Troper in a vehicle, and to Gallagher’s offices. Singing an incomprehensible song, Troper staggers into Joe’s office, and collapses against the colonel. There is an over-obvious line: “You caught him in time,” says Faye; “No, I don’t think I did,” Joe responds, yet there is truth in the statement. An earlier Gallagher in Troper’s life might have kept him from his fall—and suggests that General Savage had caught Joe in time.
-“you won’t be any good without me!”
Act IV begins with Gallagher’s crisp and not without humor briefing—reminding them that “you fighter jockeys” are there to protect us, not to chase the Luftwaffe, including “our old friend Colonel Falkenstein” last encountered in the skies over Germany and on the ground in Yugoslavia. The men leave, and Troper enters, grinning and ready, despite his performance the night before and is shocked to learn that Major Marriott is now in command. Framing their first in-person meeting, Troper takes another a swing at Gallagher, who simply pushes him down; it’s refreshing that there are no wild fisticuffs, and no excuses that “Troper just slipped.” But, if Troper was probably not woozy with drink would a true fight break out? We’re spared this as the men head out on their mission, and Troper yells that the men won’t be any good without him—good set-up for his melodramatic come-uppance.
-“Glad to see you, Big Brother” You know they will be!—it’s too bad in a way that Troper dominates the story because we don’t really get a sense of these men improving, save their attention to lectures and admissions that Gallagher’s a good guy after all. But, Troper is far more interesting than such mundane scenes so the viewer is treated to his former pilots doin’ their stuff, and on time, thereby granting a waist gunner’s wish to “Come on, baby, be there,” as his fist pats the picture of a P-51—and a reminder that men’s lives depend on the P-51 pilots running escort not performing against the enemy. As the mission unfolds, the P-38s peel off, and a tense wait for the P-51s, which come in on time, with greetings, “Glad you’re here little brother,” and “Glad to see you, Big Brother” seal their fraternity and they take care of things in well-done fight sequence. Gallagher is left smiling, saying, “Colonel Falkenstein, meet Major Marriott.” Troper’s time is now over.
-“they operated like a team”
Epilogue: Once again, the men wait, including Stovall, Brit and Saxon; the “hymn version” of the 120CH theme plays. All have come back, and I have read about what a glad moment that was, when all the planes return—Bob Hope, in his book about his touring England, North African and Italy in 1943, I Never Left Home, described a colonel standing on the tarmac, his arms raised, and cheering as all his men and planes came home. This good moment contrasts with Gallagher’s earlier exhausted and sickening homecoming, despite successfully completing the shuttle raids. “There’s the end of your story Saxon,” says Britt, tying in the end of the mission, with the end of two stories. Saxon then overhears two fighter pilots, already returned, referring to Joe as a schoolteacher, and even as a galvanized bus driver, but it’s affectionately backhanded praise for “their colonel.” Troper waits on the runway, a bit like Custer, still standing and shooting—and declares to the homecoming men that if he had been there, there would have been more kills than just two German fighters. Lighting a cigarette (probably again to calm himself before taking Troper on) Gallagher tells him “It’s not the kills, is that they operated like a team,” which is what Gallagher constantly pushes for in his never ending work of commanding the 918th.– As well as seeking peace in a way…
The men peel off Troper, one with embarrassment, and Troper is left alone on the tarmac–the camera pulls away, dwarfing him and showing how small he is in terms of the Piccadilly Lily flown by a man who believes in teamwork. For once, Joe Gallagher could not charm somebody–but Troper does not deserve this opportunity, and it is interesting to speculate on what will happen to him.
“Show Me A Hero, I’ll Show You a Bum”
Writer: Robert Hamner
Director: Richard Donner
This title, which is drawn from “Pappy Boyington,” the hard living, hard flying American ace pilot who debunked his own heroism, does not describe Sandy Komansky, the subject and focus of “tonight’s story.” Rather, it describes the problems of being labeled a hero, which Komansky is wise enough/scared enough to reject as self-definition. The problems he confronts, including a voracious media, makes me reflect on why “superheroes” have two identities: one heroic and the other one as a “regular joe” who does not have a reputation to constantly deal with and live up to as media demands more and more . . . Superman, interestingly enough, was a reporter, which meant that he could keep his heroic identity under his own media control. This episode reveals Sandy in “search of self”–and suggests his lack of strong self-identity which Gallagher helps him to find during the course of this episode and in others. To complicate matters Sandy has two completely different identities foisted on him in “Show Me A Hero . . .” A hero and a “jonah”—Biblical identity aside (he was a runaway prophet who, thrown overboard to stop a storm, survived in the belly of a whale for three days), a “jonah” is a term created by men of the sea for a person who brings bad luck; or, a “jinx” as he is snidely referred to by three wiseguys who perform as a nasty Greek chorus and later double as playground bullies. He is also called a loser (by Chapman who hates him and by Susan who comes to love him) and becomes a “commodity” for exploitation. With difficult identities to fall prey to no wonder he seems to be on a verge of a nervous breakdown halfway through the episode.
And maybe . . . his jinx reputation is eerily right. The seaman’s term jonah leads to a point about the “genre” of 120CH: it is a variation of the “sea-adventure tale”—which does not necessarily mean pirates swashing about the Caribbean– and highlights other marine terms appearing in the show, such as “skipper” and “mutiny” (“Mutiny at 10,000 Feet;” Komansky is accused of mutiny in “Long Time Dead.”) The sea tale, as explained by Brian Taves, portrays life aboard ships in the “historical past”—wooden ships with tall masts. We may be dealing with airplanes in 120CH, but the jet-missile-rocket age makes the B-17s as quaint as schooners and as outdated as the “fortresses” they were named after. Sea tales, as told in movies, “have magnificent visuals, backed my musical scores [who doesn’t get a thrill with this show’s hymn-like love-song theme music particularly when it’s played as the B-17s, looking so graceful in flight, sail among the clouds?]. “Yet,” Taves points out in The Romance of Adventure, “such beauty is counterpointed by the cruel law of the sea. There is danger in reefs, collisions and wrecks; individuals are in constant danger of the sea, and the ship itself.” Voyages become “testing grounds for the complexities of command and responsibilities and the maturation it may produce in individuals of every station.” Finally, “sea stories tend to become character studies of the captain, officers and crews, their leadership abilities, motivations, relationships and actions”—need I say more? “Show Me A Hero“ is a great example of this “sea-reading” of 120CH. Komansky brings in and lands the crippled Piccadilly Lily and thus subjected to a testing ground on which he both fails and wins. The resulting media-storm he navigates develops the episode into a character study of both him and the journalist, during which heroism, motivations, and relationships are probed. And so starts “Show Me a Hero,” which seems to launch a trilogy of episodes in which Komansky’s, Gallagher’s and Stovall’s lives and families get looked into: “Grant Me No Favor,” and “Storm at Twilight.”
-“without the foggiest notion . . . “
Richard Donner does his usual wonderful work with this tightly packed tale of missions flown and completed successfully and, to be maudlin, human hearts in confused collision, all climaxing in explosions and debris. Suspense is the keynote as the episode’s teaser opens, in media res (meaning, “in the middle of things”) as a seemingly full formation of planes approach Archbury tower and gracefully peel off for landing, mission over. But one has been left behind. Cut to the back of a civilian in Gallagher’s office, identifying himself as Kirby Wyatt, Information Section, and he wishes to speak to Susan Nesbit at the BBC, Annex 3. (Though never completely identified he must be a media liaison for the Eighth Air Force and the BBC.) A secretary-receptionist takes the phone call for her boss, the attractive and feminine Susan Nesbit, an American who makes broadcasts to the English and the American public; she is listening to a radio broadcast. Quick communication, the media and its use and exploitation foreground this episode, and show that media frenzy was alive and well in the forties—and the war was an exciting thing to broadcast. The military sanctioned the use of electronic communication to forward their efforts on many fronts. Churchill, Roosevelt, and certainly Hitler used the radio to their benefit, and it was a weapon that nobody could ignore, whether for entertainment, understanding, or for propaganda.
Susan is in a hurry (in more ways than one) but takes the call from Kirby Wyatt, portrayed by Lloyd Bochner who recalls the suave attitudes of George Sanders (who watches progress of the ambitious Eve in All About Eve, a movie previously referenced in my analysis of “The Idolater”). The ubiquity of the media is plain; he is telephoning news as it is happening and before its ending is known. It’s a juicy story for her—a B-17 is late, flown by a sergeant who does not have “foggiest notion” of what he is doing, and containing the presence of General Maxwell Gallagher’ son, and the 918th’s CO–whom she recognizes with growing excitement. “General Maxwell Gallagher?” Susan asks, not at all interested in the imperilled sergeant. Whether this will be Joe Gallagher’s funeral or his rescue is yet to be determined but she hardly cares—what a scoop!
-“. . . you’re doing fine Sandy . . . “
Cut to a crippled B-17 flying alone, which recalls the theme in “The Loneliest Place in The World.” Komansky, in the co-pilot seat (yes!—another co-pilot has been knocked off), is the lone unwounded survivor of flak and fighters. They are not entirely alone; outside, fighters, perhaps flown by the pilots that Sandy assisted Gallagher to train only recently (“The Hot Shot”) fight off Germans ganging up on the single vulnerable plane. He must appreciate them but his attention is centered on trying to rouse Colonel Gallagher who, for all he might know, is dying from his head wound. Komansky evokes one of the themes of the episode and of his character: “Please, don’t leave me alone up here!” The “six bongs” over his face tell us that he is “on the line” in this episode.
Act I begins at Archbury tower, where Major Stovall has been called to help Komansky land safely (a favor that Komansky will return, though more brutally, in “Storm at Twilight”). He and another officer wait tensely on the wet platform, scanning the skies. Down below, comfortably seated, are the three wiseguys who agree that the “jinx” has done it again. Back in the plane the “jinx” is holding on. He has some knowledge of flying; he helped Gallagher take her off in “We’re Not Coming Back” and in the future helps Bob Fowler land the crippled Rink’s Raidar in “Back to the Drawing Board.” But landing a plane by himself . . .. Stovall is helping him, but his real hope lies in Gallagher’s reacting to his “Stay with me sir” which he does, now and later, when Sandy faces other problems on the ground. Gallagher, with blurred vision and blood leaking dramatically down over his face, blearily comes to in time, helps him with the critical steps of landing the plane, and encourages him: “You’re doing fine Sandy . . .” Such scenes are always a grabber!—check out Doris Day’s turn at this in Julie when she, as a flight attendant, has a whole planeful of passengers relying on her, after her insanely jealous husband wounds both pilots. The combination of clips, editing, pacing and music make this a tense sequence, as the scene switches from Sandy, Stovall, Gallagher, the plane, the lowering wheel, even the shadow of the nose turret on the tarmac, and the three wiseguys, who have been joined by others. Success—and everybody’s happy, except Komansky who, sick to his stomach, can only cling to the controls.
-“he sounds fabulous”
Switch to . . . while “Chattanooga Choo Choo” rattles on the piano, a bunch of the guys are whooping it up with Susan Nesbit at the NCO’s club. Bright, pretty, and personable, she has no trouble attracting the men while pumping them about Komansky, and they happily supply her with (mis)information and opinions, including “he’s always in hot water.” T/Sgt.Vern Chapman, played by Burt Reynolds, all burgeoning brio, tries to make time with her, asking her if she would rather talk to him, a flight engineer “who’s wounded,” and showing her his “infected hand” in a phallic-like gesture. She smiles, but is wise to him. Another sergeant enters; a friendly soul, he is genuinely thrilled when he announces that Komansky’s going to get the Silver Star, the third highest decoration. This breaks up Susan’s cadre, and she turns to Kirby, who waits unobtrusively. She has been so busy being admired and courted she has not noticed the arrival of other members of the press—but, she declares, she wants the sergeant all for herself–though nobody knows where he is. “But,” she grins, “he sounds fabulous; a lone wolf type”—although Komansky proves to be more like Red Riding Hood at the mercy of two wolves. There is a quality of the folk tale in this episode; folk tales are usually about a lone, helpless (frequently orphaned) youth who confronts forces larger than himself, like this ambitious reporter—but who usually conquers them with assistance of a helper. This lovely wolf declares “I could make him the biggest war hero ever, and he could make me.” Kirby is older and wiser: “Won’t you need his cooperation?” But he can do something about the “press-gang” threatening her scoop.
-“self preservation . . . let’s not make something ugly out of it”
Kaiser comes into Gallagher’s room where Komansky is hiding; wide eyed, like a child, he stares at the bandaged up colonel, who is at least not as bad as he looks. Sandy is still scared–he has been through a life-changing event and he’s trying to figure things out, which includes himself. “Is he all right?” he asks Kaiser in a timid voice. Throughout the story, he regresses; a process Robinson does so well that he appears to have physically shrunk later on in the episode. Doc Kaiser, played so nicely by Barney Phillips, is the kind of avuncular doctor we should all be able to turn to; he even sends off the nurse who is accompanying him because he knows that something painful is about to happen.
Komansky is beating hell out of himself but for once his feelings are on display—to counter everything that Kaiser tells him to be proud or happy about: a celebration (“I’d rather go to my own wake”); the Silver Star (receiving decoration when “I could have killed Colonel Gallagher for leaving me alone”); the courage to stay at the controls (he’s seen what happens to guys when the plane is out of control); even the natural impulse of survival (“all I could pray was ‘get ME out of here alive, please’”). Kaiser kindly tells him that there is nothing wrong with “self-preservation . . . let’s not make something ugly out of it.” Komansky retorts, “You know what’s ugly—taking bows for the way I felt.” It’s an interesting comment because his feelings, which he will later claim “don’t run very deep,” are more like open wounds, which is why he has long since retreated within a shell. This event is jerking him out of his shell, his feelings are under scrutiny, and he’s already fighting it. Kaiser finally sends him on his way; Komansky stops and glances back at Gallagher; the medium distant shot does not disclose what he’s thinking, allowing viewers to impress their own ideas. Perhaps he is remembering that this is the man he vowed personal loyalty to (“I’m staying with you sir” in ”Big Brother”) and this vow has only seemed to show up his own hypocrisy, a quality that he holds against officers (“The Loneliest Place in the World”).
-“I’ve bagged you”
Out in the hall he glances about nervously and then is snared by Susan. She opens with a flood of charming talk that only rattles him. She has seen him leave the colonel’s room, so he must be the sergeant she wants. Transforming herself into a hunter and “lone wolf” Komansky into her prey, she declares “I’ve bagged you.” Komansky snaps back that the incident is in his report and “I don’t want to take guff for what I did up there.” But he admits “Somehow it didn’t come out right for me.” She becomes a flirtatious hunter; she invites him to her studio; “doesn’t that sound wicked?” She charmingly rebounds; she knows her prey by now, by report and by first-hand experience, and she adapts. She stops trying to bag him by flirting, and tries to assure him that “he’s safe with her,” and “she doesn’t even take notes”—which is pretty cool, considering how much information she has hijacked at the NCO’s club. She has “no right to make demands on him,” but asks what she can call him. A simple request gets a simple but important response: “Sandy,” he practically whispers—and she gets him to the NCO’s club to run the gauntlet of the press.
‘I don’t have any!”
With typical Donner flourish, a photographer’s flash sets the scene. Susan stands next to Komansky as though she owns him (she pretty much does by now) and ignores the three wiseguys’ chorus of cracks: “how come you always get the girl?”—that remark will rebound on Susan. Komansky answers a silly question politely: “Did you ever fly a B-17 before?” “No.” He answers a painful question with a bark: “What about your parents?” “I don’t have any!”—which finally clarifies Komansky’s background; hints have been dropped about a difficult neighborhood (“Loneliest Place” and “We’re Not Coming Back” and in “Between the Lines” it finally becomes sordid with rats) but it’s finally nailed down, strengthening him as a direct foil to Gallagher, who is described in this episode in terms of family: “General Maxwell Gallagher’s son.” The interview apparently over, Komansky turns his back on the proceedings as if sick. Major Stovall then reads a recently received announcement which shows that the busy Wyatt has rigged press limitations. Stovall’s announcement explains the current set of missions, sets up the climax, but pushes Komansky into a more vulnerable spot: the 918th has been seeking and hitting airbases in occupied Europe from which recent attacks on London are being launched, and it is one such raid that Komansky served on. Details cannot be released at this time. Kirby, to further Susan’s plans, will arrange for Komansky to go to London to be interviewed. Komansky looks over his shoulder at this announcement, looking like the trapped animal he has become. Kirby winks at Susan, who blows a kiss to him–and completely misses Sandy’s wild eyes. He escapes and tends to duties, the result of which he is called to Gallagher’s room that evening, entering with a wary salute, delivered from the doorway.
-“I think I lost something up there this morning”
Gallagher is awake and also tending to duties; papers, an ashtray and a coffee mug on his bed table reveal he is back in business. There are no thanks given. As usual, his sergeant is puzzling the hell out of him. He asks why Sandy put himself in for duty with Captain Benson; he has been called to London. Kirby Wyatt is lounging against the wall in Gallagher’s room; he has brought it to the colonel’s attention and picks up the story: these bombing raids of the 918th are highly important to the British people—and the sergeant has become an important part of them. Gallagher points out that he has done a great thing—they want to pay tribute—what’s so bad about a couple of days in London?—rather than being shot at “upstairs.”
When Kaiser arrives to break things up, Sandy pleads for a few more minutes. He rationalizes his flying with Benson because his engineer, Chapman (who proves his real worth—low–in “The Jones Boys”), has an infected hand (the same hand he flourished to get Susan’s interest). Gallagher knows his sergeant better. “What kind of game are you playing?” (that phrase recurs in many episodes). Komansky answers that he will not “play hero”—he’s the best man for the job—“or I think I am.” Gallagher understands Sandy’s next remark: “I think I lost something up there this morning”—and lets him go (“you’re right, the mission comes first”) but makes him promise he will go to London when he returns. Gallagher knows from “The Hot Shot” that they all have certain obligations to the press which can be helpful in promoting and defending their work. The next day, when Gallagher is back on his feet, he starts seeing Sandy’s issues more clearly.
-“Our hero has done it again!”
As Act II takes, up, B-17s are warming up and taking off for what almost seems to be simple routine work, which includes the flak that chops up their flight. Sandy is wary but seems content. The bombing goes well, but one is stuck and he is requested to push it down, while the pilot drops out of formation. In a perhaps overly-dramatic sequence, shot from below, Komansky crawls into the bowels or the bombay of the plane and kicks the bomb loose “from the ashtray”—while being observed by the radio operator. The pilot complains about the routine event: “that is the fourth one we’ve hung up this month,” and nods when Komansky returns with an”OK” gesture. The radioman (who else in this episode about the mass media?) merrily broadcasts the event to the squadron: “our hero has done it again!” The pilot, Captain Benson, who seems cut out of Gallagher’s kind of cloth, snaps at him–“what kind of remark is that?!” and “to get off the air!” Another minor problem occurs but when Komansky is requested to take care of it, he, observed byenson, “spaces out” at the word hero. (Suitably, his face “dissolves” into the next scene of the Operations building.)
-“. . .a bill of goods”
Later that afternoon, an unseen but ambitious colonel has telephoned Gallagher, who, as the scene in Operations takes up, is out of the hospital and back in his office, his head wound and slung-up arm making him irritably deal with new fuel on the fire: Komansky should get a field commission. His bomb-kicking, broadcast by the radioman, has already gone out to a lot of listeners. –So, does Komansky ever go to London for that interview?—It’s unclear. However, when we see him again, he’s in Dress-A uniform as if returning from London. Susan Nesbit is in Gallagher’s office; it seems that both she and Wyatt brought Komansky back from London to the 918th. Probably trying to get in a few words to and from Gallagher, she pretends to study the photos on the walls; but she is privy to Gallagher’s exasperated phone conversation. Some Colonel Berry or Perry is demanding a field commission for Komansky for the act of dislodging the bomb; Gallagher is trying to be reasonably courteous to a SHAEF staffer, but also wants to tell him to jump in the lake. “He’s still under my command and unless it comes down through channels, I’m going to ignore it.” Hanging up, he calls the request a “bill of goods,” and directly asks her, “Are you in on this?” She does not admit to anything —but she does promote Komansky for the commission (“Don’t you think he’s exceptional?”) and evades Gallagher’s probing about her real feelings and motivations by defining her profession: She deals with British public opinion and Komansky is the kind of “quiet Yankee” that they like.
Now there’s media spin—she was first celebrating his “lone wolf” qualities, now she’s recasting him as a “quiet Yankee.” –Which brings to mind I visit I made once to a wonderful history museum in Norwich, which had sectioned southeastern England history into “invasions”—with the “friendly invasion” of Yankee air crews being the last. I have read how shocked the British were when the gum-chewing, jitterbugging, free and easy and class-unconscious Yanks came piling in but how eventually love and cordiality (and quite a few babies) resulted.
-“. . . lead him”
Gallagher’s mending wounds and general aggravation make him blunt. “Are you romancing British opinion, or him?” Never without words, she says she thinks he’s deserving—and, perhaps to placate Gallagher, says, “I like him.” Gallagher, by now, knows Komansky better than anybody (in “Mighty Hunter” Joe remarks on how Sandy for once apparently, had “opened up” to him and Stovall) and sets down some warnings for her—but ends with a compassionate request to help him grow. Komansky has officer qualities and could be a leader but deep down, beneath the veneer, “there is a frightened little orphan boy who had to take all his problems into himself. There are things which he can’t cope with. He still doesn’t know the difference between laughed at or laughed with” (a reference to what he also learned in “Mighty Hunter”). He continues by saying that “something happened to him the day before which jerked him into the sunlight and he’s a bit blinded.” He concludes by saying if she wants to help him—”then lead him”–into the sunlight. She smiles confidently, not knowing how his words are going to scratch her own veneer.
-“ . . . the loser who always wins”
Voices sound beyond the closed door of the NCO’s club; the three wiseguys enter with (the increasingly jealous and bumptious) Chapman repeating his favorite line about Komansky and “the only thing that hasn’t happened to him is being shot down by gremlins!”—little folktale creatures that got into planes and mess up the works. The Dress-A uniformed jinx is at the bar, trying to enjoy a beer, and hears this. Since he doesn’t rise to their bait (if he had kidded back, would they have let him be?) they regress to playground bullies: naming him “Alexander the great,” the gum-chewing Chapman admits that all Komansky had to do was fly with his pilot once (I wonder if Benson finally got sick of him, or was downed or transferred, because the next time we see Chapman he is Jaydee Jones’ flight engineer in “The Jones Boys”) and gets a battlefield commission. Komansky, typically, turns his back on them and they follow him to a table, accompanied with hearty backslaps as “Our hero,” which Komansky winces at. Chapman, frustrated when Komansky doesn’t fight back, gets cruel—“Here’s to the flight engineer who was on board when the general bought the farm” (the first reference to Savage since “Loneliest Place” and a nasty reminder that Sandy was the sole survivor) and “Here’s to the flight engineer who was on board when the Colonel went down in Yugoslavia” (“We’re Not Coming Back”) and “here’s to the flight engineer who yesterday, when everybody was shot up—the loser who always wins.” By now one of the wiseguys has fastened silverware together to parody the Silver Star, and mocks it as “Order of the Jonah.” Sandy finally has had enough and stands up to confront Chapman—but rather than using his fists, he wilts, his head slumping as though he is exhausted–he probably is, not just from war, but from life. He leaves to meet Susan at the door, who happily greets him and then sympathetically takes his arm and they leave together.
-“ . . . there’s no payoff for you”
Donner could arrange scenes thoughtfully: Sandy and Susan, out in the sunlight, walk up to a frame of trees where barbed wire stops their progress. Except for the hospital meeting this is the first time it seems that they have been alone. Duffin & Mathes’ synopsis of this episode describes that “she makes Komansky believe she cares for him”—but, in this walk, she does come to care for him—though maybe not exactly romantically–and hurt and confusion for them both is the result. In any case, with Sandy, the ambitious Susan will learn a simple lesson about love: real love is giving, not just taking; all she has wanted to do is take from him but during this walk she suddenly wants to give to him–her love, her strength, her protection–and the realization scares the heck out of her. They make an odd pair; the still young and gauche sergeant, and the somewhat older, sophisticated and self-confident journalist walking beside him.
Sandy for once is talking with another person about his problems; he has opened up to Gallagher, spilled his guts to Kaiser, but this apparently sympathetic woman is really drawing him out. Her efforts to lead him—in other words, to accept the commission–take on an oddly motherly note in her questions and comments: “Aren’t they jealous, Sandy?” she asks. “No, it’s me. I don’t think I know how to feel anything for anybody anymore—and they found me out. But maybe I’m just copping a plea.” Susan’s poise erodes as she recalls Gallagher’s description of his lonely sergeant. “Maybe you’re just outgrowing who you were,” she says. She’s getting into strange waters here. She brings up the field commission which he should accept: “I’m proud of the things you’ve done.” Sandy’s bitter experiences pry into her motivations: “You can’t care that much about me—there’s no payoff.” Her next words are a lie—or . . . maybe not: maybe she couldn’t care that much about a payoff although she is seeking one; his story for her fame. Of course, this is a wonderful moment for a clinch: They simultaneously reach out for each other; a long kiss is followed by Sandy embracing her, experiencing feelings he tries to deny.
It all creates a tender if disturbing Oedipal moment. Though her lover is Kirby Wyatt, he is the second and late-arriving reason she pushes herself out of his embrace—she is shocked by a rush of protective maternal feelings (she has spoken to Sandy like a mother comforting an upset kid) which she only knows how to express in sexual terms. She runs away, leaving him to stare after her. The camera wisely stays on Sandy’s back, rather than overplaying the moment by a close up on his face and eyes. Messy turning point!—leading to a painful climax.
-“are you holding out on me?” “Are you, sir?”
After a time, Komansky finally finds his way to Gallagher, who is speaking with Kirby Wyatt about the next set of raids (“if there’s flak then we know we’ve found something” is the rather vapid information). Wyatt leaves; Gallagher says he sent for him two hours ago (probably re Benson’s report on his behavior). In the new slew of issues, Komansky has forgotten the incident; “A stomach ache sir,” he says, unconvincingly. Gallagher’s eyesight may be off but he can’t miss Komansky’s fumbling manners and voice. He’s also fumbled for and found a wrong reason to ask for the commission–it will please Susan, who hurt him by running away from him–though he misunderstands, she did not run because of his reluctance about the field commission. Trying to ask for the unwanted promotion, he hems and haws his way into hot water.
When Gallagher asks if he is holding out on him, Sandy responds, “Are you sir?” Gallagher stares at him, puzzled and his eyes betraying a second’s hurt at his sergeant’s distrust. Komansky fumbles that “it’s about time” for his field commission–and his boss says to him, almost like a father, “All right, we’ll see.” (He’s been adopted figuratively by two very different people recently.) Komansky must feel like he’s swimming out of Gallagher’s office, once more in hot water, and once more swallowing his problems, the new one being that he has created distrust between him and a colonel he has pledged loyalty to. Duffin and Mathes’ summary really misses the point of the next scene, describing it as “Next morning, Sandy calls in sick, skips the mission and goes to London.” An airman in war would not “call in sick”!–and he’s not pretending to be sick, he is. With a dazed, set expression on his face, striding blindly on the tarmac, he is accosted by one of the three wiseguys as “Sgt. Jonah!” His reaction is so violent that he strangles his flight cap—and frightens himself. The scene switches to Gallagher’s office, where another three men are increasingly concerned over him. Kaiser said he reported sick (which was wise, he was not in mental shape to fly), but did not occupy his bed. Stovall refers to the “grape” that had him writing a pass for himself in Operations. He’s turned up the heat: AWOL. Gallagher makes a phone call.
-“ . . . he deserves some special attention”
Act III—In the English capital, and shown is a nice piece of footage of 40s London. At the BBC, annex 3, Pam Hurley is being kind to a hunched over Komansky, who is timidly pleading for information as to how he might find Susan Nesbit. Pam gives him the address of the “Hound and Heather” (“hound” is an interesting choice, considering the media theme in this episode). Immediately she phones Gallagher, who has presumably called, asking her to keep an eye out for his runaway sergeant. She reports—and that she’s “fed up” with how Miss Nesbit is using “Sgt. Komansky and you.” Back at Operations, Gallagher remarks to Stovall that Miss Hurley really stuck her chin out for them, and that the picture is coming clearer: Nesbit’s building her reputation on Komansky rescuing a general’s son. He calls Kaiser, who agrees he’s ready to give up the sling, but he must be certified by a neurosurgeon specialist in London so he can fly. With his blurred vision cleared up (in more ways than one) and his sling off, Gallagher is ready to take the situation in hand: he’s going to tell Nesbit and Wyatt to back off, and in a nicely twinned action, rescue Komansky who’s now the helpless one. He tells Stovall he’s off “to get his head examined.” Stovall has not gotten to know Komansky particularly well yet (he will as Komansky becomes a duty sergeant in future episodes and even describes them as being “buddies”) and remarks “Komansky’s problems aren’t mine, but,” at which point Gallagher interrupts him and says, “No, they’re mine,” and that Komansky “needs some special attention”—he can see now how Wyatt cleared the whole thing, and “I don’t like being squeezed.” An old hand at war’s theatrics and all its strange bedfellows, Stovall asks if perhaps this mess has come from upper channels: “maybe Pritchard’s on their team,” which dives into the tangle of war, media, and exploitation. Gallagher doesn’t believe it, and heads out, asking Stovall to finish preparing for the next day’s mission. He does, throwing the abandoned sling aside.
“ . . . the one thing I didn’t want to mess up”
Pam tries to find Sandy at the Hound and Heather, a swanky inn with a piano playing a romantic 40s ballad and a uniformed clientele. Pam finds him at the bar about the moment Sandy sees Susan, but she gracefully retreats while keeping an eye on things. (Her presence may explain something later; parts of this story are a little unclear, such as how Joe found Susan’s flat-presumably, Pam and Joe meet up and she tells him how to find Susan.) Susan is dolled up for a date with Wyatt; perhaps she’s gone a little overboard to apologize for her “unfaithfulness” the day before. Sandy is overwhelmed by her feminine appearance which contrasts with her semi-military uniform; her bosom is exposed and her hair is down. She is startled by him and she bursts out with the same kind of flirtatious behavior of their first meeting.
They sit and she, rattled by her unexplainable feelings for him, tells him thanks, but thinks he’s admiring her father’s watch which she is consulting over Wyatt’s expected arrival. A waiter comes; she orders “bitters” (appropriate!) and he orders a beer and then, in an embarrassed attempt to reflect her sophistication, changes it to a scotch and soda. After a weak attempt of being his own man (“I was going to come down anyway”) he gets down to cases: what happened? Why did she run?—“that was the one thing I didn’t want to mess up.” She puts him off; they will meet later. His request becomes sharper: he’s AWOL—he froze up, scrubbed himself from a mission—now where and when will they meet? She tries to negotiate her feelings while she hunts for a cigarette—“People just don’t push themselves into my life this way,” she snaps, blaming him for what he does not do; actually, it’s the opposite. Sandy, to appease her, tells her he told his colonel that he wanted the field commission. “Then you went AWOL—you’re quite the jolly roger, aren’t you?” (sea story reference).
She’s pushed at him enough and he attempts to leave—she calls him back—is she sorry or does she want his story? She is unsure herself by now. –and of course, Kirby Wyatt arrives. He is suavely gracious about Sandy’s presence, pointing out “you’re holding milady’s hand.” He is also most definite about the sergeant understanding how things are. Sure of himself—and of her—he leaves to fetch a drink, and she begs Sandy to meet her at the alley next to the pub; this leads to her flat. Before he leaves for his “assignation,” Kirby once more speaks to him sincerely—“Return to your base.” Does Wyatt have a few guilty bones in his body; or is he protecting his paramour? Pamela waits and listens…
“ . . . ambition has her”
Wyatt can see Susan has feelings for the sergeant, though he does not know the extent and the sources of her feelings. Sandy ignores the directive and waits, like a cat in the alley, probably cursing himself, but there are times when you have to swallow your pride—he knows how real her kiss was even if her motivations were mixed. The camera then picks up Kirby’s aristocratic cane before showing the man. Has he been sent by Susan to say “Go away”?–he speaks kindly but firmly to Sandy, advising him that “ambition has her” and she has been using him. Sandy can’t listen to Wyatt’s wisdom about not smashing a career, or becoming a deserter. Robinson is particularly good as he physically reacts to Wyatt and then tussles with a friendly MP who intervenes between the two, trying to calm, rather than crack heads. “Check his pass,” directs Susan’s lover and mentor. Literally trapped like an animal, Sandy panics, and responds by hitting the MP and fleeing.
“. . .darling, he’s beneath you”
Act IV: This is . . .London: Edward R. Murrow’s famous broadcast were made from wartime England, sometimes done in the middle of blitzes, which dramatized the plight of the British people, and promoted the idea that America should enter the war. Though some three years after the “Blitz” air raid sirens wail as in the Battle of Britain, once again searchlights are stabbing the night sky, the rumble of planes and explosions, and it’s a dramatic background for all these exploding emotions. Susan and Wyatt dart into her sophisticated apartment. Excited by the air raid, he tries to move in on her but she moves away, anxiously. Is she fearful over Sandy being out in the blitz, or fearful that he is coming with Kirby still there?—which is why she returned to her apartment, rather than seeking a bomb shelter. Wyatt understands; but points out he’s on the run, and, with delightful snobbishness, says that “darling, he’s beneath you,” and she always has reached above—like him. She darts away at a knock on the door and finds Gallagher. His irritation has been replaced by anger: he knows that his sergeant hit an MP and ran—and “I guess this is some sort of triumph for them.” (Again, how did he know to come here? He probably sought out Pamela Hurley—she was “lurking” at the Hound and Heather and may have followed and observed what happened between the two men and the MP and then somehow contacted Gallagher. This part of the story is murky.)
Susan fights back against two men accusing her—of truthful things–by victimizing her would-be lover: “what you said about that veneer—well, that orphan boy popped out, hit authority, and ran.” Joe defends him and points out how the media can twist and destroy. “That’s all very neat,” he declares, and accuses them of taking a legitimate hero and turning him into a “hero oddity.” He further arraigns the shoddy aspects of the press: “Do you think we’re all a bunch of cowboys and Indians? If you get an idea like that we’ll start acting like that!”— an interesting comment, because when the media labels, or “stigmatizes,” the victim sometimes accepts the label, wanted or not, and lives up to it. Kirby (whose side is he on?) declares he believed Komansky deserved recognition and promotion. Susan snaps “That’s a laugh—I picked a loser.” Joe snaps back that she picked a springboard in Komansky—how many identities has this poor guy had foisted on him during the course of this episode?
In any case, the multiple/shredded identity comes into the room, apologizing, but he has heard it all. Joe is firm but sympathetic, and orders Sandy to give himself up to him. Like Gallagher taking hold of himself in “Loneliest Place” (after becoming drunk, making a clumsy pass at Susanne, and nearly striking Sandy) Komansky has found at least a part of himself somewhere, probably located when he heard Susan’s overexcited words about him being a “loser,” an echoing of Chapman’s words. “Sir, I’m still AWOL,” he says defiantly, as though that is the only identity left to him and asks for a few minutes alone.
-“my feelings don’t run very deep”
The next few minutes are rather painful as Sandy retreats into his shell, even as he has an intensely intimate conversation with Susan, who still offers excuses while grappling for the truth. Robinson reminds me of Robert Mitchum playing against Jane Greer in one of the great film noirs: Out of the Past (1947). Briefly, she says that she ran out on him to avoid an ugly scene; maybe she is in love with him. “Are you?” he asks knowingly and she has no answer except, “maybe, but I need time.” As he ran away, now she is running away—for the second time. His new words are both true and false: “Kirby warned me that ambition had you, and I warned you that my feelings don’t run very deep.” A lyrical line closes the difficult scene: “I don’t think time is the answer.” His final answer is his obligation; he gives himself up to Gallagher, who waits in the hallway. I’ll bet Paul Burke envied that scene—interestingly, the theme of “Joe’s girls” pretty well vanishes after this episode for the rest of the show’s run; Faye and Phyllis show up once more each. He has an alliance with Patricia Bates in “Which Way the Wind Blows,” and a sort of “tragic romance” in “Angel Babe,” when the plane accepts him as her lover but after he is back safe on the ground, she commits suicide. In Season III, Joe has an interrupted date in London (“To Seek and Destroy”) and that seems to be it . . . however, he is conceivably carrying on a relationship with somebody, we are just not privy to it.
-“ . . . Sandy? Oh, Sandy”
A melodramatic finish!—WOW!—I wonder if a plane or a plane’s fragment smashing into the building is a little much; however, it finally brings to a head (though it is no resolution) the building up of awkward painful emotions, and, makes a point that this is war, and people get hurt and killed—as Gallagher had been, and both men (and the crew) could have been killed in that crippled plane incident she has sought to exploit. Perhaps a feminist argument could be advanced that she is being punished for “transgressing male boundaries” in being a war reporter, or trying to be . . . They find her trapped in the debris (apt image for the mess she has made). Kirby, who was probably waiting in the reception area, rather than seeking a shelter, rushes in and together they pull her out. Though cradled in Wyatt’s arm, the injured woman cries “Sandy? Oh, Sandy . . . ” and Sandy takes her hand. That must have been one tough trip back home for Gallagher and Komansky . . . and after all this, do they fly that mission Gallagher was preparing for?
“Yeah, but if I weren’t here…”
Maybe so–it may have been almost a relief to get back to something as simple as bombing a target!—back in the Lily, Gallagher and his men have a successful bombing of one the bases from which the German planes flew their sorties on London. There’s a problem somewhere, and Sandy is asked to go look at it. Sandy obediently starts off, but then pauses, and asks the radioman to check on it. “You’re the engineer,” says radioman, typically “identifying” who Komansky is. Komanky re-identifies himself as a human being: “Yeah, but if I weren’t here,” Sandy reminds him, which gets a discreet smile from Gallagher. He is showing a new confidence in himself; maybe small, but it’s something, and the whole affair reminds me of the distinctly American folktale heroes in The Wizard of Oz: the Tin Man, the Lion, and the Scarecrow already have the abilities they seek from the Wizard; and the Wizard gives them “tokens” to affirm to their identities. Sandy finally claiming a kind of identity for himself, and the right to be alive are things he has possessed, but Gallagher’s support of and faith in his sergeant are bringing them forth. He too will get a token of his new faith in himself: the medal.
– “. . . he’s where he belongs”
In the Epilogue a big something is happening—a fine day of sunshine, the squadron is assembled on the flightline for decoration of a “legitimate hero.” After Major Stovall reads the order—by order of the President of the United States (pretty heady stuff for an orphan kid from Oakland!)–the Silver Star is awarded. (And a date is finally pinned down: June 10 1943; just under a year to go before D-Day.) Gallagher pins it on the stiff-faced Komansky, offers him congratulations, which Sandy palms off on media: “if that’s what they want sir,” as though the decoration is a new brand of ham. In other words, he is still rejecting his “hero” identity, a negative way of claiming his identity. However, Gallagher takes the opportunity to remind Sandy that being a hero is important for other people—yes, the other people whom Komansky needs to let into his life, thus once again helping the sergeant find his self-identity. He urges Gallagher to forget the commission, thus taking them both off the hook. But another hook awaits—the decorated hero needs to see Gallagher about “certain MP you met in London”—the punishment of which seems to be that Komansky is made into hard-serving duty sergeant. and Gallagher’s “dog’s body,” performing work which will include, in future episodes, chauffeuring, helping Stovall at all hours of the day and night, and even building fires in Quonset huts at ungodly hours of the morning and straightening the chairs. Komansky does it all, humbly.
-“let’s see how the story ends”
The squadron is dismissed, and they surge toward Komansky. Gallagher goes off alone to meet Susan, whose injuries have not healed and have her in a wheelchair—permanently? She does not want to interfere; she has interfered enough. Wyatt is in attendance and for once, quiet; maybe their relationship has changed for the better, into something more sincere–or–maybe it’s over. Does Sandy know they are there?—She wishes to give her father’s watch to him—again, love is shown by her giving; and the maternal feeling is displayed in passing along of a family heirloom. “Maybe time will make a difference,” she remarks; does Gallagher know what she is talking about? Being a journalist, perhaps she composed a long letter to him, trying to explain what happened in order to alleviate the AWOL and the assault issues. He urges her to present the gift herself but she does not. “He’s where he belongs,” she remarks, further confirming Sandy’s finding of his own identity or beginning to… Gallagher comforts her and reveals that his sergeant is still not completely his own man yet: Komansky “feels a lot more than he thinks he does.” Susan is flying home but she wants to write his story, and Gallagher, with the courtesy and compassion he displays towards those who deserve it—as she does now—asks her to wait to see “how the story ends.” Maybe he senses that Komansky has a touch of destiny in him; at least, he knows that Sandy is an “incomplete work” yet. Sandy is still surrounded by the guys admiring his medal, but he is smiling and nodding as though minding his manners.
You have a feeling that the Silver Star will disappear into the depths of his footlocker (but perhaps placed alongside Susan’s watch). But maybe a new chapter is beginning in his life. Like a folk tale hero, who is frequently orphaned and alone, Sandy has won a prize, and, with the assistance of the “helper” who aids the hero (Gallagher) he has come through all right. He did not quite win the lady (though he won her heart) and happily ever after depends a lot on flak and fighters. But he is beginning to find himself. And, at the moment, he’s okay. In future episodes, he is never quite as “exposed” as he is in this one, although his character and difficult life will snag on incidents and people, haplessly (“The Pariah” and “To Seek and Destroy”).
One final point: the slam-bang incredibly melodramatic climax of this episode is highly satisfying: she is punished for her insincerity; her “bagged” victim literally and figuratively escapes, and there’s a feeling she will always carry his name in her heart. But—weirdly—Komansky’s jinx reputation has only been confirmed. Until she crossed trails with him, she was successful and confident; now she has been nearly killed by a plane crashing into her building; her career has been sidetracked, and the last we see of her she is in a wheelchair, subdued and returning home from her BBC work. However, in keeping with nautical overtones of this story, the Silver Star Komansky wears at the end may symbolize a malignant star that has steered his life–and perhaps also symbolizes a new star in his life. Appropriately, it was awarded by Gallagher, who is providing some steering in this young man’a life.
“Runway in the Dark”
Writer: Robert Lewin
Director: Robert Douglas
After the emotional anguish and shoddy motivations of “Show Me a Hero” its following episode, “Runway in the Dark,” also grapples with motivations (high but at times questionable) and with anguish, this time within the soul of a partisan hero of Norway: the anguish of separation from his son, and the anguish for the future in a world still being torn apart by war–and will have a terrible time healing, if it ever will. The story is not lightened by the distant background theme of the development of heavy water in Denmark, part of the Nazi attempt to develop atomic power and the reason why the school teacher’s information is so important.
The underlying power of this episode is the impact that world wars of the twentieth century had on everybody, including a bespectacled school teacher from Norway who had to bury eleven students and saw friends die as he scrambled on board a B-17 sent especially for him. There is also the theme of letting go, whether it’s a careless woman, a son letting go of his father, a father letting go of his son, and letting go of a wretched present for an uncertain future (made more uncertain with the lurking coming of the “bomb”). The title, “Runway in the Dark” typically has other meanings—A runway is a beginning point of journey, and an ending point as well. At episode’s end, the older generation and the new are poised on the twin runways and the fate of both is unknown. Yet, it’s a rather low-key episode; though there is a violent scene when Arn Borg is picked up and flown away. Otherwise, in keeping somewhat with the dark, disturbing films that come out of the cold and dark north, this episode seems more quiet than noisy; although some quiet scenes are very disturbing. Norway is partly the scene of the action—and an example of how far and how high the flyboys of 120CH can go–in Arthurian literature the knights were always questing, sometimes far from home.
Their trusty steeds have carried them on quests to Yugoslavia, North Africa, and now north to the polar circle, to Norway. This country had hoped to stay neutral as did the rest of Scandinavia; only Sweden stayed out of the war but that was by Nazi permission. No such hope could possibly exist for Norway, “rich in iron, copper, nickel and molybdenum—the stuff of arms and armor.” The massive Norwegian coast, with its deep water inlets, was perfect for shipping and submarine pens. The Nazis, between April and May, 1940, launched coordinated assaults of the country. There was British assistance to hold part of the country, but it could not be sustained. The Norwegians did not go down without a fight, and the Nazis had to install a large army there to protect the coasts from the Allies and to keep the citizens in check. Interestingly enough, Norway was the scene of the first major and successful Commando operation in 1941. As the story begins, a single airborne bomber from the 918th, is flown by Gallagher and his co-pilot Bob–who does not get killed! His survival (he reappears in future episodes, such as “Falling Star,” “Back to the Drawing Board,” and “25th Mission” ; indeed, he makes it all the way to the end with his last appearance in the series’ finale “The Hunter and the Killers”) shows that some glaring or increasingly funny recurrences and plot points were being rectified or modified. For example, they are listened to and observed by Lt. Faye Vendry, who first appeared in “The Hot Shot”–one of “Joe’s girls” actually reappears and seems to have a nice, sustained and normal relationship with Gallagher (pretty much at odds with her disgraceful behavior with Troper) suggesting that the girls did not end up in a heap some place or in the hinterlands of Poland and Yugoslavia. Their relationship, which by the end suggests potential for a fruitful marriage, is in nice contrast with Komansky’s abortive romance of the previous episode. Also, Komansky’s character (or its impact) is undergoing some unfortunate yet somewhat understandable modifications—but on with the strange training mission, the success of which partly depends on Chub, a sweet but gauche navigator, played by Jack Weston.
-“twinkle, twinkle, little colonel . . .”
The teaser starts on a mysterious note. As the two British women officers monitor Gallagher’s airborne broadcast, and Faye looks into the sky, something is being played out—it’s night, and there is something afoot. Back in the Piccadilly Lily, Gallagher checks with the navigator for his turning instructions, and the anxious Chub is certain about turning in 65 seconds—then, “Turn now, turn now!” he shouts, and Gallagher does. They are pleased with their success as their plane disappears from radar. Gallagher radios they will be home in 20 minutes. From Vendry’s window, we see lights stabbing the sky—but the lone B-17 has disappeared, and they are proud of it. Vendry’s woman associate, Cynthia, knows Faye’s thoughts: “Twinkle, twinkle, little colonel, up there in the dark eternal,” she recites, making a parody of the old nursery rhyme, appropriate for teasing, and for the fact that there are children in this story, who should be reciting such rhymes, rather than dead or being left behind. Faye is not angry—and to save petrol, she will forego the Jeep and walk the twenty minutes to the 918th and Joe’s office—and his bed, however briefly? We will never know; Joe is too much of a gentleman. But Joe’s thoughts are not with Vendry; rather, he gives the con to Bob and goes back to talk with Chub—who is apologetic about his error, but is assured he is Gallagher’s best man on instruments. “It’s Norway tomorrow night,” Joe reminds him, and the audience is intrigued—what is in Norway?—something to do with the strange night flight . . .
-“a decoy airfield”
Act I and still the same night—and the scene has shifted to the quiet elegance of Wing Headquarters, where more exposition awaits the audience. Has Faye visited Joe quickly on his way through and out?–he would have to stop at his quarters to get into his Dress-A. Joe, Bob, his co-pilot and Chub are being debriefed and briefed by General Britt, Norwegian attaché Dahlgren, and a group officer Stewart, an extremely British looking officer. We learn that they are on the way to pick up Arn Borg, a Robin Hood-like figure to the Norwegian people. As Robin Hood has a variety of identities (becoming whatever and whoever his audience wants him to be, either a superb archer, a man of the forest, a prince of thieves, or a freedom fighter), Arn Borg will turn out to be somewhat mixed bag himself. Borg has critical information for the Allies and a critical, highly dangerous mission has been created to find him: they are to navigate by the King Frederick lighthouse, to be temporarily and dangerously lit up for this one mission, and fly to a decoy airfield—and the Germans know they are coming (they have been monitoring broadcasts).
It’s dangerous, but Borg has such respect among the Norwegians that they will sacrifice for him. With the plans laid, the three officers leave to prepare for their grim but exciting duty, which is counterpointed by Chub’s poignant phone call to Kitty–“You know how she worries.” Joe overhears her father not recognizing his name, and Chub’s request ”Well, when she wakes up, tell her,” arouses his embarrassment for his navigator. His love life stinks. Kitty is a bit like “Maris” on “Frasier”—we are to never see her and can only imagine some blowsy dame who can’t be bothered by a hapless American officer paying solicitous court—maybe that’s why he courted her in the first place, because he does not have a particularly high opinion of himself. Joe hurries him along so as not to dwell on something upsetting (and plain foolish) before the mission. But Chub will learn, almost by default, to navigate a successful love life.
-“find out where we are!”
The next night—and it’s for real. As always, I enjoy the pacing, the dramatic music, switching back and forth from plane, to faces, to plane, as they fly their dangerous mission; being in the dark makes it even tenser. Then things go wrong—rapidly. The lighthouse is spotted, but the searchlights go up; another beacon is spotted, and Joe snaps at the navigator to “find out where we are.” Chub is puzzled too. The lone B-17 has been spotted, and they know the Germans are on the way. Miraculously, the decoy field is spotted, ghostly and dangerous as flares go up to light the runway in the dark. Borg’s people are risking their lives to help bring in the plane and to send him on to safety to England. Joe alerts the crew of a “power approach” and to brace themselves. I am not sure what such an approach is—but it sounds like it’s a “plop” down on the tarmac, rather than a smooth landing. However, the footage cut in, which of course, does not show the presence of the flares. Wow, what some CGI could do to enhance these “authentic” film clips—they may be authentic but really become distracting after awhile as you inevitably note the inconsistencies, and their grainy quality disrupts the “verisimilitude” of the television series. They stop, and start the next step of their mission, but they know patrols are coming, and there is no time to wait. Gallagher gets out—gun in hand and a flashlight. He knows he is climbing out into the unknown; maybe this whole thing was a decoy, and those are Nazi soldiers waiting, rather than partisans; after his experiences in Yugoslavia he must feel and be cagey.
Signals are exchanged from car lights and flashlights, the partisans come up and there is another exchange of passwords. The Norwegian partisans are bearded, handsome and gaunt, which testifies to the excellent casting of 12OCH. Borg is coming—with his son Christian. Joe Gallagher may be a good man, but he is all military, and this is not part of the mission—and must remind him of his dilemma in “We’re Not Coming Back,” when the partisan leader got Joe to agree to take his daughter—fortunately, she turned back herself, sparing him tremendous headaches in showing up with a displaced Yugoslavian woman in tow. Also, this episode looks forward to “Target 802” when a child’s injury, created by an accidental bomb drop from Piccadilly Lily, tips his mother’s hatred away from Germans and towards Americans. Gallagher has no idea this was coming. Once more he is placed in untenable position—Arn won’t go without his son; and Arn is expected by his commanders, because he has “information”—more valuable than gold in wartime. By now the patrols are coming and it’s “cut bait or fish” and Joe decides to fish. They are both taken on board, and Joe is furious, convinced that it is a double-cross—and perhaps angry with superiors for not telling him something.
-“Settle down, Colonel . . . keep it cogent”
Act II takes up with a close up on the locked hands of Arn and his son. Obviously close, this new adventure in their lives, from escape on a Norway airfield to a cramped, over-lighted Operations on an American base in England leaves the boy clinging to his father, though he is in good spirits. The men in Gallagher’s office are not; Joe in particular. Borg is ushered in, to find General Britt and a British officer present. At the door, Sandy herds Christian back; smiling a little blandly at the boy. Inside, Borg cuts open his jacket to withdraw maps. In the outer office, a nervous Chub takes note of the nervous Christian, and puts his arm around him; they comfort each other as they await the outcome of all this. The outcome for Borg is bad: the maps are old; indeed, the Royal Topographical Society has rejected the 1916 map Borg refers to. Borg only has sketchy information about the things he has seen. Joe begins to burn beyond his original anger now; pointing out that this kind of information could have been sent by radio. Attache Dahlgren questions Joe’s questioning, provoking Britt’s mentoring to “settle down, Colonel”—Joe’s more the warrior at this time than the diplomat, and he charges on. He calls all the “information” into question, and emphasizes that the only plan that worked out perfectly was that Borg got his son out of Norway.
“Do you have children, Colonel?” asks Borg. Joe snaps at him, as a warning to keep sentiment out of this, but he also veers on sentiment when he points out that nine of his men (and make no mistake, to Gallagher, his men are precious) were in danger from this mission. “Keep it cogent,” snaps Britt, who has two daughters and can understand Borg’s concern to a degree. “These men face death constantly.” Against the enemy, Joe points out; it’s ugly, but it gives their mission meaning—and the older I get, the more I understand that word and its importance to what you do (the meaning and importance of the mission is really hit hard in Season III’s “Gauntlet of Fire”). “The Colonel’s tired,” Britt intervenes, somewhat patronizingly, but it’s not only the truth, it’s a way to excuse his angry subordinate’s behavior which might run this already questionable enterprise aground. Indeed, Joe’s anger here, while seen before, is more emphatic than in previous episodes; it may have been part of the character adjustment going on. Rarely does a show launch with its character intact and the blessing of reruns (and now DVDs) allow viewers to track changes even if they are as simple as a more flattering hairstyle. I was sad to note when I was reading about the show’s redesign that many considered the character of Gallagher weak—I never did, but I guess in contrast with Savage, it seemed to be—plus, when up against Komansky’s barbed character, so well played by Chris Robinson, he paled a bit. But, character wise, I always considered Gallagher fresh at his command job (and so trying to play safe for awhile); gentlemanly—and deeply compassionate and understanding of others’ problems and weaknesses, gained when Savage kicked the “golden boy’s ass” and forced him to transcend his own weaknesses. However, I suppose he had to be stronger (commanding a group is no walk in the park) and his commitment to successful completion of the mission is pointed out in “Between the Lines”: Komansky tells Sgt. Trask that the only thing Gallagher is scared of is “not finishing his mission, not pulling his own weight.”
-“Yessir!”
Things are laid aside for the night, and quarters are found. Komansky is in attendance in the outside office, and his “Yessir!” to Gallagher’s requests to arrange for quarters seems a little strident –in reference to the above, this episode suggests that Komansky was being played down for awhile (and after an emotional showcase like “Show Me A Hero” the character would have had some trouble topping himself in angst and difficult behavior). If Chris Robinson’s memory is right, and he was relegated to a very subordinate role for awhile (perhaps to allow Paul Burke’s Gallagher to “bulk up”), his strident “Yessir!/Nossir!” may have been his way of saying, “All right, if you won’t give me much to do and say at least I’ll be loud!” –And, in terms of the continuing story of life at the 918th this might be considered Komansky’s punishment for going AWOL and hitting an MP. At my university, the head football coach punished a recalcitrant football player by making him into a kind of personal servant for awhile, waiting in the coach’s office to run errands (I had had the kid in one of my classes and I think the punishment was well deserved; he was a pain in the you know what!)
In any case, Komansky, groundwise, becomes, in upcoming episodes. a combination of receptionist, runner, chauffeur, and at times, a kind of muted Greek chorus—“We all feel we’re being butchered for no reason” is about his only line in the upcoming “Grant Me No Favor”–though it’s a line that enunciates everybody’s growing beliefs, including Gallagher, who may have been inspired by it to take on the “big boys” and demand answers. It’s kind of a come down from that Silver Star recipient of the previous episode, but his servitude also binds him more tightly with Gallagher and Stovall; indeed, in “Storm at Twilight” Stovall remarks about them having become “buddies.” Now he becomes a kind of sitter (taking up a duty he rejected in “Then Came the Mighty Hunter”) as he hustles young Christian out the door, so Gallagher, without Britt, can talk to Borg personally. Gallagher points out that Borg risked his own people—for information that means nothing. Borg asks if he thinks he has betrayed his people?—Joe is not sure about that, but he knows that national heroes can be “bunglers”—Nathan Hale, despite his “I regret I have but one life to give to my country” was nabbed on his first spying mission. Finally released from questioning, Borg goes to join his son in a homely Quonset hut, into which a cot is brought, and Komansky directs any request to be given to a guard. Alone they talk—and Christian remarks that Colonel Gallagher sounded like a German officer!—which may have been another way to strengthen Gallagher’s character.
-“something in between”
In their quarters, before the boy goes to bed, Borg intellectualizes about the quality of truth and lie—and that Gallagher thinks he has done “something in between”—and reveals how precious his son is to him as he recalls what the Bible has to say about a father and son’s honor . . . Christian asks “Are you going away?” Borg replies, “You are going to sleep”—which is not a lie, and prevents him from either telling his son the truth (that he is going away), or from telling him a lie (no, I’m not). It’s a gray world, much like the deep long twilights of the northern world. During the night, he leaves a note, and then, with unteacherly aplomb, calls in an unsuspecting guard, strikes him, and leaves.
-“tilting at windmills”
The next morning, Gallagher enters his office to find Britt already making and pouring coffee. Probably without sufficient sleep (sleep deprivation I gather was a common feature of the European air war) Gallagher remarks “I didn’t think generals got up this early”—Britt: “Somebody has to wake the bugler up”—bringing in Irving Berlin’s famous song (“And then I’ll get that other pup . . . the guy that wakes the bugler up”) into a medley of references, ranging from the Bible to Robin Hood. In any case, Gallagher is abashed, particularly when he realizes that Britt has not yet been to bed; rather, he’s been doing damage control. G-2 can’t reconcile his information, but for a man with his reputation, Borg, Britt says, “can’t be tilting at windmills”—a reference to Don Quixote whose mad brain began believing all the romances he had read; the idea here is that Borg has talked himself into believing things that aren’t true, such as “installations.” The reference to Don Quixote is an interesting puncture to my own occasional references to an Arthurian quality of 12OCH, with questing knights, King Arthur and Merlin, Lancelot and Mordred, and magical weapons against evil enemies.
-“you will never catch my father!”
Britt wants Joe to fly a recon, and to take Borg with him to find the installations he referenced. He leaves, planning to go to bed. Ready to take on this new task, Joe runs into Chub. Chub, whose gaucheness is suggested by unshaven face (about the only one I have seen on the pilots, no matter how many days away from shaving kits) wants to redeem himself on this flight, but Gallagher, in a typically charming way, says no, he’s tired, and that he’s grounded. Komansky is sent off to get Borg—and he opens the door on the crying Christian, who has read the note, and refused to rouse the alarm to give his father all the time he can. He escapes, and Sandy takes after him—and then returns to help untie the bound guard, who is going to have to deal with a lot for lousing up in duty. I wonder if Sandy decided that the already upset kid didn’t need an adult pounding after him (maybe reflecting an incident of his own life) and that he couldn’t get far—and he does not. Darting out of the Quonset hut he dodges a car driven by Faye Vendry and her friend, but slips on the driveway and is caught mainly by concerned adults—Chub, in the middle of worried conversation with a friend, sees this and comes, along with Gallagher.
The scene closes on a melodramatic note with the boy crying that “you will never catch my father!”—but his defiance is very sad. Left alone, he can only try to defend himself and his father, and probably wishes that for everything, he should never have left Norway. His father now really is Robin Hood—who is a deeply ambiguous character, becoming whatever his celebrator/detractor wants him to be. Was his father leaving him a courageous act or a cowardly act? what a question and a dilemma for this boy, who seems to have been abandoned by his own father.
-“it’s the boy”
Act III—opens with Britt, for once, taking heat from his superior, General Pritchard—he’s rapt and courteous but makes a point of protecting his own mentee—“We won’t risk Gallagher in a B-17 until we get Borg’s help.” Gallagher seems relieved, but only slightly, and perhaps somewhat enjoys hearing Britt saying Pritchard was screaming at him because somebody was most likely screaming at him. Britt sends Komansky to the photo shop to get recon materials, and bring them, even if they are wet. The conversation turns grim—Britt may be veering towards Gallagher’s feeling that this is a doublecross, but they both believe the ploy was too clumsy for a double agent—“unless he’s losing his grip,” Joe says. Britt, the father, is sure that “it’s the boy.” Britt too might be willing to sell his reputation and everything for the sake of protecting his daughters, one of whom may still be in Scotland at a rehabilitation center, maybe trying to recover from Josh McGraw’s death. Attache Dahlgren is present and he is requested to take the boy. He can’t; no room—but Faye Vendry, whose car he swerved from and then slipped, is taking care of him—in a surprisingly roomy and well-furnished flat, complete with a fireplace–women on this show are frequently associated with stoves and hearths. As the scene in Faye’s apartment opens, Chub, who has come with presents for Christian, is calling Kitty, and having yet another painful conversation. She’s on the line this time, but this aborts as well, comically, and pathetically. Cynthia, Faye’s roommate, is privy to this, and she listens, sadly. Perhaps she too had a relationship like this, and she knows the pain of loving while not being loved–or pretending to love somebody to reduce the feeling of loneliness.
-“don’t hammer at him”
Christian comes out and Chub is genuinely happy to give the boy some gifts—including one rather silly thing that he should play around with “until we find your dad,” a heartening remark to a heartsick boy. Joe and Faye then come in, and Joe remarks in a friendly fashion that Chub looks “like he cleaned out the PX for you.” The boy nods but immediately leaves; this “Nazi officer” may be nicer now but he is still the bad guy. Chub talks with Gallagher earnestly, telling him how bad it feels “when somebody’s let you down” (as Kitty has let him down, if she had “ever held him up”), so “don’t hammer at him.” Joe holds his composure, but he does not like being warned about “hammering at somebody”—“You’re sore at his father,” Chub says, and Joe takes some umbrage. He has things to learn from the boy, and besides, “you’re not talking about the boy, you’re talking about yourself.” Chub’s downcast look acknowledges this, but Joe still needs to acknowledge his plans as well. Cynthia then volunteers to give Chub a lift—which he takes up. Gallagher is still sensitive about what Chub has said, but he soldiers on—and though Faye does not like it–and you know Joe isn’t relishing it–he goes into the boy’s room and “opens talks” with Christian, who is facing the window.
-“war makes adults of children before their time”
I wonder if this scene were designed to show Gallagher toughening up—and either it’s a doubtful scene (leaning on a boy) or else it’s a scene that would “make” the character as Gallagher stands up to his principles (complete that mission) even if he has to engage in some unkind treatment of a hurt young man. It’s not a pleasant scene, but it gets results. Joe starts out by asking Christian to help him—“you don’t trust the father, you don’t trust the son,” the boy says, using his father’s words. Joe asks him then to help his father—and shows him the photos taken by recon. He does not help. Joe actually seizes the boy by the arm and tells him the ugly truth—people are beginning to talk about his father, and call him a traitor. Overwhelmed, the boy starts crying, and Joe is harsh: “There’s only one person in the world who can help your father and he’s got to quit crying and tell me where he is.” Joe won’t let up, even adding “Are you scared to find out that he is really bad?”
Of course, it goes over like a lead balloon, and Joe retreats to find a disapproving, possibly shocked Faye—this is the man she loves?—at least, maintaining some kind of warm relationship? “Why?” she asks. “Why not?” Joe says. “Why not make him fight?” “He’s only a child.” “Yes, and war makes adults out of children before their time,” he snaps, surely sickened at what he has done. He adds a remark that Chub, in moments like this, hides his head in a pillow. Success perhaps softens the bad moment—the boy, though some alchemy of the soul, the maturity being thrust upon him as he is left fatherless, the pain of being thought badly about—emerges from the room and confirms the presence of “storage tanks.” Ironically, he ends up clinging to the man who scared him into talking. A child was in the room when Gallagher enters and the child has come out of the room a young adult.
-“protect that boy”
At least, his words have unlocked plans and things are a go. Back at the elegant countryside headquarters, a cigar smoking Britt confers with Pritchard, reasons with him, and then does something a true leader does—takes full responsibility for the affair. Joe by now is sure the boy can take them there; he has adult skills in reading aerial maps. They are going there, with full group, full fighter formations—to bomb, but they must protect the young life they are taking with them. Britt once more speaks like a father—“Protect him,” he says, in both a request and an order to a man he trusts. Gallagher’s reply is a little doublesided but it is honest—“whatever happens to him, happens to me.” But, the boy is putting himself on the line, and so will Joe to back him up. It’s the least and the best he can do after driving him into adulthood and asking him to endanger his life, which he has not really begun.
-“I wish the phone would ring”
Act IV and climax—it begins with Komansky reporting on the fun Christian is having learning how to parachute; this report must cheer Gallagher who must be feeling guilty about the way he pressured the kid. This scene is rather awkwardly done; Robinson is facing out from Burke, as if he does not wish to look in his face; which suggests there were high tensions between the actors during the filming of that scene, and the entire episode as Robinson dealt with his character being restricted which, according to him, was “devastating” (ctd. Duffin and Mathes). Faye is also there, and after Komansky leaves, she asks Gallagher ”What are you thinking?”—which could apply to several states of mind. Before Gallagher can answer, the phone rings, and he gets off the hook by saying, “I was thinking I wish the phone would ring.” Britt says Pritchard has given the go—and Gallagher jumps on it.
-“I will take you to the target”
Then, all changes—the father returns, rather than the prodigal son. Dahlgren comes in with Borg. It turns out that he has been concealing Borg, which is something an attaché would do. “Where’s my son?” Borg immediately demands. “Where is YOUR son?” Gallagher demands back, as if refusing his claim of paternity. He points out that Christian is about to risk his neck, which “makes him a better man than you are.” A question then comes up, one that Gallagher has asked before (to Komansky, in the previous episode): “What kind of game are you playing?” It’s a cruel question—and suggests that Gallagher is at the end of his rope, or that he can’t relate to normal things anymore. Borg has long since relinquished “normal things.” He tells him that before the Nazis came, he was a teacher—the classic figure who leads youth into the future through education and preparation. Since the war began, he has seen 11 of his students buried, their futures over. Students, whose thoughts, hopes, and games I shared, he says, poignantly, reversing Gallagher’s angry, ugly definition of the word “game.”
Borg’s next words suggests that perhaps he rather enjoyed becoming a Robin Hood figure—but he finally came to realize that his own son was becoming a clearer and clearer target, and that he would give up anything, including his important work and a growing reputation. Perhaps he became so blinded to his reputation, and a terrible sense of his own personal needs, that he put both before anything—including his own people who sacrificed for him, joining those 11 children. He claims he did not fully realize this until Gallagher pointed it out—and sometimes faults and hideous things can be rationalized until somebody else defines them for what they are—yet, how can you complain about a father’s love for his son?
-“don’t you say sorry to me!”
He makes a painful admission—yes, he is a kind of traitor and he must return to Norway. Gallagher, perhaps moved, won’t buy it immediately. “You had a chance yesterday to return.” “I’m sorry,” Borg says. “Don’t you say sorry to me,” Gallagher tells him, but that is to say that his apology must be stated in actions, not words. Borg tells him that yes, there is a target and he will take them to it. The “triumphant” variation of the show’s theme music underscores the sight of B-17s, in tight formation, flying towards the target. Borg comes forward to help spot the target; he has a hard time seeing—he wears glasses, but his vision has been blurred recently. Gallagher pointedly hands him binoculars to help him see what he must see. Going low level, in between bursts of flak, soon, bombs away, and destruction closes the sequence Home again in the Epilogue: Borg comes to Christian, and they embrace in pride and joy. Joe’s own “father figure” Britt is present, and the news is good. Borg’s own people have already been in radio contact, and their information suggest that the sites that were bombed were for a new kind of rocketry—although it seems more likely this was for nuclear development, but that is still in the future, though not too far in the future: in New Mexico, high in the Sangre de Cristos (literally, the “blood of Christ”), and in what ironically used to be a private academy for boys, scientists are working, with former German scientists on the bomb, to be detonated at Trinity. In less than 18 months of this mid-1943 incident, the world would change forever and the future that Joe talks about in the epilogue will prove a less than perfect future. In the epilogue, these themes are brought forward, and, in typical fashion, closes on a winning-losing note. In “Show Me a Hero” Komansky has won the Silver Star but faces punishment; Susan Nesbit has lost a great deal. If there is not so clear a division, then the fact the war is still going on, with no end in sight always creates a sense of loss or grief. The only time so far in the second season the episode closes in laughter is the upcoming “Target 802” when clearly a child will recover from his injuries.
-“we’ll see . . .”
As the epilogue takes up, at Faye and Cynthia’s flat, Chub seems as hapless as ever, losing at a friendly card game with Cynthia and Faye. Gallagher enters and warmed by the scene, puts on a mock British accent and says he will have “spot of tea.” It’s a wholesome normal moment amid wartime, and it’s a nice change from social scenes at the Officer’s Club or the Star and Bottle. Chub is called upon to join the flight back to Norway; which gives him a chance to redeem himself; and another good thing has happened—he hasn’t seen Kitty Collier recently, which means he’s letting go something that was not working. Cynthia volunteers again to drive him back; and perhaps they head for a happy future together.
But serious things are going on inside the bedroom; Borg is saying goodbye to his son—and he heads toward a more uncertain future and a chance to redeem himself—by simply returning. He does not plan to go back and be a leader again; he does not deserve that. Returning will also set a good example for his son—he’s in a bad position; staying, he betrays his friends; going back, he leaves his son behind, and possibly orphaned. Whatever, he is poised on a shadowy runway of departure and return, an apt image of war on both sides: both sides kill, takes hostages, and sometimes kill the hostages—innocent or guilty. They go out together. Faye says she would like to see Gallagher off in the morning—at 3:40—for a dawn strike. Christian asks if he can see his father fly away. Joe gives the classic parental comment: “We’ll see.” It’s not a promise, nor a denial. It depends on circumstances, frequently difficult—he said the same thing to Komansky in “Show Me a Hero” when he asked, reluctantly, about getting the field commission that Joe did not feel he could deal with. Joe tells him that Christian’s duty is to stay here—and prepare for the future that he and many other people are fighting for—and staying is an act of courage, as is facing the future. Borg leaves, to a dim future. The boy, who has grown a great deal in the last few days, does not cry. He leans against Faye, with Joe behind him, as in support. It’s a family-like portrait—three unconnected people coming together to be strong, particularly for Christian. He’s still a child, but with people to help him, he will be all right.
Again, this is theme of the folktale, previously discussed in “Show Me a Hero”—the dispossessed, whether from being orphaned, and left alone for whatever reason, sets out bravely on the adventure to seek and find, and the seeking and finding includes love. Bruno Bettelheim writes about this in his classic work The Uses of Enchantment and how powerful such stories are—they teach children, and adults, that the helpless can be strong and find some kind of happiness. We hope that Christian will.
“I Am the Enemy”
Writer: Anthony Spinney
Director: Robert Gist
The title sounds a bit like a World War II “propaganda” film (yes, our side had propaganda films, as in “Why We Fight”). And, it’s a fairly straightforward statement of the troubles of the protagonist, Kurt Brown, or perhaps, Germanized, Kurt Braun: although an American citizen, and a die-hard pilot for the American Army Air Force, he considers himself still the enemy: a German. Yet, he is also an enemy to his own people, and finally his own worst enemy. Finally, the title slightly alludes to another young man, who was judged an enemy of the state: Christ, who said, “I am the way.” If you think the Christ allusion is a little heavy, remember, there is a tight close-up on a crucifix on Brown’s chest shortly after the episode begins. It’s up to the viewers to make what they can out of this image, because it is never shown again nor openly referred to, except when Brown says he is Catholic. A few other observations: this episode finishes a sort of trio of stories that consider the “abandoned child”—in “Show Me a Hero” Komansky’s orphaned childhood influences his erratic behavior; in “Runway in the Dark” Christian is abandoned twice by his father and left brave but sorrowing and facing an unsure future; in “I Am the Enemy” we learn a younger Kurt was sent by his family to live with relatives in America—presumably staying behind in Germany for “good reason”—did Kurt feel abandoned which fuels his anger?
I picked up on this theme because I have recently helped a Ph.D. Candidate complete his dissertation on documented and undocumented immigrants in the United States, and one of his themes was how deeply their parents’ status and at times helplessness impacts their children; they are ashamed and hide; put walls up, become incredibly angry, turn to crime and drugs. Even if parents are legal, children have to grow up before their time to help their parents adjust and for them to be accepted as Americans. If they are separated from their parents, the child is stressed beyond belief and may spend their lives grieving or furious. Kurt being “smuggled” into the United States probably had its effect on him, burning in hatred of his country and parents’ captors—and which is kind of analogy to God sending his well-beloved son into the world, and sending him there to be a scapegoat for humanity. Also, one of 12OCH’s most common themes, loneliness, is sounded again. Brown’s lonely soul is in danger of complete eclipse, but it is brought back by a lonely woman who is a kind of Mary Magdalene—an outcast with what seems to be a shady reputation. Before the show is over, Kurt overcomes his isolation and self-hatred—and his fearlessness. By the end of the episode he has found his humanity in his fear– akin to what Christ suffered during the night in the garden of Gesthemane, the night before he was crucified. It is this fear for which I love Christ for the most, because it reveals that he was not a not a god who could not be hurt; rather, he suffered all the torments of human life, including fear of death, in his case, a horrible death.
And another—this is the first episode in which Gallagher (or Komansky) is not the focus of the story. Although he is instrumental in getting Brown and Elizabeth Hoffman together, and provides help here and there, Gallagher is sidelined as Shatner dominates the episode—indeed, when Britt meets with Brown, he describes the major as “taking over the lead” while Gallagher tends to ground duties that are unspecified. Shatner does his usual bang-up job, displaying some of his more youthful hysteria, particularly in a memorable episode in Twilight Zone in which, evocatively for “tonight’s episode,” a plane is also involved, as well as a monster . . . There’s also a growing sense that they are downplaying “Joe’s girls,” commenced when Faye Vendry actually re-entered his life in “Runway in the Dark.” Matter of fact, Joe’s romancing days seem to be over for quite some time—he will reject an opportunity in “Grant Me No Favor,” and refreshingly, the scared woman in “Between the Lines” is not there for romance. The romance in tonight’s episode is given over to Brown. Also, Komansky is still serving out his punishment; he has one line delivered at a distance (he become the colonel’s driver in this episode) and a few tiny shots; moreover, in the opening, he is listed after Frank Overton, who has one line to deliver—“ten-chun!” But lots of room had to be given over for Shatner, who has a lot of agony to flex . . .and finally, this episode particularly impressed me with how little “flag waving” there is in the series. There’s always a sense that the war is dirty job and the men are “glad to do it,” but there’s scant ideology. Also, the one time the German people are damned, a German damns them and he is criticized for it.
-“is he breathing?”
The teaser commences with B-17s in formation, under attack as they approach the episode’s target, submarine pens. Major Brown, handsome, focused, looking something like the Nazi pilot in “The Loneliest Place in the World,” does not turn a hair. They approach the bombing target; and Brown and his co-pilot learn that the bombardier has been hit, reported by the navigator. “Is he breathing?” queries Brown. If he is, even with a blinded eye, he can sight the target. “If we don’t drop bombs in those subpens, I’m holding you personally responsible,” he tells the men. The navigator responds, and helps the bombardier sit up, sight, and drop them—“Bombs away, Major Brown,” announces the navigator to a figuratively half-dead man, holding up a literally half-dead man who has given his all. And on that grim note . . .
-“he was just beginning to pay his way . . . “
As Act I begins, the scene is the base hospital—appropriate, because Major Brown is a man sick in his soul. However, at the moment, he has a cut on his arm (not even bleeding) which is being patched up by Kaiser. Shatner also displays a naked chest, which he displayed a lot on Star Trek. However, this shot closely focuses on the crucifix around Brown’s neck; this religious item is literally tangled up with his dog tags, his military and only other identity. Gallagher enters, telling him, “another fine job.” Brown defers: “How many subpens?” Gallagher admits he is still waiting for G-2 to give the number. Brown gets off the treatment table, ticking off other statistics: 34 planes gone—how many subpens?—questionable. The whole enterprise he sums up—prognosis, doubtful. As he speaks, he looks out the window; the visored sunlight slants across his face, suggesting prison bars. Gallagher, with patient irritation, says he is recommending Brown to receive another button for his Distinguished Flying Cross (the second highest medal awarded), and that, after 42 missions, 17 more than he had to fly, he deserves two weeks in London.
“I don’t deserve anything,” Brown says, meaning it. The chaplain comes in, a priest, he has his stole over his shoulders: the bombardier who held up even when wounded is going to die. Brown is sorrowful, but not contrite: and somewhat typically, he sees the young man’s service in terms of numbers: “After 22 missions he was just beginning to pay his way,” he remarks. The chaplain seizes on this moment: “Why don’t you tell him that?” he says, wanting to help the bombardier spend his last few living moments with the comfort of doing his job well, as he prepares to die, far from home and family, as is Brown, in more ways than one. Brown refuses, but his sense of vengeance is up for his missing crewmember—and he declares that they are wasting time bombing subpens and railroads—and they should be bombing the Germans—in their houses, and ominously, in their churches. “When we finish the German people, we finish the war.” After he leaves, the chaplain, the doctor, and his commanding officer try to figure him out. The chaplain is the most confused; Doc Kaiser sees him in terms of his body (“After six hours of sleep, he’ll be completely fresh”), and Gallagher has grim words: “Maybe it’s his German blood.” Turns out, it is.
-“I’m not well liked”
Later that day, Brown reports to General Britt in Gallagher’s office. Britt occupies Gallagher’s chair and desk; Gallagher leans on his desk, smokes, and regards Brown through the entire scene. He never says a word, deferring to Britt even to lighting his cigarette; it’s an odd scene, but one that showcases Paul Burke’s sensitive, penetrating eyes and a face that can be both compassionate yet neutral. Britt is here to make an offer, although he puts Brown on guard first: “ever been called on the carpet Major?” “A couple of times,” he says. (BTW: “on the carpet” comes from the French “sur le tapis”—which describes a moment of inquiry/justice; the person being questioned, or the person lodging the complaint would kneel on a special carpet—whether this was part of the ceremony, or whether this was a matter of a floor being filthy I don’t know.)
Considering his outstanding record, Britt is impressed–particularly since “he has been flying lead while Gallagher’s other duties have kept him on the ground.” (All right, what are these other duties? Perhaps Britt is avoiding saying that Gallagher was tired, and needed a break—and frankly, if you count up all the missions Gallagher flew since Season II opened, plus all the other missions he flew in his first appearance, plus presumably all the upcoming missions, it must be well past a sensible record!–and these numbers get added to as the still young season progresses.) Britt defends the act of bombing the subpens; yes, there have been heavy losses, but these raids will end the war a year earlier; another example of Britt’s “world view” of the war and overall strategy. He offers to move Brown up to command the 82nd. Brown demurs—“I’m not well liked”—he does not want popularity—he just wants to bomb Germans. The viewer learns that he was born in Germany and his special status gives him a deeper, clearer, more brutal sense of reality. Germans are not unreal creatures, found in books, or manipulated like puppets—“he’s a flesh and blood animal”—and he, Brown, wants to destroy them. He adds that he will be cooperative, and that he will fly with Gallagher. He leaves. Britt is pleased—Gallagher continues silent; he has seen Major Brown in other kinds of action, and it’s not pleasant—but should he say something? And what would he say? Hatred of Germany is a powerful weapon to drive men on. Britt remarks that he seems a rational man, with a clear idea—like Gallagher, he adds. “If you don’t want him for a squadron leader, than I want him for a commander.” He remains silent while Britt figuratively marries them (“till death do you part”) and, as will be shown, Gallagher supports Major Brown in sickness and in health. Note on Shatner: I was never really crazy about Shatner the actor, through I admit he has great power. In this episode I was particularly impressed with his voice control; that is, the way he “tinted” his voice with a slight (slight) German accent.
-“standing treats for your problem children?”
Act II begins with the stock shot of the wet Archbury street, the scene of pub life, and in the quiet Star and Bottle, a uniformed piano player is serenading his girl, perched on a chair and showing a bit of leg—the female gender will prove critical in this episode, in contrast to some episodes where women serve a tiny role or disappear altogether (such as in “Storm at Twilight”). Two American officers accept their drinks and spot a woman at the bar, her head bent down. They accost her nicely, calling her “Elizabeth.” “I’m not alone,” she says. “No, you’re with us,” they tell her, intimating that she has taken a series of lovers from the 918th (recall the Mary Magdalene reference). “I’m with Colonel Gallagher,” she says. The camera moves to Joe, who, though absorbed in a brandy and a newspaper, overhears this, and though surprised, neither denies nor confirms it. Rather, he tells the men “If you’re flying tomorrow, you’d better get some sleep.” Flying or not, they get the message and leave, and as they do, Brown comes in. He observes Joe and Elizabeth, and slightly curls his lip—contempt of Gallagher for being too nice? The colonel comes to Elizabeth’s rescue; they are old acquaintances, but not for what seems an obvious reason; furthermore, his deep compassion for others is well shown. This woman is in prison too. He carries her into a booth, and she apologizes with words that describe her condition.
She is sorry she used him for an “escape” and when he encourages her to go home—before curfew—she describes home as a “miserable cell.” Joe has to be on his way, and he tries to phone for a taxi. He sees Major Kurt Brown at work on his whiskey, and makes a decision—it seems an odd one too, but Gallagher believes in chances (in “Loneliest Place” he took a big chance with the angry Komansky and ended up turning him into an ally). He pays for his drink, the lady’s drink, and then Brown’s drink, prompting Brown’s abrasive remark: “Standing treats for your problem children?” a reference to the recurring theme of abandoned and troubled youth. Gallagher asks him to escort the lady home, prompting another nasty remark about Gallagher’s “dirty laundry.” Gallagher wisely ignores it and goes into the night to make his delayed meeting with a general. Finishing his whiskey, Brown wanders over to the booth, and peers down at the “dirty laundry”—she is seen through the railings that, like the visored sunlight earlier, suggest prison bars.
-“think you’re getting the colonel’s girl?”
Brown escorts the lady to her door, which is needless, but she apparently does not object; maybe this is an invitation or a resignation to another night with a stranger in order to gain some distraction from her personal pain. She has a hard time with the key to her “cell” (maybe deliberately?) and he takes over. He follows her in, and making himself at home, dangles the key over her shoulder in a nasty, teasing way, a good example of how skillful actors use his or her body to work out their characters. (Check out Komansky’s scene with Yellich in “We’re Not Coming Back” when he offers his lighter, snatches it back, and then re-offers it on his own terms.) Her cell is a beautifully furnished apartment (and a little overlighted for wartime; what are her means of support?—it’s never clarified). She takes the key in such a way that she is brought into his arms; he snaps off the light and kisses her, neither gently nor brutally. The slap she gives him is not a heavy one; it’s more conventional, like a simple defense.
“Think you’re getting the colonel’s girl, right?” she asks. He can have a drink and get out—his drinking is getting out of hand, which might be producing the migraines that are beginning to affect him. But drinking also indicates that he is losing control. As he fights the first wave of pain, she then tells him “I was never Colonel Gallagher’s girl.” He is confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I’m nothing to be stolen or conquered.” Her choice of words is telling; she finds herself to be nothing—and she is not a single identity; she is several, none of them are happy and that she can’t be loved; rather that she can only be a victim of theft, or conquering armies. At least he is listening to her now, rather than using her, and she tells him that the universal language is loneliness, a common theme in the show—all three chief characters are lonely in their own fashion and many protagonists and antagonists suffer from the condition: “That’s why you came in here and that’s why I’m telling you to leave.”
At least he wants to know her name, even though he was told it. “Elizabeth Hoffman,” she answers, a blend between English and German; but he does not get it. He moves toward her and the scene ends; the adult mind knows that the isolated man spends an intimate moment with the isolated woman; both are using the other to deal with their pain. But the pain in Brown’s soul is both alleviated and increased.
-“ I never thought I would see the iron major do an about face”
A lone B-17 returns the next morning—which seems fitting. A wounded man is unloaded, but his injury is a burst appendix, not a flak or fighter wound. Gallagher, driven by Komansky (I guess they’re both tending to ground duties) comes out to learn the problem. The co-pilot explains—when Brown flies, everybody flies, which included the navigator who had been sick at briefing. Such loyalty is either admirable or ridiculous. Brown is apologetic; confused as yet another physical disability interferes and this time has halted his work—he’s returned. Gallagher tells him, “Kurt, you don’t have to explain—nobody should let a man die like that.” Brown can only accuse himself of turning tail “because some 8-ball has a stomach ache.” The reference to pool is an interesting one (previous reference to pool as a kind of symbol in “Rx for a Sick Bird”) as the player starts with a nested group of balls, and then proceeds to knock them apart, which is what is happening to him; gradually, his iron will is beginning to fall apart as his intimate night with Elizabeth; the crack leads to self-doubt, the self-doubt leads to . . . Brown does not return with Gallagher, preferring to wander off down the tarmac. Even Komansky knows something strange is going on with a man who has reputation akin to his own: “I never thought I would see the iron major do an about face and come back by himself.” Gallagher has nothing to say to the comment.
-“why did Gallagher call me Kurt?”
A moment’s intimacy has led to even greater intimacy–in her cozy parlor, with a roaring fire–and many times, in this show, a woman is shown near a fireplace, exuding the quality of the Roman domestic goddess, Vesta. (See “Falling Star,” “Which Way the Wind Blows,” and “Siren Voices”). That evening, rather than being merely sexually joined, he has joined her for conversation—even though the conversation is one-sided; it’s all about him, him, him . . . but at least Kurt is talking with another human being. He’s having a rapid fire argument largely with himself and the world, reminding me of a waist gunner fanning his machine gun to drive off enemy warplanes. He’s drinking, talking, drinking—losing control of himself as he actually demonstrates his paranoia which arises over a small intimacy Gallagher has taken with him: “why did Gallagher call me Kurt? I don’t change overnight.”
He accuses Gallagher of being jealous—he’s not going to get the 82nd—and on and on. She tells him, as she attempts to serve him tea, that’s he being paranoid; he’s making so much out of nothing. He manages to listen to her and to calm down. Suitably, he sits in a “wing chair” next to the fire, which is cheerful and warm—and he is warming too. He admits to one thing—he must fly—it’s his only reason—he must fly. He also says he will apologize to her for what he is—“but it’s all I can be till the day I die” which is a grim prognosis and a look toward his suicide, which he has been thinking about for years.
-“Blame all Germans!”
Affairs turn painful—as she admits she has fallen in love with him. We are not sure why exactly, unless perhaps, she has met someone as lonely as herself, and she finally stops pitying herself enough to pity someone else. —and, I wish I could have seen this happen—it happened sometime off screen, and is not very clear—but it happened, so we take up our story again—when she admits to him that she too is German. Her story is somewhat similar: her parents sent her to school in England; maybe for the same reason. They could sense something ugly was going on in Germany by the late twenties, early thirties, and strove to get her away from the demagogues, the bad money, the wildness and wilderness of the times. She grows bitter, because she married a boy the Germans killed; she’s still called “citizen” in Germany, but she’s not allowed on the streets at night in England. Somehow it’s not surprising that he flies at her, trying to choke her–he is trying to choke himself in an attempt at suicide. He then flees from this mirror of himself penetrates to his troubles, with her shouting after him “Blame all Germans!”
-“You can break yourself”
As Gallagher works in his office—it’s a familiar scene—and another somewhat familiar scene occurs—a drunk officer comes in, somewhat like Troper in “The Hot Shot”; a similar scene recurs in “Falling Star.” Brown is still under personal control, but something has slipped. A confrontation must be made, and Brown, fueled by liquor, anger, and a growing confusion about his motivations and feelings and a growing sense of what he would call weakness, declares “How well it paid off, setting me up with Frau Hoffman,” accusing Gallagher. Probably startled at this confession from the “iron major” Gallagher can only say that she has been cleared by G2. A woman has softened Brown, but he think it’s a ploy to break him—slashing his arm down (Shatner never feared florid gestures) he declares (perhaps truthfully) that he does not want command, or anything offered. But he can’t be broken. “But you can break yourself,” Gallagher says, offering wisdom we all wish we had if confronted so violently. He tells Brown to follow his thinking through—he will have to destroy himself someday. He has probably been thinking about that for years, but, with a simple “No,” he leaves. What does the “no” refer to?
-“where’s my power?!”
Act III. The next morning, Brown and his men, under the nose of their B-17, hold a pow-wow when a Jeep full of airmen stops beside them. The driver tells him not to feel bad about the abort of the day before, and offers him his hand. Does Brown ignore the hand being offered to him, or does he not even realize it has been offered? As he attempts to break free of himself, he is also withdrawing even further from his fellow pilots. The mission is on and what happens to the plane happens to him. Flying like an automaton, Brown agrees to what his co-pilot tells him, that he has to feather number three engine which is leaking oil. A moment later, he cries, “Where’s my power?”—which he himself is losing. A dogfight ensues on their plane, now that it is straggling. The gunners defend their lady, and the tail gunner is killed. Moreover, the “control cables” are cut—yes, it is losing control as he is losing control. The plane dives steeply before they can correct it; this too will happen to him.
-“it’s a shock to want to live”
They manage to get home—and reveal a conundrum of the air war: In the daytime you may be flying through hell; in the evening, you might visit your lady in her apartment, which is what Brown does, seeking Elizabeth. She tries to turn him away but cannot; he is finally giving into fear, and to honesty: he had his “teeth kicked in today” and worse, he does not even remember what happened. His avowal of weakness moves her pity, even though he seemed to want to kill her the night before. The conversation here gets tight and muddled; it’s a problem of television episodes having to be filmed too quickly and for 55 minutes, and the rich dialogue and feelings gets cramped at times—hard to sort out, and at times, hard to believe, but he has to get his feelings out. He claims that he “has lost too much” and “he is too lonely to stand before your judgment.” She asks him, as a favor, to get out of her life, even though by now it’s impossible; she has lost too much and has gained too much in this puzzling, violent, sad creature. He says he can’t get out of her life—“I’m trying to tell you that the only thing in life I can feel is you.”
-“me, a Catholic . . . “ Then he really gets down to cases—he made an idiot of himself in front of Gallagher. The fact that he has never given himself the luxury of knowing Gallagher prevents him from knowing Gallagher’s compassion for his tortured pilot, and keeping a secret “that was never really a secret”—that he wants to kill himself. “Me, a Catholic,” he admits, admitting also that he has a gun in his room for that purpose. A suicide is considered the ultimate of act of despair, and therefore “punishable”—meaning, if you despair, then you deny God and Christ who offers love and hope, then you are a sinner. Brown thought if the war didn’t kill him—which explains his reckless behavior by which he endangers all his men—then he would have to take his own life. Sadly, that is all he has wanted to do since he was twelve—a heavy burden for an adolescent, particularly one who has been taken from one environment into another.
He admits that “it’s a shock to want to live” because the desire suddenly poses new responsibilities—for himself and for others in his orbit. Perhaps she is touched; she is also appalled: “How dare you put your life in my hands?” “I love you,” he says. “It’s not your fault.” On that cryptic, disturbing, complex note—which is the essence of Brown’s character, the scene dissolves into the next morning’s briefing; men on foot and jumping out of trucks hustle into the Quonset hut, where General Britt is there along with Stovall and Gallagher. Komansky can also be seen, which means he is going along on this ride, apparently, though Gallagher appears to stay behind again—yet he will fly lead the next day for unexplained reasons. At last the punishing missions are named, the subpens at St. Lazaire. The pens are going, Britt announces—they can’t last much longer, the Germans can’t afford to lose them which means that the Germans will be hurling everything at them. The crews get up to take off to their planes. Brown lingers—and lingers—and starts toward the door before a migraine bowls him over. As he did with a drunk Troper in “Hot Shot,” Joe darts forward to catch him.
-“he will be a better pilot”
In Gallagher’s office, Britt apologizes to Gallagher—and it’s not hard for him to do, which is a mark of a gentleman, a good officer, a good human being; all of which is a role model for Gallagher. Is Brown going to be written off?—Britt believes the man has had it. Gallagher is quick to defend Brown—the man passed out, but he too has passed out with exhaustion, which is perhaps the reason he has been “grounded” for awhile. Joe asks for a diagnosis of his condition before making a decision. Britt brings in his own bitter experiences—when he lost his leg he did not want to be written off either—and he had to be, and never flew again (he refers to his leg three times in the season–“Loneliest Place,” this episode, “Which Way the Wind Blows”). It’s time to write Brown off too; “that man has no business flying an airplane.” Gallagher puts his needs over Brown’s needs—which is good for the mission, and possibly good for Brown—he needs him as a flyer and personal troubles are not a luxury to be considered here. Gallagher is not cold-hearted; he seeks out Doc Kaiser, and they talk in the street which gives a nice sense of what goes on outside of Operations, the hospital, the officer and NCO club and the briefing hut.
Their conversation harks to one of the clichés on Star Trek: “Dammit Jim, I’m a doctor, not a . . . “ Doc “Bones” McCoy frequently says to Captain Kirk. As Gallagher queries Kaiser on his endangered pilot, Kaiser says, “I’m no psychiatrist,” and “I’m no philosopher,” but knows that Brown “wants out.” Joe, perhaps overextending himself—or perhaps digging deep into his own soul about living and dying and flying into fields of flak and fighter planes—believes that by knowing and acknowledging the quality of fear, Brown will become a member of the human race—and “he will be a better pilot”–he will say about the same thing to the new pilots in “Storm at Twilight.” Savage did that for him, and turned a “golden boy” into a caring, committed officer. Being fearful is a human trait that can save our lives. and our souls. Kaiser, as a doctor, stands firm, that if “he wants out,” he will wash him out.
-“I’m scared blind”
Gallagher personally entreats Brown to deal with his fears—and he becomes a bit of a psychiatrist and philosopher as well. “I’m not afraid,” says Brown to Gallagher. “I’m scared blind”—although blindness is here the beginning of vision–wisdom about himself, and about others. Joe says he has known fear and Brown has been lucky never to know fear, at least until now. Brown does not see that as luck—his luck, as far as he is concerned, was having American relatives smuggle him out of the Reich, away from Hitler Youth and a blood vows to the Fuehrer. Joe sees that he is trying to repay a debt to them, and repay a debt to the world for Germany, and his guilt over—everything—is leading him to wash out, just when he is needed to help push the Reich back into the hell it came from. Joe, as clear-sighted as Brown is now, tells him that he can’t quit from fear—it will add to the guilt. Rather, if he quits, quit for Elizabeth. Fear is the keynote in the scenes—and fear arises in Kurt Brown as his armor crumples (a knight of Camelot always wears armor), love “invades” his soul and heart, gives him a reason to live (at any rate, not to singly pursue death), and in a way, makes his possible death more poignant as it is not a matter of blind hate but love’s growing vision.
As referenced above, this recalls Christ’s night in the Garden of Gesthemane. For three or more years, Christ had calmly proceeded with his ministry with the aid of his disciples, but now he must be put to the test. Despite his divine origins, Christ is human—and his human side grows terrified of what he must undergo. He is so frightened that he begs his father to “let this cup pass”—if at all possible. “And he was withdrawn from them about a stone’s cast, and kneeled down, and prayed. Saying, “Father, if thou art willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, be done.” And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him. And being in great agony he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground” (Luke, 22: 41-44). When I come to work on our local transit, I pass by a shopping plaza, which has a white figure of Christ praying in the garden. I sometimes feel the fear of the day, the fear of the world, the future of disease and loss and death, and I ask Christ to pray for me for my fear too. Fear is intensely human, it makes us strong, and it weakens us. Brown is all that as he takes up his work and flies on what will be his last mission–though he will survive–injured but reborn.
-“Gallagher talks a better game than I do!”
Act IV—morning, and Kurt is being driven to the gate by Elizabeth Hoffman. In the background is aircraft noise as the mission prepares. It seems a little late for him to come to briefing, still dressed in his uniform, but . . . The assumption is that they probably spent the night together, which will be the last moment of physical intimacy they will have for a long time. Their words together is a common scene in movies about flyers—the woman begging the man not to fly; the troubled man must fly to prove something. (A similar scene will occur in “Falling Star.”) “You don’t have to prove a thing to me,” she says. “I want to go today,” he answers. “Do you understand?” The thing she understands is that “Gallagher talks a better game than I do”—his reply, “It’s no game,” reminds the viewer that twice before, in “Show Me a Hero,” and “Runway in the Dark” Gallagher has demanded respectively of Komansky and of Borg, “What game are you playing?”—which reflects other references, such as bingo, baseball, and billiards. In all these three cases, nobody is playing a game– people are just trying to get through their decisions, make it through another day, and somehow keep hold of themselves during storm and stress. He is playing no game when he says “I will see you tonight,” a promise that he keeps but not in the way he wishes, but perhaps in a way that he knows will happen.
-“I’m going to murder the weather officer . . . “
A lightning storm makes the mission more dramatic—I wondered about the point of this; it does make an interesting point that weather can be lousy (“I’m going to murder the weather officer when we get back” says the co-pilot; and the storm looks ahead to the episodes “Which Way the Wind Blows” and about more accurate forecasting as well as to “Back to the Drawing Board,” about using radar to bomb through clouds)—and also may refer to the great darkness that enveloped the earth after Christ’s death on the cross. As promised, the Luftwaffe swarms on them and the battle is on. Gallagher, who for an unexplained reason is flying lead on this perhaps final mission of this bombing of subpens, has his own plane damaged. The plexiglass window is smashed, causing his co-pilot to cringe; to Gallagher’s question, “Bobby” yells, “I’m okay!”—maybe the curse of being Gallagher’s co-pilot is finally over. Gallagher’s plane is crippled and he has to do a 180, and he signs out to Brown, “It’s all yours.” (Bobby eventually becomes “Bob Fowler” after being “Bobby Johnson”). They enter into the flak field, they sight targets and bombs away (the bombs seem to be dropping down into the pretty inland areas for subpens!) but the next shot, showing shoreline, reveals a great explosion. “We really clobbered them that time,” the co-pilot exults. Brown has been hit, badly, and slumps forward in his seat, resembling Christ slumped on the cross. The co-pilot finds him covered with blood, in contrast to the nearly bloodless cut he received at episode’s beginning. It’s as if he has become fully and completely human, bleeding as the rest of us do, either for real, or emotionally.
-“I’m still scared but I don’t mind it now”
In the epilogue, Gallagher, at the base hospital, anxiously awaits to hear news about Brown. At this time, the “tender version” of the theme plays, as Brown is wheeled out of surgery, attended by a crew of doctors and nurses rather than his crew. Two crewmen preceded him into the hospital, he is third in a strange trinity. Actually, he seems to be in pretty fair condition despite the bandage about his head!—but when he speaks to Gallagher’s words, “Another fine job” (which he said to him a few days earlier when the iron major was still fearless) he responds “I’m still scared but I don’t mind it now.” Of course, Elizabeth comes in, angry, demanding “Are you proud of what you have done?” “He’s proud,” Gallagher replies. “Don’t take it away from him.” Meaning, he’s proud that he stood up to his fears, and being proud is better than being than merely angry and vengeful. Brown needs her now because it may take him a long time, even years, to recover—but this will give her focus, and something to do with her life now, to tend the living (and the reborn) rather than mourn the past and hate the present. Neither person’s future is bright at the moment, but there is hope now, which neither had before. Perhaps Kurt Brown is headed for home—the United States—and Elizabeth will follow him.
“Grant Me No Favor”
Writer: Richard Spinney
Director: Robert Douglas
The imperative title presents of a strong and rich episode about war, difficult decisions made under pressure, family relationships, loss and loyalty; and sticking to your guns, which is an apt image for war. Gallagher demands that his father grant him no favor (but then must ask him to) and Lt. Col. Bill Christy demands the same of Joe Gallagher: each are willing to stand on what they believe and do not want special help (or hindering disguised as help) to deal with their peculiar problems of command decision.
This episode is made even more interesting not only in learning more about Gallagher’s life and a few things about his childhood and early manhood but also being textured by previous episodes and previous situations. For example: “Loneliest Place” is referenced by the London “Langham” location, where Gallagher met Britt for a discussion about his promotion to CO (and his second meeting with Sgt. Komansky), and now is the stage for his father-led promotion to a brigadier general. “RX for a Sick Bird”’s theme of low morale is present, as the 918th suffers from unsuccessful missions, death, and injury, well displayed when Gallagher leaves a dying man’s bedside to pause in a ward of hurt airmen; one man’s eyes are thickly bandaged, and he simply sits in his bed, helplessly. “Then Came the Mighty Hunter” is referenced when Joe speaks of the terrible raids on “Hagensburg” and dangerous diversionary tactics created for final success, as well as theme of mentoring—but in “Grant Me” mentoring involves more punishment, rather than encouragement. “The Idolater”—manipulation. “We’re Not Coming Back” and “Big Brother” are referenced when Joe and his father talk with Preston in Casablanca and Joe tells him yes, they got back from the shuttle raid. Briefly, “The Hot Shot” is referenced when Komansky, claiming responsibility for shooting down a P-51, tells the Colonel not “to do me any favors”; he will face the music. “Runway in the Dark”: Nazi development of storage and research facilities in Norway that are now on the 918th’s agenda and how father’s and son’s lives are deeply intertwined in terms of honor and duty. As in “I Am the Enemy” Joe is not flying in these difficult raids. In some ways, “Show Me a Hero and I’ll Show You a Bum” is most strongly referenced by private fears: as Komansky struggles with personal shortcomings and an unwanted field commission, Gallagher also struggles with professional anguish and evades his own unwanted promotion, believing he’s not ready– and in “Show Me a Hero” Joe does not pursue Sandy’s field commission, knowing he’s not ready for it. Also, there is a medal being awarded at the end, but the awardee is under a cloud; Sandy went AWOL and punched an MP; Lt. Col. Christy is facing both a medal and a court martial. Later, on June 4, 1944, he will face and give in to death (“Gauntlet of Fire.”) Gallagher and Komansky once more emerge as foils: Komansky’s difficult orphaned life is implicitly contrasted and compared with Gallagher’s own rich family situation; however, families present their own difficulties when love gets tangled up with ambition. Gallagher and his dad are cordial but Joe’s flashes of anger and his father’s remarks suggest there is a sort of wall between them, and has been. Also, in some amusing contrast with Joe’s busy love life of the first eight or so episodes, he actually rejects (or shows no interest in) an attractive opportunity—that is also suggested by his father. Is Joe a rebel or does he have deep-seated issues with the father? Growing up in a military home would not be easy. . . particularly when there seems to be no mother or wife to soften the situation.
Say, where is Mrs. or “Mom” Gallagher?—she is not even referred to, whether alive and living quietly in Washington, or passed away.
-“We’re going home” The episode opens in typical fashion: B-17s flying in tight formation into the flak fields, into which German planes are flying as well. In the lead airplane, “100 Proof,” Lt. Col. Bill Christy and his co-pilot are grimacing at their punishment; the co-pilot exclaims that “they must have Hitler down there!”–which is the first direct reference to Hitler made so far in the second season. This is the worst we’ve ever seen the 918th; Christy’s bombsight is damaged; a plane goes down; his plane is hit and the controls flare up, mortally injuring the co-pilot, who says “We’re getting slaughtered.” All this and still five minutes from the IP; “a long way in this,” says the navigator. Christy makes the command decision upon which the action of the episode is launched: “We’re going home.” The “grim version” of the theme is playing as, back at Archbury, the remaining planes come home, and Jeeps and ambulances rush out to meet them. Komansky watches from his Jeep (he is still chauffeuring and apparently working out his punishment) and Gallagher comes forward as a B-17 lands, pivots badly and blows up (at least the third time that clip from Command Decision is used; oh, for some CGI!), but it makes a point that the 918th is suffering rack and ruin, but not for ignoring duty.
–“. . . butchered for no reason”
Komansky speaks what Gallagher is thinking: “What’s that we’ve lost? Nine out of 21?” “Ten,” snaps Gallagher. “Why don’t they tell us what we’re bombing? We feel we’re getting butchered for no reason,” Komansky says, the word “butchering” echoing the co-pilot’s words of “we’re getting slaughtered.” Like dumb animals, they are sent to their deaths and never know why, and knowing why would at least give meaning to their work and death, as Gallagher pointed out in “Runway in the Dark.” Gallagher is on edge, snapping “All right!” to Komansky’s Greek chorus-like comment. They drive out to pick up Christy, who climbs in the Jeep. “I’m sorry,” Gallagher says, words of personal sympathy for a friend which only precede his chewing out of a subordinate officer’s possible dereliction of duty. Tit for tat: Gallagher will soon face chewing out from his superiors. Joe’s offer of sympathy reveals that he places his personnel first, rather than the mission.
-“No violins” Back in Gallagher’s office, the angry CO takes out his rage first on his superior officers—and jumps rank to write a memo directly to General Pritchard, who has been referred to, but never seen, at least during this season. He does not mince words with his superior, similar to how Komansky did not mince words with his superior officer when angry about Savage’s plane being abandoned. . . Stovall, the old hand, listens while a corporal records the message, which includes “what do I say to my men?” about these terrible mysterious missions. Gallagher asks, as it turns out ironically, that “someone” should come down and look at what “used to be the best bombing group in the ETO.” (This decimation is repeated in “Gauntlet of Fire” in which Christy also appears–and meets his date with death.) Stovall says “strong words” in an attempt to calm him down and rethink his message, but Gallagher is hot on the trail, and sends the message to London by courier. Stovall and the corporal leave, leaving Gallagher alone with Christy, who has been listening. Gallagher becomes his commanding officer, and asks him about what happened–”No violins,” he cautions, which I find interesting—120CH is unabashedly melodramatic, meaning it goes for the “sensational and emotional,” and emotions in melodrama are underscored by music—many times by the most expressive of instruments, the violin. The most commonly heard version of the Frontiere’s soulful theme is done by violins; when Joe leaves the dying co-pilot in this episode his retreat is underscored by violins. In “Show Me A Hero,” when Komansky wilts under the taunts of Vern Chapman, this moment is marked by a violin solo. Christy does it without music, because his message is plain: he was morally certain that he would lose every aircraft if they continued on.
“You’re saying the game got too rough?” Joe demands, previewing the questions that Christy will answer to higher authority. The word “game” comes in again and gaming terms appear a lot in this episode. He points out that all the other missions made it—heavy losses—but not aborting, a word which has uneasy connections with a helpless child being destroyed, as the 918th seems to be . . . . “Wing will throw the book at me,” he points out. Christy refuses to accept Joe’s moment of truth, or self-pity, reminding him that about all the parents that he will have to send letters to—and not be able to tell them exactly what their sons died for. Doc Kaiser shows up with a grim message about just such things—the dead, the injured, and those who need to be air-evacuated back to the States for recovery. To his inquiry about his co-pilot, Kaiser tells them to come immediately.
-“she’s a nice girl . . . “
Every actor must long for a good death scene; it calls for pulling out the stops, but with restraint. The dying co-pilot, before unction is administered by uniformed priest, grins at the idea that “he’s getting some time off,” and murmuring about 17 missions (only eight more to go before requesting transfer but another kind of transfer is coming now), says of their plane, the “100 Proof,” “she’s a nice girl.” Joe leaves as the man dies, unable to bear the sight, leaving Christy behind. He walks through a ward of damaged men. He pauses, looks around with grief and anguish, and then continues, greeting “Tony,” who is in a wheelchair. He has to admit that no, the day’s mission didn’t do the job.
-“Out of the nowhere into here”
But Joe’s angry memo did. When he returns to his office, Stovall has Britt on the phone—the general has just received his second star, Stovall points out, which “promotes” the episode’s theme of promotion. Gallagher dutifully, somewhat cheerfully congratulates him, and gets in return angry words about the “impertinent” memo he sent—over Britt’s head. Joe tells him “I didn’t mean the memo to be impertinent,” which is less of an apology than Joe refusing for the memo to be dismissed as “impolite”—he wants answers. Britt demands he comes to London to Bomber Command for a personal appearance, and Joe seems to go cheerfully, even though he may be attending his own execution—death by violence is another frequently mentioned theme (we have already heard “slaughtered” and “butchered”; these words get added to.) Joe comes into the Langham, which perhaps has changed identities since first seen in “The Loneliest Place”—in this episode it seemed nothing more than a swanky hotel and lounge; now it is a hotel for American Bomber Command, with a uniformed clientele and a uniformed staff, who direct Joe up to Room 520—which seems remarkably quiet from the hallway.
When Joe knocks, an attractive WAC greets him, and music and laughter flow over him, rather than fire and brimstone. He is escorted to General Britt, who is holding this celebration for his second star: “Out of the nowhere, into here,” he says to Joe, his “mentee,” somewhat mockingly; this attitude will be seen again in “25th Mission” to a cowardly pilot. Rather than taking his subordinate officer down, instead, he introduces him—to his father, Lt. General Maxwell Gallagher: trim, handsome, and distinguished looking, and played wonderfully by Barry Sullivan whose face is like carved granite. They are genuinely pleased to see each other; his father hugs him, and then shows him off to a naval officer and his wife. General Gallagher tells Joe that this was the only way he could see what Joe and his brother were up to—and, by the way, he has had Pres flown into Casablanca, so they can call him and wish him happy birthday.
-“a great time for a family reunion”
Dad retreats to a book-lined room to take the call, and Joe, genuinely rattled at his seeing his father, tells Britt “This is a great time for a family reunion.” Angry at everything, he is seeing a plot in everything. In any case, his reunion with Dad is not like his joyous reunion with his brother at Magadar though Joe and his brother fought but over the commodity of gas in order to see their individual missions through successfully, and Pres was exhausted after doing the devil’s own work. Maxwell Gallagher is well rested and seems to see Joe as a “commodity”—the way he displayed him to the naval officer seems to show that his sons are part of his reputation. Max talks with Pres; enough time has elapsed since the North African leg of the shuttle (“Big Brother”) that Patton has arrived to take on the rest of the Nazis; but to Dad, this means that old Blood and Guts should watch out because Pres “will be getting his job soon.” (I regret we never learn more about Preston after this episode–did he go on to Italy–did he land at Normandy?–unfortunately, because Jack Lord also appeared in “Face of a Shadow” I sometimes think of him ending up as that morally compromised character!)
Max Gallagher’s ease and magnanimous gestures so completely contrast with Joe’s decimated command and the anger that brought him to London that you can understand why Joe feels unbalanced enough to find a decanter of something, pour a drink, and gulp it down before coming to the phone—though touchingly delighted to speak with his big brother. “Yes, we did get back from North Africa,” he says, before the line cuts off for a priority message—and suggests how others’ priorities are cutting down his men. His face falls and his father swiftly offers him more brandy; special stock apparently, and what Joe perhaps first sipped at family dinners in his privileged life. “Something on your mind Danzo?” his father asks, using the family nickname. In the background, the music, which was originally “Chattanooga Choo Choo” has changed to “you’ll never know how much I miss you . . . “ which might express this general’s unspoken feelings for his two living sons, one over the air in Europe and the other on the ground in Africa, and his third son, dead at Bataan. Britt enters, telling them both what is on Joe’s mind: the angry memo by which he demands Pritchard’s attention to his losses. “I’d advise you against going down there—there’s going to be an investigation.”
Joe’s anger may be fuelled by these diversionary tactics and a little too much liquor: “I didn’t write that memo to put him to sleep or let Bill Christy get lynched!” (another death by violence word.) He storms out, overriding Britt’s advice, and on his way to Pritchard his father catches him back, like he is a child misbehaving at a party (to a degree he is).
-“forget Bill Christy”
He warns him that you don’t speak to your superior officers that way, and for once “to listen to me and cool off.” He then adds, “and to forget Bill Christy.” It’s interesting seeing Gallagher being the one knocked down and warned—he’s usually the one dishing it out though he never dished it out like Savage. But Gallagher does not forget his officers or his friends and seems quite ready not to listen to his father. Ignoring his father’s words—family situations can be painful—he leaves, and Max, quite calm, retreats. “Ed, fill me in,” he requests of Britt, but is told that this affair is getting into top secret areas. At last the viewer can understand, before the victim does, that Joe is attempting to barge into areas which must be kept secret—for reasons to be known–and if Britt is angry, he is probably also sorry that his personally selected commander of the 918th, Gallagher, must be played like a puppet in this affair. His own father is playing Joe like a puppet too, but, disturbingly, more for his own ends, than Joe’s or the war effort. He shows his marionette proclivities by calling Pritchard: addressing him as “Bill” he asks him to tell Gallagher that he is “too tired” to see him—thus saving Joe from perhaps making an ass out of himself (exhaustion and anger can do that to people) and also to keep his son’s record good for a promotion. He calls it a “special favor.” Britt is more direct: he calls Joe “impertinent and infuriating” (well, I don’t quite see these qualities in Joe Gallagher yet, but the writers are trying to beef up his character I imagine, including giving him some family issues) but “he’s the best in bomber command.”
This reveals how Gallagher and Komansky are “twins”; Komansky, despite his damaged personality and occasionally aggravating behavior is called “best flight engineer in the Eighth Air Force.” Britt also knows that Max wants a star for his son. Their conversation recalls Gallagher’s own conversation with Susan Nesbit who is encouraging the field promotion for Sandy: Britt tells Max that Joe may never be ready to be a general officer, and “I need him where he is.” Max, undaunted, calls Pritchard again, and asks to see him for breakfast in the morning.
-“you may both lose”
Act II—and breakfast has been served to General Gallagher, who eats alone in a handsome quiet room. There is coffee in a silver pot, which contrasts with the homely coffeepot Gallagher has on his potbellied stove in his ugly concrete bunker of an office. Britt comes into his room, with apologies—instead of Max meeting Pritchard for breakfast, he was meeting with Pritchard about this “Norway thing.” Gallagher calls his excuses “hogwash,” and the whole thing is “dirty pool”—another billiard or pool reference, a common theme in the show when many things are defined as a “game”—and the visions of balls clicking against balls is not only dynamic but in terms of this masculine show, gender appropriate. Britt cools him down, remarking that he, Max Gallagher, is not a manipulator—“I’ve seen you hang wheeler-dealers out to dry.” But, knowing Max’s hopes, “you can’t force Joe to stay in uniform.” Max retreats and becomes realistic, asking how much of “this Bill Christy thing” will rub off on his son. Britt is blunt and violent: “He smells of it.” Furthermore, if he continues to yell for information his head will need to be “lopped off” to shut him up, another violent image. When Max hears this, he begins wheeling and dealing: “Give Joe what he wants. Lay off Bill Christy.” Britt refuses, stating that if this situation is passed over—a subordinate officer making command decisions about a mission while the mission is ongoing—then chaos will result. Max reminds Britt that he gave his son his “eagles,” which he did months earlier, tossing them to the man who had earned them—by in part standing up to Britt and insisting that his decisions made while flying were right. Also, he tells Max “You know he’s not the kind of man who will abandon a friend.”
Britt becomes even blunter: if Joe were not Max Gallagher’s son, he would railroad him. Max deals a bit more: they will split the difference—Britt will lay off him—get him a star—and he will handle his son. Britt: “It’s beneath you. You may both lose”—in war, or in a game? It seems that Joe’s life and future are in the hands of these two men, who both love him and want “the best” for him—but Britt, a man of honor, is standing on military principle and obedience, and is hesitating to punish only because the man in question is a son of an old friend. Max is seeing the affair more in terms of a game, a game of glory. He seems unconcerned with Joe’s mental state, or the terrible strain he’s been under for months, flying those godawful missions over Festung Europa. Maybe it’s part of a military man’s life; why should he question it, one way or another? Joe’s father comes off as a very mixed character—an extremely successful military officer, who reached for the stars and garnered three, no mean achievement and inspired his boys to go into the “family business.” Yet, he is sensing that his time is over and though he has important business—courier of sorts to the prime minister and an associate of “Ike” himself—it’s not enough. Yet, rather than trying to draw closer to his sons, he is trying to promote them, either jokingly, such as telling Pres he will soon have Patton’s job, or seriously, as with Joe, without consulting his desires. Also to some degree did he fail Joe?—after all, it took Savage to shape him up. What does Joe Gallagher want to do “when this long war is over”? –it’s an interesting question, and one that his father should be asking, because it seems that Joe may be willing to throw it all away for a friend in need. In any case, their cold or at least dispassionate dealing with the life and future of Joe Gallagher reminds me Susan Nesbit and Kirby Wyatt coolly slicing and dicing Komansky for their own purposes . . .
-“that won’t be as hard as you think”
The victim of Britt and Max Gallagher’s ambition, concerns, and the brutal reality of war has left his office and has driven out to “100 Proof” in a Jeep. As far as I can remember, this is the first time that we have seen Joe Gallagher by himself and in a sober, somber, reflective mood since Season II commenced. Maybe it is one of the few times he has been able to break free of duty and command and seek solace—or answers—in one of the fighting ladies of his command. He climbs up into the cockpit—the fetus returning to the womb?—and thinks over the recent events and conversations with dying men which has brought his emotions to the brink and a friend and a fellow pilot to another brink. His mental soliloquy is not long—can’t be in the middle of a busy war. Back to business, he climbs out, and his father intercepts him—typically, in a chauffeured staff car.
Their meeting is brusque; perhaps Joe realizes that his father is the “someone” who has come to see what remains of the 918th. Knowing what’s on his dad’s mind, he declares he won’t throw Bill Christy “to the wolves” and turns away. His father reprimands him: “You go when dismissed.” He remarks he’s seen better morale at Leavenworth, the military prison. Gallagher won’t defend what his dad only sees; the base’s record speaks for itself. Max Gallagher gets down to business—rather than the warning coming down through channels, and subject to being overheard, his father takes the opportunity of their isolation on the tarmac to warn him that he is getting into high security areas. Joe lets down his guard: no, he does not want to endanger that, but for the right reasons. His father, however, reminds him of a wrong reason: he has a star waiting for him, partly in exchange for his silence and being a good boy. But, if he won’t abandon Bill Christy, then he can kiss his career goodbye. At last, we get a vocal glimpse into Joe Gallagher’s war-battered soul: “That won’t be as hard as you think.” He then softens his retort by telling his father that he is proud of him but Max does not know what his son wants. In contrast to Savage, Joe is not “the warrior”–he’s a good soldier, and a “good shepherd” but the war is his duty, not his profession.
-“he’s hurt himself considerably”
Next scene—close up on Pritchard, who resembles the American eagle, and not in the best points: he gives the feeling that he will be obeyed. Gallagher, neatly uniformed, and in a chair, faces him, with Britt and Gallagher in attendance. On the rack, Gallagher stands tight—he has a lot to lose, but he may be feeling, “so what?” After Pritchard speaks, he stands, salutes, turns around neatly but then turns back again, in effect, not turning his back on his men. He understands security but he wants “reassurance” for his men. If they don’t get it, Bill Christy won’t be the last to be investigated—a threat that he might encourage his men to make future decisions to abort missions not going well. He leaves, and Britt replaces his smaller cigar with a larger cigar—admiring Joe Gallagher’s guts, or more bluntly, his “balls”? Back at his office, Gallagher coaxes the reluctant pot-bellied stove to provide a little more heat (nice heat, not the stuff he’s been facing recently) and then takes a phone call from Britt. “A general court martial two weeks from today,” he tells Gallagher, and warns him “that he’s hurt himself considerably.”
-“slapped in MY mouth”
Act III begins in Joe’s office, with a close up of a map and a smoking cigarette, and Joe announces to the incoming Stovall “that I’ve figured out a way to bomb that lousy target” (sometimes the show could benefit from harsher language!). As it turns out, the plans are similar to the one practiced on Hagensburg in “Then Came the Mighty Hunter”—which makes you wonder why did it take so long to figure that out? It seems a little repetitive, but, “what the heck . . .” Stovall announces the grim news: “we’ve been scrubbed” and will only fly anti-submarine patrols and training missions. “Are we being slapped in the mouth?” he asks. “No,” Joe says, chastened. “We’re being slapped in MY mouth”—as if he has been caught saying dirty words, and in some ways he has. He leaves with Stovall calling out “What about the practice mission?” “They’re either going to scratch it, or scratch me,” he states. He leaves, in a white heat.
-“. . . but you had charm”
Back at the Langham, some of the white heat has left him. He knocks on his father’s door, and comes in, hat in hand, cooled off after waiting, as he tells his father, over two hours, and unsuccessfully, to see Pritchard and Britt about being relegated to shit work, unfitting for a group of the “Mighty Eighth.” The desk general that he is, Max is dispatching orders to an orderly and the pretty WAC captain who ushered Joe into the party two evenings before. Max greets him jovially perhaps sensing that Joe is feeling his disgrace. Trying to buck up the kid’s spirits, or distract him a bit, he pours brandy for them both, and says he has “filled in the pretty little WAC captain” (eerrggghhhh!—doesn’t she have a name and an identity beyond being cute and pretty?) on his personal history of boxing (Paul Burke’s father was a boxer, interestingly enough) and being a football hero, which taught him the lessons of teamwork that Frank Savage made him acknowledge. Joe ignores the invitation to take the WAC captain out (Joe’s somewhat casual affairs are ending, it seems, by his own efforts) and sticks to business—and the business is that the “scars this is leaving on the 918th you’ll only find on corpses.” Max tries to fob him off: he brings up “cosmic rays” as another subject to talk about. Joe bears down: his outfit has been busted off the combat line. Max still tries to deflect his son—is he tired, disappointed, or is honestly trying to get Joe to accept what has happened? But there are barriers between father and son. Max tells him that he may soon be gone—islands in the Mediterranean which sound exotic, faraway, dangerous –“can’t we be father and son for an hour?”
“Have we ever been?” Joe demands, discreet hurt in his voice. “You were a hardheaded youngster, but you had charm,” Max says, reminiscing. Yes, Joe has charm, which is commented on, on occasion–as said before, his charm even overpowered Komansky’s instinctive distrust, no mean feat. “What is it when I come to you with a problem and you won’t listen?” Joe’s demand exemplifies an aspect of his charm, being able to understand other’s problems–indeed, he had found one of Komansky’s problems of having, when just a boy, “to take his problems into himself” which poisoned his outlook and crippled his confidence. Though Joe had a father, it seems that he did not really listen to his youngest son when he brought his problems to him—or perhaps in performance of his duties he could not be there to listen to them–and Joe remembers.
Max does not defend or deny Joe’s accusation over the past and concentrates on the present: he is forced to ignore Joe’s problems because it would send them to a showdown, as colonel and general. Personal lives don’t matter here. He tells Joe about his disappointment: Joe dug a hole for himself at that inquiry and buried some of his father’s “fondest hopes”—but what about Joe’s hopes?—like the 918th? “Why are they punishing us?” he demands. His father says because “they are too demoralized, too finished”—but is he trying to get Joe on the ground, home and safe? –and get that star pinned on his shoulder for compensation? Joe agrees to this tactic, telling his father that they kicked him out—or, is the Gallagher name being protected by shutting the whole base down? Again, Max Gallagher emerges as a very ambiguous character.
-“whatever is right and true”
Gallagher finally makes a deal and in so doing, asks his father to “grant him a favor”: if his father has that much power to wangle him a promotion, than he has the power to straighten this affair out for him. Gallagher senior has a sharp memory—last time Joe asked for him to “wangle something” was when he was eight years old–which he probably admires Joe for but wishes Joe had asked for more favors. Another deal is made about the plan Joe has developed: he will tell it to Pritchard himself; give it away, it will be given away. “You can’t manipulate Britt and Pritchard,” his father says, perhaps indicating that he can. Gallagher’s deal gets uglier—he will hang Christy “out to dry” for this chance to keep the 918th “in the game.” At the trial he will say—“whatever is right and true.” –That sounds direct but it’s very ambiguous—right and true to whom? At least Joe’s talk bears fruit—later, deep into Bomber Command Headquarters, the four men tackle all the issues, including the bombing run which has been deferred for family and military infighting. Of course, they know from Intelligence that the “Norway” project is nearly finished—“and we must stop them.” (What the heck, you gotta get this story wrapped soon, and neatly, but my God, it is atomic power).
–For some reason, in the middle of all this, a perky blonde WAC says “Coffee sir?” to Max Gallagher, who refuses. She leaves. (Whose girlfriend was she??) Back to business, now that the woman is out of the room, bearing her coffee pot. Britt describes the maneuver that Joe has re-invented—and demands the job for the 918th. “No deal, no dice, no bargain,” Pritchard says, underscoring the frequent image of gaming going on in all these military and personal maneuvers.
-“I cast the actors”
Britt takes command—and changes the motif—from gaming to the theatre—in gambling, the end is unknown; in drama, there is always a scripted finish. “If I run the show,” he says, “I cast the actors.” He stands up to Pritchard. “I will cast by merit.” “You run the show,” Pritchard says. “No excuses for foul ups.” With that, he leaves, creating ambiguous feelings, and the horrible realization that war is not fair—and who gets killed is largely a matter of birth date and rank. The older men are safe in offices and across the ocean; the younger must be the ones on the line. But, to Joe Gallagher, he will have it no other way. The junior Gallagher accepts the challenge with the brio of a younger man, demanding the assignment. Britt says he must find two “morally willing” to die, recalling Christy’s words that he “was morally certain” that his bombers were going to be destroyed to a man. Joe says that he and Christy will do it—in a sense, demanding the favor to try and perhaps die.
-“cast by merit”
Act IV and epilogue—actually, this portion of the story is fairly predictable—you know that Joe Christy and Gallagher are going to succeed, but there are good moments as they proceed with their mission; the mission itself is excitingly edited and absorbing. When Christy is presented with his chance to redeem himself, his early moral sense of being right is now gone, replaced by self-doubt—doubt that comes inevitably as your decisions are questioned, heavily, by others. It’s an interesting and realistic point that his coming redemption—at least moral redemption as one of the two pilots going in a tree top level to bomb that facility—does not buy him out of his court martial. It rolls. Christy finally agrees to go with Gallagher—but does not expect for anyone to survive and as for himself, perhaps sees it as a way out of disgrace and self-doubt: “600 feet,” he comments, on his way out of his Joe’s office after the grim briefing. “At least, we don’t have a long way to fall.” At least, when the scene changes from Operations to the field, there is a slightly cheerful flourish of music—we need it by now, this has been an unfailingly grim episode, with family strains exacerbating the strains of war.
“ . . . every time we say goodbye . . .”
Max Gallagher comes out to say his farewell to his son—the farewells seem to come pretty late in the morning too; unless this is summer, bombing runs usually took off early in the morning—but, who knows. The crews are getting last minute briefly before embarking; the instructions seem a little simple: keep your eyes out for fighters. Well, it’s still good advice. Max is admirably calm about this—he knows his son is facing death—more than usual this time, and remarks that he never realizes that every time they say goodbye could be the last. No maudlin hugs; they salute each other and then part; watch the expressions on their faces; it is a story in itself. Presumably, the men who are flying with them have been given some sort of choice in the affair—in the previous episode, Kurt Brown’s crew flew with him, no questions; one man even flirted with death by flying in sickness and pain until his appendix ruptured. That was not considered right. One can assume that Sandy flew with Gallagher without question, maintaining his personal avowal of loyalty. In “Falling Star,” he refuses to fly with Colonel Wexler, but, when Gallagher assumes co-pilot duties with Wexler, Sandy flies without question or doubt; in “Duel at Mont St. Marie,” he follows Joe without question. It’s time for Piccadilly Lily and 100 Proof to drop down from the formation. Gallagher, in a serious tone, jokes a bit with the crew: they’re going down low over the channel, “so keep your feet inside.”
-“go home together”
The two planes fly on; Sandy’s sharp eyes spot the first fighter. While the standard formation is taking a beating upstairs, the below stairs crew is beginning to take a beating. Suspense is created as the navigator counts off the time; two minutes, 45 seconds . . . a smaller amount of time after the five minute “that’s a long time from here” in the aborted mission. Christy, returning Joe’s protection of him for the last few days, feathers an engine to create a decoy effect, and draws off some fighters. Joe takes the advantage to unload, but the strike is uncertain, and one hits a field. Joe now takes up the slack and Christy rises to the occasion, and he, despite being wounded, manages to drop his payload where it belongs. It’s a brutal, satisfying explosion. After a moment’s joy, somebody tells Gallagher, “let’s go home,” but Joe is determined that the two planes “will go home together.” As always, he believes in teamwork—and here he does not “abandon” Christy as he nearly did in order to salvage the 918th’s reputation and future. Perhaps Joe also seeks further redemption for “abandoning” Savage months earlier—even if it were the right and true thing to do. –
-“a new sort of atomic weapon”
Another successful mission accomplished—hurray!—and what a mission particularly in the knowledge of the 1965-66 viewer as just over twenty years of living with the “bomb” . . . In keeping with the theme of how these missions have pounded the men, the scene starts in the base hospital where Doc Kaiser asks the wounded Joe Christy “do you know where you are?” He does but asks where Gallagher is—did he make it? Kaiser says that goodbyes are being said, but happy ones. Cut to Joe and Max, drinking coffee fresh from Joe’s potbellied stove; coffee is forever bringing people together, comforting them . . . Max, prior to going on his way to new assignment in the Mediterranean, is chatting with Joe, and clearing the air on a couple of points. First, he can tell Joe what they were bombing (Joe claims he does not care anymore, as long as they did; relief can make you reject things you said)—something called “heavy water” which has something to do with a new sort of atomic weapon. Neither knows much about such things, so they are happy to let it go as just some other weapon. In hindsight, their lack of interest is horrifying, and what would these men have thought after Hiroshima?—and that the Nazis were working on such a weapon?
-“pin a star on you”
And Max finally admits to his ambitions for Joe—he knew that he did not have another star coming; and he wanted “to pin a star on you.” Joe doesn’t seem to mind his father’s ambition now—and admits he would be right for it when he and General Britt thinks he’s ready—which is a look ahead to “Falling Star” when he is shanghaied into being Wing Commander and Pritchard needs to administer a kick in the pants when he dawdles over a decision involving his former pilot instructor. Perhaps Joe too knows that there are things he might not be able to cope with—for example, he could not cope with orders that seem to have no meaning. He could not give brutal orders such as the ones dished out by Pritchard in “Back to the Drawing Board” (Pritchard must have known that the 918th was a “sitting duck” with its airborne radar.)
If he were to assume another star on his shoulders—apparently, commanding the 918th would be out for him and he wants to stay, despite all the grief and the worry. Britt comes in to collect Max Gallagher. The court martial will proceed in two weeks, and Joe, true to his word, will testify—and say whatever is “right and true.” Those are still ambiguous words, but he has a right and true story now—they took out that facility. Refreshingly, Joe has the final word with these two men, who have been pulling his strings—hard, for good reasons and bad reasons. Joe asks Britt about the DFC that he is putting Bill Christy in for. Britt, for once, hems and haws—and agrees—and leaves with the feelings that the court martial’s verdict has already been decided, and Christy will be without stain. The episode ends with his relieved and calmed face; he is satisfied that the 918th has survived a terrible period and will soon re-emerge, stronger than ever, though with a variety of new scars. Joe has finally asked his father for a favor, and granting it has brought the two fairly estranged officers together and it is sensed that they are starting out on a new page of their relationship.
“Storm at Twilight”
Writers: Anthony Spinner, James Doherty
Director: Robert Gist
As always, a glance toward the title comes first: a literal image is a figurative image of the unlooked for storm that engulfs Major Harvey Stovall’s life and career as he struggles to seek some kind of vengeance (or repentance) for his son—or perhaps he is realizing other things such as the coming of middle age (the “twilight”) and the gut-wrenching realization that you are no longer young. Like any storm, Harvey’s “stormy passage” through re-qualification and pilot indoctrination both endangers yet enriches. Rain feeds the ground and lightning discharges energy into the atmosphere—but both can kill people, in this case, not so much Harvey, but the “youngsters.” This episode seems to be the last in a kind of trilogy: “Show Me a Hero,” “Grant Me No Favor” and “Storm at Twilight” are linked together by being emotional “showcases” for the character involved, and provide glimpses into their pasts and their family situations—which range from family-less, to contentious family ties, to the sudden loss of a family member. Each man feels its impact as they struggle for emotional and physical survival in the crucible of war: Komansky’s personal issues, exacerbated by media exposure, send him into a near breakdown; Gallagher’s difficult relationship with his loving but manipulative father suffers a stormy patch when he seeks to defend a friend and his bomber command; finally, Stovall’s loss of his only son, whose birth made him give up flying, and his possible death drives him to fly again—in combat. Interestingly, the three episodes progress from the youngest to the oldest, and the three as a group are framed with a similar scene: Gallagher getting knocked out (though not egregiously injured) and Komansky and then Stovall having to take over during critical moments, landing, and bombing a target respectively.
The endings are all semi-happy, because all leave unsettled issues as the war grinds on: will Komansky follow the path of his new star? Will Gallagher ever have a trusting relationship with his father?–will he get that star his father wants for him, and for which he fairly well qualified for? In Harvey Stovall’s case, the issue is gut-wrenching—did Mike survive? Where is he?–will he always be an MIA? Will Harvey face life after the war completely alone?–and there are apparently no grandchildren for solace . . .story adjustment: as one of Joe’s brothers was brought back to life (“Loneliest Place”) Harvey’s grandchildren seem to disappear. Another quality about this episode: there are no women!—beyond the fact that there are no women physically present in the episode (and if they were, what would they be doing except waving at departing aircraft?); what I mean is that Harvey’s wife and Mike’s mother seems to be missing. Harvey refers to her, but we don’t know if she is alive or not—something like the case of Joe Gallagher’s mother; it seems both have passed on somewhere along the line. Also missing–the grandkids that Harvey claimed in Season 1. I think they were “destroyed” because if Gallagher ever challenged Harvey with “Think of your grandkids!”–he would not think about them in order to fly, and we would not like him for that. In any case, this is “claustrophobic” episode; there are no guest stars, save for Andrew Duggan who is Harvey’s peer in age and experience. The real war in “tonight’s episode” is between youth and old age.
-“the end of the perfect day”
As the episode begins, the sadly familiar sight of returning B-17s fill the air, as they circle the field and prepare for difficult landings, including a belly-in. Major Stovall and the temporary commander of the 918th, both at the tower, watch the planes come back with sickness and alarm—six planes down. The CO calls it a tragedy—what happened? “It was a milk run!” Major Stovall is not only sickened by the sight but sickened by a feeling of responsibility: in the absence of Gallagher who is on unspecified sick leave, he made the recommendations about pilots. He confesses that he “thought Captain Henderson was the best man” to be squadron leader. The young Henderson, as it turns out, lost the formation and fouled up the heading—he is probably dead, perhaps it’s just as well for him. As the emergency vehicles flee out to the planes, the recurring contrast between youth and older age, already commenced, is intensified when the youthful Komansky, who fortunately avoided that day’s mission, comes up in a Jeep. He has received a message for the major and decides to deliver it personally; you can’t leave a telegram like that to be found on a desk. He hands it to Stovall; the major hardly acknowledges in his black mood—Komansky sweats out Stovall’s delay; the Major has to read that telegram, which he finally does.
“The Secretary of War regrets to inform you . . . “ that his son 1st Lt. Michael A. Stovall “is missing in action.” “I didn’t even know he had been shipped over,” he says and leaves, deaf to Komansky’s offers of help—which is an important step in this young man’s character; pre-Gallagher he may have just turned his back on the situation. He gives answers to the CO’s questions about the affair; the man sympathizes. “The end of a perfect day,” Komansky says but not sarcastically. He alludes to a famous song from Carrie Jacobs-Bond—“(When You Come to the End of) A Perfect Day”—a late Victorian elegy-like song that compared the end of the day (twilight) with the end of life.
-“I didn’t know you have a son.” “Had.”
At the literal end of that terrible day, Stovall gets conscientiously drunk at the Officer’s Club—but he’s a tough old bird, and does not show any of the shots he is pouring down his throat. The men aren’t mourning the loss of others today, which reminds me of some powerful scenes in Only Angels Have Wings, in which pilots defiantly celebrate the life of a pilot dead all of twenty minutes with steak and whiskey (the pilot had ordered for himself) and music rather than mourning his death. One of the young officers motions another young officer—“Phil”—to talk with Stovall, who, they think, is stewing over the loss of planes and men that afternoon: but Stovall has other things on his mind beyond that and his son. The youth of the men is bothering him: “22 is the average age of the men in this room”—and he’s 44, exactly twice their age. (Years don’t quite gel here; and besides, Harvey Stovall’s creased face is not of a man in his mid-forties, unless hard living is the reason; being an adjutant at a bomber base can’t be easy. As his pointed out by Duffin and Mathes, Harvey originally wore steel rimmed glasses and referred to grandchildren–which he could have had at age 44, I agree, but I think the grandchildren kind of disappeared–otherwise, Britt and Gallagher would have brought them up as another reason that Harvey should not return to flying.) His son was 22 the week before.
“I didn’t know you have a son,” Phil remarks. “Had,” Stovall says, philosophically; he’s seen enough young men fly off–as today–and never return. He asks the young man directly: is he too old to fly combat? Phil, wisely does not answer—and reveals his terrible youthfulness—and perhaps a hardened sense of death being an undeniable visitor in war–by inviting Stovall over for drinks. Stovall refuses and leaves—to perhaps build up the courage to avoid the usual channels and go knocking on General Britt’s majestic quarters at 3:00 in the morning to ask to be requalified for combat flying. As it turns out, they are old friends, going way back (is this addressed in the “Savage” season?—I will find out) and though he counts on Britt’s support, he does not play the pity card until he has to.
-“so you want to wear that sackcloth too”
Britt is angry and aghast: Stovall’s request is ridiculous—and regards it as an act of a man who has lost his reason—and to “sleep it off”; perhaps Stovall has had a few more belts and there’s an aroma about him. Stovall, normally middle-aged wise, won’t just sleep it off. Rather than grieving for Mike he is angry with himself, and calls himself names that others have not: a desk-jockey, a “rear-echelon brainwave”—who selected a “youngster”–a 23 year old, four-days captain to lead the formation. Britt is wise to his old friend: he does not want glory, nor absolution (which sets up a “religious” theme in this episode)—but something else. He warns him against taking responsibility for the day’s losses: Britt defines that as “arrogance of the first water.” Stovall does not commit to “arrogance” but sidles close to it when he says he has already gone over Gallagher’s head with this request, and he will go over Britt’s as well. When Gallagher went over Britt’s head to Pritchard in “Grant Me No Favor,” there was hell to pay . . . but it got results. Britt takes advantage of the situation: he is in pajamas and robe; the comfortable room has a fire burning, and he talks to Stovall as they are—“two old friends” at 3:00 in the morning.
Stovall finally unbends and admits that his family is involved: he quit flying because he had the responsibility of a wife and a son—and that responsibility no longer exists, which suggests that his wife is dead. Britt sympathizes but won’t give in to the “pity card”: “he might not be dead.” Stovall is realistic; his chances are not good. “Don’t be sorry for Mike,” he says as if he has already accepted his death—perhaps he has because the only other times Mike is referred to (at least in this episode) is by Gallagher and Komansky. “Be sorry for the world I helped create.” Britt does not buy this new attempt at pathos and warns him against false repentance: “so you want to wear that sackcloth too.” Stovall refuses Britt’s summation of his motives and asks “to be good again.” Perhaps because he is being honest–now asking for himself, rather than his son, or a sense of responsibility for assigning the late Captain Henderson to work he proved disastrous at–Britt more or less agrees, but reminds him it’s “not just a lousy phone call” but talking, making speeches, knocking on doors. “Do it,” Stovall tells him, almost commanding him. Britt knows the situation he is getting into: how hard he will have to work to qualify under Colonel Gallagher, the officer Britt himself has mentored and is still mentoring to command.
-“I was flying planes when you were still in the sandbox”
Presumably a few more days later (Britt is apparently working on securing Stovall’s request) Gallagher, driving a Jeep toward the tower, honks at Komansky who, for some reason, is on the tower (did he ever leave?). “Welcome back, sir,” Komansky says, glad to see him (and probably glad to be delivering more than a single line as he has done in the past few episodes. And, by the way, what was Gallagher’s illness? Breakdown? A bad cold? Corrective surgery?). Gallagher has heard about Stovall, and wants to talk with him, now—Komansky directs Gallagher to the Piccadilly Lily and says there’s something he should know about the adjutant—Gallagher cuts him off, drives on, and calls for Stovall as he lifts himself into the Lily. “Yo,” Stovall answers from the cockpit, taking off his glasses to appear less like a middle-aged man sitting in a seat that he should not be in. Stovall’s vision, both literal and figurative, becomes a strong theme throughout the episode. (In “Back to the Drawing Board,” when Joe requests him to fly right seat with him, the first thing he does is take off his glasses.) Gallagher is not exactly angry but he is irked—and so unbelieving that he asks Stovall “What’s the gag?”—rather than “what’s the game?” which he has said in the last three episodes.
He gives Stovall further heat about going over his head (adjutants should be enforcing the channels of command, not breaking them). Furthermore, he demands a cruel answer: “At your age?” He then remembers that Komansky “tried to tell me something but I stopped him.” Stovall turns the age angle on him: “I was flying planes when you were in a sandbox,” and recalls flying the ANT which had “only three instruments and your faith in God.” His reducing his younger commander to a child recalls Max Gallagher’s own “belittling” of his son in “Grant Me No Favor.” Later, Stovall will reduce Komansky to a child as well, which suggests Stovall’s transforming Sandy into replacing his son. This is never overplayed, but there is a sense that these two, Stovall and Komansky, have also formed a bond of sorts.
-“if one pilot fouls up . . . “
Later that night, Gallagher comes visiting Stovall in his Quonset hut quarters, all metal and no windows; but it’s always interesting to see where these people live when not on duty. (We get a glimpse of Komansky’s quarters in “The Hollow Man” and Joe’s in “Fortress Weisbaden,” “The Ace,” and “Burden of Guilt.”) In the virtual eyesight of Mike (his photograph is on a bedside table), Stovall studies charts. Gallagher is no less angry than Britt about Stovall remaining quiet about his son: “why didn’t you tell me about Mike?” They don’t linger on the issue; instead, Gallagher gives a kind of dressing down to Harvey Stovall that recalls Savage’s dressing down of him—and he has more bad news for Stovall—“he’s been passed.” He adds, cruelly, but he probably did not realize that Mike’s birthday had been the week before, “Happy birthday,” which enforces the idea of Stovall’s advancing age. He has more bad news: their next target is Geissin, an oil storage area and dump. The German have (wisely) built one of their biggest POW camps near it, full of Allied prisoners, one of which may be Mike. “And if one pilot fouls up . . .” Gallagher says, and reminds him that “each one of them is somebody’s son.” He leaves, and Stovall falls to, studying the charts with increased energy—and with a sense of dread? He still has not admitted to himself the real or at least other reasons for his demand to get into combat duty.
-“don’t do me any favors”
Act II—Stovall is still studying charts—only this time, they are for eye examinations, which he knows he will fail. So, he’s cheating—and not only cheating himself, but he will try to cheat others, including, in a way, his own son, or his son’s memory. This scene also recalls Only Angels Have Wings: one of the older pilots, ironically called “the Kid” has kept flying long past his prime because he has memorized the eyecharts that his boss, a younger pilot, tests him with. Finally, the younger pilot gives him a coordination test that he can’t trick his way out of. The scene changes to Gallagher’s utilitarian office. Kaiser reports to Gallagher—stiffly, because he has been “summoned summarily,” and won’t unbend, even when Gallagher tries to warm him up with a kaffeeklatsch—which reminds me, in all these episodes I have never seen Gallagher (or Komansky or Stovall for that matter) eat anything!—drink yes (mugs of coffee, brandy, beer, whiskey) but no eating (though we finally see Gallagher munching on something in “Underground” and we see evidence he has eaten in “The Slaughter Pen” and “Decoy”–oddly enough the only time Sandy is handed a plate of food, it is a Swedish dish and he stares at it suspiciously–“To Seek and Destroy.”). Of course, filming eating scenes is very difficult, particularly matching scenes: one scene a glass might be full, the next, the glass might be empty. It’s better to avoid them altogether particularly when you have stories that move like gangbusters.
Gallagher has been taking similar heat from other people over his treatment of Stovall: “is there some kind of contagious paranoia?” and “I’m not down on anybody”—and finally, he has no intention to persecute Stovall, or anybody else just because he is trying to protect the major from unwise decisions. At this point, I sigh with pleasure over how 120CH always targets the human heart, rather than crusading against Hitler (but after all, that madman was long since dead when this series was filmed and there’s enough drama in the air). Sometimes, as the emotions rage, whether it’s over the price of heroism, self-hatred, undisclosed ambitions and undiagnosed mental problems, you have to remember that World War II is raging as well. Gallagher’s next words bring up a theme sounded in “Grant Me No Favor,” which says it all. Gallagher is in deep need of pilots, as the 918th struggles to overcome the losses made on the disastrous milk run. “But don’t do me any favors” by passing the pilots, and “don’t do Harvey any favors” and moreover, don’t do General Britt any favors by helping “his little protégée.” War is war—and the needs of war have trampled over feelings and desires and hopes. In other words, favors can be deadly—for the person being granted the favor and in this case, for the men involved with the favored person. “It’s not only Harvey Stovall’s neck,” it’s the necks of the nine other men flying with him, and in time Stovall will risk two important younger necks: Komansky’s and Gallagher’s both get placed on the chopping block; Komansky runs the most deadly risk. He passes by the book, Gallagher says, or he doesn’t pass at all. Understanding Gallagher by now, Kaiser unbends and asks “why do you think I would pass him if his condition didn’t warrant it?” Gallagher exposes his deepest feelings to the avuncular doctor, who has received similar exposure of feelings from Komansky (“Show Me a Hero”) and will from Stovall later in the episode: he does not want to see Stovall killed, and neither of them want to break his heart. Without a real answer to this duty, which is painful no matter how it is obeyed, Kaiser goes on his way to give Stovall his examination. The upshot: Stovall, when entering the Officer’s Club the ending of that day, is surrounded by a pack of (younger) officers—who promptly lift him to their shoulders and laud his accomplishment—he made it!—at least through that gauntlet: there are more severe gauntlets to pass through, as Stovall learns in the next morning’s briefing.
-“consider yourselves dead men”
Gallagher greets his three young replacement pilots and crewmembers with a realistic but kindly-meant appraisal: he will get to know them all later (he hopes) but for now, they represent three badly needed air crews to fill out his decimated ranks. He also doesn’t grant them any favors: “I’ll give you good advice: as of this hour consider yourself dead men.” If they accept that definition (or fate), “you will sleep better, bomb better, and live longer”—grim advice to Harvey (whose life is half over)who is grappling with the possible fact that his son’s life is already over. And, Gallagher seems to take his own advice because he keeps going . . . well past what seem to be sensible human limits. They have arrived in time for “the big show”—which recalls a wonderful song, by the way, and comes from Captain of the Clouds (Warner Bros., 1942) with James Cagney: “we’re off on the big show tonight, so fly’em wing to wing”—which Bugs Bunny also sings in one of his wartime “Loony Tune” features. Calling it a “big show” also recalls other times in this series when war is cast along theatrical lines: as Britt says in “Grant Me No Favors,” “I cast the actors.” In “The Slaughter Pen” the practice raids are called “rehearsals.” “It’s your show” is frequently spoken to the bombardiers when the IPO is reached. Stovall and the other pilots learn that to get ready for the “big show” they will have a week’s training, and in a half hour, Gallagher will start checking them out—“and luck,” he adds, “isn’t enough.” Stovall, in the third row, and seated next to a young man, listens and winces.
-“Major, you have just lost all power”
Here we see the “three guys” altogether in the cockpit of a plane (the Lily?–doesn’t matter–they will reunite in “Gauntlet of Fire” in the air, and on the ground, and in “Long Time Dead”). Joe is sitting in what seems to be a dangerous place—the co-pilot’s seat which has seen quite a co-pilots getting their asses shot out from under them!—no disrespect, but co-pilot loss has been noted before. Joe Gallagher is showing his tougher side, which is growing ever tougher and is not granting any favors as he puts Stovall through a series of tests, and without one trace of pity. Sandy, in the middle, remains impassive; he knows to keep his mouth shut to Gallagher’s near taunts, and not to show any pity to the put-upon Stovall. (And he will keep his mouth shut until it is pried open by Stovall.) Gallagher puts him through three bad turns, each one worse, climaxing with “Major, you’ve just lost all power.”
Stovall shakily works the controls, but gets the plane to respond; they are headed for pasture, with the wheels coming down and the plane’s shadow growing nearer to the ground. Gallagher taunts him: “ever do this with one of those old ANTs?” To make for an end of another perfect day, they are jumped on by fighters—practice of course, but Stovall is shocked and alarmed. Gallagher is blunt: “this plane is a bombing platform—and must be flown straight and level,” which is something he is far from doing. Stovall finally reacts to his needling, snapping that if this were real, he would turn the operation over the co-pilot. It’s a dodge, but it’s a good plan, too. Gallagher takes over the operation, returns power, and some to Stovall: “Okay Harvey, see if you can get us home.”
-“I’ll eat candy bars” Apparently he does, and Stovall reports to Kaiser, again, to have his vitals checked—and to be checked on by Gallagher who is rightfully concerned about the “old man” trying to be a young pilot. He asks Gallagher for his opinion, and the man is blunt, again: “Harvey, you must have been great in that old ANT,” a backhanded compliment to be sure. But—“before I let you jeopardize a 9-man crew,” he begins, highlighting a theme of this episode and many other episodes, “or possibly my own son,” Stovall finishes. Gallagher, who is probably very tired himself by operational training, warns him that today was a joyride—he’ll realize that soon. However, Stovall checks out fine by Kaiser. Stovall’s fooling of himself by memorizing the eyechart is analogous to his refusal to see the truth. “I did very well today, he just won’t admit it.” Kaiser is true to his words to Gallagher; he won’t grant Stovall any favors, and the man is now seeking them out. He’s tired, he tells Stovall, and he has no resiliency, or the ability to spring back, back and back again, like kids do. He’s losing years off his life. Stovall mutters that he’ll eat candy bars for energy—and the soldier’s need for candy, interestingly enough, led to the invention of M&Ms, the shell of which would “melt in your mouth, not in your hands”—a great boon to soldiers fighting in warm humid conditions.
Stovall’s mood is as sour as candy is sweet: his exhaustion leads him to nearly threaten the good doctor—if he tells Gallagher what he thinks, “I’ll crush you to the end of your days.” But he is truthful enough to ask Kaiser—“do you have any candy bars?” Kaiser shakes his head.
-“youths are cannibals”
Seemingly moments later, the exhausted man (who apparently was so tired he did not even go to bed; he is sitting up in a chair) is hurled awake by wide awake “the kid” Gallagher, who demands “Okay, Harvey, on your feet.” It’s 0400 he tells the startled man, “and we take off in 20 minutes.” Harvey gets on his feet, but has a few words for his commander—he has believed that Gallagher is playing the role of the hard boiled commander trying to save the life of a washed up old man—but the pre-dawn darkness of 0400 may just be the hour of clairvoyance. “What’s the truth Harvey?” Gallagher asks somewhat carelessly, lighting a cigarette to cover up his feelings of guilt. He can’t particularly enjoy being up at the hour of the morning either, rousting out a respected and reliable adjutant to bat him around the skies. Besides, he is reversing the usual mentoring situation—the younger one is leading the older one. Harvey is brutally lyrical in that hour of the morning and brutally insightful—that youth are cannibals, devouring the old—a weird twist on his earlier words of eating candy bars in order to keep going. Suggested is that Gallagher (and the war) is consuming the older man as though they are consuming a candy bar—absorbing his energy and then expelling him in death.
-“It’s my job, sir!” Act III starts in Gallagher’s office with a reversal of situations: rather than older Britt being begged to give into Stovall’s request, he is more or less begging the younger Gallagher to let up on Stovall. In another reversal, Gallagher isn’t showing any mercy to Britt. The angry—but concerned–general is accusing Gallagher of “tearing Stovall apart” in his brutal retraining of the major. “It’s my job, sir!” Gallagher answers, or rather snaps. Britt’s answer is grimly wonderful—“If a hangman’s mask conveniently describes your job,” he snaps back. Gallagher won’t accept his designation. (Has Stovall been complaining? Probably not; maybe other officers are talking, and this has gotten back to Britt who seems to keep his ears well-tuned to the 918th.) Gallagher knows that his job with Stovall is very different than with the “average pilot”—this kind of pilot “is trying to erase a guilt that doesn’t exist.” Britt has to back down over Gallagher’s insight; perhaps he privately thanks God that he has daughters, rather than sons for this “young man’s war.” He also realizes that he is not only defending Stovall, he is defending his own efforts on behalf of Stovall—the old friend strung him out on a limb, a limb that the new major general does not need to be on and there might be hell to pay if this older man gets killed (in comparison and contrast with “Mighty Hunter” if the underaged kid got killed).
Calmed down slightly, he asks if “Stovall is good.” Joe admits that he is “good”—but not as quick as a 20 year old, but then, he isn’t either, which might explain Joe’s “sick leave” and previews his own stiff neck during the episode’s final mission to Geissen. Britt’s age and pride is put on the line by Gallagher when Stovall will pilot a plane on the upcoming mission to bomb the port of Antwerp. “Stovall won’t be flying that mission, you will,” Gallagher reminds him. Britt leaves. He didn’t like his dressing down by Gallagher, but perhaps accepted a colonel standing up to a lieutenant general because the dressing down was deserved. Helping Harvey Stovall was a mistake, just as he thought it would be.
-“. . . thank the colonel for sending you along”
Beginning in the middle of things, the next-day’s formation is approaching Antwerp. Stovall is flying, worry in his face, and Komansky by his side. The flak is coming up to meet them. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Komansky says, an old hand at the stuff—reminding us that this may be the first time Stovall has encountered this particular aspect of bombing missions. “We can always try walking,” he adds in way of a joke. “Remind me to thank the colonel for sending you along,” Stovall remarks acridly, probably glad he’s there, but irritated for Gallagher granting him this (badly needed) favor. Stovall catches flak from other pilots; he is getting lost from the formation: “that’s not a typewriter Harvey,” a referral to his adjutant duty. “Squeeze in there—let’s keep the bombs in the same country.” Komansky interprets these comments as tactfully as possible: “I think he’s trying to tell you to hurry up Major.” Stovall shouts at him: “Get into your turret where you belong!” which is like sending a little boy to his room after mouthing off. Komansky wisely obeys. The payload is dropped. They lose the flak, but the fighters come up—the gunners and P-51s fight them off; this tense episode is followed by plane problems; the youthful co-pilot tells him that the oil pressure is dropping. Stovall stares at the gauges; he overtired eyes make him see them run together. Both he and the co-pilot are distracted, which is interrupted by Komansky’s curt warning from the turret: there is a crippled fortress dead ahead.
What a rear-ender that would have been!—Stovall loses control and the co-pilot takes over. Stovall has lost the few years that Kaiser told him he would. “Want to trade me in on a new model?” he jokes weakly with his young co-pilot. The co-pilot just looks at him, without an answer. Presumably, Komansky deals with the oil pressure issue, because they do get home.
-“Major, I have some answers . . . and they’re ones you don’t want to hear”
In the evening (a great deal of this episode plays out at in the evenings or “dead at night”) Stovall comes to Operations. An unidentified airman types away, filling in for Harvey who has “abandoned his duty” for combat. Komansky, despite having a hard day himself, is dutifully working, also filling in for the older man—perhaps his punishment has been worked out but, like Gallagher, the taste of hard steady work only increases his appetite for more. When Stovall enters, the airman asks if he can help; Komansky, keeping his back to him deliberately, seems to ignore him. Stovall politely refuses help, but tells Komansky, “Come on, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee” which is an invitation for a private talk in Gallagher’s office, and perhaps an apology for shouting at him during the mission. Also, Stovall is taking up Komansky’s earlier offer of help.
The scene parallels Gallagher’s earlier klatsch with Kaiser as well as Gallagher “dressing down” Britt. At that time, Gallagher laid it on the line about Stovall’s status, and not to do him any favors. Stovall, in the same place, now seeks advice on his own, from a young man near his son’s age. However, he is quietly seeking the favor of a good report. Komansky is wise enough to know this. The scene reveals that Stovall and Komansky have become friends as they share Operations administrative work and share Gallagher’s trust. It also contrasts with Komansky and Stovall’s first meeting in “Loneliest Place,” when Komansky, the only survivor of Savage’s crew and recently returned from the French Underground, reports to the adjutant. Stovall’s remark of “I’m glad you’re back, sergeant” is more a curt formality than a true sentiment and Komansky knows it; his eyes searched for other places to look than Stovall’s creased face. However, Komansky in this scene also “searches for other places” as he is called to report to the adjutant—about the adjutant’s pilot performance. Keeping his back to Stovall, he tries to make coffee on the potbellied stove, but is put off by Stovall’s invitation to stand up to him, a superior officer. “You’re a tough boy, Sandy, you have the reputation of laying it on the line. Well, I want you to.” He sits down, betraying his age; Sandy remains standing, revealing his age and representing the attitude of standing up to the older officer. So Sandy lays it on the line—“Is this going to be one of those ‘forget I’m an enlisted man and you’re an officer sir’?” Stovall says he thought they were “buddies.” What happens next parallels a scene in “Show Me a Hero” as Stovall helped Sandy land the crippled Piccadilly Lily; now Sandy is called upon to guide the crippled Stovall back to the ground. Komansky is put into an intolerable position, but proceeds: he has some answers, but they’re ones Stovall does not want to hear, “so why don’t we forget it.” The major continues to dig: “Was I that bad up there?” “Sir, you already know,” Komansky says. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be here,” Stovall says, untruthfully.
-“All right, sir, your way . . .”
“All right sir, your way,” Sandy reminds him and plunges into a cruel but needed critique: Stovall was lousy; he “stunk up the air” (I think I know what this euphemism covers!), and the only reason he hasn’t been slammed is because Gallagher doesn’t know how bad he was–and “the next time you go up, maybe nobody’s coming back.” “I see,” Harvey says, recalling how he fooled others and himself with memorized eyecharts and his loss of vision that day. Komansky forcefully clarifies Stovall’s words: No, he doesn’t see—all he wants is a pat on the back, deserved or not. Moreover, “he would prefer not to fly with him again.” The relatively polite “prefer not” reveals Komansky’s attempt to spare his feelings; it contrasts with Komansky’s angry demand in “Falling Star” that Gallagher remove him from Colonel Wexler’s crew. Stovall, chastened by youth as Britt was chastened by youth the evening before, starts for the door. Sandy then reveals how Gallagher’s mentoring has gotten him to sincerely consider others: he tells Stovall that everybody feels sorry for his son—but his son wouldn’t want him and a crew to get killed—because it’s a young man’s war—all wars are. He gently adds that Stovall should go back to what he does best. Stovall thanks the younger man—and it’s sincere thanks for advice that he will finally heed but not after being put to the inevitable test that a good melodrama demands. But he realizes that yes, his demand to fly has been an arrogant gesture against his advanced age and does not help Mike or Mike’s memory.
-“I almost killed nine youngsters”
The fairly predictable climax is coming—Stovall will redeem himself, and in fairly spectacular fashion, too. At moments like this, I wish that formula was not so slavishly followed, and that Stovall could gracefully, if regretfully relinquish his quest and ride back to Camelot on his tired old horse (though still qualified to fly!) something like the iconic Native American image of the “end of the trail” and let Gallagher, Kaiser, and Komansky be right in their assessment of the older man who does not belong in combat. But, the tight narrative formula of melodrama must be completed and we are hurled towards the ending which is somewhat spoiled by Gallagher getting knocked out again. It begins with Stovall coming into Gallagher’s office the next morning, where the last of the briefings are being completed before “the really big show.” Stovall, now completely honest with himself, says that he has to stand down personally, despite this mission to Geissen being a “maximum effort.” Gallagher refuses; he needs every pilot, even the reluctant ones. He’s not a bad pilot, but he’s an old man—and he nearly killed nine youngsters the day before (that number includes Komansky though he does not say so).
That confession gives Gallagher pause—but he pushes Harvey on, giving him the (dangerous) co-pilot job—and so off they go. The mission underway, and with the bombing target still a ways to go, Gallagher relinquishes the controls for a moment, and flexes his stiff neck—he’s no longer a young man either. The target is approached—and of course—there is an accident; the controls flare up, and Gallagher is knocked out, akin to “Show Me A Hero.” Oh well, it’s effective—and realistic–as adrenaline flares up in the major and his eyes and his brain goes into focus and he knows what he must do—it’s happened to me on occasion, though never in so deadly a situation. Komansky comes up to help, but Stovall rightfully orders the young man back into the turret; there is where he is really needed this time. Crisis—the first bomb run is in bad shape—there have been too many corrections. Harvey, in the lead plane, calmly orders a 360 degree turn and another run—and another until they get it right. Well, they get it right, and the bombing is a spectacular success. Joe, who has been semi-conscious during this, revives in time to understand the major’s success.
-“Army vs Navy?”—“No, Army vs. Notre Dame”
Epilogue: A single B-17 stands in for all the planes supposedly coming; it’s one of the few times we see the show’s single working B-17 in operation. Kaiser and Britt come out to meet it. Stovall is the first out, and helps Gallagher who is scurried away by Kaiser, even though his wound is “only a scratch.” Komansky drops down, hurriedly salutes the older men and leaves. Britt proudly starts to tell Stovall that that bomb run was—and Stovall interrupts him to remind him about a $5.00 bet they made in San Francisco, in 1928, over the outcome of a football game: Army vs. Notre Dame.
Does Stovall not wish to think about the present, or the future?—instead, he keeps the focus on the past: his prime was twenty year in the past, and he knows it, despite his amazing work that day. Britt can’t remember the bet—and keeps asking “Army vs. Navy?” “No, Army vs. Notre Dame,” Stovall patiently reminds him, twice. Speaking about this truly inconsequential matter, which stands in for larger issues, these two old warriors lug their gear to the waiting staff car. A young man takes their bags, and, in the lengthening shadows of evening, the two older men climb into the car, and end their day, which might just qualify as “a perfect day”—but it’s not the end, rather it’s a kind of beginning. Even though his son may be dead, Stovall has had some kind of rebirth in a “storm at twilight.” His son may be gone, but he is alive, and flying again.
“The Jones Boys”
Writer: William D. Gordon
Director: Robert Douglas
The title suggests any one of many adolescent book series, best represented by “The Hardy Boys”—in such book series likable, good-natured and easily heroic young men (and likable young women in girl-oriented series) undertook adventures and of course, came safely home at the end. Also, it seems to refer to the comic strip Popeye, in which one of Wimpy’s sayings was “I’m one of the Jones boys”–a reference I don’t understand. In context with Season II, “Then Came the Mighty Hunter” related a story about the under-aged at war; “Storm at Twilight” related a story about the middle-aged at war. “The Jones Boys” relates a story about two men who are “just right” for war: Lt. Jaydee Jones and TSgt. Vern Chapman. However, both men prove themselves to be juveniles who have either ducked or refused to grow up and accept responsibilities of adulthood. This episode also takes a look at the dank underbelly of any war, any army, any soldier: exploitation and profiteering. Also, there is a story about the role “neutral” Switzerland played in the war, which will be considered in the upcoming “Underground.” The devil may care but heartless Vern Chapman returns to handle the seamy themes of the story—and satisfyingly concludes a story commenced in “Show Me a Hero”: his jealous taunting of Komansky into some kind of breakdown receives punishment. Whoever decided to change the new character of “Chet Barrow” to Vern Chapman (ctd. Mathes and Duffin)—much appreciated! Both Jones and Komansky are preyed on by Chapman; fortunately, Komansky had the ability to turn his back on him (literally and figuratively) while Jones and Chapman become embroiled out of their own weak immaturity: Chapman’s desire for money and Jones’ “looking for an easy way out.”
“The Jones Boys,” as indicated by the title, is also a family story, which is interesting, considering that war usually separates families—these two Jones brothers had the luck to wind up on the same bomber base, but it’s not working out. The emphasis on the family story keeps the story pretty “grounded”—indeed, the commencement of the story is marked with a B-17 cracking up on the ground, an investigation of what happened, and, overall, the suffering created by supply and repair problems which has not “kept ‘em flying.” There is no mission to complete over France or Germany. The one aerial sequence we view in this story is far different from the usual formations of bomber; it is essentially a police pursuit of a fugitive, with Gallagher being the “peace officer” as well as “the good shepherd.”
-“Sandy, you seen my brother?”
As the teaser begins, at the gates of the 918th, an alert sentry, at 4:20 in the morning, emerges from his hut as a taxi delivers a passenger (actually two). The attractive WAC officer returning to base after not quite 36 hours, chats with the lonely sentry, and does it well enough to screen the fact that she is sneaking in an AWOL pilot, Lt. Jaydee Jones. With the driver’s help, for which he was probably well paid, Jones climbs out and makes his way through the dark lanes of the dark base. As it turns out, Jones at least has enough guts (or shame) to return; his fears may have driven him to permanently disappear. He has a chance to do this as the episode unwinds but there is in him spark of decency–which, unfortunately, is not enough to prevent the problems in the first place. In the briefing hut, there comes a strongly contrasting scene: TSgt. Frank Jones, his noncom brother, arrives to find a mufflered Komansky already there: having turned on the lights, he tends to the coal fire in the stove, and then straightens the folding chairs.
“Sandy, you seen my brother?” Jones asks. “They’re all here at 4:30,” Komansky says, underscoring the ungodly hour of the cold morning. Frank Jones has not been in bed; he worked until 3:00 getting his brother’s plane ready; he is literally “his brother’s keeper,” which makes the story into a version of Cain and Abel—Cain killed his brother Abel in anger and jealousy; Frank perhaps killed off his brother’s development by being too much of a keeper, but Jaydee was weak enough to let this happen to him. This is a small scene but a telling one about those who take up responsibility. In Frank’s case, as he reveals later, he always took care of his brother, out of love and duty; in Sandy’s case, it must have been either fear or intelligence that drove him up and away from a potentially criminal life; his alternative to school seemed to have been running with a gang and ducking cops. In any case, he seems content to be awake and alert in a freezing Quonset hut, belying his engineering skills to get the briefing ready for the brass and the pilots, as he uncomplainingly works out his punishment for slugging the MP in “Show Me a Hero. ““We’re confined to base,” says Komansky to Frank’s worries about his brother’s whereabouts.
And, as an aside, it’s always nice seeing Bruce Dern playing a good guy; his lank loose face, striking eyes, and delivery frequently cast him, as he once described himself to Johnny Carson, as “El Demento.” In this episode his face betrays the weariness of his work, both with keeping the war-worn planes running and with his unreliable little brother. Instead, the wicked role is taken up Vern Chapman, played by Burt Reynolds, whose bad guy roles (not that he was exclusively one) pretty well ceased after he attained mega-stardom in the seventies, and he became just a “bad, bad boy.” (Bruce Dern, on the other hand, never quite recovered from his cold-blooded shooting of John Wayne in 1972’s The Cowboys.) Reynold’s handsome face was made menacing by a low forehead, which gave his eyes a hooded and at times a mean look; combine that with incessant gum-chewing, his Vern Chapman was loathsome character—maybe so loathsome that he seems even to have lost his two buddies, with whom he formed a trio of playground bullies, with the hapless Komansky as their target. As the story continues, elsewhere on the base, also taking advantage of the early hour darkness, Vern Chapman quietly emerges from a supply hut where he has stolen three service pistols. (How did he get in there?—bribed somebody for a key?) He withdraws when he sees the recently returned WAC coming up the walk, followed by Lt. Jones who catches up with her, tries to kiss her to thank her, but she, thankfully for my gender, ultimately rejects him: “You can make me act like a sneak but don’t think I enjoy it.” Vern has another weapon against Jones.
I will say one thing; the stories on 120CH always moved like gangbusters. Jaydee joins his brother in the Quonset hut. To his brother’s worry, he admits that he was AWOL—“You know I can’t sleep the night before,” he says, though not speaking of what he has done, whether drinking or being with a woman. Frank disapproves, but what can he do?—snitching on a brother is worse than what Jaydee did. Colonel Gallagher, Harvey Stovall, and other pilots enter, and the mission begins rolling. “I don’t think I can go through with this again,” Jaydee tells his brother. Frank encourages him, and tells him to speak with someone about his fears. “I don’t want him to think I’m yellow,” he hisses. His next words reveal his terrible immaturity: “You got me into this Frank, now get me out!”—throwing responsibility for his success and his failure on his brother. Also, this casts doubt on Jones’ ground crew work: does he deliberately sabotage his brother’s plane to keep him on the ground? As it turns out, he does not, but suspicion slants on him, as suspicion slants on the entire 918th for, as Colonel Ken Hunter tells Gallagher later, “dogging it.”
-“will it block the runway?”
As Act I rolls, so are the available B-17s, trundling in grim parade to the take off point, which is a part of the missions rarely seen; usually, airborne scenes are taken up as the planes have taken off and gained their formation and usually headed into the flak. Actually, the mission of the day is never described, and it does not really matter anyway; this time, the knights have to remain in Camelot to deal with betrayal within the walls. The P-51s are also ready, and all this heart-stirring scenery is belied by Jones’ tense face and wide eyes—and Colonel Gallagher’s frustration as he simultaneously speaks on the phone to Colonel Hunter from his office while observing the take off—“18 planes are my maximum effort” he says to Hunter, whom we will meet soon. “Half are crippled”—and so are some pilots.
In the cockpit of Jones’ plane, Jones, the co-pilot Cahill, and Flight Engineer Chapman seem ready. (Last we know, Chapman was engineer to Captain Benson; did the guy kick him off his crew or has Benson been lost?) The co-pilot seems to be in charge; as Jones waits, panic-stricken, Cahill tells the crew they are ready for take-off, and then, dramatically, “we’re going to war.” Turns out, they will not that day and the bombardier and co-pilot die an ironic death at the base hospital. (Well, another co-pilot . . . ) Something is wrong; three ground crew sergeants, including Frank, are observing the Jones’ plane—heavily loaded, it’s hard to budge. Jones rolls the plane for take off and Chapman counts off the airspeed, which was a task of the flight engineer. Something happens—and Jones explodes, the co-pilot pulls back on the yoke, the plane hits the ground, pivots, losing a wheel, and comes to a horrible halt. This sequence is so fast and jumbled that it is hard to understand exactly what has happened. Joe, in his office, views this disaster, and drops the phone, appropriately, into his “in” box. The ground crew flees out, ambulances, and men on bikes. Gallagher tries to retrieve the call, but it’s gone. Instead, he calls the tower, and asks Stovall (reassuringly back where he belongs, as Komansky advised him to do) a blunt command decision question about the disaster—“will it block the runway?” Then—“get the rest of them into the air.” No halting, no hesitation; the mission comes first.
-“the 918th is dogging it”
It’s always an interesting shift to Pinetree, or Wing Headquarters; the lovely-craggy mansion in its peaceful setting always contrasts with the military and personal upheaval at the base with all its noise and ugly buildings. This time the dress-uniformed Joe is not speaking (or confronting Britt); rather, his nemesis is Colonel Ken Hunter, a wonderful warrior’s name. They are both peering at the Aircraft Movements Board, the sort of World War II military detail that always proves interesting. Hunter, played by the always intriguing Mark Richman, whose craggily aristocratic face and penetrating stare get your attention, plows into Gallagher—he is angry about how the available B-17s are being used and distributed, and “the 918th outshines them in complaints from you.” Gallagher retorts: “that’s in direct proportion to the missions we fly.” Hunter is unimpressed and does not take Joe up on his offer “Come fly with us for a month and see for yourself.”
This is an interesting aspect of Joe’s job; so many times we have seen him being the “flyboy,” although in the last several episodes of 120CH there seems to have been a reduction in his missions; maybe some arithmetic was adding up that his missions, started under the General Savage, were beginning to run towards 50 if not more. (Also, a questionable feature in the original Star Trek: would a ship’s captain always be leading the landing parties? Same thing for Gallagher; should the base CO being flying that much—particularly dangerous missions and many times as lead?—it finally caught up with Savage. Notably, in “Burden of Guilt,” Joe’s strong record of flying missions is commented on.) Nonetheless, Joe is duking it out with part of the job he got his first glimpse of in “Loneliest Place” when he complained to Harvey about supply, and Harvey pointed out that Savage had to fight for every nut and bolt. So, he is now “fighting the battle for Bedford Falls” (re It’s a Wonderful Life) and the sharp-eyed Colonel Hunter pulls senior rank on him—“Don’t forget who you are talking to,” he says, reminding Joe that he flew 30 missions before taking over supply, and he “knows what combat does to planes . . . and I’ve heard it used to cover up inefficiency.” The 918th, he suggests, is “dogging it.” Moreover, he points out that thirteen planes were not used—so couldn’t have Gallagher gotten at least 5 or 3 of those planes in the air borrowing parts of other planes? “How do you think I got those 18 in the air today?” Gallagher demands. No excuse, just a fact. No one will accuse Gallagher of such things until they are proven.
A phone call comes in Harvey Stovall. The bombing report that day is a good one, no losses. Joe is relieved, but admits to Hunter that he got only 17 into the air this morning—but maybe he can borrow parts from the B-17 that “bought the farm” that day. It’s interesting that the word “cannibalize” is never used here; I get the impression that was a common word when taking materials from dead planes. Maybe the network censors objected to the word. Investigation of the crash that morning is next on the agenda—and another item is coming up on the agenda, revealed as Gallagher and Komansky, supposedly returning from Wing, drive through Archbury on the way back to the base: a trench-coated Chapman is taking advantage of his enforced day off to sell the small firearms he stole that morning. Chapman turns as they go by, and when the buyer appears, he complains that his CO almost saw him. The exchange is made and Chapman hurries on his way. His timing is good, because the buyer is immediately followed—by an MP and a helmeted British police officer. Alarmed, Chapman bicycles away . . . is he worried? Well, he has a few aces up his sleeve and will gain a few more, very soon.
-“I took care of him all my life . . .”
Gallagher has returned to his office and is still in Dress-A uniform. The unharmed Jaydee is seated in Gallagher’s office with his brother Frank and with Stovall. Here once more Gallagher demonstrates his decency; Savage might have hauled down the man’s throat, but the colonel is simply asking Jaydee what happened. A re-viewing of the episode proves there is truth in Jaydee’s answer—he doesn’t really know. The scene is ambiguous and it prevents Jaydee from being a complete scoundrel and maintains a sense of pity for the fellow; at least he is not as rotten as Chapman; rather, he’s weak. Gallagher notes that the engineer’s report is vague, which is something else that is not completely cleared up—did Chapman purposefully misreport or was he unsure too?—the wheeling dealing Chapman, who perhaps once hoped for glory (and all the girls he could get with it) is now just out for money, and surely sees the possibilities in the situation, whether immediately, or earlier–when he observed Jones returning from being AWOL. Gallagher dismisses Jones and encourages him to see the doctor again—but keeps his brother behind. Hunter’s accusations of the crew “dogging it” are dogging him but he seeks first to protect, not to shoot down. Frank’s explanations of his brother’s actions (building power while braking for a sharper take off) make sense; and Frank’s sincere words of how “he’s my brother and I took care of him all my life” and how he “would take care of his plane” silently convinces Gallagher that no, Frank Jones would not “dog” the plane for his brother’s sake. No, the plane must be at fault; and it probably is. The B-17s are worn from flight and flak.
-“I’ll take an officer’s promise”
Jaydee Jones seeks out Chapman, who seems to be returning to the weapon supply. He tells him that Gallagher asked Komansky to find him; maybe Komansky was relieved of the duty by Jones, who wants to keep Chapman from talking to anyone else—at any rate, Komansky would be relieved to get out of that irksome duty. Jones is dishonestly honest with Chapman—he tells him about the co-pilot’s impending death and that his report was “vague”—he seems to want to know—at least he is curious—about the vagueness. Since he does not remember anything, who is he to assess its quality?—here he may be trying to take some kind control for his life and actions which were thrown into sharp relief when his B-17 cracked up. Chapman may have written a purposefully vague report or maybe he too does not know what happened—and he is slick enough to immediately twist the situation to his own good: he didn’t want to “name names” and get mixed up in an inquiry—bad for his side-arms business, he does not add. Jones snaps at this a little too quickly, his basic weakness for “getting out of things” as easily as possible leads him to make a bad deal: “I’ll make this up to you, I promise.” Chapman is wickedly reassuring: if the co-pilot dies, they alone are guardians of what happened in the cockpit. “They’ll take an officer’s word; I’ll take an officer’s promise.”
-“I’m not trying to make you look bad”
Act II is a claustrophobic and tangled quarter-hour; almost all scenes are cramped into Operations, the Quonset hut, and the small confines of the cockpit; and motivations, both good and bad, are exposed, accounted for, unraveled. Jaydee is exposed as both a good pilot but a weak human being; together, the combination can’t fly. As the act opens, the summoned Chapman waits in the outer Operations office, smoking. A knock summons Komansky to open the door to a friendly officer, bearing the stolen side-arms. Chapman takes note, but being an old hand of chicanery, he stays calm. The officer presents the side-arms to Stovall who needs to check the serial numbers; adjutant duty is never done; also, Stovall’s administrative work at times is the key to problems and plots. Beyond the door, Gallagher is meeting with Colonel Hunter, though this time it’s on his own turf. Gallagher, Hunter says, can continue with his investigation, but that’s just before he conducts his own. Hunter, more of a “snapshot” character (beyond supplying two badly needed planes, he has no real contribution to the story’s climax), is nevertheless a small but sharp study of an officer who is seeking power—but for himself, or for the war? Perhaps by 1943, it would be both, as the Allies and the Axis were committed to a struggle to the death. Hunter is proud (but testy) over his hard-won eagles; he tells Gallagher that he doesn’t have Joe’s IQ, nor his drag with the Pentagon or Britt, and so he understandably views every major problem as a termite on his reputation: “I won’t have every accident interpreted as a slur on supply.” Perhaps self-serving, but it does have its effects: he has to get to the bottom of this crack-up. He tells Gallagher, “I don’t want to make you look bad, but . . . “ Gallagher understands, because he does not want his men to look bad either. But honesty is at stake here.
-“control . . . . of what?”
The two “Jones boys” and their growing nemesis, Chapman, are brought in before the two men. After crisp, businesslike salutes to authority, which are returned equally crisply, the question is addressed: whether the airplane or the maintenance failed. And it comes out that the co-pilot has died. Hunter readdresses the vague report—“the pilot and the co-pilot were fighting for control—control of what?” Jones is direct because as it turns out, here he is being honest: “Sir, I don’t remember.”
Gallagher sweats for Jones; he steps in and redefines what they are searching for: has there been . . . human error? Jaydee Jones, in response to this caring, committed, but scrupulous commanding officer, comes to the brink of speaking, honestly—but his words, whatever they would be, are cut off by Chapman. He puts the blame on the co-pilot, who is now conveniently dead—He went off his rocker, pulled on the yoke—and Jones, he declares, has covered for him, making the pilot look good. Jones, seeing that convenient way out again, signs off on the confession. Chapman, tipped off that his penny-ante arms selling operation has been detected, is building an escape plan.
-“You’re gonna let him mother you forever?”
Jones meets with Chapman in the briefing hut, where he ends up being briefed by both Chapman and his brother on his weaknesses, which are now turning towards evil. Jones offers Chapman his thanks, but Chapman assures him he needs more than that—he needs coverage for going off-base the day before. They went into Archbury, to the chapel, to pray for the pilot and the bombardier. Frank, at the door, is listening—kind of a clumsy way of him finding out—but it also suggests that for all Chapman’s sneakiness he’s stupid enough not to see that door is closed while he and Jaydee air dirty laundry. But the scene needs to be expedited in that ticking bomb quality of episodic television series, so there he is, listening—to his brother airing his and Chapman’s secrets, finishing with “I’m in the clear now, and I don’t want to get involved”—but Frank remains naïve about what his brother has done—as it turns out, he thinks that Jaydee is being threatened by Chapman about his being AWOL.
Frank, being an older brother first, declines snitching to authority to barge in. “You’re not a wheeler dealer,” he tells his brother, and tellingly, “you’re not smart enough.” His next words perhaps reveal one of Frank’s problems—in his own head, he refuses to let his brother grow up , at least mentally: “If you fall out of swing, there’s nowhere to go but down,” a comment akin to Stovall’s own demotion of Gallagher and Komansky into annoying children in “Storm at Twilight.” Chapman sharpens his comment: “You’re gonna let him mother you forever?” he sneers, not only challenging Frank’s fraternal concern, but turning him into a woman for it. Frank threatens him to get out of the hut—which Chapman starts to do but tells Frank that he knows that Jaydee “left the base to find his nerve”—and that “he’s a good pilot but combat scares the pie out of him.” (Ha!—of course, “pie” is a euphemism for piss or feces; but I have never heard of the expression.) He continues with what seems a strange thing for Chapman: telling the truth, although he uses it to his advantage. Frank knows he was AWOL; he was with a nurse who sneaked him back in; that he had no sleep; that he was in no condition to fly—and Frank should have reported him. He leaves with a threat which puts both men into a corner: “If Frank talks, it’s a court martial” and that “Jaydee killed two people.”
-“Okay Frank, thanks a lot”
The cornered Jaydee confronts his brother, and fights unfairly. He tells his brother that “he will swear that the Cahill pulled on the yoke.” Frank demands “then what has Chapman got over you?”—it must be more than the AWOL. Chapman is also in a corner and will fight to get out of it—he declares “he’ll put a noose around my neck if you don’t for once quit butting into my life.” Jaydee, as it turns out, might have a reason for bitterness, but still, he makes sure that this bitterness is somebody else’s fault: “You and Dad put me here. I’m a pilot. And I’m not the first one who can’t sleep before a mission.” The brothers tussle—slightly—but Frank does not how to fight this weak-willed but intimidating brother of his, for whom he sacrificed a great deal. Jaydee ends their session with loading guilt back onto him: “It was okay till you butted in—Stand by me—you owe me that.” It seems a contradictory request, to stand by and to butt out—which either suggests script confusion, or how confused this young man really is.
Does Frank owe anything to this young man?—love, even the selfless kind, can destroy, and in terms of Frank’s wish to do the right thing, it destroys. Frank can only do one thing—rather than standing by him, he lets go for his own sake. A refreshing shift in all this anguish—Hunter calls Gallagher. Perhaps not surprisingly Jones has been cleared in the plane crack-up, and, even better, he can supply Gallagher with two more planes—not new, but reclaimed and rebuilt. Hunter and Gallagher part friends, a mark of maturity for them both. Though professional wrangling occurred, their personal regard remains intact. If Joe was bothered by a senior officer pulling some rank on him, he has long since gotten over it. He has larger issues to deal with.
-“there are nine other men to think of”
After the planes are ferried to them, Gallagher does double duty: he tests out the reclaimed B-17s and checks out Jones’s abilities. Jaydee remarks on this as he maneuvers the control; and even “loses power” as Joe adjusts the engines—and reminds that it is not only Jaydee and the plane—there are nine other men to think of (nine “youngsters” at risk finally convinces Stovall he should give up flying in ”Storm at Twilight”). He is appreciative, or at least acts like it. He knows he is in a fragile position, appreciates how he escaped further inquiry, and probably feels very cooperative and maybe even wants to start all over again. That is impossible; separating Jones from Gallagher is none other than Chapman—who learns more about the plane and thereby hatches a scheme: Gallagher defers to G2 on the details, but can admit that the plane went down in a neutral country, and while the crew was interned, the ship “managed to make it back.” Chapman plans on managing to get it back from where it was taken. The single outdoor scene of Act II takes place—where else?—near the Supply Depot. (Well, the set was probably especially prepared for this episode, so the director made economic use of it.) A transport pulls up and Jones’ exhausted crew piles out, looking for their supper, and remarking that six and a half hours of flying proved that Jones is a pilot. Chapman pauses and lights a cigarette and uses the darkness to hide his face from his buyer: the man has just been escorted from the depot.
-“he flew like a bird” – “but not like a combat pilot”
Act III commences with some plot-keeping; at Operations, Gallagher emerges from his office with the officer (“Jim”) and announces to Sandy that “our friend here,” a stubby kind of Walter Mitty type, has been buying government property. “Our friend” does not know the seller’s name, but will know his face. “Send out for some supper,” he advises Sandy (for him or the Walter Mitty?—I have yet to see Komansky eat anything!) because the evening will be spent showing him pictures of 918th personnel. “Sir, the raid’s on,” advises Komansky before tending to Gallagher’s requests. Gallagher retreats to his office to study maps, and Frank Jones comes in, sad, but intent on his business. Joe assures him that his brother that day “flew like a bird”—“But not as a combat pilot,” Jones finishes. He puts his request forth to be transferred—though three weeks earlier, when Jaydee first arrived, he begged to be his ground crew chief.” Personal reasons, Jones admits. Joe says, “I think I understand—I was raised with brothers too,” although he avoided the problems of a Jaydee; all his brothers grew up on schedule and one is gone.
He urges Jones to “spill it all.” He does, including his own culpability in Jaydee’s stunted maturity: “Sir, he’s still a kid and he’s making kids’ mistakes—and it’s my fault, I’ve been butting into his life too long.” Once more, he’s taking the blame—although there is probably a great deal of truth in his “butting in” still, taking the blame is part of Frank Jones’ personality, and it is crippling him. And, although he ultimately did not cover up any of Jaydee’s plane and flying issues, he admits “I would not have covered up for any other pilot.” Gallagher understands—of course. What would Savage have done?—it’s always interesting to compare their two styles of command.
-“everybody steals, Lieutenant”
The unholy two—Jaydee and Chapman—have met again, though Jaydee was probably “ordered” by Chapman to meet. Frank and Jaydee’s Cain and Abel relationship has a snake in it, who, as he did with Adam and Eve, sets forth temptation. Close-up on a wad of cash—exposed by Chapman to Jaydee, who tensely eyes it. It’s not that much but to Chapman it’s enough, at least to a penny-ante would-be wheeler dealer. “Split it down the middle,” he says. “A simple way out”—meaning, to take their plane to Switzerland. “It’s 10 to 1 that’s what the other crews did with their planes,” he says, of course, taking the most cynical viewpoint. Some six hundred Allied airmen ended up being interned in Switzerland, but it was for a variety of reasons: headings gone wrong and Swiss space was strayed into, and the Swiss Air Force was fast bringing them down—at times, crew members were so badly wounded there was no hope of getting them home and Switzerland was a convenient hospital. I imagine there were some deliberate landings in Switzerland; one would be to smuggle in agents, which his perhaps how those two B-17s were reclaimed and returned. “You’re a crook, I’m not,” says Jaydee, which is truth. “Everybody steals, Lieutenant. You stole a dead man’s reputation.” “That’s your story.”
Plus, he says, there is the crew, which echoes what Gallagher told him earlier. He is beginning to think of somebody else but himself. “So they’d get interned in some plush resort,” Chapman returns. Jaydee wants to reform: he has received another plane, a second chance, and a big chance to prove himself to at least try to have courage. But does he have it? Chapman cuts him down by accusing him of what Jaydee wants to avoid being called– “You’re yellow.” Jaydee retorts he could get transferred and turn him in. “Cracking up, stealing, what’s the difference?” Chapman asks, after emitting Burt Reynold’s distinctive giggle-cackle. After the war, he says, they will be still be alive, and “Let the heroes die”—which brings back the earlier situation with him and Komansky. Chapman’s nasty persecution of the sergeant arose out of jealousy and maybe a sense of failure. How and why, Chapman might have reasoned with his own stunted maturity, did a loser like Komansky come out all right, be lauded as a hero and get a nice shiny medal?—and if that’s who they award medals to, then he might as well forget it and go for the money. Well, he went for the money, he’s blown it, and now “the heat is on,” which casts this military series into a cops and robbers show, temporarily.
Gallagher, back in his office, concludes his day with ordering items to be mimeo’d, and pointing to the dozing officer Jim, says Stovall had better get Komansky to help him (Aw, Colonel!—maybe he’s finally getting something to eat!) but his presence is important for quick recognition and getting to finger his tormentor safely. As a soldier, Komansky was put into an intolerable position with Chapman’s taunting—it would be childish to say to a superior officer “make him quit picking on me,” and if he had, and something were done, it would result in further torment—he’s a wimp, he couldn’t take it. In this scene Gallagher announces he will lead the mission as co-pilot with Jones—as a brotherly thing to do perhaps. He still has faith in Jones’s ability so he heads into a collision course with Jones and Chapman.
-“go in and confess to the AWOL”
Amid the usual sturdy bustle of preparing the B-17s and the crews, Jaydee hops out of jeep and seems ready to—what? He has two options, neither good: quit and confess, or go through with Chapman’s strategy. Another option—to listen again to his brother, who calls him into the B-17’s waist. Typically, Frank good-naturedly, or lovingly, speaks to his little brother; he’s letting go, and he’s not protecting him anymore. But after this is over, says Frank, get Chapman and go into Gallagher and confess to the AWOL—Jaydee eyes his brother with an uncertain look in his eyes—God, he might be thinking, if that were all . . . a lousy AWOL. But that was an endless 48 hours ago, and things have changed, and cannot be made right. And cut to—a timely identification. The Walter Mitty has made an ID out of a group photo. Komansky knows him well—“Vern Chapman!”—and rings for the tower with surely a feeling of satisfaction; an ogre will be purged from the base and his life. Things are picking up speed and the “dut-DAH music helps with the excitement created in cross-cutting, Jones, in the cockpit says that Gallagher is flying with them today; Frank realizes that Chapman and Jones have more going on between them than his knowledge of his brother’s AWOL and that combat “scares the pie out of him;” once more, all hell breaks loose in the cockpit as Frank tries to stop Chapman; he is attacked; and Chapman winds up commandeering the plane and kidnapping Jones. In a dramatic display, the great propellers come on, one after another, the plane rolls, pushing wind against amazed crewmembers. Harvey Stovall Jeeps out to the scene to see a crewmember flung from the waist—and learns the grim truth: “he’s got the bombsight!”—the Norden bombsight, considered the most accurate bombsight in the Allied forces; it was transported under armed guard, to the planes and back again. Actually, the Norden bombsight was somewhat mythologized, most likely for propaganda–it was not that accurate though apparently used up even into Vietnam. However, it had enough press to make it important and it’s another commodity for Vern Chapman to sell. So, these two fine Americans take off . . . observed by Gallagher, Komansky, and Colonel Hunter—where he did come from? Obviously, Komansky drove him to the tower; perhaps Hunter was there to see the reclaimed B-17s take off that day. No time for hello’s; Gallagher orders a P-51 to be flown up from Holypoole.
-“we’ll live like kings with that bombsight”
Act IV, largely a chase sequence, reminds me, distantly, of a scene played out on a stolen train—even down to using a hatchet to open a door to the plane-robbers. Chapman, who has been very well played by Burt Reynolds, is growing more confident and aggressive as his desperation grows—maybe he thinks he’s finally becoming what he has always sought to be—great, successful, but without really working or trying for it. Jones, again, is thinking about other people: “you probably killed the bombardier.” Frank, of course, conveniently awakes to hear Chapman boasting that they will use the precious bombsight to bargain with when they land in France. “We’ll live like kings with that bombsight,” he claims, though he is probably already figuring to kill the younger Jones the moment he lands the plane. “If we land anywhere, it will be in Switzerland,” Jones tells him, again, thinking about other things than himself—he won’t let the enemy have either the bombsight, or the plane; and he won’t turn traitor as Chapman is preparing to be. Back at Archbury tower, a P-51 has arrived with pleasant timeliness; how far away is Holypoole?—anyway, for the benefit of the audience, Gallagher tells the questioning Stovall that he will go up alone; the mission, underway, needs fighter cover already sent out. So, when did he learn to fly a P-51?—surely you can’t just switch B-17 skills to a fighter; but knowing Gallagher’s dedication, he learned to fly one when the group was attached; after all, he made Troper (“The Hot Shot”) learn to fly a B-17. (In “The Outsider,” “The Slaughter Pen,” and “Day of Reckoning” his abilities are on display again; though he was never a real fighter pilot; he was photographing in “The Outsider,” flew mission control in “Slaughter Pen,” and used the P-51 to get back to Archbury in “Day of Reckoning.”)
-“shoot us down!”
Back to the ranch, er, the train, er, the plane . . . there is a romantic shot of a B-17 leaving the coast and the famous White Cliffs of Dover, with the tides washing peacefully over the slender shores in contrast to the fracas in the skies. In the P-51, Gallagher starts trying to contact the kidnapped pilot—his brother makes contact on the plane’s radio, and Gallagher suddenly spots the plane, moving much more slowly than the hot-shot fighter. Gallagher demonstrates some sleek maneuvers and warns, “Next pass, I’m coming in firing.” Poor Frank has had enough, and rather than protesting this near death-sentence, claims “They’re in this together—shoot us down!” “We’re not in this together,” the younger Jones claims, surprisingly calm at this showdown of his life.
Chapman knows he is losing his support, whatever it might have been, and crawls into the turret to shoot at Gallagher. Jones yells, without effect, “Chapman, will you stop!?”—but at least he’s gaining his guts by that request, although it should have been an order to a subordinate. In contact with Gallagher, Jaydee, for the fourth time, thinks of another person, and declares, before he starts his turn, “Get this straight, my brother is innocent.” He starts the laborious process of turning the great B-17, and Chapman, in that moment, loses power, akin to Gallagher cutting power in the training exercise. In his desperation, Chapman becomes irrational: he threatens to kill Jaydee, who is his only hope of getting the plane on the ground; if he were to kill him, he would ditch in the channel, and the bombsite would probably be ruined, and he would be picked up—or perhaps shot down by Kraut fighters who, in wonderful timing to make this final chase even more exciting, jump the single B-17 and single P-51. Frank, who has been trying to gain entrance into the cockpit, makes it, and fights with Chapman, who despite his gun, is hampered by his heavy flight jacket, and is confronting a truly enraged man.
“You all right big brother?” Jaydee asks when Chapman is finally subdued. Of course, Gallagher manages to shoot down a couple of Kraut fighters—it brings the climax to a slam-bang finish, and the sheriff, now the good shepherd again, guides the B-17 home.
-“they air-conditioned that ship”
The epilogue begins with some nice shots of a B-17 landing, and then a P-51 landing, hell for leather. Gallagher comes in amazingly close to the B-17, surrounded with vehicles and men. Komansky and Hunter come out to meet the seemingly breathless Gallagher—he looks startled rather than pleased, but he’s had a hell of an hour, which included being brutally economical—no, he tells Hunter, he would not shoot down a plane that is needed so badly by the depleted 918th. Komansky is more interested in what happened war-wise: “Krauts sir?” “Look at the way they air-conditioned that ship,” is Joe’s terse response.
-“Adolf Hitler, Adam and Eve, I don’t know”
A satisfying scene: a quiet Chapman is led away—forever! It’s great that Komansky is there, but I wish the director would have given us a shot of his relief, though it would have been expressed with hardly a flicker. Jones speaks openly: his admissions (“I still don’t remember what happened”) is followed by a confession that salvages the co-pilot’s reputation, and honorably ruins whatever he has left: when Chapman told the story it seemed an easy way out . . .he was just trying to run away from the incident. The AWOL no longer matters. He too is led away with a nameless guard and he goes willingly—along the lines of Steve Corbett’s exit in “Then Came the Mighty Hunter”—the last word of which matches with . . . Colonel Hunter, who remarks that “there always has to be one, of all the pilots” . . . Frank, once more, tries to cover for his brother though he condemns him as well: “Sir, he just doesn’t belong.” Gallagher, still being the good shepherd, this time of the older and devastated brother, tells him “don’t apologize, but don’t judge.”
In an interesting moment, which frames the near-beginning of the episode with the near-end, the brotherless, devastated Frank and the lonely Sandy pair up: Frank wearily asks “Whose fault is it, Sandy?” “Adolf Hitler, Adam and Eve, I don’t know,” Komansky says, cryptically. But he names three figures, one real and current and two others, ancient and mythological: they betrayed those who trusted and loved them: Hitler betrayed the German people with his mad visions of power, and Adam and Eve betrayed each other and God by eating the fruit from the tree of knowledge, which God specifically warned against–and they were the parents of Cain and Abel, whose story plays out a bit in the case of the Jones Boys. In each case, disaster is the outcome, and innocent people will have to pay for the betrayal, and for a long time. He and Frank walk away together; perhaps Sandy will buy the man a drink at the NCO’s club and listen to him, at least after the situation is debriefed and reports written. If so, he’s further emerging from his shell, as Gallagher has encouraged him. Gallagher also reveals what he learned from Savage: growing up, taking responsibility, facing death, which is better than facing dishonor. He also reveals to Hunter an understanding heart: It took courage for Jaydee Jones to fly that plane back and face up to responsibility, and that the younger Jones boy finally “grew up.”
“Between the Lines”
Writer: Coles Trapnell
Director: Gerald Mayer
The last time Gallagher and Komansky were “on adventure” was in the trilogy beginning with “We’re Not Coming Back,” “Big Brother” and the first act of the “The Hot Shot.” following their homecoming, 12OCH settled into its base-bound groove of error, anguish, and redemption, uncertain and otherwise. In “Hot Shot,” an enraged Gallagher proves “who’s boss” with Col. Troper; Komansky nearly loses his life, his head and his Silver Star in “Show Me a Hero”; a boy is left behind, probably forever by his heroic father in “Runway in the Dark;” a German-born pilot overcomes self-hatred (and fearlessness) in “I Am the Enemy”; Gallagher battles his father, higher powers and a few of his own demons in “Grant Me No Favor”; Stovall grieves over his son and lost youth in “Storm at Twilight”; and in “The Jones Boys,” a version of Cain and Abel (complete with a snake named Vern Chapman) is played out. Missions are flown and targets hit but at tremendous price of men and machines; the growing spectre of “the bomb” lurks as the 918th breaks up Nazi atomic efforts; morale plummets at the 918th and planes are flying on a wing and a prayer as 1943 progresses. Komansky is still in punishment for going AWOL and slugging an MP, but the punishment, served out as being Gallagher’s aide, makes him reflect Gallagher, who, despite flying missions, must still deal with administrative duties. Also, his office work has brought him closer to Harvey Stovall who perhaps finds in him a kind of replacement for his MIA son. As for Colonel Gallagher, he seems to have left the girls behind for fierce dedication to duty as the war’s fury mounts; this dedication is well showcased on “tonight’s episode.”
It’s time for a field trip!– and they do it in spectacular fashion in “Between the Lines,” a largely “ground-bound” story with a shot-down plane, fear, terror and confession in a ruined church, secret messages in gum-packs, and a nod toward the future: D-Day, now less than a year away. If a time can be figured, this episode must take place in late summer, otherwise, Mother Russia, where the story takes place, might be choked with snow, but, they could be in warmer southern regions, near the Black Sea. War report: in the spring of 1943, Germany assaulted the Russian lines in “Operation Citadel.” But the “Soviet Juggernaut” moved against Nazi Germany, and, save for one Nazi victory during Operation Citadel, the Russians were now on the offensive, spearheaded by the terrible Russian victory at Stalingrad. In July 1943, Hitler suspended the operation, because the allies had landed in Sicily. However, the Nazi-Russian conflict ground on along a 1750-mile front which stretched from Leningrad in the north to the Black Sea in the south.
The title, “Between the Lines,” originally “Journey Towards The River” (the Dnieper River?) is less lyrical, and with a double edge: the beleaguered group (which ranges from a general, to a colonel, to a captain, and to two sergeants) are literally between the German and Russian lines, which are undefined or at least unfixed. Figuratively, they are between other unfixed lines: rather than completing the planned mission, it goes awry and events make them live from minute to minute, making expeditious decisions and not always the right ones. The general hovers between life and death for most of the episode; M/Sgt. Trask hovers between fear and courage and finally courage wins out; and Komansky hovers between courage and anger until terror pushes him into compassion. Anya, the displaced peasant woman, is caught between loyalties—to herself and just maybe to anybody who feeds her. Pilots Gallagher and Gargas are between duty and survival; both motivations entwine as successful completion of their new duty depends on surviving. In this raw situation Gallagher and Komansky’s relationship both regresses and progresses. Fuelled by worry and rage, they snap at each other in ways not seen since “Rx” and “Mighty Hunter.” Gallagher’s anger is ironically promoted by relief over his sergeant’s survival; Komansky takes his difficult behavior in hand after nearly betraying everybody and out of respect of Gallagher’s dedication to duty. During the episode, the two men express their respect for and regard of each other—though not to each other’s faces: Gallagher salutes what he assumes is the sergeant’s fiery tomb and Komansky confides his admiration of Gallagher to Trask. However, in their flight homeward a small but intimate moment confirms their bond.
-“protect those generals!”
Seatbelt on?—let’s go into an episode which I might subtitle—“Now what?” as these men’s script shatters, the straight line of the mission disrupts, and they are plunged into improvisation. The action packed teaser previews Act I: A familiar shot of a B-17 flying alone above the clouds; but we are hurled into an unfamiliar situation: it’s probably not the Piccadilly Lily; the two tense pilots, Gallagher and a Captain Pete Gargas are at the controls; in the waist we find three helmeted passengers, ranging from a Master Sergeant, to a Brigadier and to a Lieutenant General. A tense gunner stands ready—and here come the “Jerries.” Gallagher’s words to the crew helps define the situation: “Half those fighters are our Russian friends.” The gunners pour on the lead, and the Master Sergeant squints and coughs at the smoke. Bullets spray into the waist; the generals seize their belongings and start ripping up documents; something big is afoot. The attack intensifies; the B-17 spews fire from top, bottom, and sides and the enemy fighters scatter, come again . . . Gargas, the co-pilot, remarks with what we will learn is good humored courage, “They’re doing their best—but it’s not enough.” It proves enough; they lose their rudder and an engine catches fire. The plane begins struggling as smoke envelops the cockpit. Gallagher calls on Sandy and delivers his orders: “Protect those generals!”
Gallagher makes a decision: he’s going to return, try to find an abandoned airfield, and tells the crew to bail out. He snaps on the alarm, or the “bail out bell.” “What’s that?” demands the master sergeant. “We’ve had it son,” replies General Stace, his boss and protector, but as it turns out, not his mentor. The meaning is clear to the sergeant, who collapses on the floor of the plane, screaming, “I can’t jump!” Well, so much for the first four minutes–the bongs announce that the teaser is complete.
-“if we blow up, we’ll never know”
Act I: In complete contrast to the sergeant’s terror, the rest of the crew goes about the work—interrupted work—with some calm. The fighters have gone, and the pilots are turning the plane; Gallagher recommends to his passengers that “one general jumps and the other ride it out.” Gargas notes they are at 1300 feet, and wonders where they are; Gallagher can’t determine the battle lines in this portion of western Russia—vast and beleaguered Russia, which destroyed both Napoleon and Hitler. The two generals decide their fate; Stace will ride her down: “it will double the chance of getting the information back to England,” declares Kraska; Gallagher orders the crew to “bail out and good luck.” Gargas elects to stay with the plane: “it’s too cold,” he jokes. “We may blow up,” Gallagher points out, struggling with the struggling plane. “Then we’ll never know,” Gargas says. Sandy, in the waist, attempts to obey Gallagher, but Trask, the sergeant, has other ideas. He struggles with Sandy as the crew helps each other out; the belly turret gunner emerges from the plane’s womb in a completely businesslike way to join the others hurling themselves into the unknown. Trask proves strong in staying, and the delayed Sandy joins the general and Trask in bracing themselves against the bulkhead. (Did Sandy realize they are too low for him to jump safely?—or does he realize that Trask is such a mess that he had better continue to follow Gallagher’s order: “Protect those generals!”)
-“if you want bruises, Sergeant”
Sandy lets Gallagher know they are ready; Gallagher snaps that he was to bail out; but this is not the first time orders can’t or won’t be followed—however, is he secretly relieved that he has a faithful sergeant in this affair, rapidly becoming a horrible mess? “All right, if you want bruises, Sergeant,“ he says and they start for a difficult landing—which turns into a belly landing when Gargas reports that the wheels can’t lock. (Probably the reason why the belly turret gunner was specifically shown climbing out!) The B-17 uneasily cruises over hills and ravines, and comes in for an agonizingly long belly landing; Gallagher’s face presses back into layers as he struggles to keep the wounded plane in one piece a little longer . . . and stop. Gallagher and Gargas throw off their earphones and make a dash for it. In the waist, Sandy hustles Trask onto his feet and then calls back to General Stace, whom he knows can hustle himself out.
However, the general, an older man, and slightly overweight, is unable to get to his feet. The plane is already in trouble, with flames and smoke rising and pouring out (to increase the excitement, the plane explodes three times, I think one too many times!). Gallagher emerges from the top and scrambles off. Outside, at the waist opening, Gargas helps Trask and Komansky climb out; Trask collapses on the ground and Komansky, despite everything, deals him a disgusted look. Gallagher comes to help with the general, and pokes his head into the waist—amusingly, he places himself in the spot to have “ass shot off” as the Germans return. Both Gallagher and Komansky fling themselves to the ground while Gargas fires at them with his pistol; at least, it’s an act of defiance. Somewhere in all this, the general is hurt, either by gunfire or within, such as a heart attack. The two men haul themselves up and climb back into their wounded bird, getting ready to destroy itself. Trask frantically crawls under the plane. In the smoking interior, Gallagher stops Komansky from dismantling a 50 caliber to take for protection; this turns out to be a useless effort both in preventing him from taking and then later using it; but who can tell at that moment when decisions are being made by the tick of the second? Together, they get the general out of the plane—as soon as Gallagher and Stace are clear, Sandy stops, pauses, looks back—and disappears into the interior.
–“Komansky . . . “
Gargas has already arrived at and checked out the remains of some structure; a close look at the grainy black and white images suggest it’s adobe, which seems a little out of place in the Russian hinterlands. As Gallagher and Stace flee toward the eroded walls, a fighter strikes Stace. Gargas runs out to help the two men get into shelter, where Stace collapses. The plane has its second explosion. Despite everything, Gallagher realizes Komansky is not with them and seeks him—in time to see plane being consumed by a third explosion.
“Komansky . . . ” Gallagher says wearily, his mouth open and eyes burning maybe not just from the fire consuming the plane—but the loss of yet another man: one that he was growing to depend upon, mentored, cared for and protected: this difficult young man saved his life. He stares for a few moments and then goes back; decisions need to be made. “That idiot Komansky, he had to go back inside,” Gargas says. “All right!” Gallagher snaps back, struggling to keep his nerves and feelings together in the face of everything going awry: their plane shot down God knows where, a bailed crew, a general shot and probably dying, and a trusted sergeant lost–and a mission may not be completed. They both snap to as noise approaches. Trask is joining them, so terrified that he is still crawling on the ground—and more or less gives himself up with, “don’t shoot!” “The general’s clerk,” Gallagher says. “Holy smoke, I’d forgotten all about him,” Gargas says—has that been Trask’s problem all his life? At this time, he would prefer to remain forgotten, but safely at home. Stace summons his strength and asks Gallagher about his knowledge of the mission—and gives them a pack of gum, which teases the viewer interest–what goes on?
“Oh, sir, oh sir,” mourns Trask for Stace. “I’ve been with him two years—he’s godfather to my baby boy.” At least Trask is thinking of somebody other than himself, but the wife and child at home are swiftly forgotten, never mentioned again. This information is probably to “regularize” Stace’s relationship with Trask; otherwise, it might be interpreted as homosexual. (Would a television viewer have suspected such in the mid-sixties?—but check out the Dick Van Dyke show; there were gay-related jokes, and a lot of ex-servicemen might have questioned Trask’s soppy attitude.) More decisions—now what? where do they go? A high knoll beckons them; the covering trees must seem very inviting: “it’s a place to hide,” Gargas says, although the hiding place’s line of demarcation is unknown. Gargas picks up the general in a fireman’s carry, and they start off, in horrible, broad daylight, with the plane still in flames and smoke, and telling the world—and the Germans–what has happened.
Gallagher takes the grace of a few seconds to once more view the plane’s holocaust and to salute a young American dying somewhere in Russia. German forces, already in the area, start seeking them out and their artillery is heard as the four men (or three and a half men, considering Trask) finally clear the trees and find a damaged church—as it turns out, the church setting is quite appropriate as both Trask and Komansky have confessions to make, Trask has redemption to seek, and Gallagher deals with fear of not completing his mission as Christ at Gesthemane feared not completing his mission on earth. Finally, Gargas sacrifices himself so that others may live—as does Trask.
-“We’re a long ways from London”
The church is interesting—in the fact that it was a redressed building from the North Africa-based “Big Brother,” and it appears to be made from adobe as well!—also, the church does not look “Eastern Orthodox” enough; the crosses would have been more ornate. Also, a rural church might have been built of wood; one peek out of a window of the church reveals a pine-clad mountain not far away. Speaking about points which are not terribly relevant in an action-adventure episode; has this church been abandoned since the twenties, when Communism completed its grip?—did the church function in some fashion for the locals?—perhaps it was far enough away from centers of power, and local commissars were friendly enough not to destroy it, so it was left for the Germans to use for a sniping post—which brings up a question that is never answered—where are they in Russia? I can only assume that they were flying in the Southwestern sector, staying away from the heart of Germany. This sector included the Ukraine, which held on to its faith, and even originally welcomed the Germans as “liberators” from the grip of godless Communism. Things changed, rapidly, on that point . . .
Passing signs of ruins, including a toppled angel, they enter the church; Joe jumps when a timber goes over. Not only is it a church, it will soon prove a kind of haunted house . . . They set the general down, and sit down—now what? Joe uneasily starts investigating the ruins and fragments. General Stace, probably knowing he’s going to die, calls them over, to get the information to them, as well as to the audience: He and Kraska were in Russia to help coordinate “a second front,” beginning with French beach-heads, which Gallagher and his men help secure in “Gauntlet of Fire.” Though the Soviet Union was now an ally, the High Command knows it could not be trusted in reports of strength—would the Russians lie about their strength, or would they lie about their weakness? Either way might benefit them; they might hold back on resources to let their allies supply them. Stace and Kraska visited Russia, and determined as best they could what “the real truth was, not what they report”—and the critical information, contained in the pack of gum, needs to get to the English capital.
“We’re a long ways from London,” says Gallagher. Stace knows what he means: the information is on rice paper, which can be eaten—in case of capture, or, unspoken, before they are killed.
-“you’re a soldier, you’d better believe it”
A door creaks . . . now what? Gargas investigates the room beyond the door. “Where’s your gun?” Gallagher asks Trask. “I don’t have one . . . I never even went through basic training,” Trask says, one of his several confessions. The latter may be the truth, but the former claim is not; Gallagher removes it from his jacket, and sticks it in his hand, for the first time really encountering the man that refused to jump, hung up Komansky from the same, and literally crawled on his belly from fear. “You’re a soldier, you’d better believe it,” Gallagher snaps, maybe no longer mourning Komansky as much as really missing him—he would have been set and ready by his side.
As Gallagher and Trask wait, Gargas emerges, with a slight smile on his face, and leading out a small, gaunt, middle-aged peasant woman. (What a relief that she was not a young, pretty thing!) “She’s been living here,” Gargas says of the woman, whose great eyes and frozen face reveal her fear—she too must be asking herself, “now what?”
-“What’s that got to do with him trying to kill me?!”
“What” is another creepy thing—footsteps moving around the church. Gargas and Gallagher abandon the woman to take up positions in the rubble, guns aimed at the door . . . the steps keep coming, a figure passes by a cleft in the wall, the door opens—to reveal a man’s back and a cartridge band. Trask tries to become a soldier, apparently—which means his fear makes him badly aim and shoot—at Komansky, who is not even singed. He retrieved a carbine and a cartridge band, got clear of the plane, waited, and watched while the four men climbed the hill, and followed them, but slowly, weighed down by the 50 caliber machine gun and cartridge. It seems foolish of the normally wary Komansky to simply enter the church without somehow announcing himself, but . . . The fortunately misaimed bullet startles hell out of him, and he spins away, then scrambles up, grabbing his pistol. Gallagher has no time to show his relief that Komansky has resurrected; he dashes forward and pins him back, shouting “Why didn’t you get out of the plane as I ordered you to?” Komansky has been “tamed” by Gallagher in the course of their relationship (particularly notable in his humble offer of sacrifice in “The Hot Shot”) but the old Komansky (best seen in “Mighty Hunter”) resurrects: “What’s that got to do with him trying to kill me?!“ “He thought you were blown up in that airplane!” The enraged questions and answers recall a relieved-angry parent and a defiant teenager. It perhaps never occurs to Sandy that Joe believed him dead, which is a subject Joe never addresses either. The peasant woman uses the moment of enraged reunion to dash out—Gargas takes off after her and Gallagher orders Sandy to follow him: “don’t let her spread an alarm!” he shouts after him, the strain doubling in face—now what? Now what??
-“that’s for what he did in the plane”
Act II commences with motorized Nazis passing the church; perhaps they are on the way to check out the plane which must still be burning; or on their way out of the range of Russian shells, which are falling terribly near the church. Gargas and Komansky emerge from hiding and Gargas gestures towards an exterior door. “See if she’s in there.” She is; the shells also stopped her. Komansky hustles her out, and without much pity, they take her back into the church. They push her into a damaged pew and Gargas sits down, getting his breath. And, now what? Gallagher and Trask have transferred the general into an inside room, and tend to him as they can. Knowing he needs something to keep him warm, they return to the sanctuary. Sandy then wordlessly comes forward and punches Trask full in the face–this is his third punch of the season; he got swept in a fight in “Rx for a Sick Bird,” and a punch delivered to an MP at point-blank range, had him in hot water for a long time!—in contrast, the gentleman and officer Gallagher has only had two near fights–the first when he was ready to kill the taunting Komansky at Susanne’s flat (“Loneliest Place”), and the second when he more or less pushed Troper down (“The Hot Shot”).
Trask goes down without a complaint; either he is too startled or feels he deserved it. “What’s the matter with you?” Joe demands of Komansky, sparking another confrontation: “That’s for what he did in the plane.” “Knock it off!” “I still owe him for taking a shot at me!” “I could have taken a shot at you myself,” Gallagher points out, probably wanting to by now. “I’ll thank you a lot, sir!” “That’s enough!” Gargas must be rolling his eyes but does not understand the bond these two men have: their fighting shows that they care for each other. Their exchange gives over rapidly to what they must do: they need to keep quiet—and get out of there without creating a fuss. “We surrender sir?” Komansky asks. “No, we run.” They will wait until night and make a run for it. Gargas and Komansky accept the news with alarm. Trask is detailed to assist Komansky with the machine gun; Gargas keeps a look out, and Joe tries, at last, to disarm the woman. “Friends,” he says, smiling, and letting his charm shine forth. But being friends might depend on what she is—but between the lines, she could be German or Russian. She speaks. “That’s Russian,” Komansky snaps, shouldering the cartridges, recalling languages heard when he was growing up in the East Bay. She gestures toward her mouth. “I think she wants food, sir,” he adds.
Trask suddenly shouts, foolishly, “Sir, there are Germans here!”—which sparks another alarm as Gallagher dashes to him. “Don’t shoot!—you’ll hit me!” Trask cries. The two hidden Germans are dead, slumped in a chair and on the floor. Komansky observes them: “Two of them—they must have been sniping from the window.” Gallagher does not waste time or sorrow. “Get their coats.” “They’re wearing them sir,” Komansky says, perhaps still feeling a bit obstinate.
-“That’s all for us now . . . ” Clothing—now food. Gallagher asks Trask of the whereabouts of the emergency kit: “I don’t know sir”—“Then find it!” Trask is at least being obedient; he starts out, but the shells drive him back—understandably. “They may see me,” he gasps. Joe stares at him. Trask fumbles for an excuse: “I’m a cryptographer sir, that’s all.” An ironic confession; there is nothing cryptic about his fear; he jumps at his own shadow. Gargas volunteers to find the food. “I’ll get it myself,” Joe snaps, beginning to understand Komansky’s anger. Then he finds the kit by the door and loses patience. “Get in there and take care of the general!” he shouts at Trask and turns to the woman. Whether out of pity, or getting her allegiance, Gallagher produces a can of something, which he peels with the metal key. She seizes it and kisses his hand—which is the closest Gallagher has gotten to a kissing scene in quite some time!—and in the future, he will only hold hands with two lovely young women: Liane in “Underground,” and Patricia in “Which Way the Wind Blows.” “That’s for all of us now,” he says to her, uselessly. Using her hands she gets the food into her mouth. He tries to protest, but does not–maybe they have little appetite for anything by now and his sympathy for her is strong.
-“We got shot down—we did our best”
With her quiet and perhaps trusting them enough to stay, and Trask tending to the general, Gallagher holds another council of war. They will leave in the approaching night and head for the directions of the guns—“For my money, those are Russian guns,” he says, without telling how he might know. For the first time, he has a chance to show Komansky the pack of gum, and what it means—and how they need to get it to London. “We got shot down—we did our best,” Komansky says, not particularly impressed, and not knowing how much the information will help the war effort. “But I’m going to try my best to get it back,” Gallagher says, without realizing how Komansky will take inspiration from his words. But, “what do we do with Trask?” No idle question; Gallagher fully understands what a liability Trask is. “We leave him”—with the general
Sandy finally must get the coats of the slain soldiers. Not enjoying the duty, he nevertheless goes to it—and sees a rat. Terror invades his face, and he flings back—he has been through a lot in his life, and a lot in that day, but– “What is it?” Gallagher asks, catching a glimpse of his reaction. Komansky straightens up, getting out, “Uh, rats, sir.” Gargas shakes his head; first the sergeant had idiotically disobeyed orders, argued with his skipper, and now he’s spooked at vermin. However when Sandy asks, with flippant helplessness, “will you get the coats sir?” Gargas does so; perhaps figuring he does not want to handle corpses. “Thank you sir,” Sandy whispers, his eyes wide fearing the living rats more than the dead bodies.
-“I’m not scared to stay”
Night has fallen—and in the church, what is their source of light? However . . . Gallagher speaks to the dying Stace, wrapped in a German coat about what he is doing, to which the general nods, unable to speak, as the line between life and death blurs. Gallagher instructs Trask to stay behind—for the general, and to get him into a doctor’s hands as quickly as possible—Gallagher is being optimistic for Trask’s sake; but Trask seems willing to face the dangers of being left behind rather than going on, even if he has “to find the Germans.” Trask makes an attempt to explain himself, while a glowering Sandy listens. He knows he’s afraid of a lot of things—planes—but “I’m not scared to stay.” Sandy is blunt: What are they going to do about the woman? “Knock it off,” Gallagher says again, a warning he frequently issues against Sandy, who also frequently identifies issues, bluntly. If Komansky ran with any gangs in Oakland, he knows that some things may be priced cheaply. “Sir, she’ll sell us out to the next guy who gives her food.” Trask, at least, knows what he owes the general—he confesses that the general, a friend of his family, requested him as an aide when he was drafted. “I don’t really mind staying,” he insists, but whether this obligation comes from fear or loyalty, it is hard to say.
Plans go awry again when soldiers approach—German? Russian? What now? They can only hide; Gargas takes the woman behind the altar; Sandy and Trask hide in the inner room, leaving the general on the floor; Sandy has the presence of mind to snatch off the general’s GI knit cap. Gallagher wraps himself in one of the dead men’s coats, and hides behind a gallery—only to realize the cartridge belt has been left exposed (damn that Komansky! Why did he have to bring that machine gun?); he emerges, grabs it, and hides again, but leaving his crush cap behind in the debris. (Well, nobody’s perfect!) The door opens . . . and in comes a German officer and a soldier, who take stock of the situation . . .
-“Danke, danke”
Act III opens and moves along for several minutes without dialogue, at least, English dialogue. Refreshingly, the German officer and soldier speak German to each other, as the officer rests on a beam, massages his booted ankle—and in a Hitchcockian moment–it is so near to Joe’s crush pilot cap, abandoned when he garbed himself in the German’s coat and service cap. The soldier moves slowly into the inner room. Trask and Komansky, united in survival, wait. The soldier shines his light on the general’s face who, as he lays dying between the lines is without an identity; American, Russian, German; his only identity is that of a dead man which he is soon to be. In a scene somewhat parallel with Komansky’s entry into the church—a rat slithers in front of him in their hiding place. As Trask, in a state of blind fear shot at Komansky, Komansky nearly does the same with the rat; Trask has the presence of mind to stop him and clamp a hand over his mouth. Komansky, for once, doesn’t fight back. The soldier leaves. In the sanctuary, the German soldier reports rather snidely about the “todt” to the officer, who is past caring. He considers the three “dead” soldiers wedged in the corner; one is a living Gallagher.
Nothing here . . . they leave. In what seems an incredible act of betrayal of the good guys (but, between the lines, who is good and who is evil?—both are ready to kill) the crucifix lying aslant the altar, with the body of the dead redeemer, slips—and begins to slide. Alarmed, the Germans swing around. Anya has been freed by Gargas’s painful attempt to stop the cross; she jumps up and speaks—saying what? As Komansky predicted, she’s begging for food, which seems to amuse the German officer—who at least does not shoot her, out of weariness, or a remaining sense of humanity. The Russian front was one of the most brutal in history; the Russians fielded far more soldiers than the Allies, lost more, and in some places the war went into every household. “Bitte, bitte, bitte,” she pleads as the man walks away—if she were ultimately committed to helping the Americans, she would have let him go, but her pleading brings him around—and he gives a stray wafer out of his pocket, kind of like a master feeding a pleading dog. Recalling the scene when Gallagher gives her food, she kisses the German’s hand as well, who reacts with weary disgust. In possession of the wafer, she sits down and begins gnawing it with her toothless gums–perhaps food is the only thing she cares about. To cram things into less than an hour, Gallagher and Gargas quickly come out of hiding; in reality they would have remained quiet for much more time–and like Sandy, Joe has “resurrected” too. He is also quick with his thanks: “Danke, danke,” he tells her with the few German words he commands.
However . . . Gargas asks Joe—how do you figure her?—he’s still not sure. With compassion, Gallagher wonders if “she’s meeting somebody—maybe she’s hiding from a forced labor camp, maybe she’s just holding on to what’s left of home.”
–“you wait until you’re sick to your stomach for a year . . .”
Komansky emerges from the inner room, looking weary and wary; and glad that his colonel did not witness his terror at the rats and his near betrayal of them all–even Trask hasn’t gone that far. As he stands there, he hears Gallagher telling Gargas that he is going to reconnoiter to find a way out. Gargas, easygoing as ever, declares himself “expendable” and that he should do it. “No, it’s my responsibility,” Gallagher says with a smile scraped up from somewhere and gives the precious gum pack into Gargas’ care. He leaves, with Komansky’s gaze on his back. Chastened, he returns to Trask and Stace and thus begins a meditation on fear and courage. The general is still alive, which Trask clings to for his courage; perhaps Sandy realizes that he also takes courage from Gallagher’s example. Komansky hands his knit cap over; Trask happily places it on his head, though it’s only a crown for the dying. He asks where the Colonel is– “he went out to look things over,” Komansky says, worried and regretting what he has said and done. “Out there?” Trask blurts. Komansky explains what happened, and thus admits to own fears. “I grew up around those stinking rats in Oakland. I had a—well, it’s not important,” he says, leaving the viewer to wonder what awful thing he suffered.
Achieving a fragile friendship, the men confess to each other. “They just stuck me in a uniform and sent me to Washington,” Trask admits, citing family connections. Without apologizing, he admits to being yellow. “Yellow, you forget yellow,” Komansky says to a man who saved all their skins when his terror endangered them. Trask is adamant about his failings–but what he suffers is something that a trained soldier can better cope with: fear. Komansky moves into a mentoring role, first displayed in “Mighty Hunter”: “Everybody’s afraid—I’m scared of rats; she’s scared of starving to death.” When Trask speaks of the “colonel out there—how does he stand it?” Komansky tells him how the colonel is also afraid: “You know why he’s out there? Fear. Scared of not doing his job; of not pulling his own weight. He’s more afraid of that than anything living or dead”—an apt description of the inhabitants of that rural church. Sandy must realize how Gallagher has gone beyond his dismissive words, “We did our best”–Gallagher is still doing his best. “That’s not really fear,” says Trask. Komansky speaks intensely about the man he has grown to trust and admire above all others, and with insight created by sweating out mission after mission, including this one: “Well, you wait till you live with a sick stomach for over a year—you’ll find out that everything’s fear.” Whether he speaks of Gallagher or himself, it is not clear, but they have suffered equally. Trask can only turn helplessly to comforting the general, who had tried to protect him, but ended up only failing him—yet, by means of this conversation with his one-time adversary, Trask will not fail himself, or the others.
Soon Joe returns (it must have been a small village) to Gargas’ good natured relief. “From now on, we do things together,” he tells the colonel. “We don’t want to lose our leader.” A moment’s relief of a smile is cancelled by Komansky’s announcement: Stace is dead. Joe considers the gum pack with new intensity, and probably controlling the chronic sickness in his stomach.
-”go without me”
Act VI begins with Gargas coming quietly out of the church and dashing for cover to reconnoiter—in broad daylight. I feel like something was cut here, which would perhaps explain why are these men still in the church?—why didn’t they sneak out in the night, or at least in “dawn’s early light”? (Maybe they had to complete filming by a certain time, and so they had to do it in daylight.) At the least the light defines the distinctive German helmet of the soldiers sneaking up to the church (it would be nice to know why they returned, but what the heck . . . ). Gargas dashes back and sounds the alarm: “Let’s move out,” Gallagher said. “Trask, move!” Trask is more honest than spineless, as some accounts of this episode have him being. “I’m no good to you colonel—go without me. I want to stay with the general.” “He’s no good to you now,” Gallagher points out. Anya then speaks, putting her hands around Trask’s arm. Who knows what she says, but she seems to understand him—despite everything, she wants to stay where she is, which requires a degree of courage.
Outside, things grow rapidly worse: the Germans are multiplying, and coming over the fence and toward the church, resembling the rats crawling about the dead. Gallagher’s panic shows in his face, but he decides they will fight and to get the machine gun ready. He remains under control, but he is probably thinking this may be their last few minutes on earth. Gargas and Komansky ready the machine. Trask seems to be in a stupor—or very calm as he at last has made a decision. “Get your gun!” shouts Gallagher. Gargas and Komansky commence firing, but the gun jams—now what? Now what? Gargas climbs the planks covering a window opening and fires, once more in defiance. Trask takes a kind of command—by seeking a tool of surrender. He lifts Anya’s black skirts seeking a white petticoat, and finding nothing, darts to the altar to the crucifix which had caused an earlier problem—and completely ignores the soiled altar cloth. He seizes the cross that earlier “betrayed them” and orders, “Colonel, go out the back!” His action, when analyzed, can mean two things but both have the same impact: surrendering, or delaying, he is allowing the other men to get out. (Obviously, the German don’t know about the back way, thank goodness!).
-“she’s doing that for us”
Trask, in the ultimate moment of his life, flings himself out of the church with the symbol of the redeemer, which may symbolize his own redemption. The grand, courageous (?)/ cowardly (?) gesture is met with gunfire. Inside, the three remaining men may be too startled to do as he ordered. Like Francis Macomber in Hemingway’s “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber” Trask, melodramatically but satisfyingly finds his manhood at the moment of his death. Anya is the only one who understands, and she rushes outside. For a woman, they will hold their fire. “She’s doing that for us,” Joe says, not realizing Trask has done the same. They fling themselves out the back. Joe, proving once more that nobody’s perfect, blows their escape by stumbling, seizing on a bell rope, and the clang tells the Germans the score. Not to poke fun at a desperate flight and fight, the three men remind me of desperadoes in a western, furiously gunning at a posse, as they stumble down and draw, pause and fire, run, pause and fire. Gargas, seeming by chance, is the last man in this trio, and, good naturedly as always, lets Gallagher escape with the precious gum pack, fires futilely, throws his empty gun, and dies—thus fulfilling a dictum of sorts: co-pilots must die!—even on the ground. But that is being snide; as Komansky “died” earlier, Trask barged into that ultimate duty, and now it is Gargas’ turn; neither will escape and come back to life as did Sandy. Only Anya is left; will she continue to dwell in the rural church? what will happen to her? We never know.
-“welcome to Mother Russia!”
Gallagher and Komansky, the survivors, flee; somewhere Komansky must get hurt because he seems to struggle up the draw. At the top they spot a road and an oncoming war vehicle—now what? Gallagher realizes that it’s time to consume the rice paper, when Komansky realizes the vehicle is Russian. Stumbling to his feet, he shouts “Tovarich! Americansky!” The truck stops, and I guess that the German flee back—that is never made clear; perhaps some soldiers on the trucks go after them, and we just don’t see this. In a nice gesture toward one-time allies, now at loggerheads in the midst of the Cold War (the Cuban Missile Crisis was only about three years in the past when this episodie was filmed), a jovial Russian officer comes forward and engulfs them both in a hug—“Welcome to Mother Russia!” So where did they come from?—I figure that Kraska, who was obviously rescued (hopefully with most of the bailed crew; we never learn their fates) sent help back.
-“some right-seat time”
The Epilogue begins like the teaser: a lone B-17 in flight. Gallagher, for once in the waist, reclines against the plane’s inner wall. His face is still dirty from their adventures; he surely has had something to eat and a nap, and now seems reflective—okay, he’s done his job and he’s pulled his weight, but perhaps wishes to quit thinking about what he’s been through, the loss of life, worry about his bailed crew—and do either Gallagher or Komansky realize what Trask did for them?—and was it an honest gesture for their salvation, or was it self-serving gesture, gone wrong for him but right for them?–the answer lies “between the lines.”
Whatever, he suddenly perks up, smiles slightly, gets up, and comes over to Komansky, wrapped in a blanket and dozing against the bulkhead; this once more suggests he was wounded. Gallagher observes him and as a kind of informal salute slaps him lightly on the shoulder, which awakens him—their mutual smiles assure they are both still together, everything in the last 24 hours is over, and their bond is firm. After he leaves, General Kraska says “You’ll be in good hands in 3-4 hours,” and “anything I can do for you?”—pleasantly grateful to an enlisted man who helped bring through critical information. “How’s your chewing gum?” Komansky asks. Kraska admits he chewed the rice-paper up and thank God the colonel kept his. The critical information will get through, but probably only a few will ever officially know how several brave men forged a link for the great invasion—and that includes a cowardly/brave sergeant left behind in Russia.
In the cockpit, the two pilots greet Gallagher. “You should be taking it easy,” remarks the pilot. Gallagher asks for “some right-seat time,” taking up the dangerous post of co-pilot, but this is easy for him. As in the conclusion of “We’re Not Coming Back,” he takes the control—and smiles with relief: after a terrible time on the ground, struggling in the physical and emotional ambiguities between the lines, he has regained his wings.
“Target 802”
Writers: Sherman Yellen, Marc Huntly
Director: Robert Douglas
The title has a brutal simplicity: as Claudine Corbel says, when she is asked to identify the target for the 918th, a single building surrounded by other buildings with people in them, “it’s only a number.” The episode takes up a grim duty: the tale of how civilians suffered in World War II, on all sides. Information sources on all sides assured their people that their bombers attacked only military facilities; but civilians were hurt and killed, largely unintentionally, and at times intentionally. This episode is made grim by how the Americans unintentionally killed and endangered French allies—at a key and largely secret post on the French coast– and the ugly fall out, both political and personal. Perhaps in a kind of moral balancing in this,episode, as in “Day of Reckoning,” the 918th gets a taste of its own medicine, and it is bitter. On the lighter, more adventurous side, this episode also considers the role of the French resistance in the war, specifically, the return of airmen. Their work was briefly and invisibly addressed in “Loneliest Place,” as Komansky was rescued and returned (extremely swiftly!) to England after bailing out of Savage’s dead plane; and his interview with a Free French media liaison (“did you have any language troubles?” asks Suzanne Arnais) shows how strong their efforts had become since 1940 when organized resistance began to stir due to growing hatred and DeGaulle’s impassioned speeches from London. In the upcoming episode, “Underground,” Gallagher will pass through their capable hands though accompanied by a committed Gestapo officer masquerading as a feckless German soldier. In terms of reality, 120CH is telling a story within the realm of possibility; that is, smaller resistance units beginning to get organized and take up the slack from the larger resistance units, which of course were being sought by the Gestapo.
Some general reading about the French and European resistance reveals incredible heroism, deep devotion to a cause, talent, imagination and lots of chutzpah! In terms of our story, it’s best to stick with the major return routes for downed airmen, which were created by heroic deliverers and then reinforced by the Allies when they realized that returning personnel saved them money!—“as the RAF, soon joined by the US Army Air Forces, accelerated the strategic bombing of German war industries, the loss of highly trained air crews began to be a problem. Replacements were expensive: The Air Ministry had to spend [$40,000] to train a bomber pilot.” There were of course other reasons: “return of airmen was a powerful tonic for flier morale” and a thumbing of noses at the Axis. In broad strokes, there were three major escape lines in France: O’Leary, Shelburne, and Comet, the last named for the speed by which its operator, a woman, moved her passengers. The Shelburne line ran its passengers to the French coast to “Plouha,” which was the shortest route, in contrast with the other lines that ran their passengers in southern France, into Spain, by train and ships—and it was operating in 1944 to return 118 airmen to England before D-Day. The O’Leary was the biggest, and it collapsed, due to treachery, in 1943. However, “numerous smaller lines took up the slack.” We can assume in “tonight’s story” that the village of St. Monique, and its workers, were a smaller line. It can also be assumed that Komansky, months earlier, must have been picked up by one of the smaller coastal lines, because his return to England was done in days (if not hours), in contrast with the month-long journey many returned fliers had to take, which carried them through Paris (where some of them “saw the sights” while rubbing elbows with German soldiers!) down into Madrid, to Gibralter, and finally by ship or plane. In comparison, in “Underground,” Joe’s return to England, with the added complication of getting out of Switzerland where he has been unsuccessfully detained for mere hours, crossing through France, and making a boat for England, was also accomplished in days, which was not realistic.
-“the 918th makes the prettiest contrails”
The teaser of the episode has been described (ctd. Mathes and Duffin) as one of the best of the series, and I agree; it goes from lovely to ugly in moments; decisive editing and a wonderful score make it powerful. In contrast with many opening scenes of American war planes flying over foreign skies, this episode begins in a French seaside village, with an old bridge and sweet music leading the viewer into the main square. It’s a busy place on a lovely morning; the locals circulate on foot and on bicycles; despite the war, life must go on, as the Nazis wanted it to—for their benefit, of course. A lovely young woman, creating an image of a “earth goddess,” drives a wagon into their midst, and with greetings, foodstuffs from the countryside are unloaded. Her son, charmingly carrying fresh-caught fish, runs toward her and she gathers him up in a hug. He points to the skies where American bombers are streaking contrails like soft ribbons over the clouds: “Mes amies,” the boy says, perhaps knowing they are going to destroy “the enemy”—while a soft version of the 12OCH theme plays. A middle-aged couple pause and seem disturbed—and turn away. Two American airmen join the woman, her son, and her father. Grinning, Hub Scofield says “the 918th always makes the prettiest contrails”—boasting about the bomber command he flies escort for and hopes to soon return to—yet, he might have to leave Claudine behind.
-“Sorry boys, we’ve had it”
Cut to the cockpit of Piccadilly Lily where a tense Gallagher and his co-pilot, who have just moments before crossed over the serene group, encounter flak—which soon encounters them. They lose two engines almost immediately; thankfully, they don’t lose the co-pilot! Gallagher turns the command over to another pilot, and apologizes to the formation: “Sorry boys, we’ve had it and we’re dropping out. See you at home.” Home might not sound too bad except they are alone and vulnerable and the Krauts move in like bottom feeders. Sandy, in his turret, gets his single exposure in tonight’s episode; at least his efforts send one plane down in flames, confirming Joe’s calling him an ace (“Hot Shot”). A well-edited fight scene conducts their desperate flight home, back over the channel. The co-pilot recommends they drop their bombs to pick up airspeed; Joe says they will salvo the bombs in the channel. When the coast appears below, the bombardier Jerry opens the flak-damaged bombay doors—and the bombs drop by themselves. It looks as if Joe hears their whistle; in reality, he would feel the plane change as the bombs go—straight down, to the ground, not the water. There is some stunning footage of the mistakenly released bombs “skipping” as they hit the ground; I assume, because of the straight-on angle, that this was probably a training film. One bomb drops dead center in the peaceful square of St. Monique, hitting French and American alike. As the smoke clears and the damage is realized, the once smiling Claudine sees her father and her son and in a powerful moment, she stands and screams her anguish at the skies and the planes her son had recently called “my friends.” It reminds me of the screaming woman in Picasso’s Guernica.
-“special sympathy to Joe Gallagher and his crew . . .”
Act I: B-17s land in grim array, but the scene swiftly shifts to the Officers Club, which is not grim: a tight shot on a radio surrounded with foaming full mugs of beer suggest festivity; indeed, all the planes returned this time an officer reminds bombardier Jerry, who has already been soaking up the suds. He’s in no mood to hear Axis Sally’s mocking American voice (played by June Foray, who provided many voices over the years, including “Rocky Squirrel” on Bullwinkle) who taunts the 918th for their recent work—“you knocked over some trash cans” and extends “special sympathy and his men of his famous Piccadilly Lily” for the work on their secondary targets, killing women and children. “Are you sure your leaders know what they’re doing?” she asks. In answer, Jerry heaves up, and, in a melodramatic moment (which we would all like to do) bashes the radio. He grins, in boozy shock: “got her right in the kisser, huh?” he asks the officers, who don’t answer—they may not have one for this action. And, in review of this episode, I don’t think enough time is given over to Jerry—he is suffering terribly for his innocent mistake; but this seems to be forgotten as Claudine literally trains her revenge on Colonel Gallagher, the pilot—but Gallagher assumes, like a good leader, responsibility for the action.
-“heil Hitler!” In the village, an efficient German infantry officer, well played by Anthony Zerbe, is attempting to bring German order to the village, just hours after the mistaken bombing—which has drawn attention to the place. He knows what has happened and demands to know who is missing, and who is the “Maquis.” Lenoir, the gentleman who earlier turned away from Claudine and her father, tells him that the dead man held them in “fear of their lives—we were afraid.” Also, five of his followers of have disappeared. The officer flips the blanket back from the dead man’s face and is not impressed—this was no monster. He demands of the village—“How many airmen have you sent back?—you’ve been brave and clever, but your leader is dead and his five followers are missing.” He pauses for emphasis: “I’m in the infantry—and the SS are coming.” As it will be said later, the village was investigated but never occupied–according to records, Occupied France was occupied with approximately 1500 German soldiers–not that many. Madame Lenoir agrees to cooperate: “Heil Hitler!” She names the five people and then demands “Claudine Corbel—where is she?”
-“Axis Sally loves facts . . .she twists them like pretzels”
At Wing Headquarters, a dress-uniformed, clench-faced Gallagher is getting a hard lesson (again) about war, politics, lies, truth, and taking the blame, even when not deserved. Inspector General Marteen is lecturing Gallagher on St. Monique, which was well-guarded secret—from the Germans—and he has been sent for what we nowadays call “damage control.” “Over 100 airmen have been sent back” he tells Gallagher. Gallagher is of course sorry, but protests that bomber command and the French are screaming too loudly—after all, his plane (hey, he was getting up shot at upstairs!) had been damaged by German cannon fire—“can’t they publish the facts?” “Axis Sally loves facts—she twists them like pretzels,” Marteen points out. In desperation Joe points to visual proof—the bombs went over the countryside and only one bomb in the square. “That spells accident.” “Hitler’s propaganda machine will spell it out as carelessness.” Joe knows he is locked in a war of words, mangled truth on both sides and angry allies, but he tries again until Marteen politically spells it out: “Joe, we’ve got to pacify the French—we have contacts over there too”—G2 contacts, helping as they can with the French Resistance movement, growing more powerful as 1944 approaches. Bluntly, Joe has to take personal responsibility–and “take the rap.” The more the responsibility, the more punishment is meted out. Licked, Joe agrees to take the blame, and has the non-pleasure of hearing how “even his blood might not placate the French” and “study up on the guillotine,” an instrument of execution– this previews Claudine’s plan to murder the man she holds responsible. At least, a phone call brings good news: Pilots Bing Pollard and Hub Scofield have been found—by His Majesty’s Navy in an air-sea rescue—and they were found with a woman and a child. All are being taken to the 918th. Bing Pollard is a fighter pilot with the 511th out of Holypoole—and there will seem reason to believe that he was not one of the fighters retrained by Gallagher (“The Hot Shot”) to be a team player. By the way, whatever happened to Troper?—he would have made a good foil to Gallagher. It would be so interesting to have this series refilmed with certain stories drawn out over time, such as Sgt. Chapman’s corruption and fall, Troper’s disintegration and removal, and Stovall’s seeking for his son, still MIA . . .
-“survivors of Pompeii!”
There are times when Doc Kaiser gets far more exposure than either Stovall and Komansky, and tonight’s episode is one of them. Jean-Paul and is exhausted mother are brought into the base hospital, followed by Pollard and Scofield—whose characters are never quite as developed as they should be and they overshadow the really tragic character in all this—the hapless bombardier. This is an episode which at times seems a little too busy, and is both over-written and under-written. Kaiser assures Claudine that he will do his best and sends her to a room to rest—which she does, followed by Bing Pollard. Her set face reveals that her mind is set on other things than her son’s survival: “is there any way we can tell which plane it was?”
Jerry the bombardier comes in at this remarkably propitious time: “What about this, huh?” he gleefully asks the two returned pilots. “Survivors of Pompeii!” Appropriately, Pollard blows up like Vesuvius: Throwing Jerry against the walls, he calls him a “boozehound” and tells him what he did (I assume he learned from Axis Sally). In the hospital room, her lovely face set, Claudine learns it was Gallagher’s plane, and then undoes a scarf and takes out a pistol—this moment is somewhat ruined by her hands being a little too beautifully manicured! In the meantime, Joe Gallagher has come to the hospital and orders the two returned officers to report to Marteen in his office.
-“they save us, we kill them”
Scofield and Pollard speak to Marteen, seated in Gallagher’s office chair. Lenoir, they tell him, kept the village looking innocent, and though the Nazis searched, they never occupied St. Monique. Also, the two men don’t know of any other airmen there—and they had to leave because the angry townsfolk drove Claudine and her son out, blaming them for what happened—which sounds the theme of the episode; who was to blame? Who should take responsibility for this terrible occurrence?—in fact, it was a soulless piece of flak which created the whole mess, and the flak would not have been there save for a German-Austrian madman . . . but people are unfairly dead, and people must unfairly pay. Pollard speaks lovingly of Claudine, who was everything to the men—“sister, mother, nurse, and even a radio operator. “One bomb turned them against us,” says Marteen. ”They save us, we kill them,” Pollard dramatically summarizes, driving Marteen to confirm that they need to do to restore relations. Gallagher arrives and the two men are dismissed: Pollard needs to report to Holypoole, but wishes to return—Gallagher advises him to be in uniform when he returns; despite all this travail Gallagher’s West Point standards and training demands a neat appearance (re “The Hot Shot” when he expects the fighter pilots to make a good appearance when they come to the 0400 meeting, but, as indicated by “Falling Star” he also knows it’s ridiculous to demand Dress-A uniforms all the time).
After they leave, Marteen notes that Pollard is “a hostile son of a gun.” Gallagher comes to his defense (the man is under his nominal command) which comes out of his understanding of fighter pilots: Pollard does not understand all the things that can go wrong with a bomber. Also, he’s involved with Claudine. Claudine, in her room, fondles the gun, but puts it away when Pollard pays a final visit to her that long day. His behavior promotes the idea that fighters were mavericks; he tells her he knows whose plane it was, probably to score some points with her—but he does love her. She already knows this; “he owes you a big apology,” Pollard says. Claudine seems to have no more use for him: she needed strong arms to her son to England, she tells him, and does not tell him her other plans. “You don’t mean that,” he says, appalled that the woman—perhaps any woman—would reject him. She turns away, asking him “to go away.” Pollard does, but he is not through with her or Gallagher yet.
-“chocolate frosting on a time bomb”
Gallagher tends to business; in his case, coming to Claudine’s aid; he could have ignored her, but wishes to start making amends for the affair, personally. He consults with Doc Kaiser who gives him prognosis of the boy’s wounds and chance for full recovery (if no nerve damage from the iron in his leg then he should be all right). “Let me tell her,” Gallagher asks. “To punish yourself?” Kaiser asks. “Don’t try to analyze me Doc, just let me tell her,” Gallagher answers. Kaiser agrees but provides some analysis of Claudine: he needs to be careful because her sense of self-discipline is “like chocolate frosting on a time bomb.” Interesting image.
Really ramping up the pathos, the next scene has the grieving Claudine crooning “Freres Jacques” to her sleeping boy. The airman in the next bed lifts himself up and assures her “He’ll be fine” and “I’ll look out for him.” Actually, there’s little that the young man could do, but he desperately wishes to soothe the distressed mother as do we all, despite her ugly plans. Kaiser arrives to help her, and Gallagher comes in as she weeps—and with sorrow and pity, he follows her to her room. In the loveliest scene in the episode, she leans for support on the dresser, and her reflection in the mirror doubles her grief. Gallagher, in the doorway, is backlighted, carving him into a silhouette, which makes him both faceless and mysterious—which feeds into the identity of the nameless, faceless pilots flying overhead, never being seen, and never seeing their victims. Identifying himself, he calls to her. The moment is broken when she asks him to turn on the lights—so she can get first full look at the man whom she holds responsible for her agony. What can he do for her? Her request is blunt: “Where do the airmen go? It will help me decide something.”
-“her father’s dead and her kid’s hurt!”
Gallagher may think her request is odd, but he dutifully takes her to the Officers Club. Rather than the usual forties music playing, for once, the officers are singing, and of all things, “I Dream of Jeanne with the Light Brown Hair”—as she sang a folk tune for her boy, they are singing a sort of folk tune as well, a little off-key and a little boisterously, which obviously disgusts her but she is consumed with hate and anything the Americans do will disgust her. As they progress into the club, Pollard, who is still at the bar, observes her and she observes him. They seat themselves, and in the background, a jacketed Stovall progresses to the mantel. In a fairly heavy-handed way, he turns the Toby Mug to the wall, and with a slight grimace, turns and leaves. However, the men call it a night, down their drinks and disappear—except Pollard. The Officers Club shows an aspect of such digs that is rarely on display–the Club as an eating place, rather than just for drinking, as it is usually portrayed. Joe shows his stress by rather rudely snagging the waiter, and ordering “whatever’s hot”—and two drinks, brandy of course. (Will he actually get to eat some food this time?—no, at least we don’t see him, but his appetite might be killed by what happens. By the way, we finally see him eating a piece of bread in “Underground.”) He lights another cigarette; it is increasingly a nervous reaction and there’s enough going on to make him a severe smoker.
To Claudine’s curiosity, he explains the Toby Mug’s significance: when turned to the wall, there is a mission tomorrow: and the mission bears on her town: he’s on a reconnaissance mission to St. Monique. “We’re trying to make things right with your people,” he finishes. The brandy is served. Pollard invades their conversation. Boozily trying to make points with Claudine, he demands what is Gallagher going to do with the bombardier?—whom he holds responsible: “he toggled those bombs!” He threatens to file a report with the inspector general, and Gallagher snaps that he could read his report on the situation—and the argument ends with Gallagher inviting him to come to his office the next day and file his complaint personally with the inspector general. Pollard won’t listen to reason—“Her father is dead and her kid’s hurt!” Joe does not like to but finally hurls rank: “You’re dismissed!”—and repeats his order, to Pollard’s unhappy obedience and salute before he leaves.
-“a game of darts” As Act II concludes, Claudine invokes a common image of 12OCH: games and game-playing; in “Back to the Drawing Board,” the angry Nazi officer Erhland refers to their duel in the air as such—“they are playing yankee games.” But there is truth to the image, brought up so many times before: according to what I have read, Patton based his strategies on football moves. She has not liked what she has seen, from the singing pilots to Pollard’s interference. She tells Gallagher that reconnaissance is not necessary; she knows what is going on in St. Monique—or does she? She knows what is going on here, now: the men are playing a game: they sing, they drink, they laugh and in the morning they attack and destroy—“is it not all a game to you?”—it is nothing to them, she concedes, but a game of darts—a new image of a game, and different from baseball and gambling: throwing darts is a game of skill, a maneuvering a tiny device, hard enough, and straight enough, to score, and very akin to bombing, and akin to the precision bombing concluding tonight’s episode.
Gallagher is familiar with the image of war being a game, but demurs: “That sounds strange, coming from a woman whose help has saved so many.” Claudine becomes cruelly maudlin: back home she could have sold any airman for money—enough money to buy a gravestone for her father. Joe counters gently: “Could we buy one for you?” Claudine ignores his request. As Americans says (French people always seem to know American sayings!) “No hard feelings,” as well as “C’est la guerre,” and brings the episode’s theme into sharp focus: the burden of responsibility in a combat situation. As rank has its privileges, it has its deadly demands. “You will always carry the responsibility and you will pay the price—you.” She leaves (of course, the food has not arrived yet), and walks out, leaving Gallagher feeling lousy, to put it mildly. Paul Burke had a kind of stock expression of “Gallagher in worry/pain/embarrassment”—but it works as Gallagher struggles to deal with pain and responsibility that he rather irritably assumed by Marteen’s direction earlier that day.
-“The Yankees would not dare bomb St. Monique now”
Act III begins with a trio of linked scenes—Claudine hears and sees, from her hospital room, the roar and the sight of Gallagher’s Piccadilly Lily taking off for its reconnaissance mission to St. Monique. Kaiser then knocks and tells her that Jean Paul’s early morning surgery was successful, but that his future is still uncertain. Cut to Gallagher in the cockpit of Piccadilly Lily, preparing his crew for their “low and slow” mission over St. Monique, in order to photograph the village. Cut to St. Monique where the Nazi officer Burgdorf is seeing a line of prisoners, with hands tied behind their backs, being taken away (where? Are they ever released?) and speaks with Lenoir. They both look up to see the Piccadilly Lily overhead. Burgdorf is not bothered; Lenoir remains a blank. The officer knows that it is a reconnaissance mission—and perhaps improbably tells the Frenchman that a radar station is being set up in St. Monique, to take advantage of the “fact” that “the Yankees would not dare bomb St. Monique now.”
Swiftly, the scene changes to a uniformed Gallagher in his office, updating Marteen on the recon mission; the pictures are being developed and delivered. A quiet Claudine is escorted in by the apparently tireless Kaiser. With her son at least operated on, and sleeping through the day, Claudine is making her move and sees her opportunity by joining Gallagher in his meeting with Operations which involves St. Monique (apparently, Komansky has been given the day off; he’s been chauffeuring for Gallagher a lot recently).
-“it’s like fighting a dirty war . . .”
Recalling “Loneliest Place” in terms of “Target 802” we have an interesting arc—in the first episode, Joe attempts to romance the French Suzanne Arnais, who turns him down but is sympathetic to his needs. Some twelve episodes later, his next encounter with a French woman is considerably uglier; this one is bent on killing him!– His third encounter with a French woman in “Underground” is understandably passionless as flight is their only interest; Joe and Liane put their arms around each other only to simulate being lovers for the benefit of a sentry. Joe and Monique drive through the countryside to Wing; as always, it looks distressingly like southern California . . . (wouldn’t it be great if this series could be remade, on location in England or Ireland?). The bucolic countryside, studded with trees and farming equipment contrasts with the ugly base and the uglier skies they fly through, and might become the ironic setting of this “sky god”’s death, committed by an earth-goddess, Claudine, who is first seen bringing truck farm food into her town. A skilled operator, she drops her bag out of the Jeep, and calls Joe’s attention to it. He stops, goes back to fetch it, and she climbs out—and walks to a haymow. Its sharp tines menacingly curl in Joe’s direction as he finds the bag and then joins her. She intends on shooting him but plans to put his death into perspective for him, and for herself. Recalling the opening sequence, she asks what the white smoke is, coming from the planes overhead—and there are several striking scenes of planes, in perfect formations, flying against a cloudy English sky. Joe then identifies a group of fighters as P-51s from Holypoole: “They shuttle back and forth, flying the bombers to and “off” the target—right now, the P-38s are with them . . . it’s pretty complex,” he finishes.
“It’s like running a big American industry from a beautifully furnished office,” she remarks. Joe conceals his anger. “I wouldn’t say that—it’s more like fighting a dirty war.” “Dirty?” she inquires and coolly tells him “You are a tourist! For you, it’s like a war of holidays.” He cuts her off, saying they don’t have time for this. She takes the time and tells him to take the time—her husband died on the Maginot Line by the Germans, but HE killed her father, hurt her son, and is responsible for all the hostages in the village. “You are seeing your enemy,” she tells him.
-“it was an accident!”
Gallagher, refreshingly, shouts at her: “Who do you think you’re dealing with—some child?” (This exchange makes me wonder if this episode is responding to President DeGaulle, who, in the sixties, was highly unpopular in the United States due to his slighting of American contributions.) He demands of her—what do you want us to do—because some innocent people were injured?—and reminds her that the Americans who endangered the village were endangered themselves: he and his crew were carrying high explosives out to sea—and “You can’t blame anybody, it was an accident!” At last, his side, and his voice are heard.
-“she broke down completely”
Perhaps improbably, she breaks down at this—but at least she has heard another voice than the enraged one in her head. Gallagher gets her back to the 918th, and hurries back to Wing, where he is 20 minutes later, and is told so. Gallagher tells them that Claudine has finally broken down, though not saying that she held a gun on him and was threatening him with assassination—and showing his customary compassion, even though it is to the undeserving Pollard, asks if Pollard would like to be excused?—Joe knows that Pollard wishes to go to Claudine. He leaves. Marteen swiftly updates Gallagher and the war moves ahead: the Nazis are moving equipment into St. Monique and they have to stop them. CIC operatives are being sent in that night. Gallagher, returning to base, visits Claudine who is finally sleeping the sleep that might “knit the raveled sleeve of care”—that quote from Hamlet is appropriate because Claudine also seeks revenge for her father’s death, but is more straightforward than the dawdling, confused Danish prince. Despite Joe’s earlier compassion to him, Pollard, who waits by her bedside, won’t give up: “Did you break her?” he demands. “Captain, you’d better be careful in what you say,” Gallagher snaps, his patience stretched beyond endurance. But he endures; in contrast with Savage, who perhaps he modeled himself away from on certain points, Joe always tries to remember how a damaged heart can lead to stupid, foolish actions.
-“Kamerad!”
From a dim hospital room at the end of Act III, Act IV opens in a sunny field, with five Nazi soldiers following the signal of a tracker, carried by their leader. They seek the source of a radio broadcast by the Maquis, who are hiding in the ruins of a house. They are broadcasting to a British sergeant; in a swift hop across the channel, Marteen both listens and calls Gallagher to tell him the CIC are in contact with Lenoir who tells them about the hostages—Lenoir, who must have hidden his participation in the underground resistance from his own wife. The Germans take swift action; Lenoir and his people are found and killed, with Lenoir crying out “Kamerad!”—but he has sent the critical information. Events swing into high gear; if anything, a little too much is going on this episode to make it entirely satisfying, though the writers tie up the melodrama with their usual flair.
-“ . . . and Frenchmen will die”
Back at the 918th, Pollard, in conference with Gallagher, Marteen, and the resurrected Claudine, recommends they send in commandos—but no, this is a bombing mission to destroy the Resistance headquarters—Lenoir has told them that the Nazis have compiled a list of resistance workers, as well as setting up a radar station. The bombing must be Pierre’s market, which is, as Pollard points out, “50 square feet”! Joe informs him that what will be dropped is a single 1000 pound bomb, set with a delayed fuse. Pollard might be getting a new lesson about what a bomber can do. “And Frenchmen will die,” Claudine points out. Though calmed down, she is still mocking, and she has pointed out an important fact. Leaflets will be dropped . . . they urge her to identify the market/HQ. Pollard urges her not to do it. Gallagher finally takes him in hand—and threatens him with perhaps something worse than losing Claudine: he will scrub him from his fighter outfit, and from the “lady” he really loves. Pollard backs down and Claudine finally comes forward—to identify the target, Target 802. “It’s only a number,” she murmurs. The people around the “number” is swiftly notified; in dramatic display, we see leaflets being hurled from a plane, which float into their village. With the usual imperious “duh-dah, duh-dah” music, the mission rolls—with Pollard in one of the protecting Mustangs. Also, Jerry, the hapless bombardier, who seems a little ignored in this episode (though he had a couple of good scenes), is once more at his controls—and tells Gallagher that “the show” is not good: “I just didn’t have it,” he reports on his first sightings.
They have to do it again. Back at the 918th, Claudine and Stovall sweat it out in Gallagher’s office. Claudine gets a taste of what the British and American flying forces have to suffer. “What are they doing? Why don’t we hear from them?” Stovall, seated in Joe’s chair, is philosophic: “It takes some getting used to—sometimes we wait ten hours for two words: ‘bombs away’.” Over St. Monique, the French skies are hot with fighters of both sides endangering and protecting the doughty Piccadilly Lily. I always “enjoy” the fight sequences; even familiar footage becomes exciting with the great editing and sound effects; I feel a thrill, perhaps unfortunate, as the pugnacious Mustangs do their work. Of course, the hit is made—and due to television limitations, the blast is not quite as big and satisfying as it should be, but mission accomplished and redemption at hand: Gallagher and his boys have redeemed themselves from both charges of bad work and inhumane indiscriminate killing of civilians.
-“You? Again?”
As the Epilogue brings the story to an end, there is a noise not frequently heard in 12OCH: laughter, laughter in Jean Paul’s room. (Thinking over the episodes so far, Joe came closest to laughing when he teased Phyllis Vincent about her attitude in “The Idolater”; I don’t think Sandy knows how to laugh; and his first grin, in “We’re Not Coming Back,” is downright startling; Stovall seems too desk-bound for such emotions, though he often smiles knowingly. Otherwise, the laughter is usually reserved for scenes at the base clubs and Star and Bottle.) Doc Kaiser’s limited French (he tells Jean Paul he is a “un grand soldat”) and Claudine’s and Pollard’s joy has replaced the sobbing.
All heads turn as Gallagher enters, like an avenging god. But this god is a happy one, who is even happier when Kaiser’s test makes Jean Paul’s leg jerk. The friendly soldier in the other bed is happy too: “Who says that kid will never walk again?” Joe is glad for Jean Paul, and Jean Paul says, adorably, “Moi aussi!” Gallagher can’t linger because he is off again—to drop more people behind the lines to make sure about the results. Claudine asks “You? Again?” But she is speaking with a dedicated man who wants to see this affair out to the end. Joe speaks a bit more French to Jean Paul, who grins his adorable grin, and so the episode concludes on a slightly corny note, but, for once, an episode ends with a moment of joy and laughter—a moment, but at least some happiness is found amidst the travails of war.
“Falling Star”
Writer: Andy Lewis
Director: Laslo Benedek
No arguments or suggestions with the title: it is typically lyrical, with dual meanings: it refers to Colonel Wexler, the one-time star of a Flying Circus who fell, climbed back up again, but is in danger of falling again, literally and figuratively as a personal trauma is triggered by flak-hits. And the image recalls to mind one night when I saw a “falling star” which is merely the fragments of something falling and burning up in earth’s atmosphere, but I swear it fell right across the street . . . speaking of fragments, this story has fragmented quality to it in places. Bernie Hale’s death is never really explained or fully clarified–accident, probably, but some of Wexler’s words suggest murder. Neither Wexler nor Joe should be flying the tough precise mission at the end, and Joe seems to reassume command of the 918th though he is sitting in for Britt at Wing, by Pritchard’s order. And, as usual, some musings over “facts.” I was assuming that Colonel “Pappy” Wexler flew combat in World War I, and then went on to make a living with his flying abilities—but no, Wexler has apparently never been in combat. His age is never identified, but he seems somewhere between forty and fifty, which means he might have been old enough to fly in the first war, but obviously did not. (Curiously, unlike Harvey Stovall’s fight to fly in “Storm at Twilight” Wexler’s age is never an issue, but he has been flying continually since the twenties.) Like Lindbergh, he took training in the army, may have started flying mail for the government, and then graduated into air circuses, which had their hey-day in the twenties—but there were such circuses in the thirties too. In 1927, Lindbergh dignified air travel by proving its future in his solo flight to Paris (still an amazing achievement!), which provoked the more sober marathon flights in the more sober thirties, and which Amelia Earhart engaged in, to her doom.
Wexler flew those as well, although he still stunted, such as “flying upside down under the Golden Gate Bridge”—which was completed in 1937. Unlike Lindbergh, who was tarred by his connection with “America First” and seeming the dupe of the Germans, Wexler, though personally damaged by his unsuccessful business and love life, returned to the Army Air Corps and assumed training duties—and in this way sounds a common theme of 12OCH: the meeting with old acquaintances (both friend and foe and sometimes both) which is also a theme in the upcoming “The Slaughter Pen.” In contrast with that episode and in comparison with “The Idolater,” Joe’s “old acquaintance” is welcomed back into his life; also, he has acquaintance with a “lot of the guys”–Stovall has known him for years, General Pritchard knows about him, and as Joe trained with him,so did a number of other pilots at the 918th. The two “youngsters,” Komansky and the ill-fated Lt. Booth have had no connection with him, which serves Komansky somewhat ill, and serves Booth well–at least for a poignant evening, the last of the boy’s life. And on to “tonight’s episode” . . .
-“he’s just itching to fly the plane back home”
Teaser: the typical opening shot of tightly packed B-17s in flight; we enter the cockpit to learn the details of the mission and the stresses coming up in this story of human hearts, minds, and motivations. Gallagher and his co-pilot Bobby (yay, Bobby!—Gallagher’s co-pilots are surviving these days!) have somebody different poking his head between them: rather than Komansky, it is an older officer who is simultaneously relaxed and intent. Within seconds, “bombs away,” which skip over a pastoral countryside, rather than an industrial area. The older officer approves the hit, and Joe, calling him by the nickname of “Pappy” cautions him “that we’ve hit that target twice before” without results. “I mean the way you handle the airplane,” Wexler says. “You make it look as easy as dropping flour bags back in training in Texas.” Joe beams as he recalls training days and asks Bobby to let Wexler take the controls: “he’s just itching to fly the plane back home.” Wexler settles in and pulls a non-regulation “skull-warmer” complete with goggles over his head. Joe jokes at the sight, and Wexler gives it special powers: not only does it keep his hair in, he’s worn it around the world. It also is a symbol of the past, which this man, without realizing it, won’t or can’t let go. Hair is a symbol sign of virility (think of Samson), and virility is always on the mind of Wexler—sometimes evoked to show off for the younger men, or at times to protect him from gut-wrenching memories of being unable to hold on to a woman. He also suffers from guilt, which he has buried, deeply.
Cut to the somber beauty of Wing, which always reminds me of Camelot, where Major Stovall reports to General Pritchard. He reports that Wexler is flying in Gallagher’s plane that day. Pritchard needs advice: with Britt in Washington (yes, we have not seen the new major general in quite some time—was the last time “Grant Me No Favor”? and the next time is “Which Way The Wind Blows”) he needs a new Wing Commander, and sees Wexler as a possible replacement: summing up Wexler’s accomplishments, he has logged more flying hours than anybody, trained half the pilots in bomber command, and has the support of the general staff. Stovall also has known the man for fifteen years—and also knows his “rival” Colonel Gallagher. This seems to set in motion a nice story of rivalry and dueling, like “The Hot Shot.” This angle is not particularly well used; but as a theme, it does set in motion a small sub-plot involving Komansky—and this subplot impels Gallagher’s concern for Wexler, his first weak response, and then a conclusive one.
-“Bernie . . . you all right?”
Cut to his “rival”–German fighters move in; Joe takes the controls, saying “Ever been in combat?” Without changing expression, Wexler tells him “This is another first,” at least for him. Joe’s expression changes as a German groundfire damages him in the leg. “Something hit me,” he gasps. Wexler then completely changes: “Bernie, you all right?” he asks. Too much is going on for Joe to hear. Wexler catches himself: “I mean Joe, not Bernie,” he says, and on that mysterious note, the teaser ends with the bars striking over Wexler’s taut disturbed face, and overlaid by the distinctive “bong, bong, bong, bong, bong . . .bong!”—which always thrills me. Can’t help it.
-“C’est la guerre . . . “ Act I takes up with a night shot of 918th Operations, and a “worried version” of the theme plays. A lot of information about Wexler and the status of the story is delivered in a few moments: already easy in Gallagher’s chair, Wexler speaks on the phone, his voice warm and teasing as he converses with “Blue Eyes”: he informs her of his change of status, and says, somewhat racily, “I’ll drop over in a few days . . .and fix your bicycle.” Stovall then escorts another woman into his presence: an efficient, businesslike, and snugly uniformed WAC delivers the day’s photos to him, and then courteously turns down his smiling offer to “stay awhile?” “C’est la guerre,” he breezily remarks to Stovall when the WAC exits, assuring his reputation as a lady’s man—but also recalls a moment in the preceding “Target 802” when Claudine tells Gallagher that she believes his attitude about bombing her seaside village was “c’est la guerre.” Gallagher’s angry words to her, the next day when she tries to kill him, tells her that it is an empty phrase. As it turns out, Wexler’s use of the remark covers up his legendary but increasingly “manufactured” virility—he was probably glad when the WAC turned him down.
Stovall then clears up Joe’s not-critical status: “He’ll be around in a day or two”—which is a good moment for counting up everybody’s Season II bruises, in the past and in the future: as CO of the 918th Joe has been somewhat seriously banged up in “Show Me a Hero,” lightly banged up (almost identically) in “Storm at Twilight,” and now has been shot in the leg (which parallels the “sexual wound” of the Fisher King of Grail Legend; but it is his rival Wexler’s strength and virility that is in question). Komansky: his wounds rather oddly are all “grounded”–he seems to have been hurt in the final moments of “Between the Lines,” but how is not clear; his ankle gets sprained in “The Hollow Man” when he gets out of a bellied-in plane;: his first real injury is sustained on the ground in the upcoming “Day of Reckoning” when he is seriously wounded by a Nazi pilot in the base’s chapel. Stovall sustains his only body wound in Season III’s “Long Time Dead.” But Stovall has a chronic emotional wound: his son is still apparently missing and his status as an MIA is never resolved.
Wexler, with Stovall’s help and photographs taken during the mission, learns more about the recalcitrant target—an “underground fire control” for flak and coastal artillery. They are seeking to bomb it through the vents, which sounds a bit like “Star Wars”!—but yes, the target is a hard one, calling for delicate strategies, which Wexler does not understand. A phone call interrupts their conference; a Pete is calling Stovall to remind him that a party has been planned for him at the “Star and Bottle.” Stovall tells them that Pappy is on his way. Wexler stands up, a changed man though the change is superficial. Departing, he tells Stovall that it’s no longer Pappy but Colonel Wexler, and leaves. Stovall’s deeply lined forehead grows even more lined as his first forebodings arise.
-“he’s the devil with women”
Before “the devil” arrives, jovial officers at the Star and Bottle have already done some decorating: they have prepared a display with old shots of “Pappy” and his now-antique airplanes. Lt. Booth, a young officer observes them: he seems almost child-like compared to the older men, and reminds me of how, whenever I look at a photo of my 19 year old father in his Air Corps cadet uniform, I think “How could they have sent a child like that to war?”—a year’s training, as indicated by another photograph, had changed him into an adult. The older officers, who trained under him, are a few drinks ahead of the abstemious Lt. Booth (who turns out to be an avid cocoa-drinker) and talk happily about his exploits. Banazak, with whom Booth flies as co-pilot, reports on his success with planes and women—“two girls in Berlin,” flying “upside down under the Golden Gate Bridge,” and him being “a devil with women.” The sober young lieutenant is interested in his more sober affairs: Wexler once flew the President of the United States and that he conducted Colonel Gallagher through “transition training.”
The guest of honor arrives—to cheers and a challenge: Banazak (sounds very much like the director’s name, Benedek!) challenges him to a game: this time, arm wrestling—which adds to the inventory of games evoked by the complex war and the even more complex emotions and motivation of people at war—bingo, billiards, baseball, darts, and now “mano a mano” with two men pitting their brute strength against each other. Typically, for a kind of man with a “macho” reputation (the word was not known to Anglos in those days either the forties, or the mid-sixties when the series was filmed) he lays claims to a couple of young ladies—including Judy Carne, who, last seen, was Doris at the Denby Lion Pub in “Mighty Hunter.” Now “Flora,” she is one of the girls at the Star and Bottle. Wexler easily hefts both young ladies on the bar to frame the arm-wrestling—and turns them into prizes (sigh!), but this is done jokingly (“If I lose, I get you, if I win, I get both of you”) which turns the situation into a win-win—could it be anything else with him?
Turns out, it also reverse-mirrors a tragedy in his life: a triangle that his wife formed with his air circus partner (the woman between two men); in this one, everybody lost one way or another. Wexler wins, to Banazak’s honest pleasure; the girls grin and are released—but Wexler’s age tells on him—as does, as he rubs his face and eyes, in a nice framing, the sight of a unicorn over his shoulder. Carved in the bar, the image of the iconic unicorn creates interesting themes: the unicorn is a “fabulous creature,” which describes Wexler. The horn stands for truth, which he has buried in him and what he must confront in order to be healed. A unicorn can be caught by resting its head in a lap of a virgin, which suggests the role of Alicia, or “Blue-Eyes”—he will figuratively rest his head in her lap and be tamed. Also, the horn is phallic shaped, which describes Wexler’s testosterone-fueled life; the horn also is positioned to suggest the cuckold’s horns: the sign of a betrayed husband, which Wexler cannot forget. Wexler, as he did with Stovall, changes: he disposes of the laudatory poster, sets a “Class-A uniform briefing at 0600,” buys a round of drinks, and bids them goodnight—being firm, or does he want to go to bed?
-“COLONEL WEXLER, sir”
Morning dawns in an interesting shot of B-17s, parked and lined up on the tarmac. The officers in the briefing hut are not so neatly lined up as they come to their feet with Stovall’s “ten-hut!” Wexler passes down the aisle in his Class-A, but this does not prevent some under-dressed pilots from saying, with complete ease, “Morning Pappy.” Stovall is detailed to tell the men of the change: from now on, it’s “Colonel Wexler.” Wexler then calls upon Lt. Booth to ascend the platform: wary, Booth does as ordered, including two left-faces and an about-face: to fully display his Class-A uniform, worn as ordered: this is what a Class-A call means. The men react to his words with all the enthusiasm of a leaky tire. His next words are cutting: two failed tries at knocking out the fire control center is lousy; he wants a 20% improvement, and “when we work, we work.” He dismisses them and leaves; the men’s disappointment in him shows. Wexler will prove to be a combination of tough stuff and so much hot air–including the vague objective of a 20% improvement–at what? How will it be measured?
-“begging the colonel’s pardon . . . [he’s] slitting your throat”
Definitely not in Class-A uniform, the recovering Gallagher, in his hospital room, flourishes the same set of photos which spell both failure and success. “There’s definitely an aiming point,” he says to Stovall and Pritchard, who are visiting the colonel in his hospital room. Increasingly privy to the Colonel’s work and secrets, Komansky stands by. Wexler, Pritchard tells him, plans to succeed by going in with three planes. “Weak formation, but they can always turn around,” Gallagher comments, apparently not anxious about Wexler succeeding where he has so far failed. Pritchard departs, and Joe relaxes enough to remark “What’s with the Class A uniform, Sandy?” Returning the photos to their envelopes, Komansky says that “Wexler’s trying to spruce things up a bit,” and “Would you like me to leave the room?” which is directed more toward the major than the colonel. He knows Stovall will speak some difficult words.
Stovall speaks frankly to Joe, but prefers to look out the window as he does so: the problem on the base is Colonel Wexler. Joe can’t believe it; Pappy “is one of the least formal people he knows.” Stovall theorizes for Joe, which provides a more dismal history about Wexler than we were led to believe by the men’s adulation: he left the service, and eventually “lost everything with the flying circus with Bernie Hale” (Aha!—Bernie). When he returned to the service (presumably in 1940 when the clouds were gathering, or, at the latest, late 1941) he was given a training command and one promotion—“You outrank him,” Stovall points out; at least, Joe outranks him by time longer spent as a colonel. Presumably, Joe was a captain during training; his abilities, brutally kicked up and out by Savage, led him from bars to leaves to eagles in a very short time. A quick shot to Komansky: the sergeant, with troubled eyes, tries to say something, but pauses, or thinks better of it. As Gallagher has on more than one occasion protected him, he wishes to return the favor but it’s not going to sound very nice and he’s surely anticipating the “knock it off” he gets.
Joe realizes that Wexler has not been in to see him, despite being beside him when he was wounded. Stovall resumes his litany. Wexler is “using” his group—not dishonestly—“but it’s his only way to bolster his record—with combat.” As for being the Wing Commander, which Stovall learned about from Pritchard, he might not visit Joe if he considers him a rival. Komansky more harshly interprets Stovall’s gloss: “In other words, he’s trying to show a big improvement around here.” Then, begging the Colonel’s pardon, Komansky says, he’s going to get the job “by slitting your throat.” “Knock it off,” Gallagher directs him. “And you’re wrong.” As it turns out, Sandy is wrong about this, but not wrong about other incidents. Pritchard returns with Kaiser, who directs Gallagher to show that he can walk. Using the cane, and not particularly liking this order, Gallagher does so. Pritchard explains that he is needed in London, that Gallagher can’t fly but he can sit, and he is needed to take over Wing command—which is a chance to see if Colonel Gallagher can deal with that job and its pressures. Perhaps he seems a surer bet than Wexler who, after all, has only trained, but never flown in combat except as an observer. With that, Joe is shanghaied to Wing, and how Stovall and Komansky feel about it is unknown.
-“knock ‘em dead, kid”
Before leaving for Wing, Gallagher, in a Class-A uniform, visits Wexler at his “old office” and is very plain: “how do we stand?” Wexler is perfectly cordial, and wishes him luck: “knock ‘em dead, kid.” Gallagher leaves to “warm up” Britt’s chair; with a cane and a game leg, he is the perfect physical replacement!—it seems curious. He wishes Wexler luck on the mission—and leaves Komansky to be his flight engineer on presumably the Piccadilly Lily. Ending Act I in the way it commenced, Wexler takes a phone call from a lady, the one called “Blue Eyes.” In his one-sided conversation, he apologizes to her, but wants her to know that he “must fly” and that “the mission is very important”—important to the war effort, or to him?
-“Bernie, can you see the river?”
Act II commences on a businesslike note as three B-17s fly toward another attempt at hitting the fire control center: presumably with a 20% improvement! Bobby co-pilots with Wexler, who is steady and calm even when flak explodes in nasty puddles of black; he notifies the crew. Flak jolts their plane and the mystery explodes again as Wexler, without missing a beat, suddenly asks “Bernie, what was it? Lightning?” Banazak and Booth (what an array of “B” names! Bernie, Booth, Banazak and Bobby and yes, “Blue Eyes”), in the second B-17, observe the hit the Piccadilly Lily has sustained, which, according to reports requested by Bobby, just shaved “some skin” off the tail. Wexler is still in the past: “Bernie, can you see the river?”—and “We’ll never make Moline.” Bobby, with all the noise in the cockpit (the kind of conversations that the pilots had in this show would have been impossible I imagine, but that is a sacrifice to drama; that is why the oxygen masks disappeared in Season I), probably thinks that Wexler says “Bobby” rather than “Bernie,” and asks “See what sir?”
Wexler suddenly heaves on the controls, turning the plane. Banazak and Booth, from their plane, realize he is turning too soon. Komansky emerges from the turret, asking what Bobby presumably has on his mind, but he is too busy trying to bring the heavy “bombing platform” under control to ask. “Why are we turning?” Komansky demands of Wexler. “Get out, get out now,” Wexler tells the long-dead Bernie, perhaps buried in a Midwestern cemetery. “You mean bail out?” When Wexler doesn’t answer, “Colonel!” Komansky shouts. Wexler comes to without a beat. “Komansky? You all right?” “Why are we bailing out?” and Wexler, with a touch of exasperation, tells him to “get a hold of himself,” and get back in his turret. “Sir, we’re on the wrong heading,” Komansky points out; Bobby is still too busy trying to steady the plane. An old hand at panicky airmen, Wexler tells Komansky to relax in the radio room, while the radio man takes over his turret. By now, Komansky knows and respects Bobby, and checks with him; he confirms Wexler’s order with a motion of his head, and Sandy obeys.
But Bob’s eyes indicate he doesn’t like this either. “Has he ever done that before?” Wexler asks—not angrily; rather, he just seems concerned and only slightly annoyed. Bobby answers with a question: “Sir, why did we turn?” Expeditiously, German fighters, scrambled moments before, dart in, and demand their attention. Wexler, calm as toast, responds to the situation of combat, and Bobby does too—but he will report on this strange incident that sent Komansky to the radio room for a “time out” and aborted the mission.
-“they’re examining the wrong man”
Later, back on the ground, a stone-faced, bare-chested Komansky is being checked by Kaiser, while Gallagher looks on. (This is the only time I recall any bare chests being displayed by the permanent cast of 12OCH!—though we do get a peek at Joe’s handsome shoulders and a bit of his chest when he relaxes in a Ukrainian bathtub in “Massacre”. Interestingly enough, William Shatner, notorious for such displays in Star Trek, managed to display a naked breast in “I Am the Enemy”—although it did allow for a meaningful sight: dogtags tangled up with a crucifix. I suppose if the series had gone on, and a projected idea of transferring the action to the Pacific Theatre had worked out, there may have been more chest-baring. What an idea . . . by the way, Chris Robinson has a nice chest!–and a nice kneecap, on display in “Gauntlet of Fire.”) You just know that Komansky submitted to this examination under protest, which may explain Gallagher’s presence—however, Gallagher would be at the 918th trying to get to the bottom of the aborted mission by attending the debriefing and then reading reports, but a trusted sergeant being dragooned into a physical also secures his attention. This scene really encapsulates Gallagher’s most appealing quality, really caring for his men–in this case, Komansky who, despite recent better luck, still blunders into hot water by being at the wrong place at the wrong time (such as his meeting with Lt. Wilson in “The Outsider”).
“You know as much about battle fatigue as most of us,” remarks Kaiser to Sandy. “Battle fatigue, my eye,” says Sandy (substituting another part of the anatomy for the more obvious choice). “That’s one of the first symptoms, a nasty frame of mind,” Kaiser reminds him. Kaiser leaves and Sandy, furious and probably deeply humiliated, can’t even look at Gallagher as he assumes his shirt. “They’re examining the wrong man.” When Gallagher demurs, Sandy ticks off Wexler’s actions: would Gallagher have ordered a bail-out? Would he have turned around?—the report would have indicated no such actions were called for. Gallagher has already questioned Bobby—who remembers confusion, but no order for bail-out—however, is Bobby reporting what he honestly remembers happening or is he too trying to find an excuse for Wexler? Gallagher asks an embarrassing question but one impelled by Komansky’s earlier words to him, and backed up by an avowal suddenly spoken in a B-17 at Magadar: “Sandy, is this some kind of loyalty to me?” The sergeant, as Stovall once said, lays it on the line, which Gallagher probably appreciates when not startled. “It’s ME, sir. My skin, my life.” His eyes burn into Gallagher’s. “Just get me out of his airplane, sir.”
-“I’m going to come and fix your bicycle”
That evening, an unbothered Wexler (well, he came out okay in the debriefing!) finishes his drink at a gathering in the convivial Star and Bottle, and reminds the crowd that when he wants his boys to have fun, they are to have fun—this is in contrast with Gallagher, who would probably be pursuing work in his office. Wexler does not realize the impact of command—nor does he seem bothered by an aborted mission, which makes their record even lousier; and he should be doing something about that “20% improvement”–which is just so much hot air. They respond happily to his wish. He tells Flora, to her question, that “he’s not married,” and “that’s a serious question”—without explaining what he means. He turns away from such things to music; he feeds the jukebox, demands everybody dance, and Glen Miller’s “String of Pearls” sounds, a nice break from the nearly inevitable “Chattanooga Choo-Choo.”
Wexler, typically, dances with both girls, and whirls one of the girls to the young Booth, sitting at the bar, too shy to join in. She is led off almost immediately. Rejection is something that Wexler knows, and when Booth wilts slightly, he directs the other young woman to him. She smilingly agrees and trots over, leaving him free to make a phone call. “One of his special numbers,” remarks Banazak who seems to watch his idol a lot. Curiously, Wexler seems to withdraw from the merriment. In a gentle voice to “Blue Eyes,” he finally promises that he is coming “to fix her bicycle”—and he observes young Booth being deserted again as a grinning sergeant comes in and Flora happily allows herself to be claimed. “I’m bringing a lonesome friend,” he says and he calls on Booth to come with him—perhaps his friend has a friend . . . keeping up his public reputation as a lothario.
-“does the pupil find it so hard to question the maestro?”
In contrast, Gallagher is at Wing, still pursuing business though night has fallen. Men have reported to him, and now he must report to Pritchard—and, demonstrating that he is not ready or willing to take on the even sterner tasks of being Wing Commander—which he is honest about. In “Grant Me No Favor” he tells his father that he wants his general’s star “when he is ready.” He is not ready yet as he seeks to rationalize the aborted mission—similar to how he attempted to rationalize Josh McGraw’s showboating “two for one” mission in “The Idolater.” Yes, the flak was heavy; yes, Wexler had the option. Pritchard cuts to the chase: “Have you talked with him about the abort?” Probably feeling akin to Komansky being dragooned for an examination—“I read his report carefully,” he hedges. “Does the pupil find it so hard to question the maestro?” Gallagher is less direct than Komansky: “Well, it isn’t easy.” Pritchard redefines: they sound like excuses to him. As the first half of the episode ends, Pritchard’s demands on Gallagher to learn the truth, discipline an older superior, and “get that target” set up the climax: he and Wexler must figure out a plan to successfully bomb the fire control station; they also figure out what the problem is.
-“maybe there is no heart”
Act III offers some clues about Wexler’s problems, as well as flipping the viewer’s first impressions of the colonel being a womanizing blowhard: another side emerges as he sensitively considers Booth’s youthful vulnerability and reveals that he is truly in love. As the act opens, music played by tender strings brings a handsome middle-aged woman to the door of a handsome flat, with a beautiful fire burning in a beautiful fireplace. (As always, the lighting bothers me; I doubt if there were be so many lights burning in wartime England.) Wexler tenderly kisses the woman, and introduces the wide-eyed “leftenant” (“that’s lieutenant,” Wexler corrects) to Mrs. Alicia Clyde-Brice, who leaves. Booth pretends to be cool; for all he knows he is in a high-end bordello. Alicia reappears—mysteriously, through curtains—steering a damaged bicycle. Booth is surprised, but probably quite relieved, akin to Wexler’s relief when the WAC turned down his invitation.
An intensely homey scene ensues: Alicia puts on a record, Wexler works on his bicycle, and all drink cocoa. Booth departs to “hot up” the cocoa (Wexler probably bought it at the PX; chocolate was scarce in England during the war) and “Blue Eyes” and Gus talk comfortably. “Are you married?” Wexler mimics Flora—and for some reason, he makes a clean breast of his past—or as clean as he can recall. His wife, who is never named, ran off with Bernie, his partner, a situation suggested by the two young ladies abandoning Lt. Booth for other men. “Ever tell you how Bernie died?” he asks. “You’ve been telling me bits and pieces for months without ever coming to the heart.” “Maybe there is no heart,” he admits, which is why this sad passage in his life haunts him, even without knowledge of how violently it haunts him—and that his personal trauma is beginning to hurt others: it made Sandy appear as a fatigued fool, places Gallagher in an uncomfortable position, and it will endanger the fourth try at the target. It’s a curious story—the partner was the one who came back and Gus took him back—and Bernie was killed in an air show when he, Wexler, flew into a thunderstorm, and all got out but Bernie. (But I don’t think Bernie’s death via an air accident is ever fully accounted for; the details seem to keep changing.)
“Is that why you persist in flying?” she asks. He faces his failures: he was trained by the army, he quit for four years to fly for money (and fame), made a mess of himself, and “they took him back”—“I think I owe them the time,” he says, though he does not acknowledge that he is also seeking power by commanding the 918th. At this point, these two people represent an image previously discussed in “Rx for a Sick Bird”—the male sky god and the female earth goddess. Typically, he flies; even more typically, she bicycles. These two deities are meant to work together; the sky provides rain and sun for the fruitfulness of the earth; but at times the sky punishes the earth with drought or floods. The fact that lightning had a hand in killing his partner really defines Wexler as a “sky-god.” This theme will recur in interesting ways in “Which Way the Wind Blows.” Of course, being “the woman on the ground,” she urges him to take the Wing Commander’s job—he wouldn’t have to fly, and he would “have a reason to make it through the war”—which indicates she knows he is depressed and searching for meaning. They’re poised to kiss, and the feckless lieutenant returns with the hotted-up cocoa, innocently breaking up their pairing. The moment is over, and Wexler merrily rides the bicycle off (an image which reveals that yes, he will give up flying and come down to earth).
Booth and Alicia speak. “Boy, he sure is different here!” he says. “It’s like being at home.” “Were you expecting dancing girls?” She tells him how she met him at a party—typically, he was sporting two girls, one to each arm, and swapping stories. “The guys’ll never believe this,” Booth says, and she tells him that he must never tell–“why he brought you here.” She then tells him something both touching and disturbing: “He’s pretending we’re a family.” The phone rings (an American ring; the British landline has long been “ring-ring! ring-ring!”), calling Wexler to duty—and how exactly did Gallagher, who is calling, run down “this special number”?
-“we both want second place”
exler reports to Joe at Wing; Gallagher is now the one to advise a new commander on his responsibilities: he needs to leave his phone number around where he can be reached. Wexler accepts his “bawling out.” Gallagher has a new plan—three planes, again, but these carrying “blockbusters” and flying low—“but not you”—meaning, Gus won’t fly. The chiding about phone numbers is replaced by tougher talk: Something went wrong on the mission that morning, something he didn’t mention. “Sgt. Komansky thought it was important.” “Komansky,” Wexler huffs. “Matter of fact, he doesn’t want to fly with you again,” Gallagher says, showing trust in his sergeant, but using him as a shield for his next words—Wexler needs a physical. Wexler behaves childishly: “You’re ganging up on me!”
Gallagher gets up and walks away as he repeats that “Pappy” can’t fly until he gets a complete check up. What follows is a clumsy scene, perhaps because the so-called rivalry between the two has been weakly developed. Joe and Wexler finally make it clear that neither covets the Wing Commander’s job, and Wexler makes his motivations clear for wanting Joe’s CO job: he was a flyer, he blew it, he’s trying to earn his way back, and “I just want to lead this group.” Joe realizes that now he has a rival for the job he still wants, rather than a rival for the Wing Commander’s job which he doesn’t want—but, at least, Wexler becomes more manageable. Wexler will accept the order to stand down—but who would he send on the mission? Gallagher recommends the pilots.
-“I want to see this baby and get it over with”
Once more, three B-17s go in, including Banazak and Booth. Banazak is curious about Booth’s evening with Pappy; Booth cheerfully lies about the calm evening, but not very convincingly. However, Banazak, who idolizes Wexler, is pleased with this weak report. Perhaps his idolizing of the air circus hero causes Banazak to do something stupid: he flies even below 1000 feet, and, at treetop level, falls behind and loses the formation: “I want to see this baby and get it over with,” Banazak says, turning the mission into an unsavory sexual encounter, and his attempt to get the target an act of virility. Of course, things go wrong—horribly. The two bombers, flying ahead, release their payload of blockbusters, and the lagging Banazak and Booth fly right into the destruction—there is the heartwrenching sight of the B-17 losing its wing and tumbling to destruction, carrying the screaming Booth down. Cut to Gallagher at Wing, taking a phone call from a heart-wrenched Wexler, who reports on the particulars: “I see,” Gallagher says. But there is so little he does see—he has no idea of Wexler’s problems, nor how his example set Banazak on the road to stupidity and perdition.
-“Who are you? I can get any woman I want”
Act IV is terribly melodramatic as Gus Wexler fights his demons, fights his guilt, fights his love for “Blue Eyes” and fights to complete that mission which he once confidently planned to do. He completes with the help of Gallagher who may not have been cleared to fly again. So, neither pilot nor co-pilot is really healthy enough for this mission, but they do it. What is not done, however, is really clear up how Bernie Hale dies. As far as I can tell, Gus’s last traumatic episode suggests that he deliberately flew into that thunderstorm to kill Bernie.
The act opens with a classic scene—the devil-may-care flyer coming to his earth-bound beloved, telling her of his problems, her begging him not to fly, but he rebels against her love and good sense; he must fly. He enters her flat, with the beautiful fire still burning in the beautiful fireplace (but representing hearth and home) and announces, “I killed that boy”: Lt. Booth who, just hours earlier, had shared cocoa and confidences with Alicia. “I should have flown that mission,” he declares– but because “Banazak flew it wrong, it needed the best”—him . . . of course, he does not realize how much he had influenced Banazak to make stupid decisions. Alicia tries to make him stop, face the past, accept reality, and see both of them for what they are. “You don’t have to prove anything.” “You think I’m too old?” She loves him—isn’t that enough? why can’t he quit? “Can’t you take me as I am?” he then demands. The last question is one of the most difficult lovers can pose to each other, and a rock upon which many relationships founder: change. Wexler blames his first wife for everything: ”I fouled up my career once before because a woman wanted me to change.” (But did he change, or did he try to change?—did he refuse to change, which is why she left with Bernie?)
She rejects the past: She is not that woman who made him change, and Lt. Booth was not Bernie Hale—nor, curiously, “my younger brother.” (Hold on—that’s a late-arriving piece of information, and an awkward bit of business that really does not belong in the script. She’s a widow and should be missing her husband, not a younger brother. Perhaps the scriptwriter thought it would be too much for her to be mourning a son, lost in the war . . . Oh, well.) Wexler turns back to sexual matters. “Who are you? I can get any woman I want.” She refuses to be defined in his terms. Rather predictably, she engages in a speech about “Go on, fly,” and “she won’t help kill him,” but her words about “let your brave boys kill you” defines war as a man’s game, a pissing contest, or an arm-wrestle– and a competition between home and hearth and the field of battle. But where can a man better prove himself?—at least to the other guys, not to the wise woman. The sky god leaves his earth goddess to go fly with his “brave boys.”
-“I’ve come to bury Caesar, not to praise him”
Joe is back at HIS desk—at the 918th. In a common scene in 12OCH, as Joe works at his desk at night a drunken pilot comes calling (Trope in “The Hot Shot” and Kurt Brown in “I Am the Enemy”). Enter Wexler, whose attitude suggests that after fighting with Alicia he has knocked back a few. Perhaps he left his phone number as Joe instructed, received a call (how much easier life is with cell phones!) and is reporting. He enters, and backlighted, announces in Shakespearean flourish, “I’ve come to bury Caesar, not praise him,” which suggests that he is eschewing any competition with Gallagher; though Marc Antony’s words are a blind to his inciting the populace against Caesar’s murderers. (However, is this a farfetched pun?– could he just be coming from his physical with Kaiser?—and Kaiser, which means “king” in German, is actually derived from “Casear.” Probably not, but I like word games.)
Joe happily greets him, telling him that “he came through his physical in fine shape”—as Komansky did—but Wexler’s troubles are so buried (which means his Shakespearean phrase may be referring to him) and even if he does not know they exist, much less be able to find them. Maybe he knows he needs to bury his old self, and quit seeking praise and admiration which stoke his virility. Joe unveils his new plan of bombing that recalcitrant site. This seems another common event; would a single man design such a plan and run it without approval? However, Joe has access to many people and resources, and perhaps he has been in conference with others who advised him on his new plan. Wexler, in any case, is not impressed: “Atta boy, knock ‘em dead,” he announces, repeating the words he spoke to Joe earlier. Joe explains the new plan—parachute bombs. Two bombs, attached to parachutes, will drop; delayed by 8 seconds, this will do the job. (Well, that is how I understand it!) Gus is not interested in the future—he is only interested in what has just happened, which mirrors his trauma: “I lost two crews today.” Gallagher looks to the next day, confident that THIS plan will work. And only one airplane will carry the plan out. “You know that kid Booth?” Wexler only asks. Gallagher snaps out the horrible responsibilities of command, one of the great themes of 120CH: “How many kids did you send here? How many kids do you think I lost before I even know their names? What do you think we’re doing here?—these are not the old circus days.” He leaves to take the map to Ordinance and tells Gus he has a tough job—“He’s got to pick the crew.”
-“I’m flying with Colonel Gallagher”
The next morning (well, I guess it is possible that Ordinance came up with or found the device for a parachute bomb in a matter of a few hours) crews are busy getting the single B-17 ready. Komansky, whose flight engineering skills means he should be ready to help with any kind of machinery, is already fixing down the device when Wexler crawls in and finds him. “I thought you weren’t flying with me Sergeant,” he remarks. Komansky is courteous, truthful, but there is a certain degree of snot in his answer: “Sir, I’m flying with Colonel Gallagher.”
Wexler looks curious and emerges into the cockpit to find Gallagher seated in that perilous co-pilot’s seat. (Okay, did Wexler “choose the crew” and then Gallagher make his own decisions, as in replacing the co-pilot with himself?—and including the trusted Komansky, because I doubt Wexler would have chosen him). In any case, Gallagher and Wexler prove their faith in and loyalty to each other by agreeing that they will both disobey orders—if orders were ever given—it sounds as if Pritchard was not consulted in this, so he had nothing to say. (Gallagher will disobey orders again in “Gauntlet of Fire.”)As if to seal matters, Gallagher tells him, “Pappy, this is one mission we should fly together.” They need to be careful; they are rigged for an explosive device that would go up if hit by a ping pong ball. Joe grins as Wexler assumes his “skull-warmer”—not realizing that it links Wexler with a past that will once more endanger the present.
-“I’ve got to get this flying thing out of my system”
As they enter into the target area, Komansky is between Gallagher and Wexler; and when sent to his turret, goes obediently. Wexler, alone with Joe, chooses the tense time to talk about his girl—“Blue Eyes,” Joe says. “She’s a respectable widow,” Wexler says, “who wants him to lead the well-ordered life.” “Well-ordered life? You?” Joe asks, jovially. Wexler for once is honest with himself: among other issues, “I’ve got to get this flying thing out of my system,” he says, likening his passion to sickness. Fighters swarm up. Komansky and the boys work on them, and Komansky scores a hit, and with a grin, slaps a picture of the German fighter he just took off. Wexler is steady during this period, and directs Komansky to the special payload. At this critical moment, there is a ground fire hit: “Bernie, is it lightning?” Wexler asks, again, without skipping a beat. Joe hears this—at last, another person than Komansky is seeing him “take off” into the past, which has become the absolute present. Once again, he starts turning back. Also, for the first time, somebody fights him—Joe realizes that Sandy’s account of him is true. Wexler becomes worse—slapping Joe’s hands off the controls, flailing at him—and finally shouts “Bernie, you drunken idiot,” and hits Joe. Perhaps these are his real feelings for Bernie: when Wexler, in his right mind, recalls Bernie, he does so with sorrow rather than hatred: perhaps Gus, consumed with hatred, deliberately flew into that thunderstorm to destroy himself and Bernie and his guilt over that act buried the memory deeply. That’s never made clear.
Joe strikes Wexler back, at close range. They miss the target, but Joe demands the navigator get him back on track. Back at the bombay, and not witness to this, Sandy activates the device, the two bombs are released and float down to their duty. Thankfully without fighters dogging them, Joe starts for home, and Gus revives, but with a smile. It’s a curious moment, but perhaps he finds relief in admitting that something is wrong, something that is beyond his rational control. He can give up his increasingly hard act of virility and not even care.
-“Well, I guess that clears everything up” The Epilogue reminds me of the closing moments of Hitchcock’s Psycho. In that movie, a psychiatrist, who has been talking with “Mother” Bates, finally emerges to tell Marian’s sister, her boyfriend, and the sheriff about what he has learned about Norman Bates. It’s a little too glib, and Hitchcock knew it, but the viewers needed closure with Norman and his problems. So Kaiser now speaks with an unsound but serene Wexler: he has “traumatic amnesia.” “They’ll explain it better in London,” Kaiser tells him, without telling how he came up with, or was told the diagnosis. He does tell us, the viewers, that “evidently lightning hit your plane the day you and Bernie crashed.” (Uh—I thought they all got out all right except Bernie?—or was that the story that Wexler made up?—all right, I am confused here.) A lightning-like strike, which Wexler suffered for the first time in combat, causes him to revert to the past. Wexler’s mental problems, and other mental problems encountered in the show reveals that the brain can suffer as much as the body, and, unlike the body, can’t be examined quickly and fixed. To digress a bit before wrapping up this analysis, I am reminded of a surprisingly delightful movie I saw recently on TCM: The Big Hangover (1949)—starring Van Johnson as a war veteran and law graduate, and Elizabeth Taylor as the love interest. Van Johnson is preparing to graduate law school and enter a prestigious law firm, but a war trauma interferes—he becomes drunk after one sip of alcohol. As he explains to Elizabeth Taylor later in the movie, he was recovering from wounds in a monastery which made brandy and stored it in enormous barrels in the cellar. The monastery was bombed, the barrels cracked open, and he was trapped—in a lake of brandy, and the only way he avoided drowning in a 14-1/2 hour wait, was to stand on tiptoe. He can’t take a sip of anything alcoholic without reverting to that terrible time. Some senior law partners, who wish to discredit him, spike his soup and his dessert at a formal dinner and he misbehaves at a critical time. I don’t believe he recovers from his trauma, but he has a consolation: he graduates from law school, which he was inspired to attend after preparing the effects of a fellow crewman who died in his arms over Germany. Among the man’s effects was a letter the dead man was writing to his father; he speaks of how the war has convinced him that LAW is one of the things which helps humankind from destroying each other. He also, of course, gets Elizabeth Taylor!—who supports him in his decision to go into the public defender’s office to help the helpless.
Wexler gets a similar consolation: Joe delivers the lovely Alicia to Kaiser’s office, and she and Wexler greet each other, all words and wounds forgotten. They have a private conversation about themselves, which Joe does not pretend to understand—but one thing that Joe understands is that Wexler is choosing to give up flying and it is no longer an aspect of his virility. He’s ready; the “flying thing” is out of his system now, and “he’s just ready to be at a desk”—on the ground. “I’m in love, pal,” he finishes. Love will unite the sky god and the earth goddess. “Well, I guess that clears everything up,” Joe says, pleased for Wexler. Joe “has a date with a general”—a General Carson, who has been brought in to command Wing—conveniently, now that the two men, who both wanted “second place” are healed, or healing, in body and mind. As in the end of “Between the Lines,” as Joe happily takes the controls of a plane, he is once more in command of the 918th, where he belongs.
And his “dates” are now being reserved for general, rather than his “flames” which seem to have pretty well flamed out—thank goodness. Phyllis Vincent is still in his life (“The Outsider”) though Faye Vendry now seems out (last seen in “Runway in the Dark”); and one new romance with a lovely weather officer (“Which Way the Wind Blows”) is only suggested as he joins hands with her at the end of the epilogue to walk out and enjoy a sunny day. However, to stretch the definition of romance, he has one with a real femme fatale–“Angel Babe.” –Some musings—this episode seems a little overwritten in places, and some things don’t quite make sense: when Wexler brings Lt. Booth and Blue Eyes together “to pretend a family” is he thinking of Booth as his son, and Alicia as wife and Booth’s mother? Or him, Alicia, and Alicia’s younger brother? Or as perhaps his errant wife and dead partner, prior to them hurting him? Also, as indicated, Bernie Hale’s exact way of death is murky; there is even a hint that Gus may have accidentally murdered Bernie– However, war and human emotions are always murky, so in a way this reflects the themes of 12OCH: the human heart and mind trying to co-exist and survive during the stress and terrors of war.
“The Slaughter Pen”
Writers: Dave Lewis and Andy Lewis
Director: Robert Douglas
I first digress to talk about a satire of 120CH that appeared in Mad magazine, sometime in 1965-66: entitled “Twelve O’Crocked High.” It is not one of the magazine’s better satires, but is funny enough in poking fun at two of the show’s more common conventions: meeting up with old friends/enemies, and Joe Gallagher’s remarkable success at knocking out impossible target after impossible target. I find the satire reflects events from “The Slaughter Pen” (an old enemy from West Point and romantic rival) and the upcoming “Underground”—the French “babe” and passwords. The satire starts with a kind of teaser: the Colonel and a young wide-eyed kid of a pilot tensely prepare to land after flying in the fog for hours. After they do, a stewardess tells them they can remove their toy head phones because “we’ve landed.” The two pilots leave the commercial jet apparently boozed up, or “twelve 0’crocked high.” The scene shifts to General Britt addressing a rowdy bunch of pilots (one reading a “Dear John” letter) and complaining about their inability to hit a target—which is apparently in the state of New York because the map has “Syosset” and “Syracuse” as prime locations. The target, a pilot points out, is on the side of a mountain; “it’s impossible to hit!”—so, Britt says, pointing to a phone, “there is only one man who can do this”—“Yes,” says a pilot, “Batman.” “Colonel Gullible” enters and Britt explains the mission—“you have to hit those red pins on the map.” “Then we’ll need some pretty tiny bombs,” Gullible says. Gullible then learns that he is being teamed with “Colonel Sweatman” to complete this mission.”You mean ‘Old Sweaty?’ My roommate at West Point? My co-pilot on my first flight? Him?” “That’s him,” confirms Britt. “I hate his guts! If he goes, then I stay! If I go, then he stays! If we both stay, you go . . .!” Britt shifts into his fatherly role, soothing Gullible, who tells him that Sweatman “stole my wife from me.” “Now that happens,” Britt says. “At the wedding?” Gullible demands. “He was the first one to kiss the bride!” Britt orders them to fly together and wishes he could join them. “Why don’t you sir?” Gallagher asks. Britt declines, citing a dangerous medical condition: dandruff. Gullible meets Colonel Sweatman in the cockpit. Sweatman, who looks remarkably like Steve McQueen (who starred in 1964’s The War Lover which was about bombing missions; later, Paul Burke appeared in one of his classics, The Thomas Crowne Affair) greets him: ”Your wife and I were talking about you the other day, Joey boy. . . “ “Don’t ever call me Joey,” Gullible snaps. “Sensitive about your first name?” “Yes, particularly since it’s Melvin!” The mission starts, and when underway, a young gunner in the waist signalizes himself by shooting down a plane. Gullible and Sweatman investigate and applaud his work even though Gullible disapproves of his shooting down a Pan-Am jet: “. . . the civilians and all. But you did great work! I’m proud of you.” Gullible and Sweatman are then told they are off course: “How can that be?” Gullible asks. It could be because neither of them is at the controls. Back in the cockpit, Sweatman yells, “look out for that mountain!” “What mountain . . .?” Gullible asks, the moment they crash into it. Immediately “Lucky Pierre” of the French Underground contacts them as they stand around with the curious mountain goats. “Can you help us?” Gullible asks. “Mais oui!” Pierre replies. “Can we, may we,” Gullible says, “this is no time to correct my grammar!” He gives them a password and sends them on their way. They soon meet up with a luscious French babe, slit skirt, Apache-striped top, beret and all, lounging by a river. They give her the password, and she says, “What are you, some kind of a nut?” But she is their contact and she gets them on a handy train. “I thought you boys might be hungry, so I brought some bread and wine,” she says. They all start pulling gourmet dishes out of nowhere: “Anybody want seconds on baked Alaska?” Gullible asks. “This reminds me of home,” a crewmember says. “Ah, home,” says another. “The little woman with the long hair and the beautiful eyes!—I miss my wife a bit too.” It comes time for them to leave the train: “Can we jump here?” “Mais oui!” “All right, MAY we jump here?” “You’d better!—If I hear that awful joke again I’ll push you!” Epilogue: Gullible and Sweatman pause before Britt’s door, labeled “Private General.” They must be brave and responsible they tell themselves, and go in. On their knees in front of Britt, Sweatman asks “Mercy, mercy . . . pity, oh pity!” Gullible declares “We did our part all right! It was the crew’s fault!” Britt is pleased: “Relax men! By crashing your plane on the target, the Germans, when they blew up your plane, blew up the target! There’s only one way to describe this—sheer fantasy!—but, what the heck . . .” Gullible and Sweatman leave, with Gullible saying stirring words about how they overcame their hatred and completed the mission—and there is only more thing he can give him . . . “A broken nose,” Gullible says with a grin, punching Sweatman out.
Well, as I said, it was not the best satire, but did hit on a common theme of the show which provided plot points for both Savage and Gallagher: greeting or confronting people from their past. In the past fourteen episodes of Season II alone, Gallagher has met up with General Creighton (“Rx for a Sick Bird”), childhood friend Josh McGraw (“The Idolater”), his brother Pres (“Big Brother”), his father Maxwell Gallagher (“Grant Me No Favor”), Colonel Gus Wexler (“Falling Star”) and, in “The Slaughter Pen,” meets up with Captain Barney Deel, who was expelled from West Point with Gallagher’s “assistance.” More are to come. An inventory: In Season II, Harvey Stovall also has met friends from the past: in “The Hot Shot” he knows journalist Roy Saxon, and has also known Gus Wexler. He and Britt are old friends too. Komansky finally gets his turn in “The Hollow Man”; somewhat typically for him, his old acquaintance is a fellow-orphan suffering traumatic episodes. At least Gallagher didn’t meet an old love—which is what Savage did on more than one occasion, but at least this never reached ridiculous proportions reached in Star Trek. But old friends and foes are dramatically meaty, they automatically create great conflict, as old hardships created new hardships, or old friendships undergo stresses caused by war.
The second theme: the “impossible mission.” How many “difficult” missions have been carried out by Gallagher and his men?—there are a few milk runs here and there and rather standard heavy bombing assignments (such as “Saarbrucken” in “Hot Shot”) but Gallagher his men have hit two nuclear-related facilities, a well-concealed factory in Wesselhaven, an oil refinery near a POW camp, and a fire control center so hidden that parachute bombs must be used. A future episode: in “25th Mission” they need to precision bomb a factory which is believed to be manufacturing the V-1 rocket, described as a rocket-propelled plane. In “tonight’s episode” this convention gets the “once over”—but with a twist as Gallagher works with Commandos and Rangers to destroy a difficult radar target. He meets with a particularly difficult old acquaintance—he may not have stolen Gallagher’s wife at the wedding, but he did apparently steal away one of his brother’s intended wife in revenge for Gallagher “stealing” his cadetship at West Point. He is called a “cheat and a thief” and Captain Barney Deel lives up to these names, and, somewhat refreshingly, and while professionally redeeming himself, never really morally or personally redeems himself and nobody mourns upon his death.
Some historical background . . . Gallagher’s bomb group coordinates with the Commandos for this mission. Note that Commando is capitalized—because here it is being used as the proper name of the British unit. The word commando has been hi-jacked for any soldier or group working independently behind enemy lines and are particularly stealthy and deadly. The British army “invented” the commando unit, mere hours or days after the Dunkirk evacuation, and was modeled on guerilla units which, though small, can do amazing damage. After America’s entry into the war, a similar unit was created under the command of Lucian Truscott, called the Rangers, the name of which was derived from small bands of soldiers and civilians in the French and Indian Wars. These units were trained by British officers. Although these units went through trial and error in their first attempts to do damage on the enemy coast, eventually they proved their mettle in undertaking specific missions, creating troubles, and overall, reminding Hitler that the Allies could come and go in Festung Europa. Similar units plunged into the depths of the Sahara desert, and other units eventually went to the Pacific Theatre and Japanese-held territory. When the first British Commando soldiers were recruited, a call went out for men with a “dash of an Elizabethan pirate, the Chicago gangster and the frontier tribesman.” Training eventually centered at Achnacarry Scotland, and bred a “new kind of soldier.” Suitably, Captain Barney Deel found his way among these free, easy, dashing and rather larcenous men, but eventually he crosses trails with Gallagher, who, as a reformed near “screw-up” has become a straight-arrow, team-oriented leader.
And –the mission undertaken in “The Slaughter Pen” sounds very much like a raid in 1942 that intended to snatch secret equipment from a radar station in France. According to The Commandos (Time-Life), “British intelligence was convinced that German scientists had developed a new form of radar that enabled the enemy to detect the bearing and altitude of approaching aircraft.” A suspicious radar station had been located on the coast of France near Bruneval and the Commandos were sent in to destroy it. It was a major operation with paratroopers landing in the open fields behind the station, assaulting the coastal defenses from the rear, and escaping by ship—and it was successful. So, on with “tonight’s episode” . . .
-“look alive, you guys, here comes the slaughter pen”
The teaser opens with a familiar sight: droning B-17s in formation. In the cockpit of the Piccadilly Lily, Gallagher and his co-pilot Bob flank Komansky; Gallagher points out the coastline is approaching and to get into his turret. Komansky’s words are ironic: “Look alive, you guys, here comes the slaughter pen.” “What a lovely name,” Gallagher says, saying a word that their Nazi eavesdroppers may not understand in English—a pen that animals are driven into for quick and efficient slaughter. Figuratively, it’s a place for summary justice for the innocent, such as “lamb to the slaughter”—which is how Barney Deel may have envisioned himself at one time, and perhaps still does. The slaughter pen is actually a radar station, and within its confines, a Nazi technician declares to another officer that the approaching squadron is at 18,000 feet; the officer steps over to light a general’s cigarette. Ominously, on the wall behind him are a swastika and a portrait of Hitler. The general, Karl Reger, is an articulate villain with a dash of sympathy: “They lose so much, and still they come” and declares that this new radar makes their old radar look as primitive as the sundial.
Flak blossoms up and Gallagher’s warning “they’ll be calling in their fighters” prove correct. They lose two planes in the exciting fight sequence which is made outstanding for having new and unusual clips. Gallagher, calm in this vortex of flak, fighters and falling planes, notifies his group that “this is a recall. Follow me”—the last is particularly noteworthy because Gallagher frequently becomes the “good shepherd” of his men and planes, a theme which will close the episode, and stand in both contrast and comparison with the upcoming episode “Underground.” As the formation flanks and starts to turn back to England, foiled in its plan to bomb Hamburg, the Nazi officers emerge from their bunker-like facility to watch. General Reger remarks on “that Yankee Gallagher” and how the scientist’s “blips” have “made monkeys of the 918th.” Despite being described as lambs to the slaughter and monkeys, the Allies will soon prove tigers.
-“I feel like a guinea pig”
Animal imagery continues in Act I, which begins with Gallagher, in his office, yelling at General Pritchard—recalling his similar anger at his superiors in “Grant Me No Favor.” “Every time I go out and bring bombs back I feel like a guinea pig,” he snaps, making the inevitable pot of coffee for what is a sleep-deprived life. (The 918th is soon to be guinea-pigged again in “Back to the Drawing Board.”) Pritchard snaps back—three days, three different groups, three tries—and today, it turned them back—showing the “damn the torpedoes” attitude which I guess makes men into generals. Gallagher, the man who has to fly into that muck, snaps back that “all we can hit are the antennaes and overnight they build new ones—I’ve been telling you, this is an underground target.” To expedite the story, Pritchard suddenly says, “so you think this should be a commando raid” and suddenly invites him—after he cleans up from his air duties—to accompany him to “Bryncote Estate” which is identified as General John Keighley’s Commando School.
-“it’s becoming too expensive”
A lovely estate, improbably lighted during wartime, fills the screen—and the darkness disguises the fact that it is the Clampett mansion from “The Beverly Hillbillies” (cited by Mathes and Duffin, 12OCH Logbook). TV does make some strange bedfellows—and what comic relief it would be if Jethro Bodine suddenly joined the commandos, yelling “Hhhhhooot-dog!”—and, for further “cross-breeding,” Duffin and Mathes in Logbook also identifies the radar blips as being borrowed from sonar in “Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.” Interesting combination of television shows!—the blips recur in “Back to the Drawing Board.” Pritchard carries Gallagher into the elegant library, where he meets three imposing Englishmen: Major General John Keighley (played by the always handsome and distinctive Michael Rennie), a Captain Eddington, and Colonel Percy Vivyan, “our host and landlord here.” An American officer, deemed “one of yours” is also introduced but never seems to do much. “Now what’s all this rot about radar? The Germans have never had decent radar,” Keighley asks. Gallagher explains–they do now in an area called the “slaughter pen”: “they’ve been channeling our approaches and it’s becoming too expensive,” an interesting note of frugality; but men and planes add up; after all, at some point in the war, over 64,000 men were out of action in POW camps.
The men sit down—and quickly, a little too quickly, Vivyan describes their plan as a joint British-American amphibious crossing, one which will preview the future channel crossing, or D-Day. Pritchard, also working quickly, has already taken Joe’s suggestion to SHAEF, they approved, and a “Ranger” radar man has been assigned. (Good Lord, when did all this take place?—oh well, 55 minute episodes have to move fast!!–as does Barney Deel with Vivyan’s sister.)
–“He’s the best man”
In any case, the radar ranger has already been there awhile, enough time to make time with Vivyan’s sister, Sydney—such is transpiring as the men speak and which is why the radar man is missing from the conference—in his absence, he is identified as “Barney Deel.” Gallagher looks up. Pritchard acknowledges his look: “Yes, Captain Barney Deel.” “But sir,” Gallagher says, and then adds “never mind”—reminiscent of Komansky speaking of his terror of rats to Trask (“Between the Lines”) but then declared “it’s not important,” in light of the more serious issues at hand—survival and completing the mission as this episode also goes on to dramatize. Pritchard declares that Deel is “the best man.” The choice of last names is an interesting one—which sounds like “deal”—as in cutting a deal, or a deal of the cards. Both situations help to describe Barney, who seems to have lived his life on the edge, and, in a common image from 12OCH, has played life like a game. He has more than once lost, as in being expelled from West Point for cheating and theft, and, as we will learn, has ruined his family life. Despite all this he still plays life like a game, but begins to understand the awful price he has paid as the episode progresses. “Sooner or later gamblers lose,” Gallagher tells another old acquaintance, Josh McGraw, in “The Idolater” and as Josh loses, so does Deel.
-“that wouldn’t be an order, your lordship?”
In a salon, Deel is gaming with Sydney, Vivyan’s young, tender, foolish but ultimately wise sister; she is enjoying it as much as he is, perhaps more. Vivyan enters, and Deel breaks off and away, and seems to warm himself before the fire, as if he needs to. Vivyan, quietly disapproving, tells him to go to the library; “That wouldn’t be an order, your lordship?” Deel says, belying his maturity with an anti-authority attitude, which actually could serve a Ranger well. But here it is not appropriate–Deel has never learned to adjust his behavior to the situation; perhaps he thought he could swindle his way through West Point and still continues with such behavior. Sydney knows her brother wants to lecture her, so Deel goes, surprised but not apprehensive when he understands “Colonel Gallagher” has arrived. Vivyan gently remonstrates with his younger sister, telling her that Deel has been “romping with every trollop in the neighborhood.” Sydney is flip; perhaps her life with “Auntie Meg” has been so protected that she enjoys being seemingly included with trollops. Besides, she seems to feel that Deel needs some recreation . . .
-“Joe and I were pals at West Point, once upon a time”
Deel breezily enters into the conference, and with Pritchard standing between them, remarks, “You’ve really climbed up the ladder, haven’t you Joe,” suggesting that Joe’s advanced rank was a matter of a deal of the cards, rather than hard, horrible work. (Deel was unfortunate in not having, somewhere in his life, a Frank Savage; however, Joe had the potential that Savage brought out, while Deel wasted his potential long before.) Joe extends his hand and they shake. “Forgive the informality gentlemen, but Joe and I were pals at West Point, once upon a time”—as if the two had met in an unreal folk-tale situation, rather than at a military academy; in either case, there was and will not be a happy ending. He also says with a touch of flippant pride, “they’re trying to make a commando out of me—a radar ranger.” “I understand you’re quite an expert,” Joe says, keeping the peace.
The plan is described—the commandos will take the facility, learn what they can, and destroy it. Roles are assigned: and somehow Joe Gallagher, new to all this, is assigned as project manager—he will coordinate paratroopers, naval support and bombers. I read somewhere that in American war shows, Americans, understandably, are always privileged, with the British officers always amenable. Actually, being “guys” there was always a great deal of rivalry between the two nationalities—General Eisenhower was applauded on both sides for seeking fairness, balance, and cooperation, and dealing with Bernard Montgomery, a remarkable general, but a man whom even King George IV said, jokingly, feared that Montgomery wanted his job, But Gallagher has proven his mettle.
-“there’s animosity here”
Back at the 918th, at some unknown hour of the night, Gallagher, with Pritchard, plunges into his office, snapping to his faithful but unseen sergeant, who apparently waited up for him, “Sandy, find Major Stovall!”—which he does . . . Joe is in a hurry, and anger fuels his words. Pritchard, ahead of him, tells him that he knows that Deel was expelled from West Point, and Joe was involved—they never say how, but that is not the point of the episode. But it brings up an interesting point—Joe has always been capable of decent behavior, which seemed to get a little lost between West Point and Frank Savage as his brother’s death told him that life was no longer a pleasant game. Joe then relates that Deel inflicted further wounds: “later, deeply and unpleasantly, I was involved in his private life as well.” With that teaser, Joe admits “there’s animosity here,” but pays Pritchard and himself a tribute: if Pritchard thought that would interfere he would have chosen somebody else. “It’s your baby and good luck,” Pritchard says, leaving as Stovall comes in. I am reminded of Stovall’s remark, “No sleep tonight, huh?” in “Mighty Hunter,” as Joe tells him they are starting on complicated training exercises. At least Stovall seems to be assisted by Sandy now, and together they somehow coordinate part of the training exercise that a “postie” (British nickname for postal carrier) presumably in the next few days observes from the cover of an old shed somewhere near the Bryncote Estate.
-“not that way, this way!”
In a suitably confused sequence, confused men undertake a confused training exercise which shows how hastily it was put together. Not only is the postie observing, the three British officers are observing, and Joe, in a plane, though not serving as the pilot, is observing as well. Men come tumbling down a hill, and a sergeant yells “not that way, this way!” Up in the skies, the P-38s are in the wrong place. Joe, in contact with Jobber 1 on the ground gets an earful and a snotful from Deel, who joyfully reports to him, “Hey Joe, you’re attacking the friendlies down here” and gives him a good horselaugh. The three British officers, their aplomb utterly intact, see the problems and order a recall, signified by an arranged explosion of red and yellow smoke.
Rehearsal over (theatrical terms in war are always interesting), Joe and his men turn for home. When Deel complains that his life during these exercises “was not worth a plugged nickel” (he would see his life in terms of money) he is told, angrily, by Vivyan, that had been negligent. “I finally met a passionate Englishman” is his sole and rude answer. General Keighley takes the situation in hand and remarks, with no particular concern, that a secret weapon might be “to let the Germans come over and laugh themselves to death.” Up in the air, Joe concurs succinctly: “Lousy rehearsal.” Lousy or not, it’s all been observed, noted, and will be sent by the industrious postie.
-“I might have mistaken you for the enemy and shot you”
Act II, and on the lovely grounds of the Bryncote Estate (it’s always nice when the show gets away from its accustomed sets) the three British officers, plus project manager Gallagher, in another training exercise, observe airborne troops bailing out and landing. Colonel Vivyan observes something else—Deel leaving duty, and his sister appearing from behind a tree—making herself a target for Deel. He homes in on her and together they take off—with Vivyan following them. Of course, Gallagher observes this, doesn’t like it, but maintains his post. Inside their favorite salon, Deel and Sydney pour drinks. “You know, you’re a very lucky girl,” he tells Sydney. “I might have mistaken you for the enemy and shot you”—which is said in good fun but suggests the danger he exposed her to (he probably told her to visit him during the exercises) as well as exposing the deadly side of his character; it is suggested later on he more or less killed his wife—in spirit if not in body.
Describing himself as “the star of the show,” Deel turns the rehearsal but very real proceedings into mere theatre. When she asks “What would have done if you killed me?” he breezily tells her “I would have gone into a corner and fallen on my sword like Romeo”—actually, Romeo dispatches himself with poison. Whatever, it’s a good image to describe their folly: for all the romance, Romeo and Juliet were terribly young kids caught up in passion rather than good sense which Deel apparently has never been guilty of having. Also, Romeo and Juliet were members of warring families, which reflects his antagonism with her brother as well as his “dirt-doing” to the Gallagher family. Her loving response defines him: “What a buffoon you are”—which is another theatrical figure; he is the zany, the fool—but the ass who ultimately loses. Her brother comes in pursuit, and the first thing he does is brotherly—he grabs Deel by whatever lapels his fatigues present. Vivyan relents, saying “I regret laying hands on you,” but then warns him about Sydney: “she’s very young.” “And coming alone fine,” is Deel’s nasty answer. He also puts Vivyan into a bind: “If you report me, how are you going to explain the unauthorized observer I came back with?” Yes, Vivyan would have to report his sister, and get her into trouble, with punishment that does not suit the crime.
-“it turns out I’m not Lochinvar after all”
Back in the practice field, and at last, things are going well. Gallagher announces to his British associates that mission control will be conducted by him in a P-51—it is more flexible plane with a wider scope of vision. An interesting bit of WWII trivia is provided by General Keighley: “The Mustang–We gave them that name, you know—“ which indicates that western movies and novels were as popular in England as in the United States (and in Germany which had its German version of the Old West—“Old Shatterhand” was the hero of Karl May’s western novels, a set of which was found in Hitler’s possession. ) The P-51 “maverick” reference makes a nice transition of image and reference in the next scene, in which Deel is telling Sydney goodbye—but his motivation is ambiguous: brotherly pressure? A lurking sense of decency aroused by Gallagher’s presence? He says to her, “I’m not Lochinvar after all,” referring to Walter Scott’s romantically stirring poem: He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone/ Faithful in love and dauntless in war/There never was knight like young Lochinvar.”
The poem goes on tell of how Lochinvar rides to save fair Ellen from her intended, “a laggard in love and a dastard in war.” He enters into the wedding, and although threatened, he requests to dance with the fair Ellen: “So stately his form, and so lovely her face/That never a hall such a galliard did grace.” The two “tread a measure,” then they flee to the hall-door where his horse awaits; he swings her up, mounts, and though the clan furiously seeks him “The lost bride of Neverby ne’er did they see . . . Have ye e’er heard of a gallant like young Lochinvar?” The poem reflects the “unpleasant personal business” that Joe will soon describe and is an ironic/truthful portrait of Deel’s failings. But is Deel letting her down easily, or does he have some guilt feelings over yet one more woman left hurt and disappointed?—it’s a mixed bag of answers but it previews his sudden confession of remorse later on and the “mixed bag” of his heroic/stupid death. He tells her that she’s young, she gave him the advantage—but two to three hours after they met they were in each others’ arms—which was fast for her, but slow to him, more accustomed to the trollop’s time. He’s a cad, in other words. “As of Wednesday,” he finishes, “it’s over.” This leavetaking is interrupted by the now-jovial officers invading the salon, including Joe who holds his inevitable brandy. Joe sees and eyes Deel, and Sydney rapidly propels herself out of the room. Joe takes the moment to speak with him.
-“They probably think I’m dead”
Speaking first, Deel gets Joe’s priorities wrong. “You came to remind me of my kids. They’re living with Marian’s folks. They probably think I’m dead.” He tells Joe that if he plans to protect the young lady, she has a watchdog brother—“you’re too late the slay the dragon”—bringing in an Arthurian-romantic tradition of “courtly love”—the code by which the knight will do anything to serve his lady, though his faithfulness and courage may not be rewarded by even her smile, sung about by troubadours, and mocked by Cervantes in Don Quixote. As it turns out the dragon he describes is himself, and he will slay himself by his own arrogance—Joe will have no part in it. Gallagher is all business even though Deel brings up painful matters that seem to scarcely pain him—yet he knows where his kids are and there seems a hint of regret about they perhaps thinking him dead—a sad situation for a father. Joe warns Deel never to leave the field again as he has done with Sydney—“I’ll break you,” he warns, even if Deel is the ‘best man”—at least for the job of securing the radar. Vivyan comforts Sydney in another room: though young and foolish, she is mature enough to accept her defeat, calling her emotions “rubbish.” It’s time for her to leave, by which she could better serve her brother. Even though her country is at war, and her brother is deeply involved in training its soldiers, Sydney has only seen the romantic side of it, not the ugliness—which is combined in Deel.
-“No blips today?”
Meanwhile, back at the ranch—the radar facility receives a sudden visitor: General Reger. “No blips today?” he asks. The scientist reports that all has been quiet—only one reconnaissance flight. The General seats himself close to Hitler and asks if he has read the intelligence bulletins—and is gentlemanly enough to wave off the scientist’s worried admission that he has not. There is intensified field training at the Bryncote Estate, with his “dear old friend Sir John Keighley—a wonderful chess player, he describes him (bringing in yet another “game” image into the show, this time the stately game of chess with kings, queens, rooks, and knaves—appropriate for previous references). He knows that the 918th is involved and believes that their sector is next.
-“or Heinrich Schmidt”
The remaining part of Act II kicks the plot into high gear: back in England, the false postie meets Sydney on the road; her bike’s flat tire has stalled her from mailing a letter to her Aunt Meg. Henry Smith, the postie, kindly offers to mail it for her, reads it in his hideout, and is pedaling away when he is spotted by Gallagher and two Commandos, wearing the distinctive green beret of their unit. Trained to spot unusual occurrences, they take off after the cycling postman. Back at the 918th, Gallagher and his men interrogate the middle-aged spy. Colonel Vivyan arrives, and identifies the postie as “Henry Smith—I’ve known him for years.” “Or Heinrich Schmidt,” responds one of the Commandos. Gallagher, courtesy intact, purposely holds onto the intercepted and re-intercepted letter and gives it to Vivyan in private: his sister’s words to her Aunt innocently identify a “radar ranger”—but the Germans now know they are coming.
-“to kick me one more time”
Act III takes up with the “turning point” of the narrative: the interception of Sydney’s letter sends the story into its climax. At Bryncote, Colonel Vivyan scolds his sister about the letter—her “chatty letter,” as she describes it, still provided some very pertinent information—a radar ranger and the date of Thursday. She defends herself, as well she might—briefly stated, he was entirely too trusting of her, and was giving her information which he did not have to—and, “why didn’t you stop me?” As one famous war-time poster announced, “Loose Lips Sinks Ships”—and another poster shows a drowning soldier, pointing his finger to the viewer, with the accusation: “Somebody Talked!” In peace time it always seems hysterical, but the fact was, spies were everywhere, on both sides, listening, listening . . . In the library, a similar confrontation is on between Gallagher and Deel—Deel, typically, shows a complete lack of maturity by turning accusations back on Joe, foolishly, of “waiting around for years to kick me one more time”—and “what’s the matter, kicking me out of the Point wasn’t enough?” (It reminds of me a situation in which I was trying to keep a little boy away from a piano—he plunked the keys and then ran away yelling “I didn’t do it!”)
Deel leaves, encountering Vivyan at the door—he looks at the British colonel but it hard to tell what he thinks—defiance? Embarrassment? Maybe somewhere, his conscience is knocking? Vivyan wants revenge: “it might be a good idea to arrest that man and send him away from here.” Joe refuses: “Why? For your sister’s sake?” “I have a duty to her.” “Personal vengeance?” Joe knows by recent experience, with his brother and his father, that when family ties get mixed up with duty, things go wrong, emotions turn ugly. Vivyan still wants blood. “I’ll take it to Pritchard.” “Do you know about Barney Deel?” Gallagher asks him. “He’s a cheat and a thief, expelled from West Point.” Joe reveals another aspect of his past with Deel to Vivyan to convince him that the mission comes first: though melodramatic, it is poignant, and reflects the Lochinvar story, and is made ironic because Deel describes himself as “no Lochinvar.” Before Deel “came along,” Joe relates, there was a woman engaged “to a brother of mine”—she had been nearly a member of the Gallagher family since the age of four (sort of making her a sister, as is Sydney). Deel, in cheap revenge, snatched her away—but then he left her for “something or someone more exciting.” She broke down, while driving a car, and is still an invalid—unlike the fair Ellen in the poem, her fate is known and it’s dead ugly. The story becomes more poignant as the viewer wonders—was she engaged to Jeff, killed at Bataan? Pres?—who perhaps took out his sadness in hard soldiering? Not only was this a family sadness, but Joe is left with personal regret of causing the situation, which, ironically, was carried out for the sake of honor: but, in 12OCH there are rarely easy answers or pat solutions which add to the melodrama, and which also reflect life. “As you can see, that being with Deel isn’t very pleasant for me, either,” he says, in an understatement. But, as Joe concludes, he knows his job and they need him. West Point and Savage’s finishing course taught him about duty above all. Vivyan is still repentant—and is getting ready to resign. He has realized that while Deel has been a cad, he’s been a fool to allow his sister access to unauthorized information. “I didn’t think,” he adds.
-“an Irish Yankee, what’s worse”
Vivyan and Deel must both report to Keighley—but the handsome general is in a conciliatory mood because the information in question did not reach Germany. However, reports indicate that “they are ready”—because Henry Smith’s previous information got through. Gallagher points out that rather than Thursday, as the Germans believe, they must now go on Wednesday—“for a surprise.” He sends Gallagher out with his blessings and only then speak with Vivyan and Deel: he threatens them both for their failures, and favors Joe’s thinking (well, I guess moving the attack up a day for a surprise is smart, but scarcely earth-shaking), and for the first time in Season II Joe’s Irish ancestry is remarked upon. This American colonel has roots in Ireland, and this is England which had been dealing with a rebellious and understandably cranky Ireland which stood down the war, preferring neutrality for centuries and well after it was politically correct, was a still a source of jokes: “There’s two kind of Irishmen,” said a comedian on a British television I watched in the seventies, “Drunk and dead drunk.” Keighley continues, “He’s a bright young man for an Irishman—and an Irish Yankee, what’s worse.” But there you have a statement about the United States—in many, one, including Joe and Sandy’s ancestral identities: Irish and Polish. As Komansky tells Yellich in “We’re Not Coming Back,” “I’m an American,” and that his grandfather was Polish. So, Keighley has agreed with Joe’s gamble, and he has to use Vivyan and Deel who, though under a cloud, are trained and ready. Gallagher authoritatively outlines the overall plan, which depends on teamwork and individual daring: “we’re all in this together, but success depends on the captain getting you out of there.” Vivyan and Deel, mutually chastened over Sydney, agree.
-“let’s call it the target area, shall we?”
The next morning, all this action gets into sky, on the ground, and off the coast, and into the heart of Deel—the remainder of Act III and Act IV bring to mind the final moments of Revenge of the Jedi, when there are three battles going on simultaneously: the battle on the ground, the battle in space, and the battle for Luke’s life and soul as he fights his own father, Darth Vader. Gallagher is flying solo in a P-51; the Lily seems to be flown by the steady Bob, with Komansky beside him, who is keeping a sharp eye on the skies. The navigator identifies they are approaching the “slaughter pen”—Bob, like Joe earlier, demurs; “Let’s call it the target area, shall we?” Name notwithstanding, the slaughter pen is causing a lot of action, including unusual footage for 12OCH: naval ships, launching shells at the coast. This episode is also outstanding for unusual archival footage of P-51s, and paratroopers launching and landing. It does not all add up to a seamless whole, particularly in some footage which is obviously created by means of water tanks with toy ships in a movie studio, but it’s still exciting and as always, well-edited with verve and pace.
-“where do we go from here?”
Scenes shift quickly and dramatically. In the radar facility, an officer confirms they are being shelled from the coast. Luftwaffe fighters are scrambled. P-38s move in. In the radar facility, the general affirms on the telephone that “this is a major attack”—but describes the strategy and his counter-strategy: “they’re coming in by parachute—but they can’t go out, so they will have to use the ships”—and orders “their nice little fleet to be destroyed.” In the field by the station, paratroopers land and assemble. Vivyan and Deel come together in a literal field of battle, and Deel asks, “Where do go from here?”—a question he needs to ask about his life. As it turns out, he will go, but will not return. The odds, and his own arrogance, catch up with him.
-“Loneliness is not your invention”
Action, action, action is the keynote of Act IV, with frequent shifts from sky, land, and ocean. It begins with Gallagher flying his Mustang over the target area. He contacts Vivyan and Deel who have found a village and are “camping out” in a cellar. Gallagher tells them a small enemy column is approaching. Gallagher then radios Daybreak Leader, Bobby the (still living) co-pilot, to head for a new target, ships off the coast. The rest of the group is directed to this new zone. On the ground, a Commando reports they have found the radar station and Vivyan dispatches his men with a radio—leaving him momentarily alone with Deel. “Reckon I’ll get out of this alive?” Deel asks a man who would like to see him dead. Tellingly, Vivyan says “From what you’ve said, you’ve been shot in the back before.” Deel sort of “comes clean” to a man he owes an apology to, though his apology is a mixed bag. He tells Vivyan about his wife and children: his wife kicked him out (his version? According to Joe, he “broke her.”) His children don’t know him. “Look, I’ve never told this to anyone before but I got what I deserved . . . However, I do get lonely.” “Loneliness is not your invention,” Vivyan answers, sounding one of the themes of the show (particularly well displayed in the upcoming “The Outsider” as well as “The Survivor.”) He tells Deel that he still caused that letter to be written, and he failed to stop it—whatever happens today, he says, remember that.
-“Beautiful!!”
In the air, Gallagher directs Daybreak Leader to his target. At sea, the ships maneuver to fire. In the air, the B-17s drop their payloads on or near the ships; the ships explode. In the air, Bob, his co-pilot and Komansky celebrate with grins: “Beautiful!!” Bob shouts. In the P-51 Gallagher notifies the allied ships to return to shore—“bring those troops home.” The battle shifts to the ground and the radar station; Commandos come pouring through the trees to overwhelm the defending soldiers, and clear the path for Vivyan and Deal to force their way into the station. The scene contracts to the small confines of the station, which is an image of Deel’s life beginning to contract. With the portrait of Hitler looking on, and eventually getting knocked over (very symbolic, that), they force their way in, and the room’s few occupants’ small arms aren’t very effective against the submachine guns.
-“so we destroy each other”
General Reger is apprehended by Deel—ironically, between the two, the American officer seems far less honorable than the Nazi officer. Wounded, he delivers ironic news: the detonaters have been set—“so we destroy each other”—apt image of what Deel has gone through life doing, or trying to do. He has destroyed himself bit by bit over the years by cheating and stealing yet blaming his faults on others; he destroyed a woman who loved him; he has nearly destroyed the mission—and while accepting some of the blame, still tries to evade it. Deel seeks and finds what seems to be a vital piece of radar equipment; it is never explained, but by now, it’s more like the “maguffin” of Hitchcock films; check out North by Northwest; by the time the microfilm is found, who cares?—all we want is for Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint to get together; all he wants is for this guy to get his—but yes, air safety is important too.
He drags the general outside. To Vivyan’s question about his identity, Deel answers “I don’t know, but he’s an awful big liar. This place was going to blow.” The general does his best to help this man who has shot him and insulted him: “Believe me, young man,” he starts, but Deel won’t listen to others. Deel’s last remark, before he returns alone to the facility, is another mixed bag: “No, this Kraut is lying,” he claims, knowing he knows best. “If not, no point in all of us getting hurt.” The last remark shows that he does have some nobility. As Deel approaches the facility, General Reger remarks “tell your General Keighley—about Deel—“—he but dies or passes out, without making himself clear about the stalwart but ignoble Ranger, which seems suitable. Deel enters, and the facility blows. As the General said, “we destroy each other”—but Deel really destroyed himself, though in a brave act of duty, with lingering words about his own culpability in his unhappiness and in those other people. His death is ambiguous, as is Josh McGraw’s in “The Idolater” and Harley Wilson’s in “The Outsider.” Somewhat sadly, his name is never mentioned again. . . and nobody, not even Sydney, mourns. At least, in “The Idolater” Josh McGraw earns a bitter lament from Britt, and quite a few people, including Komansky, lament Harley Wilson, even though they couldn’t understand him, which may also be why they lament him. No words are granted this man. Even Joe’s lips are sealed, whether in satisfaction or in sorrow.
–“he’s getting ready for tomorrow’s mission”
In vivid contrast to battle in sky, field, and ocean, the epilogue is largely set in Bryncote: the Commandos are home, sporting bandages but no pity for themselves, and Pritchard, who encounters the Commandos as they leave refuses their salutes: “I salute you”—and brings news that Colonel Vivyan will be all right. Sydney is embarrassed: “I shan’t know what to say to him,” and “did he really think I was a spy?” Keighley gently teases her to be more careful about chatty letters. The American officer, “Tom,” who seems to have become a little lost in all this, asks, “Sir, Colonel Gallagher is the man who made this work—where is he?” Pleased, General Pritchard reports “he’s getting ready for tomorrow’s mission”—finally, on to the port city of Hamburg.
-“Who’s for going on to Hamburg?” “Me, sir”
Framing the beginning of the episode, B-17s drone on the aerial warpath, which has been made safe by the Commando raid. Gallagher is back where he belongs, in the left seat of the Piccadilly Lily, with Sandy once more by his side. His thoughts are unknown; has he experienced any feelings of joy, relief, revenge over Deel’s death?—akin to Sandy seeing Vern Chapman being led off in “The Jones Boys,” a dragon in his life has been slain, but not by him, and there is no celebration. But Gallagher is not on a charger, lance in hand—this time he is playing his role of the “good shepherd” and is leading his favored lambs, Sandy, the Piccadilly Lily, his crew, and all the other planes of the 918th into pastures made safe by a lot of men, including an old enemy. Suitably, his ending words with Sandy seem like a Catechism:
“Where are we?”
“Over the slaughter pen sir.”
“See any flak?”
“No sir.”
“See any fighters?” “Not yet, sir.”
“Who’s for going on to Hamburg?”
“Me, sir.”
“I think we’ve got a milk run,” Gallagher says and the 918th flies on for this time, safe and secure.
“Underground”
Writers: Cole Trapnell
Director: Robert Douglas
This episode is both pleasing, and yet it fails to completely please, at least me. But it’s an exciting, well-mounted story of escape with variations on the usual themes. The skies are abandoned for adventure on the ground (or “underground”) along the lines of “We’re Not Coming Back,” and “Between the Lines”–and looks forward to “Decoy” when Joe is once more brought down from the skies to a Hebridean island in the North Sea to fight off the strategies of a U-boat commander. It recalls “The Jones Boys,” as the 918th receives two B-17s “liberated” from a neutral country, and thus inspiring the rotten Vern Chapman to escape to Switzerland with his bundle of money, gained from selling Army side-arms.
In a fast-moving “field trip,” filled with no less than 17 people either as enemies or friends the viewer gets to follow Gallagher and two comrades as they flee from Switzerland across France via the underground of French patriots and sympathetic Germans. In another welcomed change, much of the episode is filmed in an unusual and handsome setting, which seems to be a reservoir district in the mountains of California, standing in for France. However, the events are a little too contrived at times; Burke’s performance is “single-note” of tight concern and there are times the actor betrays weariness. Liane and Weigand are intriguing enough to get a little short-changed although Robert Walker commands the role of Weigand, creating a mixture of emotions in both Gallagher and the viewer. It is an episode that might have benefited from being a two-parter: Gallagher’s emotions at his future of being interned could have been more inquired into; their flight to freedom could have been longer (their two-three day flight to England is ridiculously brief, even the “Comet Route” did not move that fast); the Swiss’s neutrality could have been more examined, and Komansky’s, Stovall’s, and Britt’s concern and worry back at the 918th would have added emotional texture to the action-driven story. Also, as much as I muse over Gallagher’s busy love life, which thankfully petered out after the first eight or so episodes, it might have benefited the episode for Gallagher and Liane to at least express some feelings for one another; at least, Liane deserved some kind of closing business—the last time we see her she has been told to remove her coat, jump into a river and swim to the other side. (Komansky, in the epilogue, refers to her “wild stories” and there she goes into the uncertain future that she speaks sadly about in Act III.) Nevertheless, the episode clips along by means of the well-used Robert Douglas, whose direction has not been completely outstanding (and a little clunky in “The Jones Boys”) though he proves inventive and skillful in “Angel Babe” and “The Hollow Man”. And the episode’s most intriguing quality is ambiguity: On the surface, at least after watching the episode to the end, Weigand seems a committed Nazi, a “great” member of the Gestapo who dutifully follows the underground trail to its end. But re-viewing the episode I realized I never completely know the whole truth about him, and if his truths are lies, and if his lies are truth: might he have born in the United States?–might he be expressing true regret when he says “we all have blood on our hands”?–might he have been like Liane in being forced to take up a new life and committing himself to the Gestapo for meaning in his disrupted life?
Following up on previous remarks about the episode seeming contrived in places, Joe’s escape seems contrived—but maybe it is, with the seemingly helpful Richardson alerting the Gestapo that an escapee is headed out and to send out an officer to intercept and follow him. I also found this episode to be reflective of the first episode, “Loneliest Place”—and not just for the presence of Claudine Longet who as both Suzanne Arnais and Liane Colet, served the Underground. The Piccadilly Lily is downed (I think this is the first loss of a “Miss Lily” since Savage went down with her in that episode) and Gallagher, as he did when Savage died, must face a sudden change in status: from American pilot and commanding officer he nearly becomes an interned “guest” of the fearsomely neutral Swiss. Also, as he collided with the troubled Komansky, he similarly collides with another seemingly troubled young man, Weigand, who has a similar story to tell: he claims to be the child of immigrant parents (now dead) and whose life woefully changed. And as Gallagher is reborn as a colonel, Gallagher is figuratively reborn as he emerges from an underground identity as a fleeing nearly powerless American to his own powerful position in the sky and the military world.
-“bull’s eye!—but you’re looking at the wrong side”
The teaser begins—fast: planes in flight, flak bursting, and at nearly the same moment all this begins, the bombay opens, the bombs are sent downward, and Gallagher snatches up binoculars to observe their damage. “Bull’s eye!” co-pilot “Jim” exclaims to Joe, and then adds “but you’re looking at the wrong side.” Gallagher can see they’ve hit a decoy—and their real target (never specified) is in the woods 2500 further on. And, in a seeming preview of ecological concerns, Joe points out that “the river is milky from waste they’re dumping.” A scene like this helps us understand why Joe is described as being sharp—“I don’t have your IQ,” Colonel Hunter tells him in “The Jones Boys” and his sighting of the waste, and putting two and two together makes him figure out the facts. Ironically, during most of the episode, he will deal with another decoy who eventually fools him—but the price of this fooling is death at the hands of Joe Gallagher. Flak then gets them, and the single hit spreads rapid destruction: they are losing fuel, a motor catches fire, and when Gallagher attempts to radio his information about the decoy site, the radio operator and the radio have been conveniently killed off without the message going through—as I said, it’s a little contrived, including Komansky being conveniently absent. Gallagher orders the crew to bail, and they do, floating down over a tidy landscape with neatly gridded streets in the distance.
The episode takes off running the moment Gallagher himself hits the ground—literally, after loosening himself from his parachute lines. Like a good captain, Gallagher leaves the ship last . . .and leaves me wondering, where the heck was his usual co-pilot Bobby, and where was the faithful Sandy? However, leaving Bobby and Sandy out (particularly Sandy) simplifies the narrative: Gallagher conducts his escape more easily by himself. If Sandy had been present and bailed, the viewers would have been left wondering about him. If he had managed to stay with Gallagher, the authorities would have separated them and arranging for their re-teaming would waste precious narrative time. Also, by not having Sandy around, Gallagher is free to interact with Weigand—though Joe never completely trusts the young German, Sandy’s inbred distrust would have diverted Gallagher and Weigand’s tenuous relationship–in “Between the Lines” Komansky warns Gallagher that Anya “would sell them to the next guy who gives her food” and in “Burden of Guilt” he suspects Colonel —from the beginning. He probably would have warned off Gallagher’s trust of Weigand which is an important part of the developing story. So leaving Sandy safe and silent at Archbury, we observe that Gallagher’s descent, and Miss Lily’s more terrible descent to her fiery death are observed by a uniformed man. Cut to a sedan speeding over a road, and then cut to Gallagher dangling from tree-tangled parachute lines (gee, nothing is going right!). He escapes from his ‘chute—just in time to be surrounded by armed men. Six bongs sound and we are on to Act I.
-“You’re out of the war”
Act I opens unexpectedly with two of the armed men neatly, efficiently wrapping Gallagher’s effects in his parachute. Gallagher, his hands raised, snaps out name, rank, and serial number to his chief captor—and learns that the men are “the Swiss border patrol” and that he will “please” come with them. Instantly, his hands lower and he feels more assured—but these neutral men band together behind him and with rifles raised, escort him to the car. The lack of location and names is a little irksome; we don’t know if Gallagher is driven to the nearest town or perhaps is escorted by plane or train to the nearest city with a U.S. Embassy. How much time has passed? Is it still the same day, the same morning of his failed mission? Gallagher’s beardless face indicates that unless he had time to shave and clean up before being escorted to the embassy, he was taken there directly—and there is apparently still much of the day left for Gallagher is invited to lunch by the military attaché, and seems to go a long way on the Underground trail before nightfall.
In any case, a stony-faced Gallagher listens to an American army captain, probably the military attaché, tell him “what’s what”: “Switzerland is neutral and that neutrality is vital to all belligerents.” Switzerland’s historic neutrality was both appealing and practical; its neutrality was of service to the Nazis and to the allies alike—and the Swiss treated both sides alike, as well. One thing that can be said is that Switzerland was truly neutral—unlike Ireland, whose attitude was “We’re neutral, but who are we neutral against?” and unlike Sweden, whose own Nazi-directed neutrality was a joke as Nazi Germany constantly crossed the Swedish border on its way to occupied Norway. In any case, the captain, speaking a little too firmly, tells Gallagher, “you’re out of the war.”
-“Captain, what next?”
Some men might rejoice at this news; Gallagher’s first reaction is refusal, but disguised as a request for direction: “What next?” The Captain gets the idea but defers to Secrist, a civilian, who sits beside a flag and below a portrait of FDR. He is consulting instructions and assures Gallagher he will receive “billeting as befits his rank.” Gallagher is blunt in his next request—either he is helplessly admitting his needs to the Captain, and trusting Secrist, or, this is for the viewer’s understanding: as a senior officer, privy to much secretive operations, he would know how Switzerland works. “How do I get vital information out of here?” he asks. It would be impossible he is told. “How do I get back to England?” he then asks. Secrist is blunt. “There will be no escape attempts.” The borders are secured. He speaks over the captain’s sideways glance at Gallagher. The captain then trains his eyes on the colonel and issues instructions and an invitation. He will be given a non-military wardrobe—“and I will buy you your lunch.” Gallagher is not getting it. He is tired; again, we have no sense of how much time has elapsed since his capture and this depressing interview: perhaps breakfast was eaten at some unknown and ungodly hour at the 918th; now he is about to have lunch in Switzerland perhaps the same day. The captain’s intensity and emphatic words, “The Alpenstock Restaurant in one hour,” finally stirs Gallagher’s brain: something is afoot. Now, what happens next is unknown—does this sympathetic Captain contact Francis Richardson, who is—what? Is Richardson really trying to help Gallagher escape? Again, the unseen and vague points of the story might actually be clues of larger and smaller wheels operating, both helping Joe and endangering him even more.
-“an oddity in a world gone mad”
The “mad world” refers to a world at war, and also perhaps to the world that Joe is about to plunge into—the Underground, where trust is paramount but nobody is trusted; even Liane is tested. We next see Gallagher looking very strange—he is in civilian clothing, and looks a bit peasanty with a cloth cap; perhaps such clothing was deliberately supplied to help him on his way. It would be interesting to see Joe’s reaction to his sudden change of status from a pilot, a commanding officer, an American at war—to a “guest” of a neutral country, and a man with an unsure future. (As an aside, how did the interned airmen entertain themselves as they sat out of the war? The boredom must have been spectacular.) But there is no time for this emotional moment as the episode gallops along: all by himself (would a new “guest” of the Swiss government be left alone like that?—maybe so, due to the captain’s actions) Gallagher independently seeks the Alpenstock Restaurant and is suddenly stopped by means of a cane entangling his legs as his parachute lines were entangled by trees.
Here is the first link in a long chain; however, this link may be part of the enemy’s strategy. His tripper-upper, seated at a sidewalk café in the redressed Archbury street set (and filmed from a largely different angle) hastily identifies himself as an American, a Francis Richardson, salesman, and thus “an oddity in a world gone mad.” He insists on buying Gallagher coffee, and insists again when Gallagher seeks to make his appointment—and possibly starts the theme that nobody is who they say they are, or appear to be, even when admitting to being in disguise. “If you really want to return to England, go to the Eidelweiss garage” he is instructed, and told to wait while Richardson goes on his way. In the meantime, is the Captain waiting at the Alpenstock Restaurant?—or was Francis Richardson detailed by the Captain to trip up Gallagher and send him on his way? Or, did Francis Richardson, tipped off by the ever-watchful Gestapo, intercept Gallagher on his way to Alpenstock?—we never know. An observer is observing—perhaps a little too obviously from behind a held-up newspaper—but he follows Joe who, after drinking his coffee then strolls down the street, finds directions to the garage, turns, and proceeds down a wet walkway. This observer has an ambiguous role—and an ambiguous “death” in a sentry-box, further down the line.
-“I thought cloak and dagger was out of style”
At the same time, on the insistently normal Swiss street, a group of Swiss soldiers (are they?) escort a young civilian man (he is not) down the street. Swiss cyclists (are they?) coming along, run into the Swiss (deliberately?)—and Joe, waiting in the alley, hears gunfire erupt as the young man seizes a handgun from a soldier, and struggles. He escapes and runs down the walkway, with the Swiss soldiers once more being blocked by young men clumsily tangling their bicycles against their progress. The young man escaping is a masquerade, but is it all a masquerade? Joe ducks into the garage, gets behind the door, and witnesses the same young man—he does not know him—dash through the garage, followed by the Swiss soldiers. An escapee is sure to get Joe’s attention and his sympathy; he is in the same situation.
A startled Joe is joined by Richardson—he tells the colonel that the fleeing young man “may be a German deserter”—the Germans are always sneaking in to take their deserters back home. Joe gazes at the young man with some sympathy—“I thought cloak and dagger was out of style,” he remarks. “You can be glad they are not, because you’d be here for the duration,” Richardson tells him. “What’s your price?” Joe asks. Richardson does not haggle; it’s for free, and he can’t linger—Joe has to get out now, before he’s missed. Joe has been jerked out of confusion and a kind of apathy: “Why me? Why are you so concerned I get back to England?” Richardson gives him two reasons, a gun, and several other items. He has “vital information” and as the “justifiably famous son of General Maxwell Gallagher, the Nazis would love to publish the fact that you’re out of the war.” It sounds good; and what else can Joe do but accept it? Richardson goes on to give some ambiguous information—he’s not part of the Underground, but he must use them for Joe’s escape: “But we think you’re important enough to warrant the risk”—and that Joe must be “sworn to secrecy” of what he is about to experience. By Richardson saying he is “not part of the Underground” he is either telling the truth—or lying, in order to keep Joe from asking about him further on, and people denying him. Joe asks, foolishly, but perhaps understandably, to “let me make it on my own.” Although only hours a guest of the government, dressed in strange clothes, and already jerked out of routine before the routine could even be established, and plunged into a strange world of hidden people, unclear motives, and sudden violence Joe might wish to be free and independent—even if severely risking his life on an impossible journey. Richardson: “No. You saw what happened to that German boy” and “you have a long, long way to go.” Joe agrees and accepts his instructions, and takes a second step into the chain—and again, is Richardson telling the truth? Is Richardson actually involving Joe in a covert Nazi operation to smoke out the underground trails? Or, have the Nazis been keeping an eye on Richardson and have been ready to move the moment he sends an escapee on his way?—which is how Weigand is suddenly being escorted in just the right place to make contact with Joe and get and keep on his trail… Joe, according to instructions, waits, leaves the garage, and climbs into a truck that drives by. His actions are known—by the young man, identified by Richardson as possibly a deserter, he climbs on the truck’s back, and by the trench-coated observer who gets on his motorcycle for what will be prove an ill-fated trip—and maybe not. Whatever, it’s fast moving,and I am sure that real Underground movement was neither so fast nor well-timed.
-“do not move”
It is always nice to see a change of location in 12OCH, which frequently becomes a little claustrophobic in tight cockpits, the utilitarian Operations set, tightly shot outdoor scenes trying to disguise the Chino location, and even more tightly framed scenes shot indoors, doubling for outdoors, or the dark grand salons of Wing. Even the Swiss street in this episode is a little too recognizable, being the redressed Archbury Street, which has also doubled for a street in London. The truck that Joe escapes in drives along a road beneath enormous ramparts; the trees make the atmosphere threatening. Joe, according to instructions, gets out on the road, learns of his next contact, and is given the password: “the humidity is oppressive this time of year.” Countersign: “It is good for grain but bad for grapes.” The truck drives on, leaving Joe alone, or nearly. The young man has also removed himself from the truck and emerges from the shrubbery bordering the road: “do not move,” he orders.
-“born in the United States . . . we have that in common”
Joe has not even made it to the first station and already affairs are going awry at least for him. The young man is played by Robert Walker Jr. who startlingly resembles his father Robert Walker, a rather underrated actor (who died young at the age of 32) whose handsome-cute-expressive face allowed him to play all-American kids such as in See Here Private Hargrove, and to beautifully play against type as the psychotic Bruno in Strangers on a Train (1951). His son also had a kind of perpetually youthful quality; he played teenagers well into twenties, such as “Charlie X” in Star Trek; but his narrow, distinctive face and intense eyes also allowed him to play psychotic characters, such as two turns as “Billy the Kid.” Back to the story—he tells Joe to empty his pockets and makes sure that his pistol is taken away. He finally asks the password—“the humidity is oppressive this time of year?”—and then claims he recognizes Joe from the garage. “I thought you were Gestapo, but now I see you’re an American.” For that he is glad, and Joe’s sympathy is being moved again. Again, questions—the young man dashed through the garage so quickly, could he have actually seen Joe?—unless he knew Joe was there. This young man, who turns out to be a loyal SS officer, will follow an American being sent down the Underground route.
Knowing this part of the story, whether Richardson started the affair or not, can help illuminate moments in the unfolding actions. The young man, who has not named himself yet, tells Joe that “he was born in your country—we have that in common” and that “Switzerland is not the place for us now.” He further gains Joe’s interest or sympathy by saying they both need to escape, and he will leave Joe’s gun further up the road. Joe is alerted to the sound of an approaching motorcycle—and the nameless SS officer comes into sight on the dusky road. The young man flees into the thick shrubbery. Joe takes advantage of the young man’s distraction and darts into the shrubbery—and jumps and disarms him. A little too easily—is this part of the plan?—this seems borne out when the SS officer dismounts his motorcycle, surveys the scene, and then returns to his motorcycle. Either he can’t see anything—or he has seen enough; the young man and Joe Gallagher have made contact. The SS’s officer’s next task is to keep them together, and to rouse Joe’s sympathy for the young man, which he does by becoming a threatening presence.
-“Are you taking me vith you?”
After a shot of pastoral scenery, complete with cows and children (weirdly peaceful in the world gone mad) Gallagher and the young man enter a charming house—Joe calls around for his contact, a Monsieur Colet. The young man seats himself and asks, “What is this? A station of the underground?” “Maybe.” “Are you taking me with you?” he asks, akin to a child asking a parent to “take me with you.” This is a second appeal to Joe’s compassion; I get the feeling by 12OCH’s sophisticated sense of the war that both sides know as much as they can about key officers, and perhaps the report is that Joe Gallagher is a kind, considerate man, particularly to underdogs such as Komansky—and would treat this fresh-faced, rather disarming young man with some sympathy. Joe is far from being swayed; he says that he knows too much and he will be turned over to the Underground. At this moment, the motorcycle is heard outside and both men unite in fear. The young man pleads that the Germans will shoot him as a traitor, and the French will shoot him as German. Joe offers a deal that involves the Underground: “Here’s how you redeem yourself—turn yourself over to him and tell him everything.”
-“I’ve hated every moment of my life since”
In desperation, the young man pleads with him again: he is a German surrounded by Frenchmen, prisoner of an American, and he fears his own countrymen. Joe’s compassion is touched and he asks about him being born in the United States. The young man really goes for the heart: he was born in Brooklyn (in war movies the “kid from Brooklyn” was a kind of cliché character) on Flatbush Avenue—when he was twelve years old his parents returned to Germany and “I’ve hated every moment of my life since.” Joe may be struggling against his emotions because his answer is nasty: “Sure, you sang ‘Yankee Doodle’ every night at bed time.” “I could not help it!” the young man cries, saying he wore armbands of the Hitler youth, but . . . Outside, the SS officer has dismounted, walked to the house, and is testing the door. They once more unite in fear. That moment passes –and pretty easily too; you think the SS officer wouldn’t be turned away by a lock; again he may be staging the affair to get Gallagher to help the endangered young man. Joe’s pity has been moved by now and he finally asks the young man’s name—“Karl Weigand.” This reminds me of some scene in which a father is trying to keep a pet out of his house, but his child has already named the dog. “Once you’ve named them, they’re yours,” he remarks.
Soon after softer footsteps are heard, a feminine voice calls out, and Liane Colet comes into her house—searching for her father, and finding two strangers, armed and apprehensive. It seems remarkable that an SS officer would let her enter the house; but again, he probably knows who she is and waits to see if she will take them down the route. As Weigand seems young and innocent, she reflects him—Longet’s Gallic face, understated acting and appealing accent evokes immediate pity, and it’s hard to think of her shooting her lover, Spider Sabich in 1978—in a case that is both settled and unsettled. The winsome Liane Colet tells them that she is seeking her father, who was picked up that morning for being disrespectful to a German officer (at least, that it was she is told). As she says this, the camera cuts to Weigand—visually suggesting that her father’s pick-up was part of the overall plan that Gallagher finds himself cast as one of the players in a drama to “rat out” this particular route of the Undergroun
-can you trust me?”
Joe asks if the Underground has been broken—he gives the password and she does not know it—her father protected her from the Underground, and she works at the nearby hospital. But Liane volunteers to take Joe to the next station of the Underground. Karl pleads—“take me with you, you can trust me.” “Can you trust me,” Joe asks, and introduces him to Liane—but as a “deserter” and his caution adds “but he knows more than he should.” Joe is still wary enough to be cruel or at least cautious—Weigand has to go with them because “gunfire makes too much noise and dead Germans bring reprisals.” What can the Underground do with him? he asks Liane. “They’ll know what to do,” she says softly.
-“mit Rommel?”
Conveniently, Liane has access to an ambulance, and garbed in her nurse’s wimple, she rides passenger in an ambulance. Joe is fixed up as a patient being transported and Karl is his attendant—knowing that a gun is fixed on him. (Joe’s escape by ambulance will be re-done in “Practice to Deceive.”) The ambulance stops duly at a check point, where Joe is reported as suffering from a broken neck. Duly, one of the sentries climbs into check, and Karl easily placates any suspicions. But the sentry is sharp enough to notice “American shoes” on Joe’s feet. Karl is charmingly quick—the shoes are English. “He took them off a British officer in North Africa—he was with Rommel.” “Mit Rommel?” the sentry asks, appropriately impressed by a man who was with the Desert Fox, who by now (sometime in late 1943 or early 1944) has been overcome by both Montgomery and Patton. They drive on and Joe stirs, admiring Karl’s abilities, rather than being suspicious of Karl’s quick answer. “Thanks Karl,” he says. “Somehow I don’t think I needed this.” Karl is humble, saying Joe is a friend—and “I don’t want to die.” Behind them, the same sentries stop and speak with the SS officer, who seems more patient than driven. He follows after them: either following Weigand to arrest him, or following Weigand’s progress as a back up. It seems to be increasingly the latter.
-“You tried—and for that I am grateful”
The next morning, the trio has made contact with an older, crippled man named Clioche, to whom Liane confesses she did not know what to do. Clioche has some terrible news for her: her father is dead, which commences a “pathetic theme” in this sequence. As she stares at Weigand, the German who occupies her country, she is told that she must run. Parents are an important theme in this episode; Joe is identified as his father’s son; Weigand claims to have lost his, and Liane’s father is taken from her. Another man enters the room—Joe glances up, knowing every moment, any new person, any new situation is unknown, mysterious, dangerous. Clioche has no pity for the young man—the man is ordered to “take him to the cellar and kill him.” The man brandishes a knife at Karl—gunfire is too noisy. Joe protests: “He saved my life in the ambulance—I will be responsible for him.” At last, for return of favors, he has committed himself to saving Weigand. Clioche protests, but Joe says (and here Burke is not very convincing in his tired delivery) that “he’s not just another German” and “he wants to get away from all that.” Clioche, wiser and tougher as a citizen of an occupied country, knows better and refuses.
Karl is stricken, but cool and thankful and with an eye for the future, which he fully intends to be part of, speaks feelingly to Joe: “You tried,” he says, “and for that I am grateful.” Taking a cue from Liane’s father’s pitiable death, he further tells Joe that “my father was a harness-maker—he had a hard time—he knew it was wrong to come back.” With that, he is escorted away, with a knife. Clioche wastes no pity; a friend, Liane’s father, has been killed; his country is still in chains, and no German is worth anything more than the effort to kill him. Angered at his crippled state, he tells Liane and Joe that they must go on—their next passage carries them over a dam—and that they will contact a wine merchant. We don’t see Joe and Liane go; perhaps it was just as well as they may have struggled with sick guilty feelings about Weigand. In the cellar, Weigand is barely a few steps down the stairs when his SS training takes over. He swiftly tosses his captor aside, they struggle behind boxes, and, armed with the knife meant to kill him, he slays his would-be killer, and plunges the knife more than once, which is the first real indication that this man is not a helpless German soldier; he is trained and mean. Freed, he takes gun and knife and goes on his way, quickly enough to shadow Joe and Liane—and does he stop and murder the helpless Clioché first?—or does he allow the man to contact the next station in the Underground?
-“You—halt!–gotta match?”
Act III begins with a beautiful vista, the kind you don’t see on 12OCH, at least from the ground: the dark and sinister qualities of an “underground” are contrasted with a broad sunlit walkway over a dam; in the distance, dark mountains rise against the sky. In their flight, all three people constantly change roles from the smart one, the helpless one, the thinking one; this sequence is particularly good example. Joe and Liane approach the walkway of a dam, and before starting on their trek toward the sentry, Joe encourages her by saying “They’re only spot-checking.” Liane says she would feel more safe in a boat—no, Joe said, they would check a boat. Though a newcomer to the Underground, he is thinking logically. As they start the long walk toward the sentry and the striped shelter, they put their arms around each other like a lovers—another conspicuous change from “Joe’s early flames.” In “Grant Me No Favor” he actually rejects an opportunity; in “Target 802” he attempts nothing with sad young French woman Claudine, who after all, loves another. In this episode he is feigning affection for Liane, who is too scared and wrenched by recent events (her father’s death, flight, the unknown looming up) to desire any romance, even with a handsome American colonel. He probably feels the same way; and besides, he is probably pining for his true love: the Piccadilly Lily. Will he ever fly in her again?—the joy in his face at the endings of “We’re Not Coming Back” and “Between the Lines” reveals his love of the sky.
There is a lengthy shot of their approach to the sentry point—tension builds; will they make it? A Nazi soldier climbs on a motorcycle and leaves; they take advantage of the change and bustle to simply walk through—and they are halted first heart-stoppingly and then somewhat comically: “You—halt!” They do. “Gotta match?” the sentry then asks. Liane, more attuned to life with German soldiers, fumbles for matches. Joe’s panic floods his face causing the sentry to ask “What’s the matter with him?” “He’s sick,” Liane says quickly, and that they are going to the hospital. Good answer, but it demands confirmation. The sentry now demands their papers. “We didn’t have time,” Liane begins and suddenly Karl hurtles up, shouting. The sentry turns at this distraction, Joe clubs him with his gun and they stuff him into the shelter. Weigand has saved them. Liane realizes how he is there and makes an unwise fuss in public: “You killed him!” Joe now takes charge and hustles them to the side of the sentry box. The familiar sound of a motorcycle approaches—with superb timing, here comes the SS officer, still following, but who?—Weigand or Joe and Liane? Has Weigand met and informed him of their next step?—and possibly creates the incredibly convenient meeting they all have at the sentry box. Kurt takes his knife, taken from his would-be killer, and takes charge of the situation. He pushes the man into the sentry box and knifes him. Or does he?—we can only assume he did; we can’t see it because our view remains outside the sentry box. Perhaps Wiegand pretended to kill him. Or, perhaps he did kill him, to finally assure Joe and Liane he is on their side. I think it’s the former. This SS man disappears, but he must to allay Joe and Liane’s suspicions. However the deed is done, Joe and Weigand, reunited, hustle the shocked Liane and the trio takes off, firmly on the Underground line.
-“Tres bien”
Fade to . . . a dark street in an unidentified French town. Night has fallen and the trio approaches their destination, the wine merchant’s shop. Taking the lead, Joe goes up to the door, and provokes the appearance of a Nazi with a rifle and harsh words. The door opens to reveal another Nazi, who hustles the trio inside and into a dim claustrophobic store room. They once again suffer the sight of another unknown man coming up to them, gun in hand. They give the sign and countersign. Has this man been warned of their coming?—most likely not as they might not risk radio messages. However, perhaps the SS officer killed Clioche before following Weigand and so no information went down the pipeline. Actually, this is helpful to Joe and Liane; they will not be stopped. The Nazi soldier withdraws, leaving them alone with the civilian, the wine merchant Foulard.
“I don’t understand,” Joe says, an apt statement for his long trek into the unknown. “The man is yours?” “As long as the masquerade lasts—at any moment, his Nazi masters may discover him—but . . .” the man replies. “Masquerade” is an apt word here; it actually refers to “masked balls” of the 17th and 18th centuries at which rich people wore masks, pretended not to know each other, passed for other people, danced, and met lovers, cuckolded husbands, betrayed wives, fooled the young and innocent, and this constant sailing under assumed identities is a factor in this episode—even Joe passes for other people. I wonder that if in reality this happened; the Nazi soldier was picking up extra money by aiding the underground, his conscience was bothering him, he hated Nazi Germany, or was bored and looking for excitement. War time can be very strange . . . Their new contact turns to Liane. He says he was friends with her father before she was born, and was responsible for the scar on his shoulder. Liane says “My father had no scars on either shoulder.” He beams. “Tres bien,” he says, and then leaves, locking the heavy door behind him. Joe tests the door, and when it does not yield, he remarks to Liane, “You passed the test.” She’s not interested; rather, she demands to know why Joe did not tell him about Weigand’s murder of the underground worker. Joe is growing more cagey all the time knowing that lies or withholding the truth is part of their desperate passage—how much though, he does not realize until the end. “Let’s hope they don’t learn until they have passed us on, or we’ll all die, right here.”
-“was I to die like a lamb?”
Liane has the relative freedom to turn to Weigand, once more in hatred. He is never at a loss for words: “Was I to die like a lamb?” he demands—and yes, he had the right to protect himself and survive. Casting himself as a lamb, a symbol of innocence and purity, he once more appeals to their pity. He turns to Joe. “You understand me, do you not? You are my only chance.” He then raises the stakes, and their pity: “Take me with you or kill me now,” he says, offering Joe a gun. Joe believes what he thinks he sees and hears, and points out that Weigand killed the SS officer for all of them (again, this is unknown.) Weigand continues to work on their pity. “My mother and father died,” and “they did not know” what his future was to be. “We all have death on our hands,” he finishes, sadly, bitterly, and perhaps he speaks truthfully.
Liane grows sad over things that Weigand claims has been his troubles. Her family is gone too and she is leaving her beloved France for the unknown. “When I get to England—what will I do?” Joe, as befits the restless American, and an “army brat” who probably decamped all over the place while growing up, tells her “Start your life all over again.” He has on more than one occasion done this; tellingly when Savage demanded it of him by order, and then in a way demanded it of him again when his plane goes down, and Joe takes over the 918th; and in this very episode he was challenged, as a detainee, to re-start his life; thankfully, he has a chance to return to what he knows. Weigand speaks feelingly—but is this a ruse, or is this a true pain for him?—we never know if he has made up the story about his parents leaving and returning to Germany, with him in reluctant tow, or if it were for real. His words to her are simple, sorrowful and truthful: “No, one can only pick up the pieces and make the best of it—it is enough.” Perhaps he made the best of his displacement by finding personal power in the ranks of the Gestapo. Maybe. Foulard then returns as hastily as he left. He returns Joe’s gun to him and directs them to go with the Nazi soldier as “his prisoners.”
-“carry your left shoe in your hand”
Cut to rare sight in this show about B-17s, P-38s and P-51s: a great iron train, hissing and steaming. A group of nameless, seemingly feckless French citizens are being hustled on board a freight car—are they prisoners? Are they under suspicion and being carried someplace? We don’t know, which contributes to the mysterious unsettling atmosphere which prevails in Acts 3 and 4. Liane, Weigand and Joe begin to board, taking another step into the unknown, and the German soldier speaks with Joe, rapidly and urgently—they are to get off at Luftstalag 12-16, gives him countersigns, and to Joe’s question of identifying himself, is told “carry your left shoe in your hand.” Appropriate, because the countersign involves hurt feet—it’s an interesting image to reveal how “low” Joe has gone; once his wings were all that mattered; now his feet are his means of safety. The Nazi soldier then ceases one masquerade for another: he yells at Joe to get in, and be fast about it. The dark train moves out into the dark night and somewhat expectedly, but still poignantly, in the car, an accordionist plays a simple tune. The passengers try to sleep, all in sight of a poignant chalked message on the wooden slats: “viva la France.” Karl, still tight in his masquerade, sits in the straw between Joe and Liane. Joe asks Karl about the location of luftstalag 12-16; he claims not to know, but Liane identifies it as near the channel. Then, in a faintly religious scene, Karl pulls some kind of bread out of his pocket, breaks it, and shares it with Liane and Joe. Liane is touched, and Weigand vaguely resembles the Christ, sharing the Passover bread with his disciples; also see “Jesus at Immaus” by Rembrandt where Christ breaks bread for the two disciples who do not recognize him until that moment—Karl, unlike Christ, stays hidden. Joe also is touched, and sits back to take a bite—and, for the first time in these first eighteen episodes of Season II, we finally see food entering his mouth—which is a silly thing to note, but honestly I have not yet seen Gallagher, Stovall or Komansky actually eating—but this a series of men at war, not like “The Waltons” in which the dinner table was a integral part of the family experience which was at the heart of that show’s narrative and ideology.
-“Password?”
Act IV opens, one more step in the journey ends and a new one begins as the train comes to a stop. Nazi soldiers invade the car with bureaucratic clipboards. “Which group is being taken prisoner to Leuschanz?” one barks. The trio presents itself. “Where is your shoe?” he asks. “I have a sore foot.” Joe must die a bit when the German soldier snaps at him—and then asks the question again—and gives the precious countersign. What Weigand must be thinking of these traitorous Nazi soldiers would be interesting to know—and thank God he dies before he rats on them although there is reason to believe there are actions are noted by Nazi soldiers who nearly ruin their final break for freedom. Joe, an old hand by now, asks “Password?” “Do the fish bite in wartime? Only at night.” He hustles them off the train, diverts the other guards by his rough orders, and sends them in the opposite direction.
-“I owe him my life”
A nice touch throughout this episode are peaceful outdoor scenes which vividly contrast with the perilous trek of the group and the wild mixture of motivations and changing emotions. This scene reveals the fisherman strolling by a body of water, and under trees. Warily, slowly, he looks around and walks out on a lovely footbridge that carries him to a jetty. Within, Liane, Weigand and Gallagher have been tensely waiting; their forced entrapment mocked slightly by an opening which gives onto the peaceful river. (And, not to get picky, but how come Joe has not grown some degree of facial hair?—Weigand also looks as if he just come from a barber’s chair. Oh well.) Ah, a river—an evocation of the Lethe, the river of death, over which one cannot return—but they will, emerging and escaping from the Underground. Joe knows enough by now to stand behind the opening, gun ready—the nameless man enters, the countersigns are given, and he surveys them: “The American colonel, Liane Colet, and a young German,” he inventories. “As for you, Nazi,” he says, grabbing Weigand by the shoulders—Joe stops him, claiming Weigand as his prisoner. “I owe him that.” “You owe him nothing,” says this last agent. “I owe him my life—he saved us twice on the way here.” Liane, a fellow citizen, speaks up for Weigand, and thus his ruse is complete. Their contact offers no apology: this is the last stop, Weigand has been through every contact along the route. “He wants to go to England, and he’s going,” Joe insists. Weigand will be put in solitary confinement for the rest of the war. “He’s my responsibility,” he repeats.
The contact, unconvinced, asks Weigand if he would make shortwave radio broadcasts from England to Germany? Weigand refuses, but his refusal casts him as a man of honor: “I’m a deserter, but I’m not a traitor. The difference may seem small to you, but not to me.” The contact is unimpressed: “He gives good answers.” Liane defends him: “I know what this German has done”—a statement which can go both ways. And she may know what he has done, but not the truth in what he has done. The contact gives up, and leaves the colonel and Liane to persist in their error. He tells them that when it is safe, a boat will come to the bottom of the steps, they will get it on it, and they will be taken to a boat which will head to the channel—or the sleeve as the French call it—and an English ship will pick them up. He leaves them with a simple “Adieu.”
-“it is your duty to save yourself”
Joe warily watches the man retreat down the footbridge—and he and Weigand observe that when he gains the road, three Nazis are approaching, including an officer. Retreating to the jetty house, Weigand declares that they are guards from the train—tipped off by him? He could have done it. Joe, in his debt, takes him by the arm and tries to help, but Weigand, at the peak of his phony nobility, tells Joe “it is your duty to save yourself.” Which he is about to do, as well—before Joe can stop him, he pops out, arms raised, calling “I surrender, I surrender.” Joe, inspired by his nobility, calls upon his own nobility: “I think I have another duty,” he says to Liane; his moral and ethical duty directs him to save Karl. As the series progressed, Joe can be frequently seen to go that difficult extra mile for people he liked, well exemplified by two episodes with Komansky who is similar to Karl in age and “neediness.” In “Show Me A Hero” he drops everything to save the confused AWOL sergeant from making more mistakes; and risks death or capture to save a helpless Komansky in “Fortress Weisbaden.” By now, the decoyed site is almost another “maguffin,” but Joe reminds the viewers of its importance by passing the information to Liane—if he does not survive this extra mile in going for Weigand. The climax moves swiftly: Weigand is taken to the officer. For a moment, the viewer might think that his agile brain leads him to identify himself as a Gestapo captain. But it’s the truth this time—backed up by a signifying ring. The foolish and sentimental Joe sees this and hears him say that he has been through the entire route and “no one will be allowed to get through”—presumably Joe and Liane as well.
-“I did my duty”
For the first time, Joe kills, up close; directly: he takes out the Nazi officer and Weigand. (In “Rx for a Sick Bird” he also kills the saboteur Hansen, but it is at a distance). Unnecessarily, but moved despite everything, he goes up to the stricken German and they speak. “What mistake did I make?” asks Weigand, defiant. Gallagher tells him that he made the mistake—“I made you my responsibility” which caused him to try to help Weigand, and that is how he learned the truth. Bitterly, he says he liked Karl and thought there was a chance for him. “I did my duty Colonel,” Weigand says which is, the viewer has to admit, damned admirable. And an admirable actor to the end, he pretends to pass out so that Joe, when he takes off, makes himself a target. But, time and death catches up with Weigand, as they both catch up with the Third Reich. So, curtains for this young man, who is still ambiguous, even at the end. Despite what he has done, Joe is businesslike when he returns to Liane. “Can you swim underwater? Take off your coat.” Maybe it helps him deal with the shock of Karl’s betrayal. Climbing down the outside ladder, they make their final dash to safety, by a river of death, but they make it to the land of living, and both are in a sense reborn.
-“Now they’re down there and we’re up here”
The epilogue takes up with unseen footage of airplanes getting ready, officers and airmen watching; propellers humming—and the B-17s take off, and assemble in formation. Things are back to normal, including the previously (and conveniently) absent Komansky being once more by Gallagher’s side; this scene is similar to “The Slaughter Pen” when Gallagher and Komansky’s cockpit conversation brings closure to recent affairs, in this case the mixture of the purest of motive of safe passage for enemies of the Reich and the deadly deceptive mask of an innocent face. To Komansky’s questions about it being good to be back Gallagher says “yes it is,” and “I want to hit the target not the decoy.” (Burke’s delivery here is flat but the actor must have been bordering on exhaustion–in episode after episode he is present in probably three-quarters of the scenes.) “That girl Liane tells some pretty wild stories,” Komansky says. “Sandy, we had some help.” “From the Nazi kid.” “No, from Liane’s friends. But Karl was with us, all the way.” “He was an SS captain, sir?” “He certainly was. You know Sandy, he had an innocent face—but ten years ago [1933] the whole Nazi movement had a pretty innocent face.” “Now they’re down there and we’re up here,” Komansky remarks, simplifying the air war of the ETO, but it must be remembered that the Nazi Germany was one of the most evil empires the world has ever seen but it brought a broke, bitter nation out of destruction to strength and joy—as well as warfare and genocide. It had to be crushed. It’s a refreshing simplicity given the deception, lies, and ambiguity Joe has passed through on his way “home”.
The polluted river comes into view. Gallagher, back at his work, can give orders again: “Make this one good,” he tells the bombardier. “It’s for you, Skipper.” “Right—me, and a lot of other people”—including Weigand? Yes, despite everything, he saved their skins at the dam and shared food with them. Without him running interference, they probably would not have made it. The episode ends, grimly, with destruction of the real thing, which is akin to Weigand’s revealing of his true and self and destruction at the end. We never know how Joe really feels about Weigand (admiration, hatred, puzzlement?) but we know Joe is pleased that the target has been hit, based on information that he risked his life to bring through the Underground.
“Which Way the Wind Blows”
Writer: James M. Miller
Director: Laslo Benedek
12OCH episode titles frequently refer to the air, the sky, even the heavens: “Rx for a Sick Bird,” “Storm at Twilight,” “Falling Star” “Which Way the Wind Blows” and even “Angel Babe”—which stand in contrast with certain ugly titles evoking the earth: “The Slaughter Pen,” “Six Feet Under,” “Long Time Dead” and even “Underground” (in which Joe passes through a figurative burial and rebirth). This episode evokes the skies, and lyrically, the winds of war and fate which blow Captain Patricia Bates toward the 918th, where she succeeds in two missions: charting the weather more accurately for a mission to the docks of Kiel, and providing a wonderful example of the feminist future of American women.
When viewing this episode for the first time in forty years, I had no memory of it (save for an extremely brief scene) which disappoints me: “Which Way” obviously held no meaning for me at the time. What I mean by that is–when watching “Falling Star,” I recognized and remembered almost perfectly (after forty years!) a well-played scene of Gallagher questioning an angry Komansky after Colonel Wexler ordered him to be checked for battle fatigue. I remembered that scene because I knew what it was like to be accused unfairly of causing trouble. In other words, the scene and story had meaning to me. When I was 14-15 years old, in the late sixties, I obviously did not find the character of Captain Bates meaningful. Though “fem lib” was stirring in the late sixties, I had not come into contact with it, except in the most negative ways: for example, Jane Fonda being well displayed on the Life magazine cover in one of her signature roles, “Barbarella.” Speaking for myself, this overtly sexual (she was clothed in black leotards but little was left to the imagination, plus her pouty Brigitte Bardot expression) display of “Henry’s little girl Jane,” was one of my first and unfortunate exposure of “female liberation”—which a lot of young women in my generation got mixed up with sexual liberation: mini-skirts, the “pill” and being more sexually available as “old fashioned morality” kind of got flushed down the toilet. I was not affected by sexual liberation; I was too shy and too smart to get caught up in it. Though I do not consider myself a feminist, I eventually became informed of feminist principles, and in the seventies, gained advanced education, undertook a career, and though experiencing a degree of masculine domination, have not suffered unduly.
Now I can I watch “Which Way the Wind Blows” as a pre-feminist “reading” of World War II, an event which opened up new opportunities for women, whether serving in the armed forces, running businesses while the men were away, welding, and learning that they could be in charge. (A late 1970s television remake of The Best Years of Lives was interesting in how the 1946 slutty “party-girl” wife became a working woman who did not want to give up her job simply because her husband had come home.) Patricia Bates is remarkable for her education and abilities, and she “makes it” without using her body or her femininity—though the latter becomes an issue, but a well played one. A welcomed change from the usual testosterone-driven episodes, “Which Way” reveals Joe Gallagher to be a true gentleman as the good officer should be and a man eventually willing to consider the female in individual terms, not just as a member of a pack. The episode also offers a look at the “scientific” side of the war. Weather on the ground had always been an issue with warfare but as the war took to the skies, different knowledge about the weather was needed and, like many other sciences (including nuclear) weather predicting got a shot in the arm due to World War II.
This episode in many ways parallels “Then Came the Mighty Hunter” which will be duly pointed out. Also, this episode is copied rather notably in “Back to the Drawing Board” in the wounding of the scientist’s colleague, and even a heart-to-heart conversation between the scientist and Joe Gallagher in the Star and Bottle. This episode also calls in one of 12OCH’s mythic themes: the sky god and earth goddess, already referenced in “Rx for a Sick Bird,” “Target 802” and “Falling Star.” In this episode, Pat the “earth goddess” also claims the sky as “her place of business” and while not absolutely victorious, she makes her presence felt—and Joe, the “sky-god,” showing the attributes of a true man, ends up welcoming her, as she also re-welcomes him to her domain, the earth. The sky god and earth goddess, when united, create balance in the heavens and the earth; and the ending of this episode is a particularly happy one, in contrast to those marked by grief or ambiguity, such as the upcoming “The Outsider.”
-“I can’t sight through the cloud cover”
The teaser, which delivers a lot of information, begins with the common sight of B-17 bombers aloft, although they become secondary in the sky as they become dwarfed by beautiful, dangerous clouds. The two lead pilots are riding out a bad mission: turbulence is second to swarming fighters. “That’s the fourteenth attack in two hours,” notes the co-pilot. They take their toll, hitting the left waist gunner. But the cloud cover below proves their ultimate enemy—the bombardier can’t sight the target. As in “Slaughter Pen,” the pilot orders an abort, ordering the radioman to send the message home to Gallagher, flares are fired, and the laden bombers start the laborious turn to start back to jettison their bombs in the channel. But this time, the enemy is natural, not man-made, and cannot be bombed or destroyed—it needs to be figured out. This is a nice “concrete” portrayal of the problems that Captain Patricia Bates will attempt to correct by theory, and then by practical application.
-“Weather, yes . . . General, we pulled a big boner today”
Cut to the grounded Gallagher, who, in another familiar scene, is taking flak from his superiors. On the phone in his office, he snaps that bombing was impossible with what they had to deal with up there. He immediately rings for General Britt who, in some excellent timing (keep that action rolling!) is ushered into his office by Stovall—sort of “out of the nowhere into here,” as he mocked Gallagher in “Grant Me No Favor,” the last time he appeared. Britt is playing his “Arthurian role”—Merlin bringing needed powers to Gallagher and the 918th, in this case, a new weather officer. He asks Joe if “Captain Bates has come—the new weather officer.” “Weather, yes,” the distracted Gallagher says. “General, we pulled a big boner today,” due to inaccuracy in weather reports that forecast “light cloud cover with intermittent visibility.” The weather, unlike men and machines, cannot be commanded. He reads the report from the lead pilot: they are still in return flight. “Losses bad?” Britt asks. “Bad enough,” Gallagher answers. “We have to knock out those yards,” Britt confirms but never does he say why and by what deadline. Joe angrily condemns the “half-baked” weather forecasts: “they do what the Luftwaffe can’t—knock out our striking force.”—Although the Luftwaffe made a pretty good showing that day.
-“We’re very good at theoretical nonsense”
Britt then reminds Joe about words that he did not hear: Captain Bates has come. “Another expert,” Joe says. More than expert, Britt tells him—Meteorological professor at UTI, and over here from Washington to demonstrate new techniques. “Send him in,” Joe says, and adds to the set-up—and the surprise– by stating he doesn’t want any more “theoretical nonsense.” Cut to: framed by the door stands a coolly beautiful WAC captain—both defiant and somewhat hesitant. She comes in, and somewhat clumsily salutes General Britt. He makes introduction and something in way of apology by stating the obvious: “He wasn’t expecting a woman.” (I guess it is important that she is stunningly lovely; she gets a lot of audience sympathy that way: men like to look at her, and women can project themselves on her aristocratic face and beautiful eyes that stand in front of an intelligent mind. As a fourteen year girl first watching this show, I must have seen her as something “in a league of her own,” something I could not even aspire to.) “Why not? We’re very good at theoretical nonsense.”
She extends a hand, saying if he is going to throw her out, get a good grip. It’s a masculine challenge, and he does not take her up on it. Ignoring her hand (but he will take her hands three times in the episode, and it is the final action in the epilogue) he compliments her on her timing—“you’re just in time to see what a bad weather forecast can do.” (A word on her name: “Pat” short for Patricia, can also be a man’s name. And she is walking a delicate balance between her female identity and her military identity, which calls on her to be masculine.)
-“Captain, we are conditioned to think of the weather as our enemy”
Act I opens taking the viewers back to the formation, still three hours away from Archbury, at which Patricia Bates is getting to know the man she will be working with. The victims of the bad forecast are battling the weather enemy—a headwind–and watching their numbers shrivel as another bomber goes down. “That makes seven,” says the pilot. “I’d call that a lousy day.” In this tiny scene, her challenges are made very clear: men and planes and the war effort are suffering. Cut to– a contrasting scene back at Operations, one that indicates “how little she knows” about the terrible world of the sky-gods. I think that Britt, to make up for Gallagher’s shoddy reception, has assembled Gallagher, Harvey, Komansky, and another duty sergeant to listen to Captain Bates explain her work. They stand, silently and politely, while she says, sounding a little foolish, “weather systems just don’t bounce around willy-nilly . . .” Gallagher can’t listen (the other guys probably aren’t listening either); he’s too nervous, with yet another cigarette in his fingers.
He breaks off to call communications; a call comes in simultaneously for Britt—Pritchard, and Britt looks uneasy. He reports to his superior that the planes are expected in 15 minutes; they had a headwind and they are looking for a safe place to jettison their bombs. “I’m going to sweat this out at the tower,” Joe says and orders Komansky to get his Jeep ready. Britt, mentoringly, reminds Joe of his manners: “I don’t think the Captain quite made her point”—which compares and contrasts with Joe’s frequent direction to the non-com Sandy to “knock it off!” when he misbehaves. Joe immediately but sincerely apologizes; she is prickly and pretends not to care. He invites her to join him at the tower; she refuses this important chance to see, at first hand, the real world: she has “theoretical work” to do. Perhaps liking her spirit, and relieved that some of the bombers are finally home, he becomes suave: he would like hear more about all this “over a theoretical dinner.” She takes offense and Britt, as in the past, smooths out the situation—he quickly takes Joe up on the invitation and that he will meet them “for drinks at the Star and Bottle.” Joe grins at the arrangement and leaves. A wise woman, she knows what has just happened. “Sir, is he trying to shut me up by being charming?” (Joe’s “charm” is deep-seated–even his dad said, “You were a hardheaded youngster, but you had charm.” A litmus test–Joe even “charmed” Komansky.) Britt’s oblique response tries to excuse Joe: “Captain, we are conditioned to think of the weather as our enemy.” (As it turns out, her forecast will allow the 918th to use bad weather as an ally.)“And a woman to be chatted with?” she responds, using a masculine stereotype of the woman as nothing but a mouth, whether for kissing, making small talk, or talking endlessly on the phone. The older Britt, who has daughters, has insights about women and sympathy that Joe does not. “You’re a woman on a man’s assignment—don’t be naïve about the handicap.” Captain Bates then shows her true self: we have not been quite sure who she is, so blonde, beautiful, and out of touch with the world she has entered. But her smile, laugh, and open face show us that she’s okay: “It won’t be the first time I’ve had to prove myself a scientist.” -“I lost seven aircraft—seventy men” Home are the aircraft which made it and after debriefing Joe is commiserating with General Britt at the Star and Bottle. His boys were under attack for five hours and they couldn’t even take evasive action (because of the weather?). The flak, to Britt’s question, was minimal—“but I lost seven aircraft—seventy men.” Joe means it when he says “I lost.” The problem, he says, for the benefit of the viewers, the Germans had immediate and local weather information—“they were at their best, and we were at our worst.” Captain Bates arrives with a man by her side—she introduces him at Lt. Rogers, and indicates his presence is a back up—“if he nods, it will give additional weight to my remarks.” Sigh—I’ve had to do that myself or let a male teacher speak when a male student will not listen to me. Rogers, seating himself, says, “We’ve given up the crystal ball—weather has become a science.” “We have some answers,” Bates adds. Gallagher says a little sharply to hold the answers in abeyance until “we’ve had dinner.” Britt once more steps in to apologize. “The colonel lost seven aircraft today.” Bates blunders. “But planes can be replaced—they’re making so many these days.” Her callow response reminds me of Bob Hope’s I Never Left Home which related his wartime tours of England, Africa and Italy. He speaks of how excited and proud the stateside civilians get when they read of 1000-plane raids—but do they, he asks, realize there are men in those planes?—he saw those missions, the boys returning, visited the wounded, and heard about the dead and the missing (“we haven’t heard from him in two weeks,” an officer tells Hope, speaking of a mutual friend). Gallagher gets blunt and Britt does not stop him this time: she should study their problems at his base—the hospital, the casualty lists—“each one of those planes had ten men.” He leaves to get fresh drinks. Roger asks Britt: “Wasn’t that uncalled for, sir?” In the background, we hear, on the piano, “There will never be another you . . . “ Britt is tactful to the unheeding lieutenant and the startled Captain Bates: “Son, I’m going to send him back to Kiel and he knows it . . . “ “Maybe we’d better work with another outfit,” says Rogers. Britt knows “his boy”: “Gallagher won’t let it go until it is solved.” Patricia softens. “Does he have that much pride?” “Not pride—responsibility.” As Gallagher in “Show Me a Hero” explained Komansky to the heartbroken Susan Nesbit (“he has more feelings than he thinks he does”) Britt has explained Gallagher to the clueless Patricia—and the word “responsibility” plays an important part in the story’s turning point: she learns that as a soldier she can’t reject responsibility (as Komansky makes the callow Trask understand in “Between the Lines”) but neither can she refuse it as an ordinary woman and human being. She gets up and joins him at the bar, apologizing for her thoughtless remark.”I don’t understand war,” she says, “and you don’t understand the weather.” In a rare moment of clumsiness, Joe can’t pick up the four drinks—tired, nervous, or flustered at her nearness and obvious desirability?—in any case, she asks the bartender to deliver two of the drinks to the “two very thirsty men,” and they stay at the bar. After telling him “she has a new approach,” she says “when you decide to be charming you can be quite good at it.” -“Come fly with me” Then, she turns the tables, and reveals her power— “Come fly with me tomorrow.” They used to wait on data, but they’re going out to get it—the mark of an assertive woman. They are going to fly in a special B-17—“and I’m going to find a better route to Kiel for you.” The earth goddess has moved into sky, confidently, because that is where her work is. The sky god acquiesces. The next day, Blodgett seems once more at the controls (the name Blodgett, recurs in “The Survivor,” interestingly enough, as the departed pilot still shadowing the survivors of his death—but there seems to be no connection) and he and his co-pilot are busily getting her special B-17 aloft. A nice detail: Sandy is between them and rather than counting off the airspeed, he enjoys its buoyant ascent so different from the bomb-laden, overworked B-17s he usually takes to the skies in. “She takes off like a fighter,” he says—how would he know? Perhaps Gallagher has familiarized him with the P-51 Mustang and taken him for some flights. He gets on the com. “Flight engineer—is the colonel on?”—when Gallagher comes on he asks “You feel like you’re in your P-51?—this is really rigged for speed.” Gallagher informs him—and the audience—that the ship is several thousand pounds lighter for not having armament—except for the top turret, Sandy’s post. He gets the message and takes off, to Blodgett’s smiling nod. It seems as though being in her special B-17 has changed Gallagher’s orders to suggestions, and Komansky’s usual “Sir!” to “excuse me.” In the waist, a helmeted Patricia (she still looks gorgeous!) explains to Joe about how they detect and measure fronts by means of radar, which they go into the nose to check out. The pilot calls their attention to a gigantic thunderhead: “right on the nose,” Rogers says. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she asks, perhaps sounding a little too much like a woman. But she has a plan to figure out from that 60,000-foot fortress of cloud when the storm will hit and they can bomb Kiel because their fighters will be on the ground. Of course, we don’t hear the plan, but you can’t clutter up a good melodrama with technical jargon. Rather, Kraut fighters, as if cued, come swarming and the vigilant Sandy warns of their approach at 7:00. All hell breaks loose—and when Rogers is hit, she suddenly sees war close up. Unlike the terrified Steve Corbett in “Mighty Hunter,” she is shocked but still responsive, getting the first aid kit so that Joe can treat Rogers’ wound with sulfa. Joe, taking command like a good sky-god, calls the co-pilot down, he assumes the controls and they head for safety.
-“put your head on my chest”
Act II takes up on a frightening note; with Gallagher at the controls, they are bringing the plane back to Archbury. Suitably, when asking for instructions, they receive wind speed reports, and the runway to land on which is never related with landings in other episodes. The other pilot is calm: “this is my third belly landing,” he remarks as Gallagher gets up and returns to Captain Bates. “Crash landing,” he says, seizing her and cradling her against the bulkhead. “Put your head on my chest,” which creates a nice moment for a “squeeze” . . . not that Gallagher would take advantage! For long terrible moments the plane comes down over the peaceful countryside and violently bellies in. Captain Bates and Colonel Gallagher are cradled like lovers, his hand over her head; the sky god protects the earth goddess as they return from his realm to her realm. She is terrified and her terror will affect her. His protection of her is growing, and becomes an issue between them in Act III.
-“I can’t”
At the base hospital, Captain Bates gets another close-up of what she did not understand the evening before: there are men in those planes. Lt. Rogers, though hurt, will make it. But her shock is palpable; the earth goddess is learning about the duties that come from being in the sky. Joe is tending to Rogers and to her, and in a preview of the climactic scenes, reminds her that General Britt needs her report. “I can’t.” Joe tells her that time is important. “I can’t,” she repeats and flees. Cut to Wing (with its usual music of duh da, duh DA) with Britt saying “So the mission came to nothing.” Gallagher tries to run interference for Patricia, and declares, “Well, I don’t know how to analyze a cloud bank.” “Did you see a cloudbank?” Britt asks. He has to make a decision about Kiel in the next 12 hours and he needs something to go on—“Where is she?” he demands. She should be there—but, like Steve Corbett in “Mighty Hunter,” she can’t cope and tries, foolishly, to run away. Gallagher doesn’t know she is set to meet Britt and he puts in a call to Harvey Stovall. While waiting for the connection he asks that she has a second chance—in another plane, and “get her up there early” so she can plot the storm and be back by 1200, the hour of decision. He gets Komansky instead—who was supposed to bring her to Wing. Instead, he dropped at her rooms in Archbury about an hour before. Either he didn’t get the message of where she should have gone or she pulled rank on him.
-“She was told to come here”
Britt becomes a general. “She was told to come here,” he says, “she’s under orders.” Gallagher, becoming a gentleman first and an officer second, points out “she’s new to all this and she’s had a bad day.” “Your attitude has changed,” observes Britt. “So has yours,” Gallagher returns. Britt admits something that is not explained: “She came here with strikes against her—I was trying to smooth the way.” Yes, he introduced her very forcefully to the men at the 918th, but what are these “strikes”?
-“I’m going home.” “Me too, when the war is over.”
Joe drives into Archbury, does not find her at the sandbagged apartment house, and is warned by a warden that nuisance strikes at a nearby factory have been reported. His next destination is the Star and Bottle, where he finds her neatly uniformed and having a drink. Like Steve Corbett, in “Mighty Hunter,” leaving the army seems just a matter of saying you’re finished with it-and withdrawing to a pub. She needs to have things explained to him; fortunately, she is old enough to understand; unlike Corbett who only heard what he wanted to hear. Joe portrays his best features: kindness and compassion—and patience when it is truly needed. “You don’t know much about going AWOL, do you?” he asks. When she demurs, he asks her to buy him a drink, a turnaround from the usual male-female situation which overall describes the dynamics of this episode. However, he gives the compliment of treating her like a fellow soldier.
“I don’t want any company,” she tells him, and when he refuses to go, tells him she’s asking for a transfer. “I’m going home,” much like Corbett, after his first taste of real war, wants only to leave. “Me too, when the war is over.” “I just can’t do this job.” “You volunteered to wear that uniform,” he reminds her. She confesses how callow she has been—she was even glad for the war because it created a surge of progress. In her abstract world of theory and speculation, people were calling, demanding help with magnificent problems. Like many others, including men, she saw only the glamour and excitement, and not the human cost and tragedy—and now she needs to beat a retreat from the masculine realm: “You know, I used to love the sky—but now the sky seems dirty to me.” Joe becomes a hard-bitten sky god: “It is—we’re trying to clean it up.” “How? By sending boys to die?” “How else?”—which is cruel, but logical.
-“Then who are you, Pat?”
He gets down to cases: he needs information because he has to bomb Kiel. She protests, asking how can the weather section handle it, when I can’t handle it?—he may fly smack right into that storm. He encourages her to go back, but she won’t participate in something that may get men killed. Joe speaks to her as a disciplining officer: it’s too late, she’s already involved—“You can’t NOT participate.” Also, she’s running away, much like Steve Corbett. “What about the men you might save?” She is adamant: she refuses the responsibility.
Gallagher calls her identity into question: “Then who are you, Pat? –and who gave you the power to reject responsibility?” A difficult question for a woman in a man’s job of soldiering; she needs to prove herself at more than just predicting the weather. At this point, he leaves, which is dramatically satisfying, but would he leave her?—with a general waiting for her? However, she will find an answer to his question in just a moment. Outside, the skies grow dirty: the nuisance raids come to Archbury, and the people on the street, including Gallagher, scatter, just as a shell drops. Pat, undergoing her first air raid, dashes out into the street—thinking of Gallagher of course, but at least she is thinking of somebody else. Then, a hokey scene: some little English kid, with a dog no less, stumbles in the street, and Gallagher darts to him, gathers him up, and rushes for cover—that scene has been done a lot; it’s always a grabber, heaven knows (and seems to have its iconic origins in the infamous baby carriage on the Odessa steps sequence in Potemkin).
Yet, she sees Gallagher’s actions through the smoke and dust, and rushes to him; he takes her in his arms to comfort her. This scene tells her several things: that the skies are dirty but they make the earth dirty; innocent people can be killed or hurt, and she just witnessed a stunning display of responsibility: Gallagher responding to the endangered child and carrying him to safety, somewhat previewing Joe’s caring for two Belgium boys in “Six Feet Under.” She might be able to do the same for his men. She must, as it turns out, but Joe holds back on the order, to her later embarrassment. She’s more of a soldier than she thinks.
-“I guess I’ll have to go up there again”
Act III is a welter of emotions that Gallagher both engages in and stays apart from. At Wing, Pat reports to General Britt, admitting the military way of doing things “is so new to me I must find another way of doing my work.” Right there you can see she still has not quite caught on—in the military, especially in war, you do as you are told, which is an issue in this story. She reminds me of the unfortunate Sgt. Trask in “Between the Lines” who was a cryptographer, and had put into a uniform and sent to Washington—and his lack of training or preparation caused him to wind up dead in the Russian hinterlands, but not until Komansky had given him a sense of duty, in his case, led him to cover the escape of others. Britt offers her a disarming story (or dislegging story, to make a bad joke) about how he had been shot down 24 years ago by a German fighter—“I think I know how you feel.” I suppose he means that as he was suddenly wrenched from one life to another—from a healthy young pilot with two good legs to a wounded and permanently disabled man. However, she admits “that I guess I’ll have to go up there again.” Britt realizes that Gallagher has reneged on duty—he has not ORDERED her to go up again, and calls the 918th to get him—and in a nice transition, we see him working in his office when Pat suddenly bursts in, asking “Why didn’t you order me?” Gallagher knows she heard Britt’s end of the “conversation”—which means that Gallagher is still very much a “mentored officer.” “I didn’t think you were in any condition to fly,” he tells her.
Pride comes to her rescue now; she’s angry that he was not going to give her a chance to prove herself and her work: “your weather officer doesn’t have a clue” what is awaiting them over Kiel. “I grant you that, in spades,” Gallagher says. “Then what were you doing, indulging your protective instinct?”—and that sums up a quality that makes Gallagher so endearing to me, a woman: he protects those he cares for, such as her, Komansky and Stovall, and all the men under his command. He even grew protective of Weigand, the ambiguous German deserter/Gestapo captain in “Underground.” As she says, protection must be an instinct with him because it comes naturally, so gracefully—and perhaps it was cultivated by Savage. Though the General is dead and gone, his presence continues to be felt.
-“I send men out to die”
When he admits that he was protecting her, she turns his words on him—she can’t reject the war. But she does reject him covering up for her. Gallagher, as always, explains himself well, and, as always, in terms of protecting his men. “Pat, I wasn’t protecting you—I was protecting my group.” He reminds her that when he met her in the pub and in her apartment (I guess that scene was cut) that she was in shock, and he can’t rely on a person in shock. “I send men out to die—but with calm and rational preparation and that’s the most important thing to me, man or woman.” He then takes her hand, making up for the chance he was given when he first met her. But it’s not to hurl her out, it’s to bring her closer. He asks why she wants to fly this mission. She seems to be recalling the boy that Gallagher risked his neck to save: “Because if I didn’t go up and some young man died in my place, I couldn’t live with myself.” He absolves her from guilt—every man dies in his own time and place, and her time will come—“does that frighten you?” “Of course, but it’s my job,” she tells him. Satisfied that she is rationally accepting duty, he asks Stovall to order the weather officer to stand down and that Captain Bates will fly. As if to seal their agreement, they take each others’ hands—both hands. The sky god and earth goddess are completely united—with the irony that the earth goddess will fly, not him. They flew together once, now he is standing down on the earth and she is going up into the sky.
-‘I’m not flying this plane, the storm is”
Act III begins with another vision of a mighty B-17 being dwarfed by enormous fortresses of clouds. There is a particularly striking shot—the camera focuses on clouds which you realize are outside the windows of the cockpit as the camera pulls back to reveal the profiles of Capt. Blodgett and the co-pilot. In the nose, Captain Bates efficiently tends to her duties (which are difficult to figure out),and when Blodgett tells her they need to return to get her back by 1200, she refuses—she has not sent back sufficient information. “You tryin’ to find a way around this front, you can’t do it today,” Blodgett reports. She will do it—she wants to get to the other side so that Colonel Gallagher can use the front as a shield—a nice reference to the Arthurian world that 12OCH sometimes evokes. Blodgett doesn’t like it; she alerts the radioman to start sending back information, and then, “Blodgett”? “Yes mam?” “Fly through that storm.” And in they go—and the viewer is treated to some striking effects of the storm as it batters the B-17, as well as the reflections of the rain on the pilots’ faces (ctd. Mathes and Duffin). On the ground, Gallagher is alerted to her actions, and opens a channel to communications in order to monitor. As the storm continues to knock the plane about, Bates, remarkably calm, asks Blodgett if he can climb. “Mam, I don’t think I can fly much longer.” He gets on to the crew, including his flight engineer whose worried face bobs around the cockpit, trying to read the dials and gauges. The plane is icing up and losing power and “I’m not flying this plane any longer, the storm is.”
-“we’re just about out of this war, too”
Suddenly, the plane flies free of its prison. “We’re out of it!” she cries. “Yes mam, and we’re just about out of this war, too,” Blodgett replies, face and voice tight, but in command of the dying ship. They have to ditch. Cut to Operations a moment before this—Stovall and Komansky have joined Gallagher; he probably could not stand listening to this communication by himself. When Joe hears “We’re out of it!” he stands up and pours coffee for himself, and offering Stovall and Komansky a cup as well, as if in toast. They both decline; Stovall stretches a stiff arm and neck in relief, and Komansky, either relieved or less certain, whispers, “No thank you sir.” (It’s interesting how many times Chris Robinson whispered his lines; it added something to his character.) Then they hear the order to ditch—what a strange thing to be sitting safe and sound in a concrete office in England, hearing a plane, over the channel, preparing to go down and people’s lives preparing to be lost . . . “They’re going down,” Komansky murmurs, as if in elegy. The B-17 fades down over the channel, running over the tops of the waves; it’s a graceful sequence even though marred by comparison with more current sophisticated methods than superimposing a B-17 over water, and an obviously toy plane pushing down into the water. Strikingly, at the final moment, Blodgett cradles the yoke in his legs and his arms, similar to how Gallagher earlier cradled Bates in his arms when they bellied in. The plane, in other words, is a woman too.
-“the mission to Kiel is scrubbed but I can’t scrub Captain Bates”
The climax of this story may have presented some issues—with a woman along they could not climax the episode with her on the bombing mission, so much of the suspense and action is taken up with her being rescued at sea—and this is an interesting change in visuals, giving the viewer a nice sequence of how a sea rescue was effected—but that is getting ahead of myself. Act IV begins with three “old men” of the 918th “up in the air” over the air-sea search and rescue of Bates and the crew of the downed B-17 and the mission to Kiel. Britt needed the information by 1200 and it is now 1330—“it’s not going to work. “ The information that she sent was not enough and it is not tying together with other weather information. Britt decides to cancel the mission—and here I don’t ever really sense the critical time quality of bombing the “yards at Kiel”—will there be an important ship from that point; or is it harboring supplies that need to be destroyed? I understand that the port of Kiel was bombed 20 times during the air war, but again, the time window is not clear. Left alone, Joe suddenly decides that he can’t just wait, and he will join in the search. He orders Komansky to get the plane ready, and Stovall to find a crew. “The mission to Kiel is scrubbed but I can’t scrub Captain Bates or the people with her,” he says—he likes her, but there are BIG other reasons. Soon, the single Piccadilly Lily takes off in the afternoon light to join the search.
-“thank you for your 20-20 eyesight!”
They fly over the channel waters, gray and choppy and enormous. Komansky, perhaps typically, says “They can’t last long down there, the water must be freezing.” “You know it,” is Joe’s rather vapid reply. He may be flying on autopilot now, paralyzed with worry—about her, and the raid on Kiel. As Komansky said in “Between the Lines,” his only fear is not doing his work. Down below, Captain Patricia Bates, unhurt (and looking gorgeous!) waits by the side of the injured Blodgett. The raft rocks in the waves. She has returned to her realm, the earth, but needs the assistance of the sky-gods for help. Above, Komansky observes that the fuel is near the safety mark, and Gallagher knows they have to return; but their moment of return is over the distant heads of the survivors. Relieved, but remaining calm, she efficiently sets off a smoke flare, observed by the left waist gunner. Down below, they see a frail stream of smoke drifting over the waters. Gallagher is jubilant: “Thank you for your 20 20 vision!”
As a “triumphant version” of the 12OCH theme plays, the Air Sea Rescue comes in for a rescue, looking dramatically well filmed. She catches the rope thrown to her, she is hauled in, and they are saved. It happens remarkably quickly, but . . . and you know, she has knocked down two planes in two days!—one bellied in and can be repaired, the other is irreparably damaged and sunk to the bottom of the channel. Is this the “earth goddess’s revenge?” However, her work and information will absolve—and right now, the need for information overcomes Joe’s obvious joy in her rescue.
-“Stand by until I can find some kind of map!”
In the Air-Sea Rescue plane, Patricia, still looking great, is handed a headset to speak with Joe. She reports that the others have drifted off—and says “Oh, Joe, thank you, thank you!” Joe, refreshingly, does not speak words of love, or even a “You’re welcome!”—he needs information for the Kiel raid. She is silent. “Captain Bates,” he says, addressing her with her title, “Do you read me? Over.” Joe prompts her: “We got your information but you need to tie it together—or all of this is for nothing.” “This,” I assume, includes the two planes she has taken down and hours spent on her rescue at sea—and a good solid raid on Kiel would compensate. “All right,” she says, fighting off some understandable tears, “Stand by until I find some kind of map!” But she does it. Joe does not apologize; rather he requests a message be sent that they may go to Kiel after all in the morning. But he is treating her like a fellow airman; after all, she is working in his world of the sky.
-“I could be bombing before they even knew I was there”
Later that same day, sometime in the night, Britt argues with Gallagher—actually, he shouts that Joe overrode his orders; Joe, after hardening experiences in “Grant Me No Favor” (in which he rode out discipline, disapproval, and ended up maneuvering Britt into a corner) remains cool, and even declares that he asked Britt to come to him: he didn’t have time to go to him. Britt doesn’t want to send men out on the strength of Joe’s guesswork. He will take information from Captain Bates, who is not present. Captain Bates, Joe tells him, is still on the rescue plane finding the others, and then they’re going to Scotland. But, her radio report . . “You’re willing to gamble this on the strength of a radio report?” Yes, and the next scene kind of bothers me—Joe seems to have turned into some kind of weather expert, declaring that with her info he can understand the storm that she predicted the day before, and rode through that afternoon: tailwinds, crosswinds, airspeed . . . His strategy is to fly north, pick up a tailwind and “ride it in” and they can hit Kiel at 6:00, and the fighters will still be grounded. “I could be bombing before they knew I was there,” he finishes.
-“you flew a 160 mph airplane at 350 mph”
The next morning the 918th is assembled and flying to Kiel in dawn’s early light. It’s a bumpy flight, as clouds stream past their windows, but the speed is great—as is this portion of the show. Gallagher tells Bob (I think the curse on the co-pilots is over) that “someday he can tell his grandchildren that he flew a 160 mph airplane at 350 mph—but they probably wouldn’t know the difference anyway”—an interesting nod at the “unknown future” which was already being prepared by German scientists perfecting jet planes and rockets, soon to be seen in “25th Mission.” Perhaps Komansky will help design such planes and space exploration—I always figure, when the war is over, Komansky will go to college on the GI Bill and study, what else, but aeronautical engineering, eventually taking his Ph.D. “It’s may not be accurate but it’s fun,” Bob admits. Komansky, under direction, fires flares, they begin their descent, and the bombs go, peppering the earth below—and here come the fighters—but they have done their business, and now they can go home. “Joyride’s over,” Joe announces, “and they’ll give us all the trouble we can handle.” With that, Act IV concludes—quite differently too, with fighters after them and a long way to go for home . . . but all is well.
-“it was what Joshua did to the walls of Jericho”
In the Epilogue, safely back at Operations (but when is unknown—the same day? The next day?) Britt tells Joe that according to interrogations, what they did to Kiel was “what Joshua did to the walls of Jericho”–a nice Biblical reference to the destruction of a sinful city, accomplished by shouts and the roar of horns: “And the walls come a-tumblin’ down,” as the song goes. Somebody else is also down and home—Captain Bates. As she was framed in the door when Joe first met her, she is once again framed by his door, but inside his office, warming herself at the stove. As in “Falling Star,” when the earthbound woman “Alicia” is first seen in her apartment, a fire burns in the fireplace; Kurt Brown in “I Am the Enemy” breaks down his emotions in Elizabeth’s flat while a fire burns in the fireplace; and in “Siren Voices” Helen Conboy is also seen beside a fire place. Re-creating the image of “hearth and home,” Patricia Bates is seen in similar circumstances—goddess of the earth is tending the symbol of home. Once more, identities of woman, scientist and soldier arise and mesh. Joe addresses her in military terms: “Captain, you deserve a medal, and what’s more important, I didn’t lose a single man on this mission”—in contrast to three days earlier. She responds in military terms: she salutes—“Yes, sir, over and out.” He does not take offense; he explains that he had to have the information in a hurry. She eschews her military identity for a moment: “I was feeling very feminine—and that somebody cared if I lived or died.” Then she brings both their identities into equal focus: “but we’re both scientists. Mine is weather and yours is war.”
-“Pat—it’s a sunshiny day”
Joe does not agree or disagree with her lumping them together under the same rubric and definition. He would rather see them at the moment as a man and a woman. Rather, he thanks her—“for saving my life and the life of my men.” She leaves, with a simple goodbye, but he calls her back. She is off to London—to do her job from a desk. The earth goddess has left the skies. Joe knows this is where she belongs, but not because she’s a woman—she is a scientist, and scientists don’t always do their best work in planes. But that can’t separate them now. Their conversation about their future evokes weather: He says “I guess from time to time you’ll be sending me weather reports.” “Mostly foggy and cool—with periods of sunshine.” (Is she describing her attitude?) Joe’s wording is interesting: “The first sunny day—I’ll come down.” In England, you always “go down” to London. But he is “going down” from the skies as well to meet her “on her own turf.” “That sounds like a highly workable solution,” she says, sounding like a scientist. With her assent, he bends slightly to kiss her but refreshingly she moves away to take her leave. “Pat,” he says, “it’s a sunshiny day.” And so it is, both literally and figuratively—the mission has been completed, and not one man or plane has been lost, and to Joe, it could be pouring rain but it is still a beautiful day. (“Any day you make it back is a great day,” Sandy says in “Back to the Drawing Board.”) In the doorway where she extended her hand to him three days earlier, and he didn’t take it, she extends it again—he takes it, and for a few minutes, or maybe a few hours, Joe, the sky god and Pat the earth goddess will walk together, united.
“The Outsider”
Writer: Ellis Marcus
Director: Don Medford
The simple title identifies a recurring theme in 12OCH: loneliness, isolation, being abandoned, not fitting in. All four were significant qualities of the first Gallagher-Komansky episode, “The Loneliest Place in the World,” and have been evoked and will be evoked in episodes with titles such as “A Distant Cry,” “The Survivor,” “The Hollow Man,” and “The Pariah.” If not identified in the title, the theme plays out in episodes such as “Then Came the Mighty Hunter” (Cpl. Steve Corbett becoming isolated by his age and immaturity and Komansky breaking out of his own isolation to help him); “The Hot Shot” (Troper’s maverick qualities finally isolating him from his own men); “Show Me A Hero” (Komansky’s loneliness being exploited by the journalist); “Runway in the Dark” (Christian being abandoned at the end); “I Am the Enemy” (Kurt Brown’s self-imposed isolation is driving him mad); “Storm at Twilight” (Stovall feeling the loneliness of middle age among the younger pilots); “The Jones Boys” (“Sir, he just doesn’t fit in,” says Frank about his little brother); and “Falling Star” (Wexler covering up his loneliness with displays of virility, and sympathizing with the lonely Lt. Booth).
The “outsider” in this episode, Harley Wilson, deals with it all. “The Outsider” also meditates on another frequently evoked theme: heroism and its attendant difficulties. Gallagher in “The Hot Shot” questioned being called a hero after toting up the glitches and disasters of his shuttle mission; and Komansky fled the identity in “Show Me a Hero” and only took it up when requested by Gallagher. Wilson glories in his heroism which makes him an insider, but learns how briefly a hero shines before his time is over and he is not content to let his time go, perhaps even preferring to die to make sure his fame and his status as an insider is assured—or at least, people remembering his name–and they do, in the epilogue, but sadly. But, maybe this would have been enough for Harley Wilson whose wholesome face covers up a kind of monster.
Unlike some of these pigheaded, tortured, traumatized characters of previous and upcoming episodes (particularly Wally Bolen in “The Hollow Man”) Lt. Harley Wilson seems to be a nice, rather normal young man, just a little feckless, and unable to keep in step with his breezier buddies. He is a seemingly unlikely fighter pilot, but has obviously proven himself for work requiring individual thinking, great skills, and a willingness to “go it alone”—while at the same time working with fellow pilots, both P-51 and B-17 Big Brother as a team. He’s made it so far, flying escort for B-17s over the ETO. Lt. Wilson tries to fit in, but his youth, his gaucheness, his “simple personality” combine against him—he wants to be one of the boys in the air and on the ground, but has neither the slick confidence of his buddies, nor a record of making a kill—which he seems to think will make him an insider. Wilson and Komansky share, to a degree, the same problem of being outsiders which gives a certain poignancy to two scenes: one of confrontation, and the other of reconciliation. Komansky impels both; the first by his still uncontrolled impulse to strike out when assaulted; the second by his deep personal loyalty to Gallagher.
-“Stay tight”
In the teaser, the triumphant version of the theme plays while droning B-17s go about their business; the goal is to bomb Kasseldorf (never an official target; ctd. Duffin and Mathes). In the cockpit of Miss Lily, Joe asks if there is any sign of Major Temple yet—Major Zachary Temple now seems in charge of their fighter group (which provokes question of what happened to Troper?–and Major Marriott, for that matter). No sign yet, and the bombers are getting near the rendezvous point—“2:00 high,” announces Sandy—and there they are. The helmeted profiles of Major Temple, and one of his men, Lt. Harley Wilson, are shown. Temple glances out to see the bombers above thick banks of clouds, and warns his right flank, the man literally on the outside, Lt. Wilson to stay tight. “I’m on it,” Wilson announces. His boyish face is steady and sure; there is no question of cowardice on this young man’s part. ME-109s move in immediately, Sandy disappears into his turret and the fight is on—this is a rapidly edited sequence which is hard to follow as the Jerry and Yank fighters “go to it”—well visualizing the confusion that can reign in the air. Strikingly, there is an ME-109 making a “12 o’clock high” approach, that comes so close that Gallagher and Bob both instinctively pull back and duck. Wilson moves in to take care of it; he shoots. His steady profile contrasts with Joe and Bob’s straining faces as they begin to fight for control of the plane.
-“it’s 50 caliber”
The right waist gunner reports to Joe’s request—“we took a hit and cables are flapping.” Sandy, for once, gets to be a flight engineer (this point is frequently lost as he mans the top turret, keeps an eye out for fighters, and provides an “ear” for Joe’s cockpit speeches), and he swiftly reports that the ship’s cables are severed and nothing can be done—his plane has been damaged which does not make him as mad as another discovery—he pulls a bullet from the skin of the fuselage. “Not 22 millimeter, it’s a 50 caliber—we got hit by one of our own fighters.” It’s rather unfortunate that the still over-sensitive Sandy made the discovery; he will make the shit hit the fan—and in some ways might be partially responsible for the sad playing out of Wilson’s story. He knows this at the end, creating an unusual and tender moment of Komansky dwelling on Wilson’s memory with sadness and regret.
-“I just can’t forget the whole thing, sir”
Act I: the Piccadilly Lily has been escorted to safety but flies uneasily toward home with a secure landing an uncertainty. In the cockpit, Sandy is still steaming about happened; “soon as we get down, I’m going to find out who that trigger-happy hot shot was,” he declares. Gallagher, perhaps a little too confident in his recent successes with Sandy, advises “when the firing starts, anything can happen”—but Sandy ought to know this, considering how long he has been in this war; besides, he was directly responsible for downing a P-51 in “The Hot Shot.” Moreover, he owes his survival to them in “Show Me a Hero” as they protected the crippled Piccadilly Lily back to England. So, is he finally suffering from some battle fatigue?–Kaiser warned in “Falling Star” that “the first sign of battle fatigue is a nasty disposition.” How long has it been since he had some time off?—even Gallagher had some sick leave in “Storm at Twilight”—well, Sandy at least gets an afternoon off in “The Survivor.” “I just can’t forget the whole thing, sir,” Sandy tells his colonel. “Neither can I, Sergeant, but I’ll handle it,” Joe tells him, addressing him by rank to make his point. ”Right now, we gotta land this airplane . . . if I can just hold that,” he mutters as the damaged Piccadilly Lily comes down. “Easy, baby, easy,” Joe pleads with his favorite girl, hoping the “crosswind doesn’t get too frisky.” Success—“Made it,” Komansky says, but there are now ground problems to run into, mess up, and try to solve.
-“I know I got one—he jumped the colonel’s plane”
At debriefing, a jubilant Temple says, “One fantastic week,” toting up the kills of the week, which is just lovely way of measuring success—but, this is war, and a nasty one at that. Wilson, standing outside a circle of fellow pilots, looks on. He didn’t score—but Mikler had two, “if the camera doesn’t make me out a liar,” he adds, reminding viewers of the gun cameras: this previews what such films will reveal about the hapless Wilson, and becomes a plot point in this episode. At this time we can see that Wilson is not merely a social outsider, he is even a physical outsider: his fellow fighter pilots Lt. Gabriel and Lt. Mikler, and their boss Major Temple, are all tall, dark and handsome; he is short, with brown naturally curly hair, and a face that verges on good looking, but too boyish to be handsome. Even his name—Wilson—is ordinary, in contrast to “Mikler,” and to the rather exotic and almost “religious” names of “Gabriel” and “Zachary Temple.” “Did you see him?” Wilson asks about his chase of a plane. When ignored, he demands, “Sir, how about mine?” They don’t believe him. “I know I got one,” he insists; “he jumped the colonel’s plane.” Nobody confirms and to Wilson’s insistence, Temple learns that there were clouds involved. ”Then you really didn’t see him go down.” But “the gun cameras will tell.” “Sure, sure,” Wilson says, ironically relieved; the film will do just that.
-“You can confirm the hit!” – “You hit our aircraft.”
Outside, a somewhat nervous Sandy seems to be patrolling the fighter pilots as they leave debriefing and climb into Jeeps for their trip back to Holypoole. “Hey Sandy, I heard you had some trouble; I’m glad you made it back,” says Temple. Sandy thanks him, and half-heartedly tries to get his attention—but then seems to think better of it. Gallagher, he is thinking, has said, “I’ll handle it.” But Sandy, like Wilson, can be a hapless soul, and is in Wilson’s line of sight when he emerges from the hut. Wilson recognizes him and to his question, Sandy says, a bit carelessly to an officer, that he flew with Colonel Gallagher that day. “I saw the Jerry that hit you!” and “Did you see me get him?” Sandy’s quizzical face turns into a glare—which Robinson could do very well; I am always startled at how the actor could look so different when he changed expressions and in this case he looks downright reptilian. Wilson misinterprets his look: “You can confirm the hit!” Sandy lets his anger overcome his good sense. “You hit our aircraft—I was hoping to find the guy who belongs to this,” he says, offering the bullet to Wilson. “You knocked us down; you crippled us. I’m sure you want to keep this as a souvenir,” and his salute has a lot of snot in it. Wilson stares after him, crushed. These two men have more in common than they think; both of them don’t intend to mess things up, but they do. Sandy still has a well of anger which gets out of hand; Wilson seems to have the stars against him. In any case, they’re both about to dive into some hot water.
-“He probably saved your life, driving Jerry off”
Cut to Operations, where an enraged Gallagher has the decency to shut his office door before he deals with Komansky who has reported the incident—and should he have kept his mouth shut? “Sergeant, I said I would handle this,” he snaps, with a venomous look. “Sir, I didn’t exactly go looking for him,” Sandy says. “He asked me to confirm a hit.” Captain Robbins, listening to this, calmly points out, “he probably saved your life, driving Jerry off.” Gallagher declares he wants this to go no further; the relations between the bombing and fighting groups have been excellent—he knows, he made them that way in “The Hot Shot,” with Komansky’s help; he constantly strives for smooth relations and teamwork. He snaps his dismissal to Sandy, and they part, angrily saluting each other. Maybe Komansky is angry with himself by now and this may explain his rather bumptious behavior later at the Star and Bottle. Gallagher grabs a calming cigarette. Robbins tries to defuse the situation: “I would like to have seen expression on that pilot’s face when Komansky told him that.” Gallagher doesn’t waste any more time on the incident or his occasionally hard-headed sergeant; rather, intelligence has reported that the bombing run that day was not really successful. They need to see the films to see if they were really striking the refinery.
-“You know how it is”
In his quarters, Wilson stares at the bullet Komansky gifted him with—it’s on the edge of a hot stove. He seizes it and seems to press in it to the flesh of his palm—punishing the hand that sprayed the bullets?—doing something to prove “something” to himself? The ambiguity of this action matches the ambiguity of his death. His buddy Mikler comes in, interrupting his painful reverie. Wilson is in his fatigues still. “I went on a walk,” he says, and I too know the benefits of a long walk when things aren’t going well, and you need to think, like he did, amidst hundreds of men and roaring airplane—but he can be ready to go out with him, as planned. He is pathetically eager to please, and Mikler is smoothly apologetic: their plans are off, because the other friend has paired them off with girls. “Two,” he says. “You know how it is.” “Sure I do,” Wilson says, holding back his hurt—and it’s tough; I’ve done it myself out of pride, but you don’t forget the brush off. Mikler leaves and Wilson turns back to the stove, as if seeking it for company and not really caring about a future date with the boys “and all the beer they can handle.” But his unexpected release will allow him to directly confront the situation—which is hard to do, but less painful than stewing about it.
-“You’re Lt. Wilson, aren’t you?”
At Wing, the bomber and fighter personnel sit with General Pritchard to watch the films of the partially successful mission. They see the action of the day, and while agreeing the strike looked great, there was still something wrong—the target was not hit, and a lot of the surrounding countryside needs to be looked at. Gallagher asks that his men stand down while a photo-recon mission is run. Pritchard calls upon Captain Vincent to contact General Marteen, an important figure in “Target 802.” Outside, we get to see Phyllis Vincent again, who seems to be doing more meaningful work than first seen in “The Idolater” when she seemed to sit a table near General Britt, waiting for something to do—like Gallagher asking her for a date. Her presence seems appropriate because this episode evokes the stunts and problems of Lt. Josh McGraw who had some kind of personal agenda to work out (“The Idolater”). She is taking care of front office business with great efficiency when Lt. Wilson suddenly enters, polite, but intent on confronting Colonel Gallagher about the incident that morning. Phyllis is friendly—“You’re Lt. Wilson, aren’t you?” she asks, and he beams yes, without thinking about why this woman would know him. (Well, how does she?) She talks on the phone, putting him off for a few moments, but when finished offers him coffee, which she gives him in a nicely steaming mug (so many times it is obvious in a tv or movie that there is nothing in the cup; check out Joe’s coffee drinking at the cafe in “Underground.”)
Wilson is drawn to her warmth, better than the stove and the coffee. But, as always, he is innocently gauche—he says he hates to see a woman working so hard—“there’s a war, you know,” she says with a smile, and says she will be getting off soon. He tries to make a date with her, but she has plans, which include Colonel Gallagher, and suggests that they keep steady company. He shyly accepts the third disappointment of a long day. There’s a few more to come
-“I’ll have a long talk with Lt. Wilson. . .”
Within the room beyond, films play again—and this time they are P-51s at work. Did Joe do this deliberately?—he seems a little abashed when he says “We had a little problem today, sir.” Typically, for Gallagher, he tries to minimize the affair–a “little problem.” In many ways, however, it is. “Who did that?” Pritchard demands. “That was Lt. Harley Wilson.” “But that was your plane he hit.” Gallagher admits to Temple information that Komansky brought him: “Zach, I thought you ought to know about this.” “I’ll have a long talk with Lt. Wilson,” Temple says. Joe demurs, pointing out that not too long ago “I knocked down one of the P-51s by accident.” (Actually, that was done by Sandy in a demonstration of ace shooting. Sandy gallantly offered to be busted in punishment, which Joe did not even entertain. It all underscores what a repentant Komansky later says about his colonel being “the greatest.”) “At the time, they made a lot about it,” Gallagher says, and they should overlook it for “the sake of the whole team.” He certainly will. Leaving the inner room, Gallagher meets Wilson. Gallagher speaks to him sharply, and so does Temple, pointing out tactical errors. Wilson explains—the Me-109 “was just pulling up.” However, a more experienced fighter pilot, less eager to make that kill that Harley believes will finally define him, might have held off. Pritchard then joins them, with good news: Marteen has okayed the photo-recon; Gallagher will fly one of the P-51s. Wilson sees his opportunity and volunteers—“it’s the least I can do,” he says. Joe Gallagher is moved by Wilson’s youth and desire to make amends—and, taking a chance, as he awhile ago took a chance on Komansky, agrees: “We can’t turn down a man with spirit like that.” “You won’t regret it,” says Wilson, his day full of botch-ups and disappointments nearly vanishing. He leaves. Gallagher looks somewhat queasy, but he has committed himself.
-“meet Shotgun Wilson”
Act II begins by evoking pathos for Wilson as he seeks company, and ends in triumph as Wilson no less saves Colonel Gallagher from death or capture (or a perilous trek home through the Underground). It demonstrates how quickly things can change in war—for better and for worse. Though feeling better about the incident and about himself, Harley Wilson seeks diversion in the Officers Club, where the shoulder to shoulder officers both accommodate and ignore him. After getting a beer with some difficulty, and hailing a friend (“Hey, Stubby!”) without success, he finds his buddies with their dates seated among the smoke and noise. Mikler has just finished a shaggy dog story, the punchline of which is unintelligible to the newcomer, but he laughs anyway. They greet him happily, and introduce him to the girls, English Wrens: “Meet Shotgun Wilson,” When he questions the name, Lt. Gabriel says, “You scattered some buckshot up there.” But he is sympathetic and asks Harley to join in—“price of admission—raise a chuckle.” Old “Hapless” Harley, desperately seeking company, and put on the spot, can only summon up an old spoonerism: an usher at church saying “Mardon me, Padam, you’re occupewing the wrong pie.” His buddies finish the joke: “I’ll sew you another sheet.” Cowed as his old joke is stepped on, he is still gracious to his friends and the girls, withdraws and goes to the Star and Bottle, where the atmosphere is not any better.
-“Go ahead, Sandy, I didn’t mean to interrupt”
A nice touch—Harley pushes aside the blackout curtains to enter the convivial pub, filled with British and American officers and non-coms. At the end of the bar Komansky is animatedly talking with two other tech sergeants about boxing (well, he had a round with Gallagher that afternoon) and demonstrating moves with such verve that it suggests he may have had a bit more to drink than usual—he regrets angering Gallagher, with some guilt feelings besides. He pushes right into Harley Wilson, who is too lonely to take offense: “Go ahead, Sandy, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says, sweetly, trying desperately to apologize to the sergeant who will have nothing of it. Sandy may be angry at him now because he was indirectly responsible for his fight with Gallagher. Sandy and the other sergeants acknowledge him as an officer, finish their drinks and leave; “See you around,” Sandy says; and he will see him later, but eat his words, and happily.
The increasingly deflated Harley then sees Phyllis—at a table, smiling warmly, though her smile may be for Gallagher, somewhere behind the lieutenant. He greets her happily, and when she asks if “he’s on the prowl” (if he is, it is the prowl of a “cat left out in the rain”), a cheerful Gallagher comes up from behind them, bringing her coat, and he remarks that “they’ll be on the prowl in the morning,” so he’d better get some sleep. “Don’t you worry about that sir,” Harley assures him, eager to agree with anybody who shows a bit of interest in him. Joe and Phyllis leave—to what? Joe must have some sort of sex life . . .but he just said he needs to get some sleep. A barmaid, Agnes, comes up to get the tips and pick up the glasses. They are mirror images of each other: young, attractive but no knock-outs; she has her mind on her unattractive work, the tips, and despite her prettiness, the men in the place don’t bother her, and don’t seem to bother with her. All she can say to his greetings is that “she’s going bonkers,” and in way of conversation, “you must be new here.” “I’ve been around a few months,” he says. “Shot your share of jerries, I suspect” she says in way of uninterested conversation. He tries to explain why he hasn’t; demonstrating with his hand on the table, about his outside wing position. She’s heard it before or she doesn’t hear; she turns to her business and leaves him alone. Defeated at last by his friends and his foes, and those who have absolutely no relation to him at all, he sits down at the table, tired and abashed.
–“we’re looking good, we’re looking good”
Act II continues with P-51s sleeking through the skies; Gallagher is nearly unrecognizable in his aviator’s skull cap rather than his crush cap. The photo-recon is going well, and as they complete their work, Gallagher praises everybody: “we’re looking good, we’re looking good.” Of course, things start looking bad. Whether Joe is not the best pilot at the P-51, or his plane malfunctions, he is in trouble. “I’m on fire, Zack,” he reports, and then, like the good shepherd, tells him “take ‘em home, take ‘em home.” As he bails, you wonder if beyond the immediate act of survival, what would he be thinking?–POW camp, death by lynching (German civilians were encouraged by the high command to do such things) or another journey on the “Underground” . . . Harley Wilson goes after him, an act which probably arises from his desire to make amends and perhaps a bit of showboating. In any case, it’s a daring move, even though at the moment there are no fighters to worry them as he dives to the grassy valley, edged by an enormous, dark, and snow-capped mountain. Joe, safely lands, rolls up his parachute, but does not spend much time pondering his next move as he sees the Mustang heading for him. Of course, the Messerschmidts start to come up, looking like mosquitoes after a carcass; they spray an exciting set of bullets that endangers Joe’s running for Wilson who cranks the canopy open.
Once Joe is in, Wilson takes off and despite some bad moments, the Mustang leaves the Jerries behind; Joe has encouraged him to “pour it on.” This has happened so quickly that Wilson does not seem to realize what he has done. “I sure would like to get me one of them,” he says to Joe, who assures him, “you’ve earned your pay today.” Wilson still seems to be measuring himself in terms of the kill, rather than the save (which is what fighter pilots should be concentrating on) because he is startled—and pleased—when Joe says he will put him in for Distinguished Flying Cross. Saving lives can make you a hero too—but it soon proves to be not enough for Harley Wilson . . .
-“here’s the guy who saved the skipper!”
Act III, with the exception of one scene at Wing, takes place at the Star and Bottle. As he did the night before, Wilson emerges through the black-out curtains, looking apprehensive. He is ignored at first as he makes his way around the shoulders and backs of officers and non-coms. His buddies, who may have invited him to the Star and Bottle, pounce on him—“here’s the guy who saved the skipper!” They swarm around him, which pleases but startles him. “It was pretty close,” he admits. “Give him some air—give him a drink,” say Gabriel and Mikler, and they order a bottle of Irish—whiskey that is, for the rather abstemious Wilson. They continue their celebration—“here’s Lt. Wilson, pride of the squadron,” and Wilson is probably pleased more than anything by Captain Phyllis Vincent darting up and kissing him, thanking him. Pushed over to the table where he sat, defeated, the night before, he tries to sit down in a chair being claimed by one of his buddies; for once, the man graciously yields it to him. Pushing the whole thing slightly (but pushing shows how a hero suddenly suffers an excess of attention) Gabriel asks him for a joke, and he repeats the stale spoonerism to the roars of all. Komansky does something more sincere; he comes up to him and asks to speak with him privately. Harley agrees, and gets up, taking off the coat that never came off in his peregrinations of the night before.
–“what you did—in this whole rotten war . . .”
In “Between the Lines,” when Komansky’s terror of rats endangered the group, the frightened Sgt. Trask kept him from crying out, and Sandy’s shame leads him to a private compassionate apology and conversation with the inexperienced Trask–which creates one of the traditional scenes in which Gallagher and Komansky expressing their regard for each other, but not directly. It’s the same situation here when Komansky “settles up” with Wilson. His actions are more quiet than the others—but he has more to account for both in terms of his behavior and for the precious life Wilson saved. Komansky apologizes without hesitation—like me, I don’t mind apologizing when I know I am in the wrong: “I’m sorry for yesterday. I was way out of line.” Harley holds no grudge: “Forget it. I understand.” Komansky falters as his feelings go on display: “What you did—in this whole rotten war—Colonel Gallagher’s the greatest, you know?” “He is,” Harley agrees. “I just wanted to thank you,” Sandy says. Harley is called back by his buddies and he is so happy that he apologizes for leaving the sergeant. “It’s your show,” Komansky says. “You deserve it.” He watches Harley get swept up in the adulation which includes journalists—does he worry about the lieutenant and what is happening to him? He barely managed to survive his own “hero” media storm several months earlier. In any case, he is grateful that Gallagher has survived; he is depending on the man more and more.
Journalists await, telling him that “PR” said he was here. “I’ve never been interviewed before,” he admits. “It doesn’t hurt,” he is assured, and the young barmaid Agnes suddenly comes up with a tray full of whiskeys. She pays no attention to the men; rather, she just deals the drinks out and expects tips. They take them up and toast him: “Here’s to the quietest and most courageous man of the 23rd,” announces Mikler. Harley barely sips on his whiskey; he is more a beer drinker. Phyllis stokes the excitement. “Well, say something!” Harley grows expansive: the world feels like his friend, but he begins with genuine modesty about the event. He knew many things could have gone wrong . . .
-“all the fighter cover we can muster”
A break in the celebration—back at Wing, the fortunate Gallagher does not dwell on his “great escape” though he feels fortunate to be where he belongs, looking at the films that he nearly lost his life or his freedom over. With Pritchard and Temple he watches the film they took of the peaceful countryside, and locate the storage tanks which, in a ravine, were not visible from 20,000 feet—and very visible at treetop level. Pritchard gives them the go-ahead to “disrupt Jerry’s fuel supply,” and gives them everything he can, including “all the fighter cover we can muster.”
-“how does it feel to be a hero?”
Back at the Star and Bottle, Harley has warmed up under the attention and is physically demonstrating his work, standing up and gesturing, akin to Sandy’s boxing demonstration the night before. His buddies happily add to his story, increasing his glory and without any envy: he was under attack by German fighters—“he was a sitting duck”—and the colonel had to come running under attack to get into his plane. Just as they bring the colonel into the story, Joe and Zack Temple enter the Star and Bottle, and come close enough to listen. Harley is asked, “What does it feel like to be a hero?” Just as he is answering, modestly and plainly, “that a hero matters,” the guys spot Gallagher—they surge to him with joy, not meaning to desert Harley, but they do. Before Gallagher can protest, Phyllis is in his arms kissing him, and to her question, “Are you all right?” he answers, “Well, I am now!” One of the reporters asks Harley, “Say, isn’t that the man you rescued?” “Yes, that’s Colonel Gallagher,” he says, flatly but without a trace of resentment. The reporters, save one, get up to meet him. The remaining reporter asks him, “You were saying?—about a hero matters?” Harley may have changed his original statement. “Until now, I’ve held the wing position.” “And being a hero has changed all that?” “Yes, it has,” Harley says, but does not explain—but his change seems to lead to his death the next day. Perhaps he knows that he can no longer fly point and put up with it. Doing something highly individualized that day brought him fame; he wants more, which destroys team effort.
In the midst of admirers, and the journalists that he does not realize he has drawn away from the young pilot, Gallagher admits that his recent adventure did make him sweat a bit, but “that’s because I wasn’t in a solid 17.” The single reporter goes to Gallagher as well, leaving Harley, as he was the night before, alone at the table. He has barely sipped his whiskey, but now he knocks it back in one gulp. What’s going on . . ? Gallagher was gracious in not deliberately interrupting Harley’s story, but he could have publicly thanked the man.
-“you’re turning into an eager beaver”
Act IV begins with B-17s trundling out in solemn display and taking off—“we’re going to war,” as the pilot said in “The Jones Boys.” At Holypoole (?), Lt. Harley Wilson, none the worse for the wear for the previous evening, peers out of the windows of his quarters (which don’t have blackout curtains, which seems strange) at the B-17s groaning overhead—what he is thinking? While Mikler continues to sleep, he braces himself with the bedpost and does some exercises—whoops—haplessly, he loses his grip and knocks into Mikler’s bed, rousing his buddy. “We’re flying escort off the target, briefing’s not for another hour,” he snaps. “You’re turning into a real eager beaver, you know?” He pulls the blankets up. Undaunted, Harley does push-ups. They day can’t start soon enough for him. He has to prove himself . . . again.
-“a force this size . . . it’s a pretty sight”
Harley’s push-ups fade into the stirring sight of a massed formation of B-17s flying above the clouds. Gallagher and Komansky are reassuringly side by side in Ramrod Leader; if apologies, either one-sided or mutual, were given we never know; but like good partnerships, this one persists, despite errors and miscalculations. They are both observing the B-17s and the skies, and Joe, this morning, sees the beauty—“A force this size makes you feel good—it’s a pretty sight.” “To the jerries, I’ll bet,” Komansky says, always a little more cynical.. Gallagher returns to business: “They’re going to throw everything they have at us today, Sandy.”
-“just do your job . . . relax, boy”
On the ground, at briefing, the “off-target” pilots are getting ready to deal with “everything they’ve got.” Temple orders that the wing men “keep their positions. Disobeying orders may turn you into a hero, but . . .” Lt. Wilson looks abashed at these words—heroism has a price; it signalizes you in good ways, but in bad ways as well. There’s a feeling that Harley is getting very mixed up; he is not sure what he wants any more—being a hero makes him feel like the world is his friend, but the feeling does not last forever—does he want to make it last?—beneath this quiet, courageous façade perhaps exists a cry of “it’s all about me.” “Let’s hit it,” orders Temple. The men leave but Harley stays behind. “I know you were speaking about me,” he begins. Temple denies it, pointing out “we can’t chew over every little incident—just do your job—relax, boy.” What does Harley make of these words?—saving Joe was “one little incident?” Was he not doing his job? Had he disobeyed? Was disobedience the one way to signalize yourself? At this point, Harley’s motivations seemed to be very mixed up as he takes his place to escort the B-17s off target from Kasseldorf. Once more, he’s the outsider, questioning everything, even his future as a pilot.
-“For me, it’s the only way . . .”
The remaining portion of Act VI is tight and muddled as a variety of emotions and motivations rival the flak and the fighters. Back in the air, the massed formation reaches its PDI; the fighters who have escorted them have left, and they are on their own. Down below, they are picked up; the German pilots scramble; the flak comes up, but the bombs are dropped, soon followed by jubilation: “There she blows! Bull’s eye!” The fighters swarm in for one helluva battle—which is in process when Joe demands “Where’s Temple’s boys?” “I wish I knew,” says co-pilot Bob. Without the fighters, the B-17s are defending themselves, front, top, bottom and back; Sandy notes that Ramrod 2 has taken a bad hit. Gallagher encourages Captain Robbins to bail, but he has wounded—“they’ll make it,” he tells Gallagher. The P-51s arrive, hell for leather. Harley almost immediately leaves his point and finally makes his first kill: “Did you see it?!” he demands—that’s all he care about, somebody seeing him make a kill. Mikler is then hit from behind, and Harley sees it, and wordlessly watches his friend go down. Wilson then observes the struggling Ramrod 2 and goes to help, despite Temple’s orders not to; he can’t do that and make it back on their fuel supply.
Despite everything, including Gallagher’s orders to return to his point position, Wilson dives into trouble, saying—admitting?—that “I’ll show all of you once and for all—I’ll show you what I can do.” He has saved a man’s life in an act of daring, but he still wants his kill, apparently. Is this arrogance, stupidity?—what? It reminds me of Josh McGraw in “The Idolater,” whose motivations for his own ghastly, redeeming, “this helps others” death are equally mixed. It’s as if Harley Wilson is tired of reaching—for something—and decides to get it over with. One taste of fame has whet his appetite for another taste, and maybe he knows that life can’t be lived that way. Perhaps he caught a glimpse of what life could be, and knows he can’t be that way except when buoyed up by admiration. Maybe he caught a look at what made him an outsider to begin with–and curiously, unlike the troubled Sandy, can’t deal with it, patiently, by learning, experiencing, and listening to a mentor. Behind the boyish face is a kind of monster and this monster is taking over. Maybe it’s the quality that makes a man into a fighter pilot to begin with, and it has positive and negative consequences. When Gallagher tells him “he doesn’t have to take this kind of gamble,” Harley’s farewell words are ambiguous—“for me, it’s the only way—thank you for understanding.” Understanding that it was a gamble–? Which is a word and a concept frequently evoked in this series. In any case, he sacrifices himself for the life of the B-17 and its crew, and his Mustang goes down in a gamble he had little chance in winning.
-“unfortunately. . . he had to reach a little higher than he could go”
The epilogue returns to the exterior of the Star and Bottle, the third time the pub has been visited in three days. Interestingly, rather than the usual shot of servicemen approaching the pub, this time, a single serviceman leaves the pub—sort of the ghost of Harley Wilson departing from his scenes of pathetic isolation to moment of triumph—which does not make him a tragic figure. He has qualities of the tragic hero—he was an overreacher as Joe will describe him–but these were not strong enough to push him to this “glorious” identity— Instead, he remains a sad rather than a truly tragic figure . . . Inside, the crowds and smoke of the night before has given over to quiet and a thin, thoughtful group of people. Was this a scheduled “farewell” to Harley, that the fighter pilots did not bother to attend—or couldn’t do it? At the bar, a pensive Komansky sits over a drink, reviewing his actions with Harley. He is surely glad he apologized to the man, but must wonder about how his actions might have helped drive the man to a kind of suicide. He might also see something ugly in himself that Gallagher can see as he continually attempts to make his sergeant into a better human being. He gets up and walks off as if unable to dwell anymore on it or his thoughts and he moves past Gallagher, Phyllis, Temple and Robbins, the pilot of the crippled ship.
The 12OCH theme is played pensively on an oboe, heightening the melodrama as these people at a table try to figure him out. Robbins speaks first—Harley pulled “a wild stunt but it saved him and his crew’s life.” Temple then speaks—“Not so wild—but I never noticed him unless he goofed up—and when he did something heroic.” Phyllis’s high spirits of the evening before are matched by her sorrow and her growing understanding of the dangers of heroism: “If that’s what heroes are made of, I want no part of it.” Joe does not seek to comfort her; his answer demands her to rethink: “Why not? Don’t you think his motives were pure and simple?” Her answer brings up the question about him: “I don’t know.” His motives may have been simple (or were they?) but pure is a question. Phyllis then gets maudlin—“You know, I think we drove him to it—if people had just been kind to him—gone out of their way . . .” Even this is not right; his buddies liked him, and even though they disappointed him but they more than made up for it with their non-envious celebration of his victory. Phyllis was kind to him even before he saved Gallagher’s life, Joe accepted his apology and let him fly, and was commending him for Distinguished Flying Cross; and even Komansky made a special point of apologizing to him. There was something wrong with him—it wasn’t a terrible wrong, but something within his personality always kept him out of step, with his work, his friends, and finally drove him into his last, crazy, deadly and redeeming action. It was kind of like his act of picking up the hot bullet and pressing it into hand—to what point? “Phyllis,” Joe snaps, “Harley drove himself. He was trying to become someone people would notice—unfortunately, this time he had to reach a little higher than he could go.” After a moment, he adds “Personally I don’t think this would be much of world if some of us didn’t reach out.” Joe himself reached out when he undertook command of the 918th—and certainly reached out to draw the isolated Komansky into the fold.
–“Average looking—always kind of alone”
With little else left to say, Phyllis and Joe prepare to leave, and the barmaid, who doesn’t seem very connected to anything beyond tips, remarks how quiet it is—“has there been bad news?” and “One of the lads I might have known?” When she is told it was Harley Wilson, she does not remember him, though she spoke with him and served him drinks. Komansky, standing alone, begins the lament for the fallen warrior. “Wasn’t very big—average looking—always kind of alone.” Then he leaves, nearly bolting out the door. Komansky’s walls have crumbled in sorrow over Harley Wilson; and they may never go back up again–in the upcoming “Back to the Drawing Board” he takes charge of the blinded Zemler and demands that a sorrowing mentor overcome his reluctance to visit him; in “The Survivor” he forcefully empathizes with Captain Bradovich who has shut others out; and in “The Hollow Man” senses the depth of damage done to Wally Bolen; in “Siren Voices” he develops a psychic connection with the “Danzig Lady.” Agnes continues the lament: “It’s a pity—a lad dies and I don’t even remember him.” “We will Agnes,” Joe says, finishing the lament. Like Komansky, Agnes’ walls have been breached as well. Nearly all alone in the quiet pub, Agnes goes over to the table where Harley collapsed in misery and then soared in joy, places her hands on the chair he sat in, and is left wondering—about what, we don’t know, which underscores the ambivalence of Wilson’s questionable ambitions and odd death.
“Back to the Drawing Board”
Writers: Dave and Andy Lewis
Director: Gerald Mayer
“Back to the Drawing Board” refers to several previous episodes: “Storm at Twilight” is referenced when Gallagher suddenly tells Harvey Stovall that he will be flying with him; “The Slaughter Pen” is recalled as a new kind of radar becomes the “technical innovation” at the heart of the episode’s story (as well as the 918th being described as “guinea pigs”); and finally, “Which Way the Wind Blows” is the most strongly referenced in that this and “Drawing Board” are very similar stories. In both episodes the 918th’s work is being loused up by bad weather, and General Britt, in his best feature of being kind of a wizard bringing in new weapons by which to slay the foe, brings in a specialist. Both specialists, a meteorologist and a radar-expert are good at what they do, but the horrible realities of war lead them to near collapse, though they persevere (after a kind of heart to heart with Gallagher and yes, both sessions take place in the Star and Bottle)—even the new weapon or technique is not infallible, but progress has been made in winning the war.
On the personal front of 12OCH, and its continuing stories, Gallagher is once more made to bear the burden of him and his men being guinea pigs by direction of his superior and this experiment is particularly brutal; Stovall gets to flex his recently renewed flying muscles, and Komansky makes notable personal progress as he goes out of his way to make friends with the initially protective and touchy Sgt. Raymond Zemler. He also gives Zemler’s mentor, Dr. Rink, a taste of the medicine that Gallagher has been administering to him, well seen in “Mighty Hunter.” Also, jokingly, the writers must have liked “R”—names and words line up on the consonant: Rink, Ray, Rice, radar and Raidar . . .
-“they’re using my skies and I hate them for it”
The episode’s 3-part teaser starts in the usual fashion of long-airborne B-17s going towards their target. Inside the Piccadilly Lily, Bob, the apparently indestructible co-pilot (and he will prove it during “tonight’s episode”) looks glumly at the skies: “We can’t bomb what we can’t see,” he says, thus setting up the problem that propels the story. Fade to . . . a strong stone building with turrets; its folk tale quality both promotes the idea of 12OCH being a kind of 20th century Arthurian saga, as well as being belied by the great Nazi flag flapping over the great doors. Within, a beringed hand, belonging to a classic Nazi officer—blond, handsome, intense—taps on the window frame. Outside, the wailing of sirens does not cover up the drone of bombers which float down over what seems to be a general headquarters and radar tracking station. To his back, a portrait of Adolf Hitler hangs on the wall. Perhaps a new man at his job (perhaps he has been running operations near Russia, or just returned from North Africa) he calls in Major Schuler who tells him that the planes are Yankee bombers; the British bomb at night—but the weather will prevent them from bombing. Col. Felix Erhland asks about scrambling their fighters, but Schuler tells him it would not be effective—they would have to climb “20,000 feet up in the soup.” The colonel listens wisely to his words but announces, “I feel it is a little theatrical, but they are using my sky and I hate them for it.”
-“ . . . you’d never have to worry about weather again . . .”
Back under “their skies” (or friendly and borrowed skies, for these are Americans in England), Bob and Joe drop out of the hatch of Miss Lily and before Joe can get his breath, an MP is saluting him and saying “General Britt wishes to see him.” Joe pauses (“What now?” he must think) and then with a faintly impudent “Sure,” joins Britt at his staff car. Britt is slightly mocking as he was in “Grant Me No Favor” (“out of the nowhere into here”); perhaps it is a way to keep Joe perpetually uneasy and worried; a way to train Gallagher for his general’s star. “Aborted another mission, eh Colonel?” Gallagher is a little non-plussed, but points out that aborting “was a possibility beforehand.” “What if I were to tell you that you’d never have to worry about the weather again?” he asks, in a burst of optimism. Joe remains guarded, perhaps recalling Captain Patricia Bates’s efforts to predict the weather, which were not wholly successful, but certainly useful. “I’m sorry, General, I don’t understand.” “Of course you don’t, but you will—you’re going to be the guinea pig.” Joe wearily starts to duck into the staff car, and then pulls out his head, for a double take—well, he must be thinking, here we go again. (The “six bongs” are laid out over his quizzical face.)This next affair of being made a guinea pig makes his and his group’s work with Patricia Bates a cake walk, without the benefit of a possible romantic liaison.
-“you wouldn’t have the answers before anybody has a question”
Act I is quick moving and continually shifting from sky to ground, from England to Germany. In contrast to the turreted castle of the Germans, Joe’s new place of business is a huddle of tents out in the fields; a B-17, soon to become “Rink’s Raidar” is parked up behind. Despite the thrown together quality, security is tight, and the MPs are stiff and watchful as Gallagher is escorted into the first tent—decorated by a sign announcing “Authorized Personnel Only.” Still in his flight suit, Gallagher remarks, “General, this wasn’t here this morning,” and “what’s this?” as he finds tables full of strange equipment within the tents. Britt is still playing cagey: “because you wouldn’t have the answers before anybody had questions.” “Answers to what?” Joe asks. He is tired and frustrated about the day’s abort and here he is, whisked into strange tents, strange equipment, all brought here but not under his direction and Britt seems to be playing a verbal cat and mouse game with him.
Two men, an older man, dressed in civilian clothes, and a younger Master Sergeant come in. Britt introduces them as Dr. Michael Rink and Sgt. Ray Zemler who arrived as a “team of engineers . . . when you were aloft and the base was quiet. It’s all top secret and the men are to keep quiet.” Gallagher’s had enough: “Yes, sir, but I’m sure it’s no secret.” Rink gets to the point: “No, but it’s what we’re doing here that counts.” On that teasing note, the scene once more fades to the Nazi castle, where the Colonel is interrogating another officer, ominously garbed in a black jacket, about his fighter readiness. Despite the black jacket and other Nazi symbols such as the Iron Cross about Erhland’s neck, they also emerge as men doing their duty, which, in this case, is to get as many fighters as ready as possible, using a five-day bad weather forecast as a time frame. They will suffer surprises—as well as inflicting surprises in the next five days. The two groups are identified and ready to square off.
-“you’ve been strong enough to work for the last thirty-six hours”
Fade back to the 918th, and the mysterious tents and the mysterious predictions of success despite lousy weather. Rink comes into the nerve center to speak with Joe who is sipping on the inevitable mug of coffee. He looks a little more relaxed as he and his men have stood down for a day and a half. “How’s the coffee?” Rink asks. “Strong, and I hope you’re up for it,” Joe says, an old brewer and drinker of the stuff; perhaps each cup recalls his “would be” romance with Ilka Zradna in “Rx for a Sick Bird”; their relationship began, progressed, and ended with coffee. Rink, a man well advanced into middle age, admits that he’s not strong by anybody’s standards, though Joe remarks, “you’ve been strong enough to work for the last thirty-six hours,” as he and Zemler have installed the new device in the B-17. It will be ready by midnight, and they’ll be ready by morning—“Let’s hit’em hard,” Rink says with excitement; this will be his first trip into combat and childlike, he is looking forward to it. He too will strike a blow against the enemy and he and the Nazi colonel are somewhat twinned in their dramatic flourishes toward the foe. Each get in their licks, and each suffer as well. There’s an interesting balancing in this episode, with each side getting its lumps, and getting its victories. General Britt stands nearby, with two pilots, Majors Clark and Rice, who look a little uneasy at Rink’s demand. “Are we flying in this?” he asks, referring to the weather, and Britt responds yes, to the marshalling fields at Douran. “With the hot one,” Rink says, and they and we finally learn what we are dealing with—a top secret device named “BTO”—“bomb through overcast”—and airborne radar. Rather than letting the natural weather aid them in their mission, as they did in “Which Way the Wind Blows,” this time Joe and his boys are employing technology against the weather, which turns out to be as uncertain as the weather.
-“You want something, sergeant?”
The next morning, the three B-17s selected for the first run, trundle off on their business. After the planes are airborne, Komansky suddenly appears between Bob and Joe and asks if Rink has been checked out on oxygen and bailout procedures. “We’re doublechecking,” Joe responds and Sandy goes into the radio room to check on their important passengers. Rink is huddled next to his device, a black cloth over his head and shoulders, resembling old-time photographers who cloaked themselves when setting plates. Perhaps softened from his recent experiences with the semi-tragic Lt. Harley Wilson (“The Outsider”) Sandy seeks to be friendly. “Amateur photographer?” he asks Zemler with a smile. Zemler takes offense at what he thinks is Komansky’s amusement. Still a young man, he is older than Sandy (but, as it turns out, they have rather similar backgrounds) and has spent a lot of time working with and probably protecting the idealistic and enthusiastic Dr. Rink, particularly from military personnel. “You want something sergeant?” he asks. “We don’t need any distractions.” Komansky withholds taking offense when Rink uncovers himself to reveal that he has an oxygen mask on. Komansky removes it, saying they are not high enough yet. Rink complies but says, “It takes some getting used to.”
Despite his exhaustion of the last thirty-six hours, his warmth and friendliness invite the interested Sandy (he is an engineer and I always conceive him taking his Ph.D. in aeronautical engineering in the future) to view the radar screen. For his benefit, and the audience’s, he explains how the ghost-like blips on the screen are the coast of France and the shipyards—the scope is picking up the tin roofs. “We take an aiming point from this?” Sandy asks. He then asks a more important question: “does it work?” Rink admits that it is still experimental—how many other things like this were rushed into war still in the experimental stage?—“but if it does work, it’ll shape the rest of the war.”—Maybe—because this series was filmed only 20 years after the war, there were still a lot of misconceptions or stories that the government or historians were pleased to have perpetuated—such as the accuracy of the Norden bombsite (see “The Jones Boys”) and the utter efficacy of radar. As was pointed out in the “Debriefing” feature of the beautifully done DVD series, radar had its place and its impact (particularly in the Battle of Britain) but was not the single most critical innovation as some accounts have it. Feeling the strain, Rink then gives the device over to Zemler. He moves over and admits to being airsick—“flying doesn’t agree with me.” Zemler glances at him with concern but stays at his post. The navigator then reports that they are 90 seconds away from the IPO. Gallagher rogers that but Zemler corrects the navigator—“thirty seconds.” In the radio room, Komansky remarks if it weren’t for the clouds “the Krauts would be swarming over us.”
In the cockpit, Bob gets ready to send the bombs away, which is being controlled by a device in the cockpit, rather than by a bombardier. “I hope he’s right, this is like bombing into a pile of blankets,” he remarks. As they approach the IPO, Rink begins to wince. Komansky grows concerned and holds him by the jacket—“Sir? Sir?” he asks, and realizing that perhaps Rink had the right idea, slips an oxygen mask over his face, and dials up the flow. Just as this happens the bombs are released and there is a truly magnificent set of footage of bombs flying, propelled forward—unfortunately, the rest of it looks like training footage, but it is still exciting.
-“it must be a mistake”
Cut to down below . . . .another ringed hand caresses the Colonel’s hand over a glass of cognac; this scene is echoed later in the Star and Bottle. Since nothing is happening war-wise, Ehrland is engaging in some afternoon delight with a lovely young blond woman, perhaps his intended; and appropriate for future breeding of the master race. Schuler enters, unembarrassed at his commander’s tete a tete, reporting that enemy aircraft have struck. “It must be some mistake,” shouts Col. Erhland but he orders five aircraft to be scrambled—with himself as one of the pilots. The young lady leaves. Swiftly airborne, he efficiently gives orders, tells the pilots to watch for enemy aircraft, and to “center on him”—and “we must catch them before they get back to England”—but he can find nothing as he swings his plane through the turrets of clouds. The first round belongs to the Americans . . .
-“He just wanted to see if it would work . . . “
Act II: The successful use of the radar device stands in contrast with Zemler’s morose face as he waits in a corridor of the base’s hospital. Gallagher, still in flight suit, discusses the case with General Britt, who is obviously worried and perhaps embarrassed that this highly regarded specialist has collapsed on the job. “He passed his physical all right,” Joe tells him, “but he has a heart condition that a doctor can’t find unless he’s looking for it.” Zemler comes up to Komansky who is also waiting with the group; perhaps he is trying to find some words of thanks for Komansky who helped out his mentor. The “new doc in town,” Dr. Douglas (standing in for Barney Phillips who was filming The Sand Pebbles) arrives to report they have established a regular heart rhythm for the stricken Rink—and no, no word as to why he took such a chance. “He just wanted to see if it would work,” says Zemler, somewhat defensively. “Did we hit the target?” “Let’s hope so, for his sake,” Joe says.
-“You know . . . I didn’t think I was going to like you”
As Dr. Rink sleeps in his hospital room, a nurse with a startling mid-sixties hairstyle arranges his blankets and leaves, leaving Ray Zemler alone with him. He hangs over the foot of the bed, smoking a cigarette—my, how times have changed! As the nurse passes out of the room, Sandy passes in, dealing an inevitable glance back at the pretty young woman. He seems a little wary, wondering about his reception. Did he initiate this visit, telling Gallagher he would find Zemler and deliver Gallagher’s message? “Looks a lot better?” he inquires of Zemler. “Yes.” His next question reveals his own relationship with Gallagher: “You think a lot of him, don’t you?” Zemler tells a story that must sound familiar: Rink is a teacher, and worked with youth groups—“he kept me out of reform school, got me scholarships.” When Rink went into the Signal Corps, he volunteered—“he’s about the only family I have.” Komansky tells him, “looks like you’re going to be the teacher now”—Colonel Gallagher wants to see him, and wants him to pick half a dozen trainees to start learning the BTO device. “Oh, and we hit the target on the nose—80 per cent destruction—it would make the doctor feel great to know that.” “You bet it would,” says Zemler grinning. Komansky volunteers to stay behind and tell Rink if he wakes up. “You know, I didn’t think I was going to like you,” Zemler says with a smile and leaves. “Yeah, well . . .” Komansky says, neither pleased nor displeased. Rather, he seems left wondering why, even when he is friendly, and the person he is dealing with has a lot in common with him, he still seems to rub people the wrong way. But this young man likes him and Komansky will return the favor.
-“a little primitive”
The next morning, jacketed personnel huddle together in briefing as Joe introduces the select men to the new device—“airborne radar.” Joe knowingly calls it “a little primitive” but nonetheless it will allow them to bomb under the most difficult of conditions. Zemler is called forward, and he efficiently begins teaching, first showing the assembled men what the “real deal” looks like, and then how the same scene reads on the new radar scope. There is a swift cut to airborne training, with Zemler instructing a bombardier how to read and sight a target. It works perfectly, again.
-“How can they be so accurate?”
Down below, German soldiers are keeping an eye on their radar screens, with Ehrland and Schuler looking on. To a telephone call, Schuler snaps that all they’re getting is “one blip and a lot of mush.” Ehrland, desperate to do something about those planes “in his sky” scrambles the fighters he has available and asks for instructions: Schuler admits “How do I know? At 20,000 feet, look for fighters.” He apparently does, because, upstairs in the cockpit of the plane (not the Piccadilly Lily, by the way), Bob sees fighters swarming up. Ehrland identifies the bombers as the 918th, from the Triangle A on their tails, and asks all fighters to “Come and help us.” They do, but the gunners pour on the lead in horrific amounts, and once more they are frustrated. . . . and Ehrland winds up at the same window as at the beginning, staring at the skies. Major Schuler reasons with him; “nobody can attack B-17s piecemeal with six fighters—they have too much armament.” Ehrland doesn’t care and seeks the real reason for his two defeats. “How can they be so accurate? Is someone giving them signals from the ground?” Schuler is prodded into remembering that one “bright blip” amid all the mush and theorizes that they directing their bombing by radar—and ironically, if that is what they are doing—there is a way to catch up. Figuratively, the tables are turning . . .
-“the best news is that you’re okay”
Back at Archbury, Zemler is reporting their exploits to a jubilant Rink—who is still being hospitalized but his joy is making him well. “I’m proud of you,” he tells his protégée, who beams and says “I learned it from you—but the best news is that you’re okay.” Rink is glad for his triumph—but because he is grounded, he can’t quite feel it. Zemler, perhaps unwisely, continues to encourage him, telling him that “they named a plane after you—‘Rink’s Raidar’”—and spells out the pun on radar. “Sandy thought it up,” he happily adds, showing that Sandy has made further advancements—that hardheaded, frequently scowling sergeant of previous episodes had the wit but not the disposition to pun. His interest in the radar and heightened spirits have endowed him with a sense of the comic, which is good to see. Rink is delighted—“we ought to christen her—get some christening fluid,” he tells Zemler, who laughs. “No, no christening fluid—I’m the watchdog.” –does Rink have a slight drinking problem?—and with a heart condition, that is the last thing he should consume. “Okay, I’ll stay dry and you stay young, and hold on to your dedication,” he tells the young man, upon whom he relies personally and professionally; and the young man won’t fail him, though Rink comes close to failing Ray. They reflect to a degree Gallagher and Komansky’s relationship only they have known each other long enough and in different circumstances to openly express their affection. As a military personnel, Gallagher and Komansky keep their distance, though in private or unseen moments, they express their regard: amusingly, in the upcoming “Day of Reckoning,” when Gallagher expresses his pride in his actions, Sandy is conveniently semi-conscious.
-“destruction is not a pretty sight”
Later the next day, after the fourth successful bombing run, Joe returns to his office to find Dr. Rink waiting for him, and holding his model B-17, and thinking fondly on the plane they named for him. Joe is happy to see him, and inevitably heads to the coffee pot, where he finds coffee, hot and probably poisonous by now but he pours a needed cup. To Rink’s question, he tells him it was a good day, the fourth in four days (could they have really kept that up for four days?—the wear on the men and planes would be hard; plus, as always, how many missions has Joe flown?—it must be well past 50, 70—75?—oh, well, I have just read about a man who flew 73 missions.) “Some flak,” Joe reports, “but they missed us by a city mile.” Rink is living vicariously—still delighted with the good news of his radar device’s success, with the model plane in his hand, he asks Joe about how he feels about the power—the blows struck.
Gallagher’s been too long at his job to get any pleasure beyond getting the planes and the men home safely: “destruction is not a pretty sight.” “The destruction of evil? The humbling of a bully? To me, it’s magnificent.” Joe, after lighting a cigarette, is blunt. “It is, huh?” Without realizing it, he is prophesying their troubles of the next bombing run, when they get a taste of their own medicine, and Rink’s portion is particularly bitter. Rink recedes. “Well, I’m sorry if I sound a little bloodthirsty—my cup runneth too strong or I’m drinking it too fast,” a referral to the christening fluid he joked about and to the 23rd psalm, a cry of joy for the goodness God has granted. “I’ve never marched in a parade before, and I feel a little out of step”—and wishes he could go on the mission the next day with Gallagher. Joe tells him that the next day’s mission will be led by Captain Rice, and he will stand down—he probably needs it, though Bob and Sandy get to take the trip.
-“Magnificent! Magnificent!”
The next morning, Dr. Rink is on the flightline when Rink’s Raidar rolls out on its next mission. The wind batters him, and propellers roar, and the plane and the men inside are “going to war.” Still filled with the fumes of the wine of victory, Rink can only see the stirring, wonderful, inspiriting qualities of the sight, and says to himself, “Magnificent! Magnificent!” In Germany, the Nazi personnel are also pleased—with their new plan. Ehrland, who has been admirably dedicated, now makes the appearance of evil—garbed in a dark jacket, he gives orders for this new challenge, and with a gloved hand, removes the cigarette from his mouth. The flak commences, and there is interesting footage of German soldiers loading the cannons, with spent cartridges being expelled. In the air, over-confidence replaces concern; perhaps if Gallagher were along he would have cautioned Bob when he states, “Another shot in the dark!’
But they are being trained on by the Germans, and one shot in full bright light destroys Captain Rice, who sprawls over the right seat. Ironically, the co-pilot has survived this time. In the waist, Zemler is struck in the face; his gloved hands cover his eyes as he reels with pain. On the ground, Ehrland delights in the Major’s strategy—Triangulation—radar tracking radar—“they’re making it easy for us.” As he listens to reports on the phone, his fingers tell the story—one—two—three—and finally a fourth finger indicates the toll. “Yes,” he says, pleased. Strong and determined “turning point” of the narrative!—the Nazis have turned the tables, changed the agenda, but they have also defined the faults in the device. \
“ . . . we’re coming in now Ray . . .”
Act III . . . At the Archbury tower, with a crescendoing “worry music” playing, Rink restlessly waits, his thrill of the morning’s departure replaced by sickened fear as reports have come in of losses and damage. Stovall waits with binoculars trained on the cloudy skies. Gallagher, inside, is on the phone, and Britt is coming. Rink sees his plane coming and pounds on the window; “here they come!” All three men gather together to watch Rink’s Raidar descending—carrying a device important to them, and people who are dear to them. Bob, the indestructible co-pilot, has had a terrible time: with a hurt hand, he has singlehandedly flown the plane home through terrific challenges, with the dead body of Captain Rice in the right seat. He calls on Komansky—“I need you now”—and Sandy has to leave Zemler, whose head he probably bandaged. “We’re coming in now Ray,” he assures the sergeant and goes to the cockpit to assist Bob with landing the crippled plane. His voice broadcast over the speaker, Bob requests a “straight-on” landing—wounded aboard and both the pilot and the navigator are dead. Flares are fired and grimly, a fire crew suits up and starts the trek to the landing field in case they On the deck, Britt has joined them. They watch the plane descend and come down . . . they make it without fire or damage. In the cockpit, the two men’s relief is palpable: Bob nods to Komansky, and Komansky touches Bob’s shoulder in thanks for a safe landing. On the deck Joe remarks to Britt’s question—“Where are the rest?”—Rink’s Raidar had to get “the gadget” back, and they had wounded aboard. Rink is so overcome with grief—and embarrassment?—that he leaves the deck, but does not go far. As if unable to stand anything more, he darts inside the tower. He is learning that war extracts a tremendous price from the winners and losers (as Gallagher intimated the day before) and that these identities can flip in a moment.
-“one third of my group . . .” The debriefing is even more grim. With the camera panning to each man as they speak, the exhausted Bob reports “They opened on us less than a minute from the IP—we’d take evasive action and they followed us—they tracked us right through a 35 degree turn.” The pilot to his right makes an inventory of the losses—ditching, crashing. Gallagher, to his right, stares: “One third of my group—all by flak.” “Flak coming up through 14,000 feet of overcast as if it had eyes,” Bob reports. “They had us today.” “Maybe they have something new,” Gallagher says. He rests his hand on Bob’s aching shoulders. “We’ve had trouble like this before.” “If we have more trouble like this,” Bob begins . . . .
-“they must have zeroed in on Rink’s Raidar . . .”
Sandy either left or skipped debriefing to be at Ray’s side as the injured man waits on a gurney. His words are distracted. “You’re okay,” Sandy tells him. “They’re getting ready for you.” Zemler asks where Dr. Rink is. “Ah, he’s busy,” Sandy offers, probably glad Zemler can’t see his face as he lies to him. He keeps up the compassionate lie throughout the episode to spare Ray’s feelings, and in the end, unless Rink confesses to him, Zemler never knows that his mentor turned his back on him—in anguish, but he turned his back. Douglas enters, touching Sandy’s arm in sympathy. Before he is taken off, Ray demands they stop: “I hurt so much I’ve got to think,” he says. “Sandy, the way they followed us they must have . . . zeroed in on Rink’s Raidar.” He is taken off with Sandy’s eyes following him; he must be amazed that through all the fear and pain, Zemler was still behaving like the scientist who has mentored him, trying to solve the problem. Komansky begins to grow angry with Rink who has let his professional grief prevent him from meeting his emotional obligations; he should be here. But he takes Zemler’s thesis to the colonel.
-“I don’t care how they did it, they did and destroyed us”
In Operations, a visibly upset Joe Gallagher, flanked by General Britt, tells Dr. Rink that he’s sorry that he thinks it an imposition, “but he needs to help them.” Rink takes evasive tactics: “My job was to install the BTO device—that, and nothing more.” Komansky, standing off and back to the right, looks on. He has left the hospital, made a beeline to Operations, and told Gallagher what he has learned, which brought the sorrowing Rink to Gallagher’s office. Gallagher calls on him to tell Rink about Zemler’s idea. “Sgt. Zemler wondered if the Jerry flak zeroed in on the radar gear.” Rink is almost catatonic: “I don’t care how they did it, they did, and destroyed us.” “Is Zemler right?” demands Britt. “Suppose I said yes—wouldn’t I be held responsible?” asks Rink. Britt snaps at him that this is not an intellectual exercise—“Can they lock onto airborne radar?” “Of course they can!” Rink says. “And here lies the 918th—hoist on its own petard.”
Britt doesn’t bother listening to Rink’s eulogy, said more out of self-pity than anything else. He gets on the phone to Pritchard—and demands that Rink stay on the base—“we may have to take this whole thing back to the drawing board.” Rink leaves. Sandy respectfully opens the door for him—but then follows him to the outer office. Sandy has not learned to completely control his tongue yet, and this time it is good for all concerned. The other men have been trying to spare Rink’s feelings, possibly to keep him calm and working, but this won’t wash with the sergeant who has observed that it hasn’t worked. As Harvey involuntarily listens in, Komansky reminds Rink that “Zemler was holding your hand when you were in the hospital—I think he’d like to know why you haven’t even asked about him.” “Sergeant!” Harvey reprimands as Sandy chews out the honored scientist. Sandy hasn’t lost his nerve for standing up to authority: “Major, Zemler was hit in the face today and he may lose his eyes. I think this man ought to know about it!” In answer, Rink opens and vanishes behind the door.
-“He’s right . . . “
Back in Joe’s office, with him listening, Britt receives his orders from General Pritchard—his own “yes sirs,” reminds us that Britt, for all his two stars, is still under the thumbs of others. The grim truth is that before they go ahead with changes or drop the program, they need proof “if airborne radar was at fault for what happened.” “He’s right,” Joe says, though his look of alarm is understandable. He leaves the office with an unsurprising order, and then a surprising one: he tells the still brooding Sandy to get Rink’s Raidar ready for the morning, and then tells Harvey Stovall he’s needed for more tasks than adjutanting: Bob’s hand is bothering him, and that with the need for security tight, he needs Harvey to “fly right seat” with them the next day. He doesn’t give details, or wait for an answer. Harvey is startled, but pleased—even for such a hazardous mission. “Yes sir,” he says, removing his glasses.
-“they’re playing Yankee games”
Fade to . . . the next morning and Rink’s Raidar, long airborne, with Gallagher and the welcomed sight of Stovall at the controls. Gallagher alerts the crew to watch out for the first sign of flak—“or we’ve had it.” In this case, they need flak to help find their proof, but they can’t take chances on flying through it. On the ground, as Rink’s Raidar approaches, it’s the Germans’ turn to grow over-confident: “they thought we were just lucky yesterday,” Erhland gloats. Their course is plotted and, he instructs the gunnery, “fire when ready.” In the Raidar, at Joe’s order, the BTO device is switched off and evasive measures taken—and they work. Joe and Stovall look to their left to see puddles of flak—“they’re shooting at where we were.” Down below, Erhland and Schuler, intent on the screens see the blip appear, disappear and reappear. “Keep on trying,” he instructs the men. “They’re playing Yankee games. They take this round, and we’ll take the next.” Once more, the disturbing image of “game” is evoked as two sides duke it out for control of the sky.
-“Regardless of the cost . . . “
Act IV: Making it back in one piece, Gallagher meets with the anxious Britt in his office. They have learned two things: ground radar can lock on to their airborne radar—and the BTO can’t line up with anything less than a five-minute window. And with any more than that, “they’ll knock us right out of the sky.” A real two-edged sword: capable of precision bombing through clouds, yet a beacon to the enemy. Britt firmly tells Gallagher about Pritchard’s order: and this kind of cold ruthlessness is what may keep Gallagher from getting his star. In “Falling Star” he demurred on stopping Wexler until Pritchard made him do it, but we like Gallagher for his restraint—he’s no “damn the torpedoes” when it comes to his men. Despite the literally fatal flaws in the system, Pritchard, nonetheless, orders that if the cloud cover holds—they will bomb Hemstedt. “Regardless of the cost,” says Gallagher, his face nearly sick with concern. “Get the point,” Britt says. This device, though flawed, can help them—“we give the Nazis no rest, no rest at all.” He and Pritchard agree on a fact—they have bombed successfully for four days, and on the fifth suffered grievous losses—but that does make a case for “abandoning something that may shorten the war.” Britt has the ability to leave without being dismissed, and he does so to get away from Joe’s set face and the near-death sentence he has laid down on his own protégé. He covers his exit by telling Joe that “replacement aircraft will be there that afternoon” and tomorrow morning they will bomb Hemstedt.
For perhaps the first time Joe is sorry that aircraft can be replaced so quickly, rather than the fight he has had in the past, such as in “The Jones Boys,” when they were gifted with a restored B-17 that had been smuggled back from Switzerland and he risked his life to bring it back after it was hi-jacked by Vern Chapman. After he leaves, Joe meditates a second and then asks, politely, “Harvey, get me Dr. Rink, will you?” Harvey leaves on the bidding, and Joe, as he has done in the past, goes up to and stares out the window, feeling the burden of command as never before and hoping as never before that the war may be shortened—but by their deaths? Though not exactly, he reflects Colonel Erhland at the episode’s beginning, when he too stared out the window.
-“I’m not a genius. I’m . . . too busy trying to comprehend myself”
The Star and Bottle seems a place for depression, reflection, revelation, apology, encouragement and moving on . . . and simple, uncomplicated pleasures—indicated by a feminine hand feeding pence in the jukebox, and masculine hands squeezing her about the waist. (The director liked to focus on the expressive qualities of human hands; remember the first time we see Erhland his hand is tapping a window, and his beloved later runs her hand over his.) A few notes of “Tuxedo Junction” play out, and the British sergeant and his bird, with their arms around each other, walk off, revealing a contrasting trio: Gallagher and Rink facing each other over a table, and Sandy between them, at the bar. It’s a familiar scene: In “Which Way the Wind Blows,” Patricia Bates, AWOL, has a drink to steady her nerves and fights Joe as he reminds her of her duties, and asks “Then, who are you?”; Dr. Rink similarly has a drink and deals with himself as he deals with Joe. This time Gallagher has brought reinforcements; Stovall probably told Gallagher about Komansky’s accusatory words to Rink and Gallagher realizes that his sergeant just might be the one to bring Dr. Rink around. It may be desperate, but Joe knows that he and his men are facing almost inevitable death in the morning. Rink asks Gallagher how can he be expected to come up with something ingenious?—“And I’m not a genius . . . I’m too busy trying to comprehend myself.” Joe has no sympathy; how many times has pushed away self-reflection to get on with it, or to keep from going mad, as Rink seems to be doing? “All right, that’s your life, but what about the lives of a 150 men I’m taking with me in the morning? Can’t you help me save their lives?” “How many lives has this adventure cost?” Rink demands “And what about poor Ray Zemler—isn’t he worse off than dead?”
Gallagher hands the matter off to Komansky but in the form of an invitation, not an order. “Sergeant, you can talk to him if you’d like to.” Sandy comes up between them and speaks gentler words, but firmly. “Why haven’t you been to see Ray, sir? You’re kind of an idol to him.” “No way I can help him,” Rink says. Komansky lays down some facts. “He sent you several messages. Last time I left him he was lying there, bandages over his eyes, trying with everything you taught him to help you—and he thinks you’re still working on it. I didn’t have the heart to tell him you’ve quit.” Joe summarizes: “All right doctor, who do you think is worse than dead now?” Rink finally realizes that helping Ray isn’t a matter of restoring his sight; that there are other ways, including trying to come up with a way to protect and save those 150 men.
-“Why, it’s elementary”
At the hospital, in a key scene, Ray is being taught how to get water for himself. Rather than a glass, he has a metal canteen that Dr. Douglas is taking the time to teach him how to use by means of a straw. “Well, you have visitors,” he says when Rink and Sandy enter. Ray, poignantly, has quickly come to depend on Komansky: “Who is it? Sandy?” He is delighted when Dr. Rink identifies himself. Sandy maintains his merciful lie: “Colonel Gallagher gave him some time off.” Despite the bandages, Ray is eager to talk—he’s been working on a variety of ideas and describes them to Rink who begins to crumple. He soothes Ray, saying “I’ll come back later and then we’ll talk.” Sandy knows better than to say “Talk with him now,” and so allows Rink to leave. In that moment, which is akin to the fabled apple falling from the tree in Newton’s range of vision, Ray reaches for his water and the canteen clunks to the floor. “It’s all right Sandy, it’s just a metal cup,” he says, but Rink is the one reaching for it. With some of his guilt released, he is thinking again, and suddenly understands what can be done. “Why, it’s elementary,” he declares, turning the canteen over in his hands. Things begin to move swiftly though a little mysteriously to the viewer. Cut to Sandy hauling in a box of empty cans into a shed where men are working. Showing his sergeant side (you rarely see him directing subordinates though he can) he tells the men “Okay, you guys, keep cutting—only one more mess hall to go.” They protest a bit, but with gloved hands and wire cutters, they snip the metal cans into fragments.
-“even if we have to toss out the kitchen sink”
The next morning, Joe explains the complicated logistics of this run: they have a window of four minutes to make the hit, using the device. He turns matters over to Dr. Rink, who is back in the saddle again. Rink describes their odd duty: when the red and yellow flare is fired, the “chaff” will be dropped—he picks up a piece of cut tin can. “It will confuse the enemy—not for long, but long enough.” Joe turns to Britt. “General, do you have a word?” Britt tells the men “that something more sophisticated is on the way”—he must have first groaned at the idea of throwing out old tin cans to confuse the enemy—“but until then we’ll keep improvising, even if we have to throw out the kitchen sink.” There is a welcomed smattering of laughter, something which is so rarely heard on the episodes.
-“I’ll bet they’re playing hide and seek” Tense horn music conducts the B-17s on their mission to Hemstedt. In Rink’s Raidar, Gallagher’s face is tense; Stovall’s face is set and Komansky, probably worn out by now as he has done several missions and kept Ray comforted, keeps a tight eye on the skies. On the ground, Colonel Ehrland is the phone, sending orders for aircraft to be scrambling. “there are no reports on radar, but the listening posts are reporting.” Ehrland, as he did once before, decides to go up and find them—“I’ll bet they’re playing hide and seek,” he declares, naming yet another one to 12OCH’s roster of games referred to—bingo, baseball, darts, arm-wrestling—this time he identifies a child’s game, which somehow sums up the whole thing . . . A tense few minutes follows with constant switching back and forth from air to ground, from captain to crew, from American to German. In Rink’s Raidar, the radar is turned on; at the radar station, Schuler reports contact is made; in the cockpit the countdown begins; Harvey fires the flares, and the waist gunners begins flinging out the chaff.
Down below, on the radar scope, the chaff registers oddly; it looks like larvae wiggling in a petri dish. The steady Major Schuler, on two phones, stares at the scope and rather than deciding a trick is being played, he merely says “Something is wrong.” Up in Rink’s Raidar, the elated Komansky practically bounces into the cockpit, slapping Gallagher’s arm: “Looking good sir—the sky is full of scientific tin!” Back in the radio room, ten seconds from the drop, the BTO is turned off, and Harvey, as was done before, releases the bombs. Down below Schuler speaks: “I don’t know . . . I think we’ve lost them.” In another part of the sky, Erhland, once more in his plane (which looks distressingly like a toy plane) realizes “it’s no good” and dives, spectacularly, at the B-17 formation. It’s not even close, but Gallagher lets his caution take over and radios Bob that “I’ve got to get this equipment home” and begins that journey. Stovall soon alerts the crew that they lost the fighter but to keep ready—and then sees the welcomed sight of Joe grinning: “I just wonder what they’ll think when they see all the tin on the ground,” he says, and yes, it is an interesting thought. If Major Schuler learns of it, he will probably figures things out, but that is in the future . . .
-“any day you get back is a good day . . . and today was especially good”
In the Epilogue, Sandy is in a familiar pose: as Joe did earlier, and as Colonel Erhland did at his turreted castle, he looks out the window. Returning to base well before the other planes, Sandy has already changed into his ground clothes, rather than celebrating their successes, remembers his new friend. He watches, from the Ray’s hospital room window, as the last two stragglers make it in. “We only lost one plane and that wasn’t due to flak—some day, huh? Any day you get back is a good day . . . and today was especially good”—indeed it was, considering that Britt was sending them on a mission of sure death; heavy losses if they were lucky, but the day turned in their favor. Zemler, still blinded, is still optimistic, and tells Sandy to tell Rink about his ideas—perhaps he has realized that Rink finds it painful to talk to him, and will use Sandy as a go between. As their scene concludes, Sandy holds the metal canteen that proved the inspiration for the improvisation—but hell, it worked. He may be similarly inspired in his future of engineering. Nice cut to—Joe settling his well-used coffee mug on his office stove and summing up the stresses and strains of the last week, as well as the stresses of the future: the final blow in this battle like this is hard to tell, but a man who believes he’s right will keep on swinging—a remark that describes both sides. The Nazis believe they’re right and will keep on swinging, as will the allies. Britt remarks that they’re going to have to come up with something better than scraps of tin—is this any way to win a war?
Rink tells that “We will—some youngster perhaps—which reminds me, that I need to visit Ray in the hospital” and leaves, perhaps not cheerful, but content, and ready to do his duty to the young man. He won’t need Sandy as an interceder; he and Zemler will work together. But—back to business. Britt leaves, but before he does, issues instructions, and the war goes on. . .
“25th Mission”
Writer: Carey Wilber
Director: Lawrence Dobkin
Simple title, referring to the original plan for pilots of B-17 bomber groups (and B-25s as well): twenty-five missions and you could request rotation. (Did this apply to fighter pilots as well?) Actually, this number went up to thirty, and perhaps there were commanders who along the lines of Catch-22 would keep upping the numbers somehow. This episode somewhat addresses a question of “somehow”—I have been curious about what defines or measures a “complete mission.” On more than one occasion, Joe and his boys had to abort (such as “Grant Me No Favor,” “Target 802,” “The Slaughter Pen,” and “The Outsider”) when damage or severe flak causes them to turn around after penetrations into European skies. Even though suffering danger, and hit by flak, would that have been deemed a complete mission?–and addable to the magical number of twenty five (or thirty)—a number which never occurs with Joe or Sandy; they just keep flying! I suppose what constituted a “complete” that might be an issue for commander or for an inquiry group to decide. General Britt, in his “chewing out” scene with Major Parson, refers to some kind of measurement, but not clearly.
This episode also brings in—briefly—Nazi rocketry, which was being developed and was far enough advanced for the moment when the expected second front finally opened. Indeed, the first V-1 was launched the week after D-Day, and by the time the last launching pads were overrun in 1944, nearly 10,000 had been fired, causing over 22,000 casualties, almost all civilians. The Nazi scientists who developed this were claimed by–and contracted with– American and Russian authorities and so the space-age was developed; the British never could quite cotton to Werner Von Braun who headed up American efforts–though they too recruited and offered contracts to Nazi scientists after the war. However, this is only an opening story; the technology involved becomes a kind of Hitchcock “maguffin” as the action centers on a triangle—beyond a romantic triangle that is never satisfyingly developed or exploited (and I don’t think it was meant to be) there is the triangle within Major Parson’s mind, heart, and body: superficially a good ol’ southern boy who treats women and war about equally, Parsons is actually a man tormented by his fears. He has kept his fears so well hidden that even he may not be fully aware of the stark quality of his terror, which has hardened his heart, slicked his personality, and finally attacks his body. (Unlike in “The Jones Boys” Jaydee Jones does not internalize his fears; rather, he engages in dangerous behavior such as going AWOL and dealing with the loathsome Vern Chapman.) Parson fights fear off with bravado, a southern accent which grows heavier or lighter depending on the situation, a love’em and leave’em style, and a rabbit’s foot, which he finally relinquishes in the fiery climax of a pathfinder marking of a targeted factory.
In terms of other episodes, this one reminds me a bit of “I Am the Enemy” and the upcoming “The Survivor” in that Gallagher is not center stage, leaving the plots, plans, and agonies to others; even Parson’s needed bawling out is accomplished by Britt. On this point, this episode resembles the series’ debut episode, “Golden Boy Had Nine Black Sheep,” in which Captain Gallagher was ducking responsibility, and reformed only after a dressing down by Savage, which is paralleled by Britt’s dressing down of Parson. However, in a well-done scene, Gallagher speaks to Parson sympathetically but with dead honesty about his actions, and how he must face punishment. Also, the story is a classic—or a cliché, depending on how you see things. The story is essentially the “disgraced pilot” who proves and redeems himself. The plot uses one of the great movie clichés about pilots—so cliché that it perhaps has always been a kind of joke: the sick or disgraced pilot is banned or restricted from flying, and he assaults another to take over, but always for noble reasons (“crazy, foolish kid”). This episode does it in spades but with some refreshing twists.
-“ . . . gentlemen, that was my 25th mission”
The two-part teaser begins well into the action; as the scene opens, with droning B-17s, the IPO is a mere five seconds away. The pilot, the sharply handsome Major Tom Parson, sees the bombs go, and with an exuberant “okay!” the bombardier assures him, “My pleasure.” He then declares “Gentlemen, for those of you who don’t know me very long, that was my 25th mission,” and “when I say home, I mean home,” emphasizing the last in a falsetto whoop. The navigator and the bombardier exchange glances at his mocking tone; the gunners, still on watch, take in his message that has a certain degree of “yah, yah, yah.” Already letting go of duty, he gives the plane over to the co-pilot, and breathes “Yowza, old Tom Parson bein’ born again,” an interesting reference to the many literal and figurative “resurrections” in the show: Stovall reborn as a pilot in “Storm at Twilight,” Komansky back from the dead in “Between the Lines,” Colonel Wexler confronting buried trauma in “Falling Star,” Gallagher surviving and emerging from the “Underground.” Parson will be more forcefully reborn at the end of this episode, not only as a survivor of 25 missions but as a better person. As Parson fondles and kisses a rabbit’s foot, his talisman, his face fades into a romantic shot of Pinetree.
-“gentlemen, are we going to let this sweep us out of the sky?”
At Pinetree, General Britt tends to the exposition of the episode’s critical mission—which is going to affect the exuberant Tom Parson: he is screening for Gallagher and two other officers eerie images of an unrecognizable plane—“these pictures were hard to obtain,” he says, without explanation, but is very succinct about the future: “This is the airplane that our enemy will soon be using,” and being made “in the factories you gentlemen seem incapable of destroying.” (These factories were largely underground and superbly engineered) –I suppose that Britt is showing these films to finally tell his pilots WHAT they are seeking to destroy, which recalls “Grant Me No Favor” as the 918th was nearly destroyed in planes, men, reputation, and spirit as they ran up against nuclear facilities time and time again and without knowing why—which sends Gallagher on a collision course with the brass, including his father. Britt tells them that this plane “has more acceleration and greater speed than any other plane in the air.” “Fantastic,” says one of the unidentified pilots. Britt continues his litany; he’s sent the whole wing against the “Swearingen Factories” and they are still intact. “Gentlemen, are we going to let this sweep us out of the sky?” The pilots, the guys on the line, say that the flak was too terrible; they came up against 80 planes; GENERAL Britt calls them excuses. They point out the problems: the terrain is terrible, and they have to fly five minutes (a long time when approaching a heavily defended site) down a long valley in order to get to their aiming point. (This “terrible target” is overall a little overdone in the show’s general run; so much so that it was a key satiric point in Mad magazine’s satire of 12OCH). Gallagher points out that the project is not a daytime precision raid, but a night-time raid—the RAF was unable to take out the factory with saturation raid, and “we aren’t capable of pinpoint bombing at night.”
Gallagher, of course, has a plan—but, as pointed out before, he has been increasingly privy to high-level decisions and has absorbed a great deal of strategy: in this raid, the bombsite could be made visible “and we could send in a ‘pathfinder’ low and slow with incendiaries.” One of the other officers demands “where are you going to find a genius like that?” Gallagher responds: “I have a man like that in my group—I haven’t known him very long—Tom Parson.” (Joe’s choice shows that for all his growing abilities, he has not realized that Parson’s record reveals he is close to being a slacker. However, it is indicated that Parsons has come in from another group and is completing his missions at the 918th with a new crew. Cut to Parson, contrastingly crooning his own version of “Gonna lay down my sword and shield”—“ain’t gonna fly no more, ain’t gonna fly no more”—which he sings to his crew, which he has only recently joined as their skipper. He simultaneously reveals carelessness about other people’s feelings, as well as being very open in his joy at getting out of combat—in any case, the distinctive “bong-bong-bong-bong-bong-BONG!” nails him on the face, and with all these problems in place, we move forward into the Act I, in which Parson sinks more deeply into abhorrent behavior, which demands remorse and redemption.
-“little stateside training base where the quails fly”
The formation returns in the usual shot, which is always pleasant; personnel on the tower watch the planes circle the field and begin landing; a single B-17 lands, and Tom Parson is out of combat—or so he thinks. Fade to the Officer’s Club, where a 72 rpm record plays (in the mid-sixties, when this show was filmed, the 33 rpm “platter” was standard; nowadays, in teh 21st centureythe RECORD looks incredibly quaint). Parson jauntily enters, twirling his talisman on his finger, volunteering to buy the first round. Parson emerges as a mixture of qualities; gallant, a good ol’ boy, likable, unlikable–there is also something very wrong. An officer, enjoying the cozy fire, turns around and listens while Parson happily boasts that he is headed for “some little stateside training base where the quails fly”—invoking the hunter in him—birds or figurative birds, like women? Southerners have a reputation for owning guns and hunting, and he is a hunter in a way, at least; he has netted a woman—but hasn’t bothered to either let her out of the net or figuratively kill her–which is a bone of contention between Captain Bruce Cowley, the officer enjoying the fire. Cowley is played by Don Galloway, a tall, handsome, excellent and somewhat underrated actor who is largely recalled for “Ironside” in which he did very good work, his lovely-handsome face belying a tough, edgy acting style. Parson is happy to see his friend, who has just been released from the hospital a few hours ago, and his ribbons seem to indicate a Purple Heart decoration. His injuries are never specified, but this and some information coming up tells us that these two were pilot and co-pilot at one time, and Bruce’s severe injury transferred Parson to another bomber and crew with which he served out his 25 missions. I seems to me that Bruce honestly likes Parson—at first meeting he would strike people as a warm, breezy character—but has the gumption to stick the course with Parson, even though he probably early on sensed that his partner had serious flaws. And, without Bruce’s steadying “older brother” qualities, perhaps Parson has increasingly ducked his responsibilities?—maybe Cowley would have stuck with him, encouraged him, helped him in his doubts and fears.
Parson, unsurprisingly, is quick to congratulate himself—his 25th mission!—which Cowley applauds. They sit down to visit, and Bruce, nicely but firmly, points out that Parson never visited him in the hospital, which was perhaps in London. “Well, Bruce, I tried, but they’ve been runnin’ me half to death,” he says, which is both true and a fib. (Possibly he could not bear seeing a brother officer wounded, which would have stoked his fears.) Bruce also tells Parson that “Naomi came to see me three or four times,” perhaps being casual about the amount of times to show him how important these visits were to him.
-“I gather you’re taking her home with you”
Parson is jovially jealous: “She never told me that! What’s going on between you two?” “I gather you’re taking her home with you,” Cowley says. “Did she say that?” “It’s what she believes,” Cowley finishes. Parson figuratively ducks away, saying there are few things to work out; you just don’t “load a female British civilian” [loving words those] on an ATC and take her home to Beulah Land”—the latter an affectionate term for the south, before the Civil War . . . Curiously, Parson invites Cowley to meet with him and Naomi at the Star and Bottle—Cowley turns it down, but is encouraged—Cowley doesn’t like it, though he loves Naomi and will go to help her . . . But refreshingly, there is a sense that he cares for Naomi as a hurt young woman, rather than somebody he desires; at least there is no real triangle involved even though Parson “brings in” Naomi when he redeems himself. The conversation is cut off by Major Stovall entering; after greeting Cowley, he tells Parsons that Colonel Gallagher wishes to see him. “Whuffo?” Parson says, country boy accent growing thicker. “I suppose he’ll tell you,” Stovall says. Parson nonchalantly takes his leave of Bruce but tells him to meet him and Naomi later.
-“pick somebody you don’t mind losing”
In Operations, an understandably tense Gallagher shows Parson the map, telling him, “We can’t let the Swearingen industries continue, otherwise they’ll take control of the air away from us”—and the only alternative they have is a night-time precision drop. Parson, not getting why he has been called in, asks “do you know what you are asking?”—informally stated, he would have to fly in low and slow over the ridgetops to avoid the flak, and more succinctly, fly through twice to “frame the target in light”—“bracket the factory between two fires,” Gallagher says. All Parson can do is ask “whose idea was this?” “Mine, why?” Gallagher asks. Parson knowledgeably points out that a B-17, stripped down, minimum crew, no guns, could do it. “No, you’d be a sitting duck up there without guns,” Gallagher says, evoking the huntin’ flavor of Parson—and the “you” escapes Parson for a few moments. “With any luck, you might be able to make it,” he says, thinking Gallagher has been asking for advice, and suddenly realizing he is the candidate. Gallagher moves in quickly, pointing out that Parson has had extensive training in low-level attack techniques—“you’re top-rated—and I don’t have time to go out looking for volunteers.”
Parson is adamant: He’s just flown his 25th mission. “Twenty-fifth mission,” Gallagher says, annoyed–he has a right to be; he has flown well past that number–not to be heroic; he is leading his pilots. “The directive says 25 missions and then rotation—I’ve done my 25 missions.” “Directives,” Gallagher says. “Now don’t try to make feel guilty, Colonel,” Parson says, and that he knows the army is run by regulations (yet, directives and regulations are not the same thing as “what a general thinks can be interpreted as an order.”) “Twenty-five missions,” he repeats, “that’s about all a man can stand.” That line is both ironic yet revealing of Gallagher—I am always harping on the “fact” that Gallagher (and Komansky) have flown way past what is reasonable, and there are still missions in the future!—but the fact that he has flown over 25 missions and still takes on more reveals that he is no ordinary man—and a group commander could not be, and his sergeant is equally extraordinary in his unflinching attention to duty. Gallagher does not round on the man, the way Savage would (rather, the distasteful duty is taken up by Britt). Rather, he remains annoyed and tells him that it will take a couple of days to cut the rotation orders. Parson is gallant, offering to help train the man, whoever it would be—and “pick somebody you don’t mind losing. The pilot will never get out alive.” He leaves, his conscience unstained. Gallagher, admitting defeat, asks Stovall to find the Number Five file on all pilots who have minimum night flying time and attack bombers.
-“With a girl like you, the others wouldn’t count much anymore”
At the crowded Star and Bottle, the bartender carries a bottle of spirits to Naomi Rockford and Bruce, seated at a quiet table. Naomi is a beautiful young woman; the German-born Antoinette Bower, who plays Naomi, was a very busy actress from the early-sixties into the eighties—her almond-shaped eyes, unplaceble accent, and high-class quality served her well in many roles, including her femme fatale role in “Catspaw” on Star Trek. Her role seems a little limited; she seems another way to prove that Parson is essentially a cad—she disappears without any kind of resolution (neither man exactly claims her at the end) which, in a way, is nice break from a more stereotyped ending. Naomi is asking the attentive Bruce “How long have you known Tom?” Cowley and Parson go a way back; they trained at Kelly Field, flew overseas together and “he flew with him until he got sick the first time”—interesting remark that—is it a script rumple or something left unaddressed?—Bruce was injured badly and had to convalesce; but did Parson have more than one “sick episode”? She is searching for answers from the friend of the man she loves: “Is he tired of me?” “Just because he’s late for a date?” Bruce teases her. She has other reasons: they were making lovely plans that were to begin when he finished his tour—and “he didn’t tell me about his 25th mission.”
Bruce still tries to make excuses, possibly because he hates to see Naomi upset, but Parson is his friend—Naomi is too mature to accept them, saying she knows Tom has had other girlfriends. “With a girl like you,” he tells her, “the others wouldn’t count anymore”—but he keeps his eyes averted. In the background, the song “There Will Never Be Another You,” plays softly. Yet he becomes plain—were they really making plans, or was it “just talk?” In a sort of answer, Sandy appears in the background, a girl with him—the first time he’s been seen with a girl since Susan Nesbit damaged his heart (“Show Me a Hero”). Leaving the girl to wait for him, he comes forward and politely interrupts them, saying that he was asked by Major Parson to tell them that he was delayed and that Bruce “was to see the lady home.” Offscreen, what happened?—did Parsons duck the meeting for obvious reasons, or perhaps he suffered a panic attack in private—and somehow managed to ask Komansky to deliver the message, perhaps paying him to take himself and the young lady for a few drinks. Sandy kind of repeats his actions later when he helps clear Parson of “dogging it” when his plane is overloaded and breaks down. “Well, there’s your answer,” she says. Cowley is probably both annoyed and pleased at this; but the way he takes her hand is to comfort her, not to make overtures.
-“knock off the corn pone and hominy grits”
Back at their quarters (Bruce apparently moved in that afternoon and has not even unpacked), Parson, stretched out on his stomach on his bed, laughs at something he is reading. When Cowley comes in, he apparently has not given a thought to his “date” with Naomi—“Hey, come take a look at this,” he says, and you wonder what it is—a joke, a babe? Is he being serious? Cowley, for an answer, knocks it away, demanding some “straight talk.” “What’s the matter son?” Parson asks. Cowley knows the man well, particularly how the accent gets stronger when he tries to charm somebody or put somebody off, which is part of the mask or the role that he has played for so long he does not realize he’s only acting for himself, and not for others. “Knock off the corn pone and hominy grits,” he says, squatting down to look straight at Parson’s face which visually reinforces the idea that Parson has spent his life avoiding confrontations. His next words suggest that there is a triangle and a non-triangle going on—which also suggest that Cowley sees Parson as a brother (not a romantic rival) and a younger, more immature one at that, once more evoking “The Jones Boys.” “What are you going to do about Naomi?” and that “he’s seen him walk away from things where you were needed” (which reflects his refusal to fly the pathfinder, and the other times he has ducked missions).
Parson, typically, turns away—“Well, what do you want me to do?” “You owe her the truth.” “You know I don’t believe in the big farewell—just happy memories—come on,” he says. Bruce won’t let it go—does he love Naomi, or does he love Parson more? He tells him that Naomi is a sweet, simple girl, and he owes her more than “French leave.” It seems that Parson does not really care for her, offering to fix things so that Bruce could take her out anytime. Once more the Cain and Abel story is evoked as Bruce slugs him, and gathers his stuff. Parson tells him that if he weren’t just out of the hospital, he’d beat his brains out. Despite this, Cowley tells Parson that “he’s about the only friend he has left” and leaves, suitcase in hand. Parson shouts that “I’ll be long gone and you can have whatever’s left”—and knocks the swinging lamp, rather than his friend. Has he heard the truth in Bruce’s words, recognized something ugly in himself and is fighting back? There is a growing feeling that there is something terribly wrong with this seemingly confident man, and Bradford Dillman, with his ruggedly handsome face and intense eyes played roles like this very well. One of his roles was that of a disturbed young doctor in “The Big Valley,” whose gentle demeanor is belied when he disinters his own father and hangs him in his old house—to show what he is going to do to his intended victim, the daughter of the woman he hates.
“I understand you and Captain Cowley are friends”
The next day, at Operations, Parson reports to Gallagher, and finds Cowley there, staring out the window. Gallagher is businesslike; he does not really know either man and has no sense of their problems. “I understand you and Captain Cowley are friends,” he remarks. “Sure we are,” Parson says. Gallagher picks up the nuance in his voice, but goes on to announce that Cowley has volunteered to fly the pathfinder—why? Perhaps he’s been out of action a while and decides this is his way back, or, perhaps this is the only way he can shame Parson.
-“I volunteered—why not?”
Act II—apparently, a few days later, Britt calls Major Stovall at Operations—and asks for Gallagher because he needs to talk about the rotation order for Tom Parson—the man the colonel identified as the right man for pinpoint bombing. He is told that Gallagher is at base engineering re the B-17 being sent into the task and Tom Parson is training Bruce Cowley who is taking on the assignment. Britt tells Stovall that Parson needs to report to him as soon as he on the ground. Britt’s taut face fades into a B-17, in which Tom Parson is ironically reneging on his own plans—“ain’t gonna fly no more” he crooned to himself a few days earlier. He criticizes Cowley’s work: he’s too high, he’s too low, and “what are you trying to do?—get us both killed?” Along the way he asks Cowley “How did you get into this?” “I volunteered—why not?” Cowley asks, which seems at best a muddled motivation. He may be trying to get back into the game after an extended recovery. However, he may be covering up what he really wants to do—shame Parson for his treatment of Naomi.
-“You look like a soldier—you swear and trifle with women like a soldier”
The lengthy scene between Britt and Parson is an interesting one because it excuses Gallagher from giving the “dressing down” that Parson merits. Rather, Britt handles it again—as he handled Josh McGraw’s dressing down in “The Idolater”—though he followed up on Joe’s own speaking with him, which he demanded of Joe. Could it be out of character for Joe to take on the disciplining that Parson deserves? In some way, I am glad Britt does it, because I like Joe’s civility with his men; yet, in some way, I would like to Gallagher do the dirty work, even if it might make him sick– which would be an interesting scene, and a more richly textured side of his character. Joe is firm with his men, but the only times that I recall him really being angry, it’s usually brief and usually with Sandy: check out “Between the Lines” and in “The Outsider.” Colonel Troper (“The Hot Shot”) humiliates and infuriates him, but Gallagher deals with him by assuming control of his fighter pilots. He is angry with Arn Borg in “Runway in the Dark” because of his dishonesty. Gallagher comes close to chewing out Chaplain Archer in “Day of Reckoning.” The one time that Gallagher really seems to lose it is when he shouts at Dula to “Get out!” in “Long Time Dead” as he suspects the man has deliberately killed Komansky. It seems that even though Savage dressed down Gallagher in “Golden Boy Had Nine Black Sheep” Joe could not do the same to another man; it might make him look too villainous which is what displeased some of the creative 12OCH powers about Savage.
In any case, Andrew Duggan does his usual great work in letting Parson “have it.” Parson is next seen with Britt at Pinetree and it is inferred that Gallagher may know about Britt’s calling him in: he has told Britt that Cowley had made a bad landing. Parson apologizes for his partner; Cowley’s depth perception was a little off: “A few days, he’ll be good,” he tells Britt. “But you’re better,” Britt says, mockingly. “He’s the best man available,” Parson tells him. “And there’s no appeal that he’ll do it himself.” “Sir,” Parson says, “I’ve flown my 25th mission”—which he has said about five times, as if to convince himself and others.
-“You can’t count!” Britt, in an ominous move, carries him into a recessed area, and pulls curtains for privacy. But there are people outside those curtains who will hear what he will say. Was this deliberate?—shaming Parson is front of others, although they are not present? Also, the act of drawing the drape is akin to the mask that Parson has slapped over himself and has worn it so long he no longer realizes he is wearing a mask. Britt begins: “You look like a solider—you swear and trifle with women like a soldier—but I’m prompted to wonder if there is something rank and rotten under that uniform.” Parson becomes oddly courtly: “What motivates this abuse of a subordinate officer, sir?” “This does—your record of a combat pilot.” (Did the rotation order come with the man’s records?) Britt reads out a series of missions to critical and dangerous targets that Parson either reported sick or aborted—and the aborted mission for engine trouble was not proven. He then reads the missions that Parson completed—“milk runs, Major!” He has avoided every deep penetration mission since he came to the 918th—“and how you avoided a flying evaluation board is more than I can understand.” Finally, Britt tells him “You didn’t fly long enough to qualify for an abort: You’re one shy!” Parson mumbles there must be some mistake. “YOU made it! You can’t count!” Britt says with almost malicious glee. He then tells Parson “You owe me one more—and I’ll sign your rotation order.” Dismissed, Parson leaves stiffly, passes through the drapes, and must meet the eyes belonging to the ears that heard it all. Back in his quarters, nearly stumbling in, he collapses against his bed, clutching his gut. Shame? Exposure? Fear? In any case, two people have stripped him of his façade and exposed his shortcomings which now include cowardice.
-“I don’t think you want a coward flying a pathfinder”
Back at Wing, a civilized Britt a little too quickly summarizes the plans for the crucial mission to Swearingen, but, for the audience’s benefit we learn that there will be diversionary raid to mask the real mission: “Let’s see what G-2 thinks of this plan.” Gallagher (does he know what exactly Britt said and did to Parson?—it’s not clear) but asks permission to leave Parson off the raid—at least Gallagher knows that Parson does have one mission left “and he wants it to be good one.” Britt asks him if he is saving him for Swearingen—he thinks the man is yellow and “I don’t think you want a coward flying a pathfinder.” Britt concludes the scene by telling the unsure Joe “And if you consult your officer’s guide, ‘What a general thinks can usually be interpreted as an order.’” Before Joe follows, he grins slightly and identifies, to himself, the edition (9th) and the chapter (21)—maybe his father drilled that bit of information into his head. However, Joe is not necessarily “by the book” kind of guy, which is a vital part of a good officer and commander—but what happens to Parson next is entirely unscripted, though it originates to some extent in his rabbit’s foot talisman. His crew subscribes to his own subscription in luck, and act accordingly.
-“What do you mean, ‘logically’?”
At the Star and Bottle, in contrast to all the brass in previous scenes, a group of four enlisted men, including Sandy, have gathered for drinks as they discuss the next day’s “maximum effort” which includes “maximum loads”—“only the geniuses specify maximum load,” one of the guys remarks, which suggest that there was calculation as to how many bombs, their weight, and then how much ammunition could be taken. The remark “only the geniuses” is ironic, because two of the enlisted men lack a few brains, and this lack causes them to dismiss what the geniuses are specifying. But the geniuses work with logic, not other mystifying forces. “Boy, we sure could use that ammo tomorrow morning,” one remarks. “Why?” Komansky asks. “We fly with Parson.” “What’s wrong with Parson?” Sandy asks. “I heard he was good.” One of the men tells Sandy an interesting tale—and one he believes: Parson has run through his luck—he only has so much and he used up so much of it every time he flew a mission. It’s like the rabbit foot has been drained of its power. “Logically, Major Parson has used all his, and we’ll have trouble tomorrow.”
Sandy reveals his intelligence—and his sharp tongue—both of which has caused him to become a flight engineer and a trusted aide to a colonel and to land him in hot water more than once: “What do you mean, ‘logically’?” “He thought he had 25 missions but he only had 24—see?” “No.” “Don’t you see?” the man insists, saying that he used it all the luck he thought he had in the 25 missions he “thought” he flew. “It’s like double jeopardy.” Sandy does not see. “You ought to take up philosophy, you’re very bright,” he says, finishes his drink, and, being a bright boy, leaves to get in some sack-time—there’s a briefing at 0530. (A scene like this reveals that Sandy, for good reason, refuses or can’t “be one of the boys”; for one thing, he’s too darned intelligent.) Another sergeant, calling him “Komansk,” offers to drive him back in his Jeep, and the two men leave, leaving the others to make some bad mistakes—they will overprepare; as one of them says, “and bring some arrows in case your gun blows up.”
-“Man, I don’t want this today—“ The next morning, a reasonably calm looking Parson, already in flight, complains about his struggling plane: “Man, I don’t want this today,” and “what’s the matter?” His co-pilot also notes things are sluggish; cut to the waist, where one gunner confidently pats the extra ammunition. In the Piccadilly Lily (is Gallagher still flying Miss Lily?—the name and her picture have not been seen in awhile) Gallagher and his crew hear this, and Komansky grins. “The guys were taking bets that Parson would have it rough today,” Sandy tells him, thus giving Gallagher an ear to noncom chatter. Gallagher does not comment but looks concerned and radios that if Parson can’t join the formation in three minutes, he needs to do a 180 for home. “No aborts today,” Parson declares, his pride and masculinity on the line. He urges his flight engineer and co-pilot to give the plane all its got, even though flight engineer comments “any hotter and we’ll be blowing jugs.” They bring the power up and the B-17 climbs to join the formation—and then one of the engines begins to bleed smoke. Parson is enraged, shouting “I could kill somebody for this, I could kill somebody for this!’’
-“they were out to sabotage me!” Parson’s struggling plane comes down to the strains of the “worried version” of the theme, and lands roughly. The wounded plane is still smoking as the ground crew motors out in a jeep; there’s a nice shot, viewed over the steering wheel, of the jeep approaching—and there is trouble afoot on both sides. Parson emerges from the hatch, and comes out swinging—“You call yourself a crew chief?” he yells, despite his co-pilot’s urging to “take it easy.” “Everybody knows this was my last mission and they’re out to sabotage me!”—now adding paranoia to his other problems but to a degree he is right—his own gunners sabotaged him. He grabs the crew chief and slams him in to the propeller of the bad engine (how appropriate!) before his men try to stop him, and he swings back. Stopped, he gathers himself, and gets into the jeep to escape—the scene, the fact that he violated Article 17 of the Articles of War, and possibly himself. The crewmembers see him drive off—“Man, I’ve never seen a man want a mission credit so bad,” remarks one of the airmen who was at the Star and Bottle. The other gunner, a little bit smarter than he is, says “I think I know what happened.” The first is smart enough to say “Stay out of it, stay out of it”—which they can’t, due to Sgt. Komansky!—but how he figures things out is not revealed; perhaps the scene was snipped; perhaps Joe encouraged him to learn what happened for Parson’s sake, or Sandy put two and two together, based on what he heard at the Star and Bottle the night before, and his own sense of how a plane behaves.
-“Sir, permission to produce some evidence”
In Gallagher’s office, a somewhat subdued Britt is sharing coffee with Joe—and seems to express some puzzlement about what just happened—“given his record, it’s easy to believe he just blew that engine but it was a milk run”—is the man a worse coward than he believed? Joe confirms that the plane has had no maintenance problems reported; “So why did it fail today?” A knock on the door and Joe’s permission emits an intense Sandy who has an odd request–however, since he had a dust-up with Gallagher when he identified Lt. Harley Wilson as the fighter pilot who crippled their plane (“The Outsider”) he may be playing safe though he has important information for Parson’s aborted mission. “Sir, permission to produce evidence,” he says. “Like what?” Britt asks, obviously a little surprised as well. “Is that permission sir?” Sandy asks, just to be sure. “Yes!” He calls in the two men who attempt to explain the problems, and Sandy takes over: “Sir, you add an extra 800 pounds to a tired B-17 . . .” “Why was it overloaded?” Joe demands. Abashed, gunner chief tries to explain: They knew it was the major’s last mission, and they thought it was going to be a bad day, and the gunners all brought extra ammunition . . .
-“Hey Naomi, I wish you’d pretend a little . . . I need you”
The innocent victim of the gunner’s “gag” is heard but not seen as Naomi, in her Archbury flat, turns into her parlor area, followed by Parson. Still in his flight suit and jacket, he obviously did not know where to go after his eruption and drives, perhaps typically, to his woman. His attitude toward her cold reception is flippant, but it is covering up desperation. “If I’ve done something to hurt you, I’m sorry,” he says. She refuses to accept his apology. Parson reveals his desperation when he asks Naomi “to pretend a little . . . I need you.” In some ways typical for a man who has gone through life pretending, ducking or not facing up to things, he speaks this to her back, and attempts to kiss her neck. She veers off and faces him: she received “the whole message at the Star and Bottle the other day.” He actually seems a little rueful and becomes honest before appealing to her better nature: “I got myself into a little trouble, Naomi, and there’s no other place I can go. But what do you want, promises? Why can’t we be the way we were, without the promises?” She tells him that they made promises to each other—“You put us on that footing and it can’t be changed.” Is this the first time Parson has actually had a woman refuse him and his words which he offers a little too freely to get what he wants—? and did ever really want Naomi, and did he make her promises to get into her bed? But he keeps swinging: he never made any “hard and fast promises” (what exactly does that mean?) and that was “the spirit in which he made those promises.” In his life, there are many kinds of promises; each open to debate and to be withdrawn when the promised demands he keep them.
She calls him on it—has he ever promised anything and meant it?—“even to yourself?” Good question that—he has lived his life —on the surface he is an easy-goin’ good ol’ boy, fond of guns and girls, and within he has perhaps spent a life lying to himself about who he really is. Did his father or his buddies expect him to conform to a certain behavior and he did, but inside he was struck with hatred and fear? But rather than acknowledging who he really is, he has sublimated it, until he believes the mask he has on his face—and lies, and fibs, and cajoles to get through a life that is not really his own. He is essentially in a triangle with himself—who he is on the surface, who he pretends to be, and who he really is. His real self is full of fear which has turned inwards on him. This is the real triangle (Parson the man, Parson the pilot, the “masked Parson”) that refreshingly pre-empts a possible romantic triangle between Naomi and Bruce and Parson. Bruce is at the door, and he is looking for Parson, possibly being the one who knew where he might be. He tells him to return to base. Parson still has his mask on: “They can tell I just lost my head, can’t they?” Cowley is blunt and his comments indicate he will be facing a lot of music: “Don’t add AWOL to it.” He leaves, relinquishing Naomi to Bruce, which neither of them want. In the hallway the mask slips, and the crippling pain knocks him over and throws against the unclosed door, and he comes back into their lives. As they puzzle over him, the scene fades . . . .
-“is he on the level?” – “He’s sick”
As Act IV takes up, Cowley has apparently brought Parson back to base but maybe his friend has pled with him to take him to his quarters, rather than the hospital, or maybe, because nothing was truly physically wrong, he could not be assigned a bed. In any case, Dr. Douglas is at his bedside, checking out Parson whose face is both troubled and blank, and his hands move restlessly. Gallagher looks on the troubled man who has blown it, big, and sympathizes. Douglas answers Joe’s question—“is he on the level?” “He’s sick,” Douglas says. “But there’s nothing really wrong?” Douglas tells Joe what he knows—“Psychosomatic trauma—well, I don’t really know, it’s in the medical journals”—and probably being passed through unofficial channels as doctors dealt with men fighting a war which was unparalleled in strength, power, and ways to die in the air and on the ground. “Fancy term for flak fever,” Douglas finishes. “A man gets to the point where he can’t confront what’s ahead.” “Like a dangerous mission and a court martial?” Douglas makes it plain to Gallagher—Parson’s pain was real and unbearable.
Gallagher, in a mixture of compassion and commanding firmness, sits down and asks Parson how many times his pain has occurred. “What’s the difference?” the despairing man asks. In a matter of several days his song of “goin’ home to Beulah Land” has changed to “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen . . . “ Gallagher asks him if he knew what happened to his plane that morning—which created a real double jeopardy—it caused him to abort, which caused him to lash out at the crew chief. Parson knows his gunners smuggled in ammo, which Stovall was gracious enough to tell him—as he was counseling him on his rights under the 17th Article of War. Gallagher may be remembering how he was nearly hung by a similar situation—when Komansky angrily goaded him into attacking him—which was no more than grabbing the sergeant by the lapels, but it was enough to have that charge hover over his head. It disappeared as both men backed off; Gallagher reported himself and Komansky admitted his role in the affair. With Parson though, it’s not so easy—there were witnesses to his assault which was real and ugly. Gallagher says he must confine Parson to base. Parson still has some protest and pride left in him—he’s been hit by a brother officer and never opened his mouth (Cowley struck him in their argument over Naomi); and “I just lost my head that’s all—they’ll kick me out.” Gallagher tells him “he blew the easy way out—rotation.” The gunner’s shenanigans didn’t help him, but if he had flown as he should have, and not “called in sick” h (as in avoiding or aborting missions) he would have rotated out long before. Humbled, Parson asks Gallagher for his help—he’ll apologize—“just put a reprimand in my record.”
Gallagher, showing he has the kind of stuff Britt has, won’t budge. Parson backs himself into a corner: “I’ll fly the Swearingen mission.” Gallagher further pushes him into a corner: his bellyache would come back. Gallagher then beckons by telling him that Parson will have to face something head-on—but “I can’t risk a kite on you seeing that through.” Without that as an option, Gallagher tells him he has to face court martial—he hopes the sentence is light but he has to face it—which climaxes a series of situations which Parson has managed to turn away from.
“I got the whole army mad at me . . .”
The next afternoon, on the tarmac—there is a nice shot of the bombay doors closing up, revealing a jeep bringing the four men to their special plane for the Swearingen raid. A little too conveniently, Captain Cowley lets the three men off and then drives to park the Jeep, out of their vision. Of course—Parson is there, and his presence and actions reminds me once again of how Gallagher took hold of himself after nearly disgracing himself by violating Article 17, which became a kind of spearpoint for all the other issues facing him. It’s unfortunate we can’t really get a sense of what happens—the alchemy within the soul that drove Gallagher to take charge of himself and of Komansky as well—but action is the keynote of this series and so Parson, in Dress A uniform comes to greet and then waylay the chosen pilot. The cliché is that the pilot takes a wrench to the other pilot and pops him on the head; at least that is missing as Parson rather goads Bruce into another confrontation before he takes off on his late afternoon mission: “I got the whole army mad at me—so I thought we’d better talk about Naomi.” Cowley doesn’t think there is much to talk about—and he’s sorry he hit him. Parson begins to tally up his recent record and then denigrates Naomi to Bruce, who just may be in love with her—“You saw how easily she went from me to you.” Cowley still holds his temper and Parson goes for the deep thrust: “In case I don’t see you again—you have my plane and my girl and neither of them is worth a dime.” Cowley reacts to this and a clumsy fight starts—the third time Parson strikes out but this time he is deliberate in more ways than one. Parson looks as though he’s getting the worst of it . . . The special plane revs up, the three other men are waiting and through the dust the propellers churn up they spot a running figure who swiftly gets in and takes his position at the controls—and hangs his talisman on the yoke after kissing it. To their questions—“there’s been a tactical reappraisal,” he announces, though clearly he is wearing Bruce Cowley’s flight jacket. It’s too late now
. . . -“this is your lil ol’ lamplighter down here . . .“
The mission is underway: Gallagher tells the pathfinder that they will have running lights, and radio silence until he breaks it. Parson, in the pathfinder, grins, harshly. After a striking shot of B-17s against a black sky and ghostly white clouds, Gallagher receives a message from the base. Gallagher, calmly, radios the pathfinder. “He knows,” the co-pilot says. Parson lays it on thick: “This is your lil’ ol’ lamplighter down here and I think we’d both better be getting’ off the air. . .” Gallagher remains calm; there is little else he can do at this point, with 28 minutes to the IPA, and five minutes before the Pathfinder starts its descent to do its hazardous business. He asks the co-pilot about Parson. Parson giggles—“I ain’t got no bellyache if that’s what you want to know.” Decisions have to be made: they have a brief time in which to turn the formation around but Gallagher reasons that collisions would result. “What if he doesn’t light up the target area?” Komansky asks. There is no answer to that except the obvious, and they proceed, with Gallagher bidding “Good luck, Tom.”
-“they found us—we’re in for it”
What happens next is a tense and scary sequence that works well, even if the B-17 on fire looks too much like a toy mock-up with little toy figures swinging out on parachutes that open remarkably quickly—which it is, from the movie 1944 Bombardier (ctd. Duffin and Mathes–Ah, for some CGI!). The Pathfinder begins its descent; sirens sound and lights stab up; they fly on, drop their napalm bombs, Parson is similarly stabbed by pain. He tells the three men to get out of the battered plane, but they stick. “No use all four of us buyin’ the farm,” he says and when they refuse, “All right, but if you get killed don’t blame me!”—which is said in jest, not in earnest or maybe both. The second run is made, and the increasingly battered Pathfinder is struck for the last time. The crew does bail out, and Parson follows—only after the last man is out, and at last, he relinquishes his talisman, the useless rabbit’s foot is left dangling on the doomed plane. The B-17s fly in and continue the work that the pathfinder commenced . . .
-“after two days, they’re still on fire”
Epilogue—which is surprisingly happy. Britt enters into Joe’s office; Cowley, who is there, straightens up his respect. He tells Joe and Cowley in Operations that the Swearingen factories won’t be producing any more rockets—“after two days,” he says almost gleefully, “they’re still on fire.” (Subsequent time and research indicates that Nazi factories were actually up and running in remarkably short amounts of time, but still, it was a drain on resources.) In this scene, Britt almost compensates for his cruelty to Parson by becoming a kind of Santa Claus; he starts this by handing Cowley a package and gives glad tidings: two of the crew were picked up by Germans but Parson and the bombardier (somehow) found a boat and escaped—extra details would be appreciated here. Bruce has opened the package and found his jacket. And Joe, as Santa’s helper, opens the door to reveal Parson—suitably if recognizably wounded (arm in sling and head bandaged—a little cliché, but what the heck, at least he did not escape unscathed.) Bruce, despite their violent last meeting, is delighted—“Is this why you asked me to report?” In an underplayed scene, Gallagher says, “Tom, good to see you,” and “Glad to be here sir,” is the manly but sincere response. Gallagher urges Bruce to buy the man a drink, and the two men leave together, friends again, and reconciling with such banter as “what happened to you, did you land on your head?” –will this also help Tom to reconcile with Naomi?—maybe that “ship has sailed,” but Tom, as he thought himself to be in the opening scenes, has been truly reborn and even if Naomi is gone, he may not have to “trifle” with women in the future. Naomi was a way he viewed himself as a successful soldier (“you look like a soldier . . . you trifle with women” as Britt said earlier) but he may not have to use other’s perceptions of him from now on. He may even lose his cornpone affectations and be himself. Naomi, I think, is better off without him, and I would not want her to turn her affections to Bruce, unless they were truly sincere.
Joe and Britt are left to bring closure to this medley of wonderful clichés, cowardly pilots redeeming themselves, a difficult mission completed. Joe is still going to throw the book at him—which he says rather cheerfully—but he’s a hero, and better, “what he faced two days ago means he can face up to what he did. I think he’ll want to.” Britt reveals his fatherly side, which he must have revealed to Parson when he drove the man back home to the 918th: “I know he does. I asked him.” The episode ends in a toast of sorts: Britt thinks he owes Joe a drink, and Joe tells him “What a general thinks I will take as an order.”
“The Survivor”
Writer: Philip Saltzman
Director: Alan H. Crosland
Again, a succinct title, but one that has, as the episode goes on, several different qualities. Captain Bradovich is a survivor in two ways: he is the survivor of a deep friendship when his co-pilot died, and he is the only survivor of a plane that goes down during the episode. At the end, when Bradovich starts to overcome his objectionable qualities, he enters into his third phase of being a survivor—a willingness to accept the past and move on. In a nice touch, Bradovich is helped along his rocky path of survival on the ground by all three men: Gallagher, Stovall, and even by Sandy, with whom he has certain parallels: both were the sole survivor of a downed plane, both have unlikable qualities, but both have understanding mentors. This episode is emerges as being a bit derivative of previous episodes, particularly in the unlikable pilot, somewhat akin to “25th Mission”—Parson’s breezy attitude toward friends and women (by which he covers up his sickening fears of combat and commitment) compares and contrasts with Bradovich’s “by the book” attitude—by which he seems to deal with grief for his dead co-pilot and friend. Of course, they both redeem themselves at the end, with Parson overcoming crippling fears and reconciling with his former co-pilot; and Bradovich softening, reconciling with another pilot, and tentatively declaring his love for another survivor—his friend’s widow, who is surviving but perilously by seeking good times with men and drink.
This episode is outstanding for how, on many occasions, the war and the Nazis are only a “backdrop” to entanglements of human emotion. True, these emotions are provoked by war situations, but 12OCH usually seeks out the perils the human heart must pass through and either triumph (such as these two pilots) or fail (Harley Wilson in “The Outsider” ultimately fails). Even in episodes when features of war, such as combat, technology, intelligence, become an important part of the plot (“Runway in the Dark” and “Grant Me No Favor” [nuclear power;]) “The Slaughter Pen,” [radar]; “Which Way the Wind Blows” [forecasting weather]; “Back to the Drawing Board,” [airborne radar]; “25th Mission [the developing V-1] a person is always at the center of the story—and the enemy is rarely vilified. The one time the German people are damned in the series it’s by a possessed German-American pilot whose attitude is questioned, feared, or disliked (“I Am the Enemy”). Gallagher greets Dr. Rink’s exultation in “smiting the bully“ with “It is, huh?” The enemy is usually portrayed as doing their jobs or suffering similar problems as their enemy (“Day of Reckoning”), including an occasional broken heart, such as in the upcoming “Siren Voices.” In “Underground” Kurt Weigand is all SS at the end although he may honestly feel the sorrows he speaks of. In “Hollow Man” the villainous SS officer is a figure of Wally’s hallucinations. Amusingly, in “We’re Not Coming Back,” the viewer can feel sympathy not only for the rural group of German soldiers being driven to do work they can’t do, do stupidly, or dislike, but also for Major Falkenstein whose duty to detain the Piccadilly Lily and its crew is hampered by these countryside bumblers.
To digress a bit, these observations are called forth by reading selections of Joseph Goebbels’ diary—as chief of Nazi propaganda, Goebbels generally oversaw the media in Germany pre-war and during the war, and though he wrote his diary for posterity (meaning, he knew people were going to read it and judge him—and how!) he still reveals an understanding of how German citizens would have disliked or avoided “sledgehammer” movies about the enemy, in this case, the Allies, including the British, French, Russians and Americans. An admirer of Hollywood movies (he screened Gone With the Wind over and over), he also admired Mrs. Miniver (MGM 1942) in how it “handled” the war and the enemy. Yes, England was at war with Germany, but the Nazis were never reviled–even after one of their pilots held Mrs. Miniver captive, and when of their planes killed her daughter-in-law and other members of their community. Instead, the members of the family did their duty: her husband helped at Dunkirk, her son joined the RAF, they hold steady during a bombing raid, and at the end, at a joint funeral, they sang hymns in their damaged church over which fly bombers . . . Hollywood was urged by the Office of War Information in Washington to restrict bloodthirstiness, and to not overload the screen with hatred, don’t make the American soldier an avenging god, make the enemy human. 12OCH, filmed 20 years after the war, of course, was not propagandizing but it still paid attention to the idea that “kill the enemy” was not the message to be sent—rather, it was what war does to people. Even in the original novel, worry over his men finally broke the invincible Frank Savage, and in the television series the war brings out old strains, new stresses, courage, cowardice, grief and hope. This episode is exemplary of this quality; it is interesting to note that there are four missions in the episode, and not one has the target identified; the first mission sets up the clash of personalities; the second provides the downing which creates Bradovich as a “survivor” and the third mission showcases the survivor’s aftermath of dealing with a resentful new crew. The final and fourth mission, which sets up the inevitable melodramatic climax, does not explicitly destroy some critical target (“Grant Me No Favor” and “25th Mission” are two among many which showed this). A great deal of the episode takes place in Archbury.
However, with all that said, I still find this episode doesn’t quite satisfy—Bradovich is never quite plumbed, and the story seems to get a little bogged down with too many officers and even Sarah Blodgett and her baby might have been replaced with a different issue—but, it’s always nice to see a woman in the male-dominated series.
-“We got a friend” Once again, the episode opens with the drone and the sight of B-17s in massed formation—but for once, the target has been hit and these planes are on their way home, but not without troubles . . . The scene cuts into one of the B-17s so we can meet two new faces, a Lt. Ainsley and Capt. Ernie Bradovich who are learning that a flak hit has cut one of their oil lines. The pilot’s first name—Earnest—suggests his intense qualities which he devotes more to the dead than to the living. Bradovich takes care of matters, feathers an engine, alerts the crew they are falling back, so watch out for fighters. Cut to another of the B-17s, to Lt. Tourneau who observes that Bradovich is falling back—“how long before the fighters arrive?” he asks. Five minutes—which can be a long time. Without requesting permission, he drops behind to help Bradovich, and tells his crew, “Eyes open, troops.” Lt. Ainsley, so friendly that eventually, if briefly, wins over Bradovich, looks outside and then grins: “We got a friend.” Bradovich explodes, “The fool! Who is it?”—he gets on the horn: “what do you think you’re doing? Get back into formation!” (I wonder what the real word had been, rather “the fool.”) Tourneau assures him that they have him covered—but he doesn’t understand that Bradovich is angry, not concerned: “you’re violating procedure!—get back to where you belong!” “Excuse me for trying to save your neck,” Tourneau snaps back. “You’re jeopardizing the squadron—NOW GET OUT OF HERE—and I am putting you on report!” At this moment, the familiar bong-bongs start, nailing his face in the midst of his anger and bringing into focus a guy having to learn that life cannot be lived by the book because people and events will never find a place to fit in among and between the rules. Bradovich’s by the book attitude apparently grows out of a loss of a friend—though it seems that his friend would not have survived if he had followed the book; indeed, the book did not seem to figure at all. Bradovich’s retreating into rules and regulations seems a shield for his grief.
-“Well, when the pilot throws the book out the window . . .” In Act I, a swift series of scenes brings the B-17s home to Archbury, safe landings, and on to Operations where, for once, Harvey Stovall counsels a pilot—Ernie Bradovich, who did not cool off during the course of the safe journey home, and insists on putting Lt. Tourneau on report for reasons that sound by the book but then veer off into facets of his personality. Stovall, seated comfortably in Gallagher’s chair, tells Bradovich what he wants to get both sides of the story for Colonel Gallagher—but he’s also curious about the man’s anger—what did Tourneau do that was so wrong?—seeing a fellow pilot in trouble—and the two planes trailed the formation, but neither broke it—which identifies one of Bradovich’s problems: stiff things break more easily than soft things. Possibly his current rage is an expression of his frustration of previous events and current issues that weren’t and aren’t in alignment with his pre-war plans for life, which included a good friend, now lost. Bradovich declares, “Well, when the pilot throws the book out the window,” and Stovall points out that the book also mentions teamwork and morale—“aren’t those also parts of the group’s integrity?” He still persists that the integrity was violated—except his reason seems a bit off because they become personal—“there was no reason for Tourneau to play hero on my account”—which reflects what happened to a buddy and co-pilot. It is interesting how he turns the word “hero” into some namecalling—which Komansky suffered from in “Show Me a Hero.” Stovall keeps on track: Bradovich is fairly new to the 918th; he flew 14 missions for the 966th a base which I would like to see!—it’s beginning to figure a lot in the stories. He has a good record—but was “shot down once”—which perhaps is the event that transferred him. Stovall does not linger on that event, but rather says “I don’t how things were at the 966th but here at the 918th group morale is very important”—something that Savage taught his men–even if a bit brutally– and that Gallagher is steadfastly carrying through. “You mean I’m fouling up group morale, sir?” Bradovich asks. “It happens to be the backbone of a pretty good combat record,” Stovall tells him. Bradovich responds with typical stiffness: flying a bomber is tough enough work and if you let your personal emotions becomes involved then failure is evident—“and that’s the truth.” Perhaps this is the key phrase of the story—he has let his emotions become too involved with dead friend and his grieving wife, and by doing so, failure does dog him—although putting aside his emotions would be worse. Also, declaring “that’s the truth”reveals how he only is listening to himself, not others . . . truth never lies in one person’s head.
-“the difference between facts and truth can be very interesting” Stovall becomes an avuncular lawyer, which he describes himself as being in “private life”—“you know, the difference between facts and truth can be very interesting”—largely because facts and truth are related, but each are very individual things. Facts can be proven—what about truth? Truth to whom and to what? Truth is very relative . . . Stovall then creates an interesting image of himself—rather than a bespectacled adjutant in England, he becomes a kind of Perry Mason: “If I had you in a witness stand, I’d say this man has his facts too well-rehearsed.” (does this suggest that Stovall was a trial lawyer?–it is never specified what kind of law he practices.) Leaving Bradovich to chew on this idea, he says he will give “the facts” to Colonel Gallagher. Bradovich leaves, eyeing Stovall as he does—not telling him that he knows both the truth and the facts about flying a bomber and not leaving your emotions behind.
-“gloom in the room” In the Officer’s Club, the scene opens with an interesting and recurring image: literal gambling as men use dice to decide who pays for the round of drinks. It’s a friendly game of chance, with the winner paying up. Bradovich enters into scene, and the three officers, including Tourneau, move off easily to a table, discussing an invitation to a party—“she said I could bring 4-5 of my most handsome officers,” Tourneau says, and when Stan Ainsley asks “what about me?” he responds “she said ‘handsome.’” But it’s all kidding around, using the kind of humor that Komansky still might not be able to react to well—is it truth or a joke? But Stan Ainsley accepts it as a joke and considers Bradovich—“how about inviting him to the party?” Tourneau turns it down—“what do want?—gloom in the room?” Ainsley objects, saying he knows the guy, he flies with him—and asks him to come with them—he hasn’t had a chance to meet any girls in Archbury yet and it’s a friendly group—“family, like you.“ Bradovich: “No.” Ainsley returns to the other officers, and tries to rationalize him to Tourneau: “he probably feels bad about giving you a hard time.” Bradovich tries to leave, but a phone calls him back. He speaks to a “Sarah,” whose words obviously bother him. As Bradovich is a tight-lipped son of a gun, so is the story about who he is and what he is like.
-“maybe you should have stayed in London”
The wet high street of Archbury fades into the face of a pretty but sad young woman, the “Sarah” of the phone call, who disconsolately considers a dismal flat. “There’s no wireless,” she says to Ernie Bradovich who stands by, looking both impervious yet attentive. Okay, the viewer thinks—what is the relationship here?—which seems clearer (and murkier) when he tells her “Maybe you should have stayed in London.” “Things didn’t work out for me in London,” she says, providing no details, which suggest that Ernie understands her words. “The taxi is waiting,” he says. “Shall we take it?” “I suppose,” she answers and the mystery is compounded when he fetches her valise and she tends to a baby which, when Bradovich returns, she says “thank goodness you didn’t wake him, he always cries.” (The baby is never seen or heard; it is only suggested by a wicker pram, and referred to. But, babies are hard to work with, so I appreciate the dodging of an actual baby.)
-“are either of you harboring any bad feelings?” Without any explanations of this murky scene (is Ernie the father? Why did this young woman follow him to Archbury?) the next day takes up with briefings, but to what target?—never specified, though an airman is drawing on the wall map while the scene plays. As the men troop out, Gallagher calls Bradovich and Tourneau over, and, saying he has reviewed the incident, asks “are either of you harboring any bad feelings?” Both men deny any such ideas. Tourneau leaves and Gallagher, taking on the role he has played with Komansky, tells him “Couple of good words and I think you’d have a good friend there.” Bradovich’s words are double-edged—“Trying to help me was a mistake he made.” After dealing with Komansky for quite some time, Gallagher doesn’t turn a hair over his blunt response: “I don’t agree—this is not a social club but we do try to work together here.” Bradovich’s “Yes sir,” is an acknowledgement rather than agreeing to his words, or to his contemporary farewell of “Have a good day.”
-“Bradovich—with nine other men. . . “ Of course, the “good day” means a good mission—and it begins to turn into that for Bradovich as they fly for the unidentified destination. Bradovich has perhaps been a bit softened by Sarah’s sadness and his co-pilot’s unstinting friendliness which surely reminds him of his former co-pilot . . . Ainsley tells him that he’s sorry for trying to fix him up with a girl—“I didn’t know you were all sewn up.” Bradovich reacts to this with some surprise. Ainsley says that Lt. Dickey saw her—and “hey, why don’t you introduce us?” He knows that this “isn’t a social club,” but “Hey, I’m not trying to beat your time. I’ll be real nasty so as not to show how lovable I am.” His charm, similar to Gallagher’s charm with Komansky, has its effect on the prickly pilot. Bradovich begins to unbend toward this “lovable guy”–and starts to tell him of “my old co-pilot—he was a real good friend of mine . . . “ Of course, with dramatic insistence, fighters are reported and conversation breaks off. Gallagher, the good shepherd, encourages closeness: “Pull it in, boys, pull it in. The tighter you fly, the more it costs them.” It’s a short, sharp, brutal battle—one that costs the friendly Ainsley his life and damages the plane which once more begins to fall off, and which Tourneau observes—not without concern, but with some “to hell with you.” Bradovich proves a good captain as he struggles with the plane and shouts to his crew to bail—but he does not know their condition and finally, with all else lost, jumps. The audience can see, as they did with Komansky, that this man is not a deserter or quitter; such beliefs surround him when he returns, unhurt, and alone—and defiant. Tourneau views one parachute opening. In this Piccadilly Lily, Gallagher observes “Bradovich, and nine other men.” The nine other men will not return.
-“where are the rest?” – “I have no idea” As Act II opens, an officer runs into the Officers’ club with good news—“They’re bringing in the survivors—Ernie Bradovich’s crew.” This shows how quickly news can spread and how inaccurate it can be. The happy men surge out of the club as a Jeep rolls in and Bradovich, looking none the worse for wear, climbs out. The men fall silent. Tourneau demands—“All right, where’s Lt. Ainsley and the rest?”—Lt. Ainsley in particular, with whom he traded kidding remarks the night before and who sat beside Bradovich that morning as co-pilot. (It’s a little annoying here that we don’t learn about Bradovich’s journey home—how did he get home so quickly?—sea-air rescue? the incident seems to have happened within 12-24 hours.) “I have no idea, Lieutenant,” and walks way into the night, perhaps not trying to think about he was just beginning to become friends with Ainsley when all hell broke loose and this is probably grinding on him. “He has to know, he was the last one to jump,” says Dickey. “Or the first,” says Tourneau. “I saw only one parachute open.”
-“am I wrong either way because I survived?”
As Komansky did after his return from Savage’s downing (fobbing McVeigh off with tales of “the cutest brunette,” and “Guys, I gotta report”) Bradovich turns his back on the guys to make his report. Perhaps he first reported to Stovall (as Sandy reported to him) and then, as Sandy was, called in by Gallagher for some “one on one” about the incident; Harvey follows him in. In Gallagher’s office, the colonel, in a dramatic staging, looks away from Bradovich—perhaps he finds this kind of inquisition hard to do, and gives the man a break by not clobbering him with his eyes. Also, when he tried a friendly, direct approach with Komansky several months before, all he received was angry defiance. Bradovich is a bit defiant too, but admits he can’t tell much of what happened—he doesn’t know who exactly got out. “Somebody must have seen more than one chute,” he finishes. “Well, we were all pretty busy at the time,” Gallagher points out, neither accusingly nor soothingly. “And we lost you in the clouds.” “I flew on for ten minutes before I jumped.” “You’re confident you didn’t order the bail out too soon?”
Bradovich is too experienced not to stand firm and lay it on the line.”What’s all this going to add up, sir? Am I wrong either way because I survived?” “Nobody’s blaming you for coming back,” Gallagher tells him. “You think not? Ask around.” Now Gallagher lays it on the line: is this incident going to diminish him as an officer and a pilot?—if so, “he can’t do much about it.” Bradovich leaves. Stovall asks: “What do you think?” Gallagher has never had the experience that Bradovich and Komansky both suffered—coming back alone to the suspicions of others. Stovall recommends grounding him—put him on leave. Gallagher, ever compassionate, declares that would be tantamount to passing judgment—and decides that Harvey should put a crew together and assign him a plane. “Isn’t that a gamble?”—as always, an allusion to gaming, which is previewed by the dice game at the bar and echoed by card playing coming up. “He’s a good pilot,” Gallagher responds. Stovall points out that nobody he assigns will like him—“maybe I can say a few words,” he offers. Joe may recall his own experiences with Sandy when he demanded the angry sergeant fly with him—it came with a threat of court martial too. Fortunately, they ended up allying to destroy a special enemy and mutual respect was created. “No, make him earn their confidence.” As it turns out, Komansky will give his confidence to this embattled pilot even before he has fully earned it.
-“two bodies, no survivors reported” Bradovich learns about the fate of his crew from Komansky. The scene opens on the well-dressed Archbury Street set, with rolling trucks, officers stepping off the curb, and wet pavements. (For once you see the actors’ breath in this scene, unusual in California filming.) Komansky and another sergeant bicycle in and Sandy sees Bradovich, lighting a cigarette, while waiting by a door. He elects himself as the bearer of bad tidings, which most of us would rather avoid. He presents himself and asks if “Major Stovall has found him yet”—and tells him “Word came in from the French—they located your aircraft.” “Oh?” is his noncommittal answer. “Two bodies, no survivors reported.” Komansky is neither sympathetic nor damning. Before Bradovich can react, the overdressed Sarah comes out, announcing “I’m starving,” before seeing and smiling at Komansky. “You brought a friend,” she says to Bradovich; interesting choice of words because they recall Lt. Ainsley’s words (“we got a friend”); also, they will prove true. Also, is Sarah somewhere beneath all the crazy behavior really concerned about the friendless Ernie? Komansky seems startled by her beauty and her friendliness and says “No, Mam, I just—“ “Ernie?” she prompts. Bradovich introduces them and she asks “where shall we eat?—The Lion is lively,” apparently thinking that Komansky is coming with them—perhaps she is excited about the idea of flirting with another man under Ernie’s nose or that she is happy that Ernie has a friend. In any case, her friendliness does not necessarily lead to intimacies taken. Komansky protests, saying that he was just “giving your husband a message.” Her smiling face falls and she clarifies things for him and the audience—her husband is dead. Komansky, unsure what to make of this, salutes the major and pedals off. Sarah continues to demand a good time for all the deadly dullness, but as he takes her hand, says he needs to get back, and she needs to mind the baby. He probably has not told her what happened to him; or she would not listen—but maybe that is a mistake he commits toward her. He has a “by the book” attitude with the young widow; he will take care of her, more out of duty to a dead man, rather than for the sake of the living.
-“we will all now stand up and sing the ‘whiffenpuff’ song”
After supper with Sarah, Bradovich returns to base and has the courage—or the blankness of heart—to go to the Officers Club. A couple of officers move off when he comes to the bar, and, playing at cards, Tourneau and Dickey invite him over—for a confrontation: “we had a couple of buddies in that plane”—why doesn’t he drink to them and tell them what happened. Bradovich remains stubborn—“what’s that supposed to mean?”even though it’s pretty plain. “Nobody else came back, Captain.” Bradovich becomes loud. “What do you want, a confession? Would a tear convince you? They were your friends, not mine”—though he and Ainsley were beginning to form a friendship there in the last few seconds which may lead to his attempt– “They’re gone and I’m really sorry—“ to a brutal cancellation of sentiment: “We will now all stand up and sing the ‘Whiffenpuff song’”: “We are poor little lambs who have lost our way . . . baa, baa, baa . . . “ (This makes an interesting reference to Gallagher’s “debut” at the 918th in the episode, “Golden Boy Had Nine Black Sheep”—the episode in which Gallagher seizes command of himself and prepares himself for his future command, which as I have said is more of the good shepherd.) A fight threatens to break out, but it forestalled by the timely arrival of Harvey Stovall who is there to turn the Toby mug around, the signal that there is a mission on for the morning, which Dickey announces. (I always feel that the Toby mug scenes are a little overplayed; it was meant to be a silent alert.) Stovall looks out for the current “trouble man”: “Where’s Captain Bradovich?” “I guess he jumped back into his hole,” Tourneau says. Dickey, perhaps a bit drunk, asks Stovall about “us” and gets coy, saying “Us jammed our landing gear. Us got no airplane.” Stovall, who knows Bradovich and has some sympathy for the man, tells them, with some satisfaction, “that they will fly co-pilot and bombardier with Bradovich.” Their surprised faces fade into men emerging from the briefing hut the following morning.
-“I want no volunteers on my plane” The next morning, inside the briefing hut, Komansky asks Bradovich if he can ride out with him—and that he’s filling in for Sgt. Braak. (In several episodes, many names line up on one consonant: Blodgett, Bradovich, Braak; in “Back to the Drawing Board” we got Rink, Rice, and Ray and they dealt with radar and had a plane named “Rink’s Raidar.”) Bradovich testily assumes the worst: “Oh, the well known head cold?” “Yes sir.” “The colonel did me an honor assigning you,” he says equably, but which becomes anger when Komansky says “I assigned myself.” “You volunteered?” He practically storms up to Gallagher and demands Komansky be relieved: “I want no volunteers on my plane.” Gallagher is beginning to understand better why Bradovich does not get along very well with others—and in another case may have agreed but snaps, “You fly it the way it was set up,” and as a parting shot, declares “You know, Bradovich, when a man tries so hard to withdraw from the world it looks like he has a guilty conscience,” a nice reflection on Harvey’s legal-oriented lecture to Bradovich. At this point the viewer is left wondering—what exactly is this man guilty of?—it’s not what the boys are thinking; the story made it clear that he did not bolt his responsibilities. There are mysteries with Sarah Blodgett (not a wife, and though he helps her, she is not particularly happy about it, nor is he, and he is the one keeping after her about her maternal responsibilities); and deeper mysteries about why he is fiercely turning his back on people—Komansky will help solve some of these mysteries for the audience, and for Bradovich. However, I still feel like we never really get to the bottom of Bradovich, which we might have if the story hadn’t been burdened with two triangles—Brad, Sarah, and the deceased friend/husband “Willy,” and a triangle formed by Brad, Sarah, and Lt. Tourneau. In some ways, I think the story would have been better served if there had been a few less officers (Lt. Dickey, Lt. Tourneau, Lt. Ainsley, even a Lt. Williams—and with their hats on, I get them confused) and if Komansky had innocently formed the third point of the triangle, suggested when Sarah effusively greets him. She could have clubbed him in anger when he gives her his “talking to”; her belting of Tourneau for taking some liberties strikes me as being pretty artificial.
-“were you calling us?”
Act III takes up with the always stirring images of the planes trundling out, getting ready to “go to war” (although that is the lesser story in tonight’s episode). In the newly assigned plane, Bradovich efficiently gets ready, and Komansky, who apparently took no offense at Bradovich’s attitude presents a checklist to the man, telling him “there’s some wear and tear, but she’ll fly—I checked her over last night.” “All right, turn ‘em over,” Bradovich directs to his co-pilot, Lt. Dickey, who is “bidin’ his time.” Bradovich verbally though civilly shoves him—“Lt. Dickey, it’s time to warm up the engines.” Dickey does, after a “half a beat.” They roll out, and Bradovich asks the crew to confirm that they are in take-off position. There is no acknowledgement. Then: “Gunners to flight deck—were you calling us?” At times, the fact that Komansky doesn’t worry too much about being liked serves him and others well. He swings into action with his sergeant’s voice: “Flight deck to gunners—get into your positions and report!” The answer is quick: “All secure back here.”
-“my name is Alexander Komansky. It’s a long name . . . “
In the air, once more heading to an undefined target, the left-waist gunner, to twit Bradovich, contacts the flight deck—and asks for the “co-pilot for permission to clear our guns.” With exaggerated courtesy, they take permission, clear their guns, and then contact the co-pilot again: “Guns cleared, sir.” (In Season III’s “The Pariah,” Sandy orders a gun-clearing in his response to Joe and Bob’s good-natured teasing; the effect is that of a “bronx cheer”; it may be the same effect here). Bradovich gets the message, “and I buy it.” He reminds the crew that this is a combat mission, “and I’ll do my job and you do yours.” Bradovich knows by this time that he really is in a corner and his survival—and the crew’s—depends on them working together at least in this situation—but he needs to apply it on the ground as well. Komansky has gotten both messages; his reactions reveal the complexities of his character. Komansky steps up to befriend those who deseprately require a friend—such as Stevie Corbett in “Then Came the Mighty Hunter” and more recently, Sgt. Zemler in “Back to the Drawing Board”; he even did the same in a way for Gallagher who needed support in his new duties of command. He also does not care about being popular–somewhat similar to Savage, upon whom, I wonder at times, the creators of the series may have somewhat modelled him on (Sa/ndy & Sa/vage). Komansky disappears from the flight deck and confronts the seated, grinning gunners. His threat is a colorful one: “My name is Alexander Komansky. It’s a long name, and I’ll tattoo it on the skin of the next man who fails to show respect to the commander of this aircraft. Anybody who thinks I’m kidding, raise their right hand. From now on, you will report to the captain.” No hands are raised. Does Bradovich ever learn what this unwanted volunteer did for him?—or in the other ways he helps him? It is never clear but he does thank Sandy at episode’s end for a Jeep ride and his thanks may cover several points.
-“but you do understand ‘Leave me alone’”
The unspecified mission must go well because the next scene is in Archbury, and in the bowels of the Denby Lion’s Pub, unseen since “Then Came the Mighty Hunter”—again, appropriate for the theme because Sandy once came face to face with himself and his failings, and finally extended a helping hand to a young man in hot water (“Mighty Hunter”). Suitably, it is a “cellar” or underground, which always promotes the idea of rebirth. Sarah is reeling about the place, looking something like the first character she played in “The Hot Shot”—a British Wren who seemed to enjoy the war for procuring her lovers with lots of money to feed her gin-drinking habit. Bradovich finds her, tries to get her away for something to eat, and then telling her she hasn’t been with the baby all day—“I’ve been here only since eleven,” she tells him, and that she is here with a young man: Lt. Tourneau appears (after possibly visiting the latrine to pee his own drinks; he has been matching her to get her drunk): “you’re not abandoning the ship, Sarah dear?” he asks. Tourneau targeted her to rankle Bradovich, for now two reasons: his rudeness and the loss of comrades—actually, him not showing any concern about those lost. Bradovich reminds her that she is abandoning the baby—in her words and actions, she can’t sit around the flat day in and day out. Bradovich appeals to Tourneau: “You don’t understand the situation.” “Ah, but you do understand ‘Leave me alone.’ That’s your theme song—stay out of my life.”
-“to life”
Sarah levels a glassy stare at him: “Buzz off.” Bradovich backs off to the bar, and Tourneau and Dickey sit down with her for another round. “To life,” Tourneau says, his salute an ironic one because it applies to both the dead and the living. The cellar bar becomes a coffin of sorts—the half-dead Bradovich and the half-dead Sarah are figuratively buried or burying themselves as a way to deal with their separate but connected pain. Ironically, their seeming dislike for each other, and Bradovich’s firm “handling” of Sarah arise from their mutual love of the dead man who is finally named: “Willy.” She grows remorseful—she admits that Ernie has been good to her since Willy died—they were friends and before the war had gone to college together and Willy apparently was set to marry a girl back in the States—but met Sarah instead, in an old story from wartime. “Ernie never liked me much—they both had girls back in the States”—and you wonder if perhaps this Damon and Pythias were even set to marry each other’s sisters. “He’s taken care of me and the baby ever since . . .though it’s been like prison” which echoes the quality of the cellar location. She suddenly demands “take me somewhere.” Tourneau is perhaps too drunk to really take the story into account as well as Sarah’s saddened face and admission she has a baby. Instead, he says “you have the exact right man,” and boozily saluting Bradovich—this event may be an old story to the captain—they leave, emerging from the cellar into the twilight of Archbury’s sandbagged streets.
For all their dislike of the man, they still continue to speak of Bradovich and the baby: “why doesn’t he sit with the baby if he’s so ruddy concerned,” she spits. Tourneau may be past hearing, or he cares so little for her he does not listen. Behind them, Bradovich quietly emerges from the Lion Pub, and watches as they wander off and end up in a vestibule of sorts with an iron staircase. The ensuing scene seems a little artificial, but it may reflect her confusion in the wake of war, marriage and a husband gone before his time, and dealing with a baby who can only remind her of her loss—and his attentive friend whose concern for her may mask love, love that he stifles with guilt. However, she may be more sharp-witted than people think, because when Tourneau backs her against a wall and kisses her, she can only shout “Hey, stop that!” –as if she knows that Tourneau is only twitting Bradovich by juicing her up. She belts him twice with her purse, and Tourneau is juiced up enough to go stumbling back into the iron staircase and bang his noggin. By now, a crowd has gathered, American and British. Bradovich has come forward and showing a forbearance that is truly saintly, requests a nearby sergeant to get an ambulance from the 918th, and then says to the onlookers, “I didn’t mean to hit him so hard”—interesting contrast to his previous refusal to accept blame for losing his plane, and crew, and being the only survivor.
-“Look, I’ll admit I was moving in on his girl . . .”
Act IV takes up suitably in the base hospital (there are a lot of sick people in this episode!) with Bradovich looking concerned as Lt. Tourneau, head bandaged, struggles to make sense of the affair for Gallagher—and ends with, “in the mean time, he belted me,” gesturing to the captain who does not protest. “Look, I’ll admit I was moving in on his girl, but he was acting like he owned her . . . “ (A nice touch: somewhere outside, is the sound of planes. As Gallagher said in “Rx for a Sick Bird,” a bomber base is always noisy.) Gallagher tries to clarify the foolish but critical situation: he says that Bradovich admitted that he hit Tourneau, and Tourneau admits to provoking it. Tourneau protests—“It’s pretty hard admitting to what you don’t remember. Why don’t you ask the girl?” “Leave Sarah out of this,” Bradovich demands and might cause further trouble except Gallagher says a few more words and hustles him out with an impatient “Come on.”
He knows there is more to this whole affair—and I wonder if at this time he contacts Sandy for some assistance because otherwise, unless something was snipped, Sandy showing up at Sarah’s flat seems highly expeditious. Gallagher perhaps knows Sandy’s concern for Bradovich and upon asking him for his opinion of the affair, learns that Sandy has met Sarah, the “bone of contention” between Bradovich and Tourneau and knows where she lives. It would be nice to know why and how he confronts her, but he has met her and senses Bradovich’s connection with her.
-“I’ve been where he is . . . “
Sandy has been invited into Sarah’s flat and while she flings clothing into her valise, talks with her, his flat-edged statements matching his clenched face. “Lady, Capt. Bradovich is really in trouble and you leaving makes it even worse—like he had no reason for assaulting a fellow officer.” “Does that make any difference to you?” she asks, an oblique reference to Komansky’s aroused empathy:.
“I’ve been where he is—trying to shut other people out—I was the only survivor of a bomber that went down”—and in his case, that bomber carried the 918th’s famous commanding officer, General Savage. With being a survivor of that terrible loss complicating his already poor reputation, if it hadn’t been for Gallagher’s timely intervention in his life and career, Sandy may have run on the rocks. His next words echo this: “He thinks he has some kind of burden on his back—and he has to carry it alone—he’s wrecking himself.” Sarah takes some of the blame: “You want to know the burden on his back? It’s me and my baby—Wally’s baby—‘I’ll take care of you for Wally’s sake’ . . . “ Her guilt is beginning to be revealed. She tells him a melodramatic story, but which is fit for the unabashed melodrama of the series: Wally Blodgett, her husband, saved his pal Bradovich. She shows the medal he received “for dying. How about that?—for staying behind and getting his wounded friend out of the ship—then being caught inside when it blew up—something for the mantelpiece,” she finishes, and drops the leather case.
Komansky is tough enough to make a grieving woman face up to things: “If that’s all it means to you can I give it to Captain Bradovich?” She tries to snap back a pat answer, but his burning eyes tell her that he won’t be fobbed off. Crying, she admits that she’s not running away—“he told me to go away and not to tell—I hit the lieutenant, not Ernie.” As Sandy takes this in, his face fades into a night shot of Operations.
-“just don’t”
Night-time in Gallagher’s office, and it’s an odd collection of people—Lt. Tourneau, probably summoned from the Officer’s Club, Capt. Bradovich, Sarah Blodgett, looking plainer and more discreet than at any other time, Sandy at the door, and Gallagher at his desk confronting a muddle of human emotion. Tourneau says the unseen Doc Kaiser tells him that his memory may come back—but all he remembers is walking down the street with Sarah, trying to kiss her—and the lights went out. Sarah says that while she does not want to get the lieutenant into trouble, “he did get fresh and I hit him with my handbag.” Bradovich says, after the lieutenant is dismissed and Sarah understands she can leave in the company of Sgt. Komansky—“he will come to her and the baby as soon as he can.” “Just don’t,” she answers. Komansky, next to her, looks away, embarrassed. She will return to London—“My mother can help me with the baby—Wally’s baby—it’s my baby too!” With those odd, mixed up words—is she finally defying him and his looking after her? Is she pleading with him to stop her, and to care less about taking care of them than loving them? She says goodbye, and leaves with Sandy.
-“you were volunteering for what might have been a murder charge”
Bradovich is left alone with Gallagher who wearily pursues this increasingly strange case of love, death, violence, grieving widows and a dead man’s child. He asks what Bradovich meant to accomplish–by taking the blame for Tourneau’s injury? Bradovich is neither defensive nor sorry; and seems half-dead by his sense of responsibility toward Sarah. “I didn’t know at the time how badly he was hurt.” “I can’t understand it—you’re always rejecting friendship yet you were volunteering for what might have been a murder charge.” “It was my choice,” Bradovich says. “Because of her husband I owed it to her.” Gallagher tells him that he knows something of his story from his former base commander—who probably transferred him to get away from painful memories. A rather standard event happens—Gallagher reaches to the bottom of the man’s problem and clearly presents it to him (Kurt Brown in “I Am the Enemy” and in the upcoming “Day of Reckoning,” Chaplain Archer’s loss of faith in himself). ”You elected to take of his family and that’s fine—but what about your obligations to the men you fly with?” “I do my job.” “You are so committed to a dead man that the living can’t count on you.” Bradovich finally becomes defensive. “You believe I abandoned my crew!” By telling him the most of the men do—it’s clear people don’t trust him—he reinforces the idea that “you’re a bad risk.” Bradovich retreats further into his hole, demanding transfer. Gallagher refuses, saying he won’t palm him off on another commander and then delivers the crusher: probably his dead friend wouldn’t want to fly with him either. “You’re grounded.” When Bradovich protests, Gallagher curtly dismisses him, though a flicker of sympathy in his eyes reveals he doesn’t like barking at a hurting man. Joe is recouping himself when Stovall comes in, on the heels of Bradovich going out. “The walls aren’t that thin,” he tells Joe, as well as telling him they are on standby alert. Gallagher admits his loss: “There’s no way I can save that man—except to give him what he wants—to be shut out.” Stovall describes him as “leaving like lightning ready to strike,” an interesting image reflecting his own troubled attempt to return to flying in “Storm at Twilight.”
–“the automatic pilot button—it doesn’t have feelings either”
In this scene, the famous Toby Mug plays a stronger role than its usual one. Bradovich, so much in a shell that he fearlessly enters the Officer’s Club (he is so out of the loop that he doesn’t care if he meets with detractors). Tourneau, unwisely drinking, is comparing Bradovich to the “automatic pilot button—it doesn’t have feelings either.” Harvey enters for his usual task of turning the Toby Mug to the wall. Bradovich then creates his own comparison: staring at the Toby Mug, its masked face to the wall, he suddenly “gets the message”—a little quickly perhaps, but this is a 55 minute tv episode. He sees himself in the Mug—not only masked against exposure of his real self, but defiantly turning his back on people who don’t want him to turn his back—that includes Sarah, Sandy, Gallagher, and the departed Ainsley. A moment later, he is storming into Gallagher’s office for a confrontation, where Gallagher seems to be making coffee on a hot plate, rather than the stove. “You fly me tomorrow—understand?” “Yes Captain, I think I do,” Gallagher responds. Maybe together, they share a cup of coffee and become friends.
-“Sir, if you’re worried about Captain Bradovich—“ “I’m not”
For the fourth time in this episode the 918th flies to an unidentified target and of course, this run will climax the story. Minutes away from the bomb-drop, not worried about flak but warning about fighters, Gallagher asks Bob and Sandy if either of them had talked with Bradovich, one of the pilots. “Sir, if you’re worried about Captain Bradovich,” Sandy starts, but Gallagher assures him, “I’m not,” which maybe reflects their conversation the night before. The bombs are dropped, fighters swarm in, and damage takes its toll—and, of course, a good ending crisis: The Piccadilly Lily (I am assuming that is what Gallagher is still flying, though Miss Lily has not been referred to in awhile; she finally reappears in “Cross-Hairs on Death”) begins acting up; Komansky assures him that the oil pressure will hold, but they have to drop out of formation and “tag on to the rear” when the formation turns. Bradovich’s plane is also crippled and he has to drop out of formation too—Bradovich defensively radios that he is not trying to prove anything by this extremely coincidental event. Gallagher asks “Can you keep up with me?”
-“You don’t suppose he pushed too hard . . . “
Bradovich’s plane and crew are in a bad way: his co-pilot Dickey is injured as are members of the crew. (He loses co-pilots the way Gallagher used to!). He radios that he needs to bail out people, including Dickey—but he’s going to hang on for the living, which is what Gallagher has encouraged him to do. After a moment—“He’s had it, he’s burning,” Bob reports. The formation presumably flies on, unable to help the crippled plane. Hours later, the bombers return and land under misty skies, and when Joe joins Stovall in a waiting jeep, the news is grim—“No word.” He pauses. “You don’t suppose he pushed too hard trying to make a point. . . “ Then, with wonderful timing (I wish life had timing like this) a lone B-17 descends—and bellies in. Bradovich, with the wounded Dickey slumped next to him, takes a deep breath and radios for an ambulance—and he too will now ask for help from being he has been sternly giving help to.
-“Are you staying?”
The epilogue begins in Archbury, where Sandy drives Bradovich to Sarah’s flat. Sandy is driving because Bradovich’s arm is in a sling, and after he thanks Sandy (does he know for how much he should thank Sandy?) he climbs out and meets Lt. Tourneau, whose head is still bandaged: together they make the somewhat typically wounded officer in 12OCH: head bandaged and arm in a sling (Gallagher was slung up in this fashion in “Show Me A Hero,” and Tom Parson was similarly slung up in “25th Mission”). Tourneau invites him for a drink at the Lion, and though he refuses he thanks him. “Any time,” Lt. Tourneau says, grateful that he hung on and saved the life of Lt. Dickey. Bradovich looks after him, enjoying the sight of a smile and then turns to patching up other relationships. He then finds Sarah in her flat, dutifully tending to the (unseen) baby. She is home in more ways than one; she’s not going to London after all. “Then I can come to see the baby,” he says, hesitantly.
Her pretty face shows her disappointment in him. “Are you staying?” she asks. He tenderly takes her chin with his good hand and speaks bravely—his recent experiences have jerked him out of a shell of pain, where he has been living, more dead than alive and he sees the living beckoning to him: “It’s not just the baby,” he tells her and rather than the viewers witnessing a kiss, we are left to make up our own minds and wishes for this sad couple who may yet find some happiness. In the Lion Pub, Komansky is on the phone, asking, for who knows what reason, about Lt. Dickey. “He’s critical,” responds Gallagher, “but he’ll make it. You’re not in London, are you?” Sandy tells him that Mrs. Blodgett never left Archbury. Gallagher is pleased, pleased enough to remember that his hardworking occasionally contrary sergeant—who proved his humanity and kindness to a troubled captain—needs a break, and tells him, “Since you have the Jeep, you can take the afternoon off if you wish.” What a wish! Sandy thanks him, pleased as well. I wonder what he will do . . . catch up with his sex life? Back at Operations, as the theme plays softly on a violin, Gallagher and Stovall plot Bradovich’s future—he has submitted a request for transfer, but Gallagher doesn’t want to think about until he gets back from sick leave—“He may find that if he can’t beat us, he may join us.” Ernie will join the 918th as he has finally rejoined the living.
“Angel Babe”
Writer: Preston Wood
Director: Robert Douglas
Because this episode focuses on the female character of “Angel Babe”—though she is a plane– it seems a good time to review and categorize the female characters found in the second season in this extremely masculine show—so masculine there are some episodes where women simply do not appear—and “Angel Babe” does not have one living conventional woman anywhere in the scenes, which was a wise decision. The episode showcases the loveliest lady of them all—and she proves, by turn, loving, contrary, jealous, impossible, a creator and a destroyer—but true to herself. We might also say that she is the “tragic romance” in Joe’s rather hit and miss love life, because after accepting him as her lover, she shortly after commits suicide—and we never know his feelings about her self-destruction—pride, grief, or puzzlement. Media people: Suzanne Arnais (“Loneliest Place”) and Susan Nesbit (“Show Me”).
Underground and Partisans: Mara (“We’re Not Coming Back”); Claudine Corbelle (“Target 802”); Liane Colet (“Underground”) and Ilka Zradna (“Rx”). Finally, there is “The Danzig Lady” in “Siren Voices” who most strongly portrays an agent for the allied cause.
USAAF and RAF: Capt. Phyllis Vincent (“The Idolater” and “The Outsider”); Faye Vendry (“The Hot Shot” and “Runway in the Dark”); Allison (“The Hot Shot”); Captain Patricia Bates (“Which Way”); Betty (Army Nurse in “Big Brother”). Also—a courier (“Falling Star”), a WAC officer in “The Jones Boys; ”the ill-fated Sgt. Winifred Broome (“Day of Reckoning”; staffers at Wing and the Langham (“that pretty little WAC”, and “Coffee sir?”); an uncautious WAC (“Cross-Hairs on Death”), and various nurses at the 918th.
English Civilians: Mrs. Denby and daughter Jillian (“Mighty Hunter”); Mrs. Hoffman (“I am The Enemy”); Mrs. Clyde-Brice (“Falling Star”); Sydney (“The Slaughter Pen”); Naomi (“25th Mission”); Sarah Blodgett (“The Survivor”); and Ruthie (“The Hollow Man”). There are various young women at the pubs, such as in “Mighty Hunter” and “Falling Star.” A few military wives (“Grant Me No Favor”). Closing out the season: the ill-fated Margaret in “Decoy” and Helen Grahame/Conboy (“Siren Voices”).
“Foreign”: Anya (“Between the Lines”) and Col. Erhland’s lover (“Drawing Board”). Some are foolish; some are victims of war, some are heroic, and some contribute new technology and understanding. Some are admirable, others not quite so, but they usually redeem themselves.
Good and evil—so far, no evil women, with the possible exception of Susan Nesbit who is more ambitious than evil, but she pays for it by being rejected by Sandy and then terribly injured. The voice of “Axis Sally,” in “Target 802” may qualify for the “evil woman” and in upcoming “Siren Voices,” a seemingly evil woman is actually broadcasting messages. All in all, women are rather honorably represented in this show. The nurse who helps Jaydee Jones sneak back onto base refuses his attentions with “You may make me act like a sneak but don’t think I enjoy it.” The one “bad girl” was the British Wren Allison in “The Hot Shot” who seemed to regard the war as a way to have a wild lover feed her gin habit.
However, “Angel Babe” trumps them all!—The lady not only provides the title, she is a fighting lady, and, as a fighting lady, dominates the story, dominates the men, dominates the sky when she flies lead, and, in the end, dominates her fate. She recalls other “warrior queens” in myth and history—Semiramis, Deborah, Cleopatra, Elizabeth I, as well as the Amazons. She resembles, in some ways, both Ilka Zradna and Capt. Patricia Bates who play masculine roles though female; she too matches the sky-gods, who pilot her and worship her. Her realm is the sky. However, as stated above, she has her own way, and when she dies, she determinedly returns and dies on the ground, as if returning to the feminine realm she once deserted to “join the guys.” And I remember “Angel Babe”—meaning, I clearly recollect the episode from my first and only viewing of it, over forty years ago. An interesting personal aspect of re-viewing 12OCH after so many years is my memory–some I clearly remember, such as “Then Came the Mighty Hunter,” “We’re Not Coming Back,” and “Show Me a Hero, I’ll Show You a Bum,” “Between the Lines,” among several others. Others I recall though without clear memory such as “Back to the Drawing Board,” save for small scene–for some reason I recalled Sandy taking away Rink’s oxygen mask and Rink, near the runway, saying “Magnificent!” Others I recall in the viewing such as “Falling Star.” Some I have no memory of all, such as “25th Mission,” “The Survivor,” and “Cross Hairs on Death.” I recall “Angel Babe” because of its name and of course, its offbeat, mystical—and at times corny–story of an airplane who seems alive. I clearly recall the ending scene of the lovely impassive face of Angel Babe darkening in flame. What I did not recall was that the episode also included the power of the press—the media and its relationship to war. Of course, “Angel Babe” (what a lovely combination of celestial and erotic!—which also may describe the perfect woman, at least according to men) recalls the “Memphis Belle”—the first B-17 to complete twenty-five missions which sent her and her crew on a stateside bond tour—and the story became a movie in 1990. I imagine that there were several other B-17s close to completing that amount of missions, but “publicists” probably selected “Memphis Belle” for the duty because of her appealing and wholesome American name, in contrast with some other names: such as the popular “Bigassedbird.” Also, the Memphis Belle was a discreetly sexy image. It is interesting to note that the image of “Lily” for the television show was sultry lady—but at least she had clothes on. On the real Piccadilly Lily B-17, Miss Lily was a wholesome if naked young lady, posed in such a way as to cover “the naughty bits.” (See Duffin and Mathes.) I looked through a book once about the B-17s and B-25 bombers, and seeing some of the real names and real images—a memorable one was “Target for Tonight,” and the image was a brunette in a black negligee kneeling on a bed, and pointing to the pillows—wow! There were some rather nasty ones—at least, nasty to me, a woman. Finally, this is one of the more distinctive episodes on 12OCH, although it does recall, to some degree, “Show Me a Hero”—as Komansky tried to avoid being made into a hero by the media, Angel Babe seems to do the same thing. The story is a blend of myth, legend, as well as being a war story and a love story.
-“where does that guy keep his crystal ball?”
Although the teaser opens in the usual fashion—droning B-17s—the graceful pattern the planes create a somewhat feminized version of the familiar scene. However, fighters swarm on this formation. In “Angel Babe,” the lead plane, Gallagher, acting as co-pilot (it is not explained why—but it sets in motion a sub-story of Gallagher’s belief in her which serves him to good effect) takes report from the other planes, and the damage reports are good—nothing major. A flight engineer, Sgt. Willets, played by the distinctive Roddy McDowell (whose acting talents trumped his quirky appearance; and here, his quirkiness is used to excellent effect), emerges between the pilots, and Lt. Dreelen orders him to get back into his turret. “No more ammunition,” he replies in a country-boy voice, “but that’s okay, the Jerries are about to break up and go home”—and they do, confirmed by several other planes report. He grins. “It’s always that way when Angel Babe’s out in front—Angel Babe knows the ropes.” Gallagher grins—“where does that guy keep his crystal ball?”—which is the first mention of the mysteries involved with this story. This theme grows stronger through the story. The pilot does not know, but he admits “there’s something between that sergeant and this airplane.” In keeping with unusual episode, director Douglas does some unusual work: there comes an unusual pan—outside, on the left side window, in which we see Gallagher, the camera pans over the never seen left side of the plane, revealing the plane’s record for bombing missions and downed Jerries—and then the lovely face of “Angel Babe,” whose eyes meet the viewer dead-on, and whose blonde hair is being twirled by the winds as she flies, fearlessly. She is Helen of Troy, a pin-up, a ship’s head, a movie star, a femme fatale (i.e. “deadly dame”), the girl next door, Semiramis, a dream, all rolled into one.
-“this airplane has been selected for retirement”
As the planes come down at home, the “worried” version of the theme plays, underscoring two groups of people driving out to the meet the plane as she taxis in. Komansky and Stovall climb out of their Jeep and Stovall is almost immediately told to “get out of the way” as he moves in front of cameras being set up and prepared by three men, an officer and two sergeants. Stovall and Komansky then stand together, looking a little uneasy. They are all intent on Angel Babe as she taxis to a stop: a shot lingers on the face of Angel Babe; she seems to be watching this group of men coming to greet her; some are not known to her. Harvey greets Joe with a handshake. Joe grins “Nothing to it today,” but his good news is overruled by Harvey’s introductions: “Major Budd, PRO.” “What’s the occasion?” Joe asks, probably recoiling slightly at the cameras. Budd is slightly officious: “This airplane has been selected for retirement.” A cut to the captain’s set face—“Angel Babe?” he asks. (I find it unusual that nobody had announced this to the crew yet, and just sent out a film unit without Gallagher’s knowledge, but, oh well . . .) “More like reassignment stateside,” Budd assures him. “Morale building.” He introduces his crew, Sgt. Prinze and Marvin. They will photograph Angel Babe on her final mission and “then she will be sent home a hero.” –Interesting choice of words—she’s a “hero” rather than a heroine. “First B-17 to complete 50 missions over Germany,” Prinze says, and although that will prove true, she does so on that sung-about “comin’ in on a wing and a prayer.” And, as it turns out, she may not have already flown missions over Germa she flew seven anti-submarine patrols which suggest they were done over water. Also, they increased the number to 50 to make her different from “Memphis Belle,” which probably a lot of viewers remembered—she “only” flew 25, though supposedly the first to complete the number. Willets and Komansky are left behind as the officers and film crew troop off. Willets is surprisingly unaffected by the news—He and Komansky, another flight engineer, are left alone—he counts on Komansky’s understanding because both understand the body of their plane better than anybody. Both gaze up into the face of the beloved Angel Babe and Willets announces, as it turns out prophetically, “Well, they’ll just have to look someplace else. She’s a fighter—she’s lived like one and she’ll die like one.” Komansky looks at her again, and then leaves, his feelings unknown. Angel Babe stares at the world, impassively, biding her time and holding her secrets against all the men who are deciding her future. Of course, over her face strikes the six bars and the “bongs” to further let you know this is a lady to contend with.
-“is Angel Babe really through?”
In a nice change, the NCO club is visited, where busy non-coms drink beer and converse, and into which Komansky carries Sgt. Prinze—“Okay, you guys, for those of you don’t know, this is Sgt. Prinze, a cameraman from Hollywood and here to do a story on Angel Babe.” Prinze, who seems to be a pretty stolid but easy-going fellow, agrees with Sandy’s words. Willets, sharing a beer with friends, suddenly seems to get the message: “You mean Angel Babe is really through?” Sandy stands between Willets and Prinze, as though moderating. Sandy will prove to have both feet in two worlds—he does not quite believe in Angel Babe, yet he respects others’ belief in her and at the end, perhaps along with Gallagher, is transformed into a sincere believer in the lady’s powers–but this is never clarified which adds to the lady’s mystique. “This is not a mass mourning, she’s going home with honors,” he says, but unrest is spreading. Willets contests Angel Babe’s record—he’s only flown with her 31 times. Prinze claims she has been flown 49 times—one more to go. “You said 50.” “So I’m a liar for one mission.” Komansky tries to interfere with this growing tension, and Sgt. Harker demands “Whose side are you on?” “No one’s!—what’s wrong with you guys?” Sandy demands. “Okay, anybody here see Angel Babe fly by herself, take one step forward.” It’s an odd response, question/request, but Angel Babe can sow dissension among her men. “What’s all this about an airplane?” Prinze demands.
-“when she leads . . . nobody gets clobbered”
In answer, her crew gets up and leaves, and left behind is a slightly embarrassed Komansky. Prinze (funny, there’s a prince and an angel in this story which propels it into a folk tale of sorts) wonders why they seem to want to avoid something “most guys would fight to get into.” “Look,” Sandy begins, and with a kind of tender understanding, explains “most of the guys feel that Angel Babe is luck. When she leads, sometimes we get nicked, but we never get clobbered. That’s how they feel, and that’s what they believe. . . . and somehow they feel that Sgt. Willets is connected with that luck . . .see?” It’s a sort of lame finish, but Komansky does not quite know where his feelings lie in all this. As an engineer, he probably has feelings for Piccadilly Lily, but they may be more in with how people know their cars—they know when something isn’t right but it doesn’t make the car into a living being. Prinze has caught of a sense of “they” rather than “we” and tries to pin him down: “What do you believe?” Komansky wisely ducks it. “I wouldn’t waste time on that, but you’ll get the story you came for.” It’s an ambiguous comment, and Prinze’s face is ambiguous—but like it or not, he is falling under the spell of Angel Babe.
-“one good strike could knock them out of the box”
From beer and arguments about Babe, the scene shifts to Operations, where Gallagher is on the phone to an unknown (and unseen) General Ward (Britt and Pritchard are out of the picture in this episode but they really did not fit into this story). Gallagher says he could put 18 up in the air the next day—to Emden. Emden is not a primary target like Hamburg, but somewhat diversionary in that strikes there could tie up water and rail resources and throw new pressure on Hamburg—“one good strike could knock them out of the box,” Joe concludes about the plans—which include Angel Babe on her final mission. Harvey Stovall is to contact Major Budd about this, and Joe asks him to do so with without any particular feelings. Also, he is accepting the presence of cameras and journalists as part of the job, in contrast to his trying to avoid them in “The Hot Shot”—though his patience will erode as the filming drags on due to Angel Babe’s problems. Harvey turns to the request but he seems a little sad about the 918th’s “best girl” going away after one last mission to “knock them out of the box.”
-“She ready to fly?” – “She’s always ready”
The next morning at briefing, with the PRO sharing the platform with Gallagher, the colonel details the particulars and then introduces the film crew, saying that Sgt. Prinze will be flying in Angel Babe, and Sgt. Marvin in his plane, to film Angel Babe in flight. With a wish to “have a good day,” the men start to leave—and maybe the first out the door was Willets to get some special time with his girl. Out on the flightline, he smiles at her never-changing image and then touches her painted lips with his finger in a figurative kiss—and these same fingers then caress her wheel (round and plump like a woman’s breast) and checks the bolts on the wheel housing; he is a lover exploring the body of the beloved. There are more sexual images to come . . . Prinze seems to be watching this—and comes up behind him and asks “What are you doing?” “You wouldn’t understand,” Willets says, honestly. “She ready to fly?” he asks, camera over his shoulder—still in control, although he is already calling her “she.” “She’s always ready.” Prinze reminds him that he is flying with them. Willets gets a little dreamy—“I was hoping you guys would get a feel of her—the way she just belongs . . . “ Prinze is only pretending to listen—he’s already envisioning a typical portrait of the guys in a tableau around Angel Babe, with some of the guys up on the wings—and he tells Willets this. “Didn’t you hear me?” Willets demands. “Hear what?” Prinze demands—but he will be listening soon as Angel Babe whispers to him or so he thinks. “She doesn’t want to quit—she’s going to fight you.” He leaves and turns and shouts back “She’ll fight you all the way!”
Soon after, Angel Babe taxis out. Willets speaks to the crew, and makes sure that Willets is on the plane—but lets it be known that he considers the man an interloper—somebody who does not belong in the body of his beloved plane—whether as a fetus, or a lover joined with the body. She’s not unfaithful; she is being forced to entertain the wrong kind of company. On the ground, Major Budd is filming the take off, and when his camera fouls up he grabs his still camera which will record some interesting evidence. In the plane, Angel Babe lurches, startling the pilot and Willets. As the Act concludes, Angel Babe has seemingly enunciated her position—she will not fly with these men filming her—she is not to be captured on film, at least this time.
-“well, all the fellows are upset about losing Angel Babe . . .”
A view of Operations opens the scene—but rather than the usual conservative angle on Joe’s office with middle-key lighting, new angles and lower-key lighting creates a different mood. Major Budd is talking; on the wall, over his shoulder is a distorted shadow thrown by Colonel Gallagher. Budd shows photos of what he seemed to see when he drove out to see what was going on with Angel Babe—photos reveal Willets and Prinze seemingly ready to trade blows. Gallagher consults Sandy, his most direct line to the NCOs’ thoughts and activities—did he know of any trouble? “Well, all the fellows are upset about losing Angel Babe, but Sgt. Willets walks away from a fight.” Budd asks about particular problems between Willets and Prinze that he heard from Harker—Komansky answers sharply: “Harker has a big mouth!”—but in defense of his fellow NCOs, adds “I guess we all do—that’s what makes us an air corps.” “Well, he didn’t walk away from that fight,” Budd points out. “No sir, he did not,” Sandy says, irritated but keeping his calm. Gallagher sends Stovall and Komansky off and studies the photos—like Angel Babe, they seem ambiguous, which may be a comment on the entire situation—they can film Angel Babe, but they can’t film the “real her”—she is beyond fact, and soars into the realm of truth, which is notoriously dependent on perspective, the context, and certainly, belief. Budd has a pedestrian question—“what am I to tell General Ward? Just a coincidence?” Gallagher gets a little angry: he asks Major Budd if he has any idea what planes and men suffer in combat—and if so he wouldn’t be so hasty in suggesting sabotage. Furthermore, this affair is beginning to create a morale problem which can affect affairs like a virus—as was seen in “Rx for a Sick Bird.” Appropriately, in a scene in the NCOs club, Harker, the loudmouth, is seeing playing pool, an image from “Rx”—balls clicking off other balls, spreading disruption. Eventually this problem affects Gallagher who will nearly shout at Budd as he tries to carry through his assignment—ironically, it begins to undermine morale rather than improving it—but the imperious Angel Babe has her way—which she has a certain right to.
-“I said Angel Babe would fight him . . .”
The next morning, a slightly abashed looking Prinze comes out of Gallagher’s office and goodnaturedly tells Marvin and Sgt. Willets that Gallagher isn’t blaming anybody, “but he wants to see you”—meaning Willets. Without much fear, Willets enters Gallagher’s office to a friendly greeting—and Budd’s stare. With the sound of planes in the background, Willets, invited, sits, and in an interesting shot and image, the model B-17 on Joe’s desk is seen right at Willet’s heart. Joe gets down to cases about the so-called fight, and Willets easily admits that he hit Prinze but that was to keep him from going back inside the plane, that it still had bombs in it—he hit him, “but he was in kind of a hurry.” Joe digs deeper, asking that when Willets was at the hardstand, did he threaten to fight with Prinze–? “No, I said Angel Babe would fight him,” Willets say. Budd demands “Why did you say that?” Willets loses some of pixie-like quality—and he tries to explain to Joe’s urging of “You’d better.” Looking guardedly embarrassed, Willets tries to assure these two officers that his relationship with Angel Babe was not like hearing voices or spirits—“but I’ve spent so much time with Angel Babe, I’ve got this feeling for her.” At this time, a gentle, sweet music starts up, and Joe’s slightly clenched face softens as he hears the man speak of his special feeling for his plane—he knows this feeling, he had it for his first distinctive plane, “The Leper Colony,” and certainly for “Miss Lily,” which on occasion, he calls “baby.” He does not protest Willet’s word of “she just doesn’t want to leave.” Budd is still in the everyday world. “What did you do the tire?” “Oh, yeah, I touched it—I just touched it.” Gallagher thanks Willets and excuses him and turns to Budd: “Well, do you think it was sabotage?” Budd is beginning to get something: “You’re right—I don’t understand combat airmen.” The phone’s buzz brings them both back into the real world: General Ward is calling. Joe gets the orders for tomorrow (for Angel Babe’s [second] last flight) and he hands the line over to Budd, who has to give Ward some kind of story for the press: “Just coincidence sir—the tire blew.”
-“Angel Babe’s flown only 42 missions”
Back at the NCO club, factions seem to be forming, but they all center on Angel Babe—does she enjoy knowing she is the center of a fight, or would this sadden her? While Sgt. Harker knocks about billiard balls, Marvin points out that he and Sgt. Prinze are just following orders, “like the rest of you.” “Well, who accused Willets of blowing that tire?”Harker demands. Prinze says he never accused anybody of anything. In some good timing, Willets and Komansky come into the club at this time, and Willets, typically, asks them to “forget it.” Harker, the eternal loudmouth, urges Prinze to thank Willets for maybe saving his life. Willets protests he doesn’t have to be thanked—amidst all these attempts to clear matter and give thanks, etc. accusations start flying, the men seethe, and Komansky, as befits his desire to help his fellow NCOs as well as help the colonel however possible, demands “’to knock it off before you really get into trouble.” But the trouble begins. Harker, typically, leads the charge, saying they should grab the camera equipment. Komansky now tries to physically interfere, while a puzzled Willets looks on—fortunately, Angel Babe, in the form of the co-pilot, breezily enters into the melee, and all comes to a standstill. He admits he doesn’t belong in the NCOs club—“but maybe I got here just in time—at ease!”—when the muttering breaks out. But he has good news—somebody made an error in the arithmetic—Angel Babe has flown only 42 missions, not 49—and that the pilot Lt. Dreelen is discussing this with the colonel. Harker rejoices, Willets is simply pleased, but Sandy does not react.
-“she flew seven antisubmarine patrols with the RAF”
In Gallagher’s office, Lt. Dreelen is showing Gallagher the numbers—and telling him what Gallagher knows—that Angel Babe was first with the 966th, she served 19 missions, and then had a fire in her bombay—a rather sexual connotation, that—was fixed up and sent to the 918th where she has flown 13—so, 42. Gallagher knows better—she has flown 50, and PRO would not come out on a wild goose chase. He admires Dreelen’s devotion to his aircraft, but points out that their feelings are getting out of hand and the crew is getting undermined—and furthermore—Angel Babe flew 7 antisubmarine patrols with the RAF on detached service before going to the 966th. Dreelen is stunned, learning that his girl had more of a “past” than he thought. “Do those count?” he asks, like a jittery husband. Joe assures him that the arithmetic is correct. Dreelen is disappointed; his eyes are downcast. He turns to leaves and then is wise enough to admit that his co-pilot leaked the news. Gallagher’s pretty much had enough by now and speaks sharply, but it’s not to scold him about his feelings, it’s to maintain group morale and functioning: “Now John, I don’t want this problem to get any bigger—and that tomorrow is Angel Babe’s final mission.” He points out what Komansky has been saying to the NCOs—she’s not ours anymore—she’s going home—“to show what we do and how we do it—it’s important to them and to us.” Disappointed, the pilot salutes and leaves.
-“just don’t feel right at all”
The next morning, Angel Babe is ready to “go to war” for the final time. Willets is concerned, saying “she don’t feel right at all”—but the pilot, realizing the truth in Joe’s words, cuts him short and they roll, and outside, Budd, at the camera, set in a Jeep, rolls too. She climbs into the air—and almost immediately an engine falters. Despite her problems, Angel Babe’s pilot takes her up, gets her into formation and they “go to war.” On the flight deck, to the pilot’s irritation, Prinze is busily filming—which is suddenly interrupted by the engine misbehaving again—and Angel Babe bucks up and down. The good shepherd Gallagher immediately notes the problem and radios for information. Lt. Dreelen is noncommittal—but as soon as he is off the air, he orders the crew to start shifting the plane’s weight; they busily move boxes of armament and other bundles to the back to stabilize Angel Babe. She refuses to cooperate—and Dreelen has to feather #4 engine, and Dreelen orders an abort—in a shot that has already been used before, but how nicely it is used here!– a single B-17 gracefully peels away from the formation, heading for the ground and dissolving into a cloud . . .and sometimes later, Angel Babe, completely alone, lands under cloudy skies and on the wet tarmac at the 918th.
-“I’m not in the business of making documentary film!”
After the squadron’s return after presumably a successful mission, and debriefing, Gallagher, fuelled by coffee, angrily refuses Major Budd’s request for another investigation of Angel Babe’s less than stellar performance. Budd protests that he’s receiving his orders “all the way from Washington!”Gallagher no longer cares—he’s in the charge of the “filming locale” and “I’m not in the business of making documentary film!” He further goes on to say “that an airplane is not infallible.” If Angel Babe could hear him, what would she think?—maybe she is already listening to him, because Joe Gallagher, who is defending her (though he does not realize how much) will become her “final lover.” Budd can’t give up on Angel Babe, knowing that she is a “particular airplane”—and “what am I going to tell General Ward? Another coincidence?” Joe snaps back that he should tell Ward that a B-17 is made up of about 70,000 parts—and that Angel Babe blew a tire a few days ago, and that incident shook something loose—“and when he learns something he will let him know.”
-“they think she’s bad luck”
Joe’s irritated face fades into Angel Babe, aloft and flying smoothly. Gallagher, for the first time in right seat, and her captain in the left seat, take her through a checking flight; Komansky has become her flight engineer, rather than the faithful Willets. She is flying smoothly, but perhaps she has lapsed into indifference being in different hands. Gallagher reports that he can find nothing wrong with her. Dreelen speaks: “You know, some of the boys are superstitious of Angel Babe—they think she’s bad luck.” Joe does not “read him out” over this; rather, his fairly sympathetic response makes Dreelen wonder if this belief undermined his crew. “Superstition does strange things, John,” Gallagher says. “I just want you to be sure of yourself.” Dreelen protests that “he is sentimental” but not superstitious. He is ordered to “take her home” and reminded by Joe—forcefully—that the “big one” for Emden is tomorrow, and “I need all the planes.” Angel Babe probably likes that—she is needed for battle, not just for filming.
-“you’re not falling for that Sgt. Willets nonsense, are you? “
That evening, Budd is “flying a typewriter” in his quarters; one finger types while the other hand holds coffee. Sgt. Prinze enters and gets straight to the point about something that Angel Babe probably wants, and indicates that he has fallen under her spell. Why are they taking a chance on Angel Babe the next day? “If something happens,” he says fairly casually, “we’d have no picture at all.” Budd is adamant, as well as being under orders—the “big one” is tomorrow. Prinze says “they can make do with the film they have.” His energetic gum-chewing tries to cover up his nervousness or perhaps something else. “And be safe?” demands Budd, studying what he has typed. “You’re not falling for that Sgt. Willets nonsense are you?” Prinze forgets his pride or his assumed carelessness. There was “something wrong” with that plane—“I know when there’s something wrong,” he says, suggesting that he too has developed a psychic connection with Angel Babe—only his connection, unlike Willets’, frightens him. “I don’t trust that airplane and I don’t want to go.” “You will go, that’s an order,” Budd responds. The scene ends with two tense men regarding each other, overlaid by a slightly comic, off-kilter medley of tunes played on horns, rather than violins.
-“there’s something wrong with that plane”
Fade to . . . .Angel Babe’s lovely, impassive face, eyes both close and distant. The camera does a lovely pan over her face, then over the record of her battles (bombs and swastikas) and then to Sgt. Willets, smiling—in the corner of this scene, we see a Jeep approaching, loaded with men. The Jeep stops, and, with Dreelen nervously encouraging with “Let’s go, let’s go,” Angel Babe’s crew goes—except for the outsider, Prinze, who stands still. “No sir, I’m not going to go,” he announces. “There’s something wrong with that plane. She’ll kill us.” To Dreelen, this exemplifies everything Gallagher warned him about. However, the indefatigable Willets is easily reassuring about his girl: “Come on, she may not finish the mission, but she’s not going to kill anybody.” Prinze becomes accusatory, possibly to fight the spell that Angel Babe has on him. “How do we know YOU didn’t do something? HE’s the one who doesn’t want her to go.” Harker, the loudmouth, both accused by and defended by Komansky, reacts, trying to attack Prinze, and the rattled crew snaps. Once more, Komansky comes in to either knock heads or restore peace; his colonel needs every plane in the sky and by God, Sandy’s going to make sure it happens—fortunately, the Colonel arrives and with a near magical “ten-hut” some order is restored. To Gallagher’s question, Dreelen is blunt: they’d better scrub Angel Babe. Willets defends his lady: Angel Babe wants to fly—but Prinze didn’t want to get on board. “Don’t you point your finger at me!” Prinze responds—and by now, what does he believe? Gallagher is swift but patient about this developing crisis and to his questions, Dreelen says he is fine about flying Angel Babe “but just not too good at putting down a mutiny.” Gallagher seizes the situation, sizes it up and swiftly decides what to do, which is akin to his decision when Harvey Stovall, in “Storm at Twilight” refuses to fly in fear of killing his crew: He will fly Angel Babe, and sends Komansky off with Dreelen to pilot the Piccadilly Lily.
-“she’s going to finish this mission”
Komansky, upon hearing this turn of events, pauses—verbally stumbles—and then with a resolute “yes sir,” does Gallagher’s bidding. His belief in Angel Babe, while not hardening into terror like Prinze’s, does exist and he is scared for Gallagher—but, to serve his colonel’s duty, submits. Gallagher resolutely takes on Angel Babe, but not before solving a situation—he orders Prinze to be grounded, and then turns to Willets—who admits he said “she probably wouldn’t finish the mission.” Gallagher initially sounds like a hard-ass, and a non-believer—but his words are those that Angel Babe wants to hear because they mean that he believes in her—not as a mystical being but as her fighting self, her Amazonian being: “Sergeant, she’s going to finish this mission—she’s going all the way.” Prinze, on the ground, watches this and his words are ironic, because they also reveal his belief in her—but as a murderess, not as a warrior queen: “She’ll kill them all.”
-“ . . . watch for Angel Babe”
The final act is rather typical for the show; the “big mission” is being executed amid trials and strains and fears (some episodes which break with this “tradition” include “Show Me a Hero,” “The Jones Boys,” “Between the Lines,” and “Day of Reckoning”). However, considering that “there is a lady present” this typical climaxing of actions is a tribute to her fighting spirit and her masculine identity—she’ll duke it out like a man!—although, as Ilka Zradna said in “Rx for a Sick Bird,” when a plane is wounded, it becomes a “she.” In the final moments Act IV and in the epilogue, Angel Babe sheds her masculine spirit and returns to her feminine identity, but once again, it’s on own her terms. But once she has reassumed her female identity—she kills herself. As the act open, the sky, strewn with clouds, witnesses the B-17s in formation. In the cockpit, Gallagher, this time joined by Willets, witness the P-38s peeling off in graceful array. He urges Willets to get in his turret as fighter protection leaves them, and then says, nicely but firmly, when Willets does not hear him, “Sergeant, do I have to put that in writing?” Engine #3 conks out (of course!—but I think this has to do with available stock footage) . . .and Angel Babe bucks. “Is this the way she behaved the other day?” Gallagher asks. “Nose heavy, just like this,” says the co-pilot. Gallagher calmly makes arrangements for Angel Babe to fall back and their slot to be filled. His rational actions are first fought by Angel Babe, who seems to want to go out swinging her figurative fists. In the flak field, Dreelen hands matters over to the bombardier, alerting the crew to “watch for the strike, and watch for Angel Babe.”
-“Sir, she just don’t want to do this!”
Angel Babe resolutely plows through the flak at a lower level—her return to earth is already beginning. An accurate piece of flak suddenly takes out of the co-pilot—shades of those earlier episodes when co-pilot after co-pilot got knocked out of the left-hand seat. At least here, the co-pilot’s wound contributes to theme of disbelief: “turn back, turn back!” he pleads with Gallagher, probably thinking that Prinze’s words are right. Willets comes forward: “Sir, she just don’t want to do this!” Gallagher cuts him off, telling him to take care of the co-pilot. He does, but pleads with Gallagher to turn back. Gallagher, as if he hadn’t had enough from Budd the day before, is really fed up—but his rational side is not completely in control; he is angry and scared of not completing the mission, as Komansky described as his greatest fear in “Between the Lines.” Demanding Willets occupy the co-pilot’s seat, he grimly continues piloting Angel Babe to the target. He’s going to dive to get out of the flak. As the crew hangs on, Angel Babe dives, continuing her descent to earth. Willets demands he pull her out of this—“You’re pushing her too far—she’s going to kill us!” At last, Willets has caught Prinze’s belief and Angel Babe won’t let him forget it though she does not directly punish him. But Joe is giving Angel Babe what she wants to do, once more, before her time is over. “You sound just like Prinze,” is all the taut colonel can say to the flight engineer as they continue their drive and Joe struggles with the yoke. Somehow, the bombardier sights and lets the bombs go. As Willets cowers in the co-pilot’s seat, Joe steadies Angel Babe—perhaps it’s the release of the bombs, and the weight being let go—or her fighting spirit—that she suddenly responds, and goes through the smoke of destruction like a brutal angel: she makes it. But Willets has lost faith in her and she will not return to the skies, not even to fly home for her celebration.
-“she’s still flying, isn’t she?”
A worried Sandy, in Piccadilly Lily, asks Dreelen if they can radio for Gallagher: “Radio silence Sandy,” Dreelen says, not unsympathetically. Sandy obeys. His worry is not misplaced. After all this, fighters now swarm on Angel Babe. The gunners fight them off, making some kills, and in the melee, Joe’s hand is nicked—the mark of Angel Babe perhaps; maybe it’s a kind of violent kiss for the man who let her complete her final mission. Then, another engine goes. The faithless Willets demands to bail, crying “I told you she’d never finish!” “She’s still flying, isn’t she?” Joe shouts. He then seems to distract Willets by asking him to bandage his hurt hand, and Willets, perhaps for the best, is called upon to worry about a human being, not “just a plane.” Perhaps it’s Angel Babe’s way of reminding him of new duties, because she is soon going way—and her new and final lover is hurt and needs help. Yet, Willets still pleads to bail out. Gallagher, in his best fashion, turns Willet’s words against him, but also indicates that he too has come to believe in Angel Babe: “She’s hurt, and you’re going to abandon her?” “I don’t want to leave her, but she can’t!” he shouts. “She’s still flying, isn’t she?” Joe’s repeated remarks finally breaks through to Willets who seems to remember just who and what he is flying in—“All shot up, and she’s still flying,” he remarks, dreamily.
-“that’s Colonel Gallagher, that’s how!”
The epilogue is at once happy, saddening, disturbing, enjoyable. Angel Babe is coming home, successful at her mission, but the hardest is yet to come—she needs to land, which is the most difficult part of flying, and for her, the final landing as a “flying and fighting fortress.” But she has made peace with her fate. With Willets’ help, Gallagher guides her out of the sky and back to her realm, the ground. They make it, and Gallagher offers to buy Willets a drink in the officer’s club—Willets says “fine,” and perhaps Angel Babe smiles, knowing her flight engineer, even though he betrayed her, will be celebrated. On the ground, Angel Babe taxis up to the waiting airmen, including a blankly grim Prinze who merely looks on, Budd, photographing, and the gleeful Sandy. Budd knows he is looking at crippled plane that has come home in near impossible circumstances: “How’d he do that?” he asks. Komansky, charmingly, with a “that’s my pop!” attitude, says, “That’s Colonel Gallagher, that’s how!”—he too forgets to give Angel Babe some credit. The men surge forward, with Komansky’s face wreathed in a rare grin. The hatch opens—and along the lines of a female body giving birth, the men come out. Komansky and Harker take the wounded co-pilot and help him away. The guys swarm around Angel Babe and Budd clicks away.
-“she’s certainly earned the right to have her own way”
In the flight deck, Gallagher and Willets linger; Gallagher writes in the log. “You know, she went almost 200 miles on an engine and a half?” Gallagher says. “It’s a pretty good airplane.” (At the end, Gallagher also disappoints Angel Babe—he’s called her an “it”. She will have her revenge.) “As you said, sir, she’s a fighter,” Willets says, proudly. Gallagher urges him to go with Angel Babe as she retires and returns to the States. Willets has lost her, and maybe he senses it, but he still knows his girl: “But I still believe she doesn’t want to go.” “She’s certainly earned the right to have her own way,” Gallagher remarks, gallantly, prophetically. Gallagher emerges from the hatch to the whir and snapping of cameras. “She’s all ours,” Budd says. “We take over.” Gallagher is neither mocking nor credulous—but by now he knows Angel Babe: “Major, if there was ever a plane with a mind of her own . . . “ A discreet puff of smoke blows from one of her engines. Gallagher, in tune with Angel Babe, knows what this means and all run. A puff of smoke leads to a raging inferno—in seconds, she is engulfed in flame. I might say, no way a plane could go up that quickly, but with Angel Babe, you never know. On the ground, three sergeants watch her—Sandy’s face is clenched but impassive, Prinze’s face is grimly unsurprised—Willets smiles understandingly and he is the only one to salute her as befits a warrior dying. The corporeal though painted image of Angel Babe, still staring out in the world, keeping her secrets, disappears in flame, her impassive face becoming black with smoke, but still beautiful.
“Decoy”
Writer: Lou Shaw
Director: Gerald Mayer
This episode strongly recalls “Underground”: the airborne Joe Gallagher is hurled to earth (Switzerland and now the North Sea). Minus Komansky, Joe is forced into reliance on a doubtful partner (Kurt Weigand and now Captain Tony Powell); finally, Joe is made into a catspaw by the Nazis (smoking out an underground trail and decoying rescue ships). “Decoy” is lightened up in that there is a reason why Joe is without Sandy; he has flown to Scotland on a special mission. Because Captain Powell is a completely unmysterious character, unlike Weigand, the episode is not quite so densely plotted as “Underground” and we get the relief of glimpsing some angst at the 918th as Harvey and Sandy, being the “buddies” Stovall describes them as being (“Storm at Twilight”), quietly sweat out getting word about their missing—then found—then delayed–commander. Visually, this episode is interesting in this sea-level view of water (usually seen from above; but we were on the seas in “Which Way the Wind Blows.”) The lone thrust of rock, called “seagull island” by a fisherman of these waters assumes two identities: a place of refuge, and a “blind” for decoy purposes.
Such images match Captain Powell who takes refuge in the isolation of his money and excuses that don’t jive; he breaks out of his own blind in the end to acknowledge his personal failures, acknowledge the sacrifice of others, and to offer the same to Joe. Other episodes recalled: in some ways, “Loneliest Place” is recalled, particularly in the final moments when Gallagher and Powell must work together to stop the U-boat (as he and Komansky, at odds with each other, suddenly work together to stop the pirate B-17). Also recalled is “The Slaughter Pen” in which Joe first works with land-forces of the Commandos and the Rangers and naval forces. “Decoy,” like “The Slaughter Pen” features a person that Joe derailed in the past, but for good reason. “Decoy” also recalls “25th Mission” in its calling upon a convention or cliché—in “25th Mission” the cowardly pilot makes good by preventing a friend from going on the dangerous mission; in “Decoy” the spoiled rich kid finally proves his mettle and redeems himself. As always, the cliché is sifted through the imagination of the writers and directors to be a little different. And, what the heck, it’s always a good story which leaves the viewer both happy and regretful as Powell dies after saving Joe’s life and the lives on the carrier; perhaps Powell dies happy as well—he showed the guts, he will get some glory and maybe that is what he is thinking as he is dying rather than “all he has going for him”–which has crippled him from fully developing. The viewer—at least this viewer– is also left wondering how Joe Gallagher keeps going, hour after exhausting hour with no sleep, with a ditching at sea and rowing for some time thrown in for good measure. However, at least he gets some kind of a nap on the island, and he eats a substantial meal—exotically, too, as a guest of U-boat commander, and beneath the cold waters of the North Sea. (The last time we saw him eating was also in the company of a Nazi, the young Weigand, who literally broke bread with him—in a train.) Also nice—learning about the “Gibson Girl” emergency short wave transmitter, which was used into the 1970s; and how nice that Wikipedia can bring up information instantly—how did we ever live without the Internet?—well, on with the story, with some side remarks about how economically this episode was filmed.
-“. . . for the lives of my Rangers”
On a refreshing note, the teaser does not begin with droning B-17s either in formation, or returning home (this previews the next four episodes: “The Hollow Man,” “Cross Hairs on Death,” and “Day of Reckoning” all begin on the ground). Also, Joe appears as unusually independent—he has probably received a go-ahead from Britt on his plan for assisting the Rangers, but he is the one delivering it, urging a decision and then advancing it. The teaser opens in a heavily decorated entrance hall; chandeliers hang from the ceiling and an ornate chair dominates a paneled wall. Joe comes through the doors, a “tommy” comes to attention, and Joe, holding a briefcase, heads to a table where a cluster of service hats wait like boats in a harbor; their wearers are still in the unseen conference (thereby avoiding the hiring of extras).
Obviously ready to go, Joe finds his hat and sits down, his face betraying concern. An RAF sergeant in attendance speaks with a Scots accent, trying to relieve him. Gallagher remarks that he is overdue, which starts the “ticking clock” feature of this story. “It’ll be light in a few hours,” says the sergeant. “You’ll go without a chance of seeing our moors—we Scots are a wee bit proud of them,” he says, setting the scene—Joe is far from home, it’s the wee hours of the morning somewhere in Scotland (Commandoes and Rangers trained in Scotland; see “The Slaughter Pen”). Joe, displaying his charm even in difficult moments, remarks, “I can understand that. Maybe some other time.” An unnamed Major General emerges from the doors, and Joe stands up, demanding “did they buy my plan?”—a plan we never get to hear about, but it rolls in the last minutes of the Epilogue and what is seen is seen from above anyway. “Colonel, you really want to tackle this thing?” the general asks. “I wouldn’t come all the way up here,” Joe says, saying that if he and his men cover his Rangers “they’ll get out with a minimum of casualties.” The general gives him an optional okay and agrees to delay the operation by two hours—and to ramp up the ticking clock, the general remarks that he has twelve hours to get ready—“that doesn’t leave you much time to mount your end of the mission.” Joe assures him he can do it, and the General shakes his hand, already thanking him “for the lives of my Rangers.” Joe leaves with wishes for a good flight and a speedy one—of course, he will get neither, due to weather, a difficult pilot, and a highly cultured but sneaky Nazi U-boat commander.
-“thank you for the very nice evening”
Act I and the plot and pace and problems pick up—Joe is delivered to a tiny Operations hut by Jeep; he sees the B-17 waiting for him in the darkness. (The scene of the B-17 must be a single frame from a film clip—I think you can detect a smudge from the whirling propellers) and goes into the cramped hut cluttered with a stove with a coffee pot, radio equipment and an attending officer. A young American introduces himself as Sgt. Miller of the ferry service, and tells him the B-17 (in a nice touch of military economy) is being ferried to the 966th after delivering Joe. The British soldier in charge admits that Gallagher, the pilot, and the flight engineer are the only crew, to which Joe agrees. He becomes brusque when he learns that the ferry pilot seems to be late—“I have to get to England immediately.” The British soldier is gracious in his embarrassment: “I don’t where to begin . . .” he says but his words are cut short by a car pulling up outside. The man is on time, even though he is pushing it.
Investigating, they find a taxi, and the sergeant, after a peek inside, taps on the door to interrupt his pilot, deep in the embraces of a Scottish lass (described as “Girl” in the credits!). The man pulls himself away and thanks her “for the very nice evening,” which has progressed into the wee hours of the morning and could describe any number of events. “Duty calls,” he adds in way of a goodbye and climbs out to salute a grim and familiar face. “Colonel Gallagher,” he acknowledges. “Whenever you’re ready, Lieutenant—“Gallagher sees his insignia. “Captain Powell,” he says, and then turns aside. (Burke pronounces the name more like “Paul” at times.) The girl climbs out. “Something wrong, Tony?” she asks with a lovely Scots lilt. Powell has lost interest in her as his past rears up—and perhaps disappointment rather than anger—and he will soon learn that Gallagher was more disappointed than angry with him. “Know who he is?” he asks. “No, but I know I’ll you miss Tony,” she says, attempting to kiss him and failing as his head remained turned towards Gallagher. This pretty but rather careless girl will stand in contrast with the young woman Margaret, whom Powell never meets, though she gives up her life for his rather than her virtue as you sense this young woman has. “That’s the man who washed me out of combat” he tells her, though she probably does not care and will never see him again anyway. The six bongs nail Powell on the face, appropriate for this self-centered, confused character. And so, with a clutter of deadlines, issues, and emotions already sprouting, we take off into the blue—of the sky, and of the water.
-“Not bad for a wash out”
The B-17 pulls out and forward, and Joe remarks, “I’ve seen longer runways.” Powell hops on Gallagher’s doubt: “What’s the matter, nervous, colonel?” Showing off as best he can, he easily takes the plane up, and orders “Gear up.” “Nice take off, sir,” says Miller. “Thank you Johnny,” Powell says smoothly, and asks him to get coffee and looks to Gallagher. “Like a good little soldier. Not bad for a washout, huh?” Since he broached the topic Gallagher responds but with the truth: “It wasn’t bad flying that washed you out.” Fade to . . . a storm gripping the sky and worrying Gallagher and Powell. They have doglegged into the North Sea to get around the storm, and Gallagher remarks he doesn’t want to be over water any longer than necessary; the clock is ticking away. “I’m sure you would have plotted a different course,” says Powell. “I didn’t mean that as a criticism,” Gallagher says, but then encourages Powell to clear the air. “What’s the difference?” Powell demands. “It all got said when you booted me.” “I didn’t boot you,” Gallagher says, firmly and plainly, though he must dislike the conversation. “Well, you transferred me to the Army Transport Corps.” “They needed pilots,” Joe points out.
Powell also speaks plainly, though in his own terms and his own perspective: his air crew resented him for being a rich kid and gave him a hard time. Joe redefines the situation which must remind him of himself and the crew of his “Leper Colony”: “The crew didn’t resent you. You had one combat mission and three early returns.” As it turns out, Joe is wrong about this; later on we learn through Sandy, who has an ear to “non-com chatter,” that Powell knows the score with his crew, resented it—and later acknowledges it. Powell turns in strange mixture of honesty and rationalization. “So I’m cautious—and I had too much going for me to stick my neck out when the odds weren’t good.” Joe points out then that he should be glad he’s in ATC—the odds are good. “Yeah, yeah, works out fine—nothing but milk runs.” “Turned out to be a pretty good war for you.” “Yeah. Yeah. And I owe it all to you. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.” His sarcasm is not lost on Joe but he has other things to think about. If the phrase “No guts, no glory” existed back then, it applies perfectly to Powell who had never grown up enough to admit his mistakes (no guts for combat) and take his lumps: (no glory by piloting ferry crafts). Of course, he came to war with the wrong idea—to seek and find glory. Combat means hitting the enemy and trying to get out alive. His addled perception of himself and how the world treats him will continue . . .
-“I’ll call the shots”
Joe, with his eye on the clock, calls Archbury which picks up his weak signal: his ETA is 0945 and the mission briefing must be set for 1000. In other words, he climbs out of the cockpit and heads to the briefing hut—and then on to the mission itself. But another dogleg is coming and the milk run turns out to be deadly. In a key moment, Powell offers cigarettes to Joe and the flight engineer; Joe accepts one from Powell’s “rich kid” cigarette case, a shiny deal probably made out of precious metal and something that very few people carry anymore since cigarette smoking has decreased so much. Sgt. Miller then observes single engine planes coming. Powell tenses up. Gallagher identifies them as German fighters probably coming from a shipping strike in the North Atlantic, one of the deadliest operations of war as supplies were convoyed from the New World to the Old. “Want me to take it Powell?” he offers, without recrimination. “No, no. I’ll call the shots,” Powell announces, unwisely, because this chance at “stepping up to the plate” turns out to be his last, at least in a plane. “Stepping up” is an apt saying because Powell is seen in terms of the frequently evoked image of baseball: “a foul ball” as Sandy describes him and which Powell confirms—and then later Joe gladly redefines him as a “home run.”
The German fighters don’t have much fuel or ammo left but they do make one deadly pounce on the lone B-17. The windows are raked out by their fire, and Powell may suddenly realize why he washed out. Gallagher, fairly used to the event, tells Powell to take the plane down, and he sees Powell pause in panic. He plans to take the waist guns to help with Miller’s work in turret (he gets one) but he has to repeat his order to Powell who finally responds and brings the plane down low over the waves of the sea. The German planes depart but it’s too late; they have to ditch the damaged plane, and there’s no chance to send out a radio signal. Always thinking about other members of the crew, Gallagher calls to Miller to assume the ditching position —sadly, when Powell calls to the stalwart young man, he is slumped dead in his turret and headed for a watery grave. (The script is now rid of a cumbersome third character. Flight engineers seem to be a kind of target for the next few episodes; in “Cross-Hairs on Death” flight engineer Holcomb dies, and in “Day of Reckoning” Komansky is shot, though it’s on the ground.) Despite the mixture of real scenes and a toy plane ditching (Ah! CGI!), dramatically, the B-17 ploughs into the sea and Joe and Powell figuratively are up to their necks in hot water.
-“their plane may have gone down in the North Sea”
Act II takes up and it’s busy one: land, sea, air and even Operations at the 918th are all visited as the loss is reported, search and rescue swings into operation and Joe and Powell make land. In Operations, far from the eye of the storm, a set-faced Stovall is taking a phone call while Komansky leisurely files in the background (ever notice that Sandy pulls thing out of and puts things into the same filing drawer?—check out “Storm at Twilight,” and “The Jones Boys”), only vaguely listening to the major’s worried words. Harvey hangs up, turns, and starts to leave—we don’t where he’s going; maybe to the tower but perhaps he suddenly seems to have to get the hell out of there for a moment to grab onto his nerves. “Something wrong, sir?” Sandy asks, who then gets the message: The colonel’s plane is overdue, there’s no contact by radio or radar, and “their plane may have gone down in the North Sea.” As Stovall departs, Sandy turns back, his face devastated with alarm.
-“Boy, that really cheers you up, doesn’t it?”
Cut to . . . a raft in the North Sea, a radio balloon arising, and Powell and Gallagher figuring things out. Starting Act II in Operations was cheap and clever because it created suspense, and saved the director from filming a difficult, complex scene of the two men escaping the sinking plane, hauling out the raft, which would have to be filmed in a studio tank and look pretty phony. Though the “seams show” in this episode’s mixture of back process photography, isolated scenes edited in, and some location photography (both on a beach using stand-ins and in what I think is the Fox Ranch), still, the end result is pretty impressive for a television series filmed in the mid-sixties, which showed how much the makers of this show cared. A long take on the raft shows neither actor; the same thing is the case when they make land; these are not the actors dragging the raft in and whoever they are probably double for the Nazi sub-crew who also come in on a raft. Although the North Sea is rear projection, the raft rocks convincingly. As the scene opens, the two men are inventorying their supplies, which includes flares, a dye-marker, a “Gibson Girl” emergency broadcast (so named because of its curved shape, like the famous “Gibson Girl” of the 1890s, a idealized vision of American pulchritude of the “hourglass figure”)—but no rations. Salvaged is a survival guide which Powell reads from disgustedly—about how to repel a shark by hitting it on the nose—“Boy, that really cheers you up, doesn’t it?”
Gallagher is positive about the negatives: “Well, they must know we’re down by now.” “I don’t know why, it’s a big ocean” is Powell’s vapid reply. I imagine that Joe, at this point, is wishing once again he had Sandy by his side. With Powell grinding the Gibson Girl, which sends out an automatic distress call, Joe rows. After a moment, Powell seeks his cigarette case, and as he opens it up, reflected light flickers on his face briefly—portending the climax and Powell’s redemption. –
“ . . .Listen”
He offers Joe a cigarette, but Joe cautions him: “Listen.” Overhead, they see two Mustangs. Powell tries to fire the flares but both are wet—and in his anger, and perhaps showing careless attitude of the rich, tries to pitch the flare gun into the drink—“Hold it—they can be dried out,” Joe orders; combat and command has caused him to think and save at all times. Powell gives into discouragement—“they flew right over our heads and didn’t hear us”—Joe points out “because they weren’t listening for us on the international distress frequency.” Powell starts grinding again, but remarks, truthfully, that if anybody can hear them, that includes the Krauts. Joe’s face creases at this. And, unseen, somewhere in the North Sea, a U-boot begins its quest.
-“to straighten out the Skipper’s desk before he returns, sir”
Fade to Operations, which is focused on a telling image: Joe Gallagher’s name plate, turned at an angle, but still on his desk. Months earlier, when Sandy, returned on the Underground, determinedly breezes into Operations to make his report, he bumps into the men clearing out Savage’s desk—he sends Savage’s nameplate flying to the ground. At this time, with Joe’s nameplate still on the desk, Sandy is carefully almost gently straightening papers and pictures. When Stovall returns, possibly from his trip from the previous scene, he enters the office, looking concerned—has Sandy heard something? “Just using the time to straighten out the Skipper’s desk before he returns, sir,” Sandy says somewhat cheerfully; the truth must be that he is trying to find things to do while he waits, or, sickened at the idea of a couple of guys coming in and clearing out Joe Gallagher’s effects willy-nilly, as perhaps Savage’s was cleared off, an action he witnessed. He’s trying to get them in order—which is all he can do for the man at this point. “Any word yet?” he asks Stovall. In answer, Stovall decides to postpone the briefing; like Sandy, carrying through although things look grim. He tells Sandy that without Gallagher nothing will happen—they are trying to track down the project manager of the Rangers landing, and whatever plans Gallagher had, they’re in his head and in his briefcase. (That remarks helps later when Joe is forced to leave the briefcase behind on the island.)
-“you talk too much” – “It’s what I’m saying that’s rubbing you”
Back in the raft, Powell somewhat smugly remarks about how when his Dad learns what has happened to him “he’ll burn up the lines to Washington—London—Berlin,” he finishes curiously, as though he is trying to get a rise out of Gallagher. “You talk too much,” Gallagher tells him, probably thinking that for all his irritating qualities, Komansky, the orphaned hard-luck kid, never makes excuses, usually keeps his mouth shut, when soldiering on is called for. In Powell’s case, having a supportive family crippled him. “It’s what I’m saying that’s rubbing you,” he retorts. Despite his intelligence, Powell proves himself contrary, almost illogical as he keeps swearing he has skills but no chances, but then fall back on his privileges. Gallagher finally responds to him: “Powell, have you ever done anything by yourself? Anything you could be proud of?”
Powell becomes childlike, blaming Gallagher: “Once I thought I had chance to be a combat pilot, but that was taken away from me,” seeming to forget that he earlier told Gallagher that “why should he stick his neck out?”—yet, that might have been a rationalization for his fears. “That’s an excuse,” Gallagher tells him. “That I didn’t measure up right away, zap, I’m out—that’s been the story of my life—every time I had a chance to show what I can do when the pressure’s on, I get yanked out of the game. I’ll get my chance—and not you, my father, nobody’s gonna rob me of it.” After a speech like that, I wonder if the script got a little rumpled in its haste to be filmed, or if Powell really is a complete idiot. His chance to “show what he could do when the pressure’s on” was waylaid by his panic, yet, it was a single B-17 being jumped on by fighters, and they had little chance. Earlier, when he boasted how his father got him out of things, he seemed snottily proud of it—now, he’s cursing the old man—so, what is it with this guy?—which is what I asked of Josh McGraw in “The Idolater.” Well, complex problems require complex solutions; he will solve his twisted personality problems with something simple—death—yet with something vastly more complex—sacrifice for others. Gallagher: “you had your chance”—and this is a chance right now. In answer, Powell sags in the boat, pouting like a child. Then: land. LAND! A solid jutting up of rock. Their hopes revived, the two men grin at each other, and Powell is given another chance—what will he do with it? Fortunately, despite the rocky qualities of the island, there is a beach for them to come ashore on.
-“Colonel, you almost sound human”
After all this painful conversation there is a flurry of rescue activity on land, water, and air—and underwater too, which provides the grim turning point of the narrative. On land, Powell and Gallagher, surprisingly dry, are checking our their situation. Powell continues to grind the Gibson Girl and Gallagher joins him, saying he has found nothing on the island—like homes and food. They are seated on dry rocks, and despite the sound of the ocean, I think this scene was done at the Fox Ranch. However, a couple of shore scenes are on a sound stage: the actors are mainly filmed against a rock wall which gives onto the shore, which is rear projection. In the air, a weather plane, in flight, picks up the signal, news which is sent off by the pilot.
On the sea, a message is delivered to a carrier’s captain, who sets the course. On another part of the sea, a fishing boat chugs along. The captain, and his niece Margaret, whom he is apparently bringing home, have also detected a signal “but far outside the fishing grounds.” Finding them by their signal means going through the mine fields, he says. Hardworking people, and in danger out in the seas, they still care for others in trouble. The captain is wary, wishing to get his niece back to port—yet she is insistent that they go, not wanting to be the reason for them not being rescued—“they may be hurt, dying.” The uncle agrees to plot a new course. On land, Powell and Gallagher see the plane. One flare is fired but the clouds shielded it; another flare is fired and yes–! It is seen. Gallagher tells Powell that is must be a weather plane, and it will communicate with the nearest ship. Powell admits his relief to his comrade in arms. Gallagher grins, the tension finally relieved about their safety, and Powell’s attitude. “Yeah, I had a few bad moments myself there.” “Colonel,” Powell remarks, “You sound almost human.” Gallagher remains impassive but his face reflects something—perhaps remembering how Savage rode him, but at least he responded, got his nerve up, and forced him to live up to his potential. Joe had no such luck with Powell; but maybe he was too human, too nice, and so let this young man slip through his fingers—what would Savage have done? This shows Joe’s “nice-guy qualities” which at least two occasions blew promotions: in “Grant Me No Favor” he might have received a brigadier’s star and in “Falling Star” he might have made Wing Commander—but he desired neither one, far more interested in protecting an officer, maintaining his command’s integrity, and moving up when he and others know he is ready.
-“I think you’d better rearrange the skipper’s desk!”
Back at Operations, Stovall and Sandy, idly and wearily peering out the window, jerk at the phone ringing. They both pause and stare at it—good news? Bad news? Komansky breaks first and snatches it up—“Where? When?” he demands before Stovall takes it, introducing himself to get this into a more military conversation. But the news is good and he tells Komansky “I think you’d better rearrange the skipper’s desk!” “Yes sir,” Komansky says, and hastens to spread out the photo-recons and the papers. But . . . back on the island, Gallagher is getting some well-deserved sleep—Powell, watching for their rescue ship, then sees something rising from the waves. He wakes Gallagher who identifies it as the conning tower of a U-boat. The turning point in this narrative, in spades . . .
-“if we give up, there’s no hope at all . . .”
Act III: Nazi sailors approach by raft, observed by Gallagher and Powell. Powell, probably ordered by Gallagher, has hidden their raft, and Joe pulls out his service revolver, ready for action—is he being foolish or brave? It seems to me that Gallagher should realize how outmanned they are (four against two) but, admirably, and understandably, he decides to fight first but he has more to fight for—he has a mission on hold and people to protect. Of course, Powell balks at the sight of his gun and to his protests, Joe says they might be able to hold them off until help comes. When he tells Powell to get his, Powell says “he’s never bothered” (shades of Trask in “Between the Lines”)—and “Colonel, it’s useless!” “If we give up, there’s no hope at all,” Gallagher tells him, which at first seems to prove untrue, and then does prove true. Gallagher, helplessly, gives the gun to Powell and then leaves to bury the briefcase: “Forget you’ve ever seen this,” he instructs. Powell is left alone with the gun and again, reminding the viewers of the hapless, untrained Trask in “Between the Lines” as he tries to stand up to the showdown of his life—this is not air combat but real hulking enemies coming ashore, efficiently getting out and pulling out rifles. Powell tries to shoot but, rather wisely, give up—“I surrender!”–however, the sailors are not there to kill them, but to capture them. The sailors claim his gun and the Gibson Girl. By now, Gallagher has returned, observed what has happened and attempts to escape (at least Powell has not tipped them off about Joe, but they probably have spotted two men already from the submarine). Joe is almost immediately stopped, and now he and Powell have a common identity: captives of the Reich. Joe might have some thoughts here about how this is his third encounter—or brush–with capture and imprisonment (“Underground” and “The Outsider”) and this one just might be the encounter which has no happy ending.
-“Hello . . . I’m Captain Wessel”
Scenes of a submarine help set the mood; otherwise, the submarine’s interior is represented by a single set which I find astonishingly roomy! Within the Captain’s Quarters, a handsomely blonde and intent Nazi captain smokes meditatively while studying a chessboard—another game, which was referred to previously in “The Slaughter Pen” and reappears in “Siren Voices.” The game of chess here portrays a visual flourish of the captain’s military game and representative of his intellectual take on life and war: no dirty battlefield, the neatly gridded board holds silent, movable reminders of Europe’s royal past with kings, queens, knights, and pawns . . . which is overlooked by a small portrait of Hitler who both subscribed to the Teutonic past of kings and subjects, and rejected it while trying to recreate it in the Nazi party. It’s the war the way the captain likes it—clean, ordered, and tidy.
The captain’s two captives are escorted into his presence. He stands up with a “Hello, I’m Captain Wessel.” Gallagher warns Powell of his rights and delivers his own particulars (including a serial number that has changed from “Underground”; ctd. Duffin and Mathes), but Wessel seems genuinely amused and cuts him off with a smile: “Thank you, but I truly have never had a head for numbers.” He tells them that they have been through an ordeal, and after refreshing themselves they will join him for lunch. Powell visibly relaxes as he hears they will be treated with respect and care. Joe does not change expression but remains wary—probably remembering the last time he was invited to lunch in odd circumstances (“Underground”) events swiftly went crazy. May I say enjoy the actor’s portrayal of the Captain Wessel; perhaps overmannered in a cliché fashion (such as all those super-cultured supervillains in spy stories) yet his captain is direct, not too charming, but urbane from money and privilege, which he refers to. He seems to genuinely enjoy his contact with the Americans though takes no pity on them. Meanwhile, heartbreakingly, the doughty fisherman and his niece, progress on its mission of rescue. Both have been listening for a signal and, even though they have not heard anything for an hour, they still continue—the fisherman believes they can’t be far—“Maybe they’ve been rescued already,” says Margaret.
-“the sea covers everything . . . ”
In contrast to the homely fishing boat chugging along, the U-boat slides elegantly along undersea. Within the “rescued” Gallagher and Powell have finished their meal and a fine Beaujolais is being served; Powell offers a compliment to the captain’s courtesy and style, probably sensing a kinship between him and Wessel, which is underscored by Wessel saying his cook was with him in Munich—he’s obviously from money. Wessel comments that the Beaujolais was a 1933 vintage, “I always thought it was an excellent year.” Joe demurs. “It wasn’t for most of the world, Captain,” referring to the year when Hitler was named Chancellor by Hindenburg, and “Nazis rule!”—for the next terrible twelve years. Wessel acknowledges the comment, the picture of Hitler over his shoulder. Like many military men of the Reich, Wessel probably does not particularly admire Hitler, the “Austrian corporal” who had assumed command of the armed forces. However, he owes allegiance to him, and it is interesting to note that Hitler passed the leadership of the Third Reich to Admiral Raeder before he died. “Oh, I see, Hitler. Well, does that make the wine any worse?”
Powell likes the guy even though he has done something the Powell has not done—overcome his aristocratic background to be a fighting man. “Tell me, how does a man with your background wind up down here?” Wessel’s answer is intriguing and reflects the Nazi creed of racial cleansing: “Fighting beneath the sea is clean—the sea covers everything.” “That makes everything better?” Gallagher demands. “I didn’t say better—I said cleaner,” Wessel says, without taking umbrage. If Joe has time to think about this he might see Wessel’s point, because he has expressed weary sorrow at the sight of destruction (“It is, huh?” he tells Dr. Rink who is glorying in his BTO’s ability to destroy—see “Back to the Drawing Board.”) As it is, he subtly smirks at Wessel’s sophisms but becomes wary as Wessel declares it is now time for duty—interrogating his prisoners. Joe wipes his mouth, as if sealing his lips. But the questions are civil and vapid—as are the answers which Wessel accepts: “Where were you flying and why?” “London, for the weekend.” Wessel’s intelligence allows him to read Joe correctly: he doesn’t fit the profile of the lighthearted soldier. Powell supports his story; “you should see the London girls.” “Yes, that pleasure I am looking forward to, soon,” Wessel says. “That’s a pleasure you’d better forget about,” Joe says, quietly but gallantly. Wessel smirks slightly, declaring he was told the same thing about Parisian girls—now “I consider Paris my home away from home.” Powell, smoking and listening, has a look of puzzlement and perhaps of contempt—or perhaps of admiration. That sounds like a good life.
-“you’re pawns and I’m after kings”
Wessel then surprises them—they will be returned to the island. His reasoning seems sound, at least to Powell: “What am I to do with you? You’re pawns, and I’m after kings.” Gallagher does not buy it exactly, but keeps calm—and asks why did Wessel bother with all this? Wessel says that he heard a distress call, and says, in an unheard warning of what he is up to, “besides, you up in the air know nothing—of undersea warfare.” (As it turns out, he doesn’t figure on these flyboys using the sun as a weapon. Also, Wessel doesn’t realize that by feeding his prisoners he has given them the needed energy to take the action.) He will leave them supplies, he says, and he is certain they will be picked up soon. Powell is pleased and his words to Wessel go back on Gallagher: “Pleasure meeting a civilized man like you captain.” Gallagher says his goodbyes, not as graciously.
-“the foul ball the skipper got transferred out of here”
The scene fades into Operations where the nervous Harvey sits in Joe’s chair and talks with General Britt: “Yes, Ed, as soon as I hear something.” Sandy swiftly enters, wanting any kind of news, which is that “Britt greenlighted the mission without us.” “There’s time, soon as the skipper gets back,” Sandy says, hopefully. Stovall is not so certain: “Where is he, Sandy? Why is it taking so long to pick him up?” Sandy’s response is perhaps him putting two and two together—he has just received a report about who the pilot was—identifying him as “Lieutenant Anthony Powell.” Harvey reacts to the name. “Yeah, the foul ball the skipper got transferred out of here.” “Foul ball” of course, brings in the game of baseball, frequently referenced (“The Idolater”; games of baseball being played while waiting for the planes to return; even Chaplain Archer in “Day of Reckoning” describes the Nazis as “using his head for a baseball”) which suggests wholesome American values of fair play in contrast to Wessel’s effete intellectual game of chess, the objective of which is cornering and capturing. Both men are left to make what they can of this, perhaps including thoughts about Powell seeking revenge by doing Gallagher in.
-“something’s not right”
Back on shore, sitting near abundant supplies, Gallagher refuses to take his good luck as a fact. “Something’s not right,” he tells Powell. “It’s too easy.” Here there is a sense that Gallagher is so honorable a guy that he can’t even conceive of what Wessel might be up to—using them as decoys. Powell’s response must make Gallagher long for Sandy’s harsher view of the world. Deferring to the man’s civility, Powell protests “that not all Krauts have smoke coming out of their ears. He’s a civilized man, he hates war like everyone else.” “Your friend may be cultured but he’s Nazi killer,” Joe says, probably remembering the innocent looking Kurt Weigand who proved a trained and able SS murderer. To point up his words, Joe then sees the homely fishing craft chugging into their view. In comparison and in contrast with Wessel’s sleek hospitality, on board the uncle and the niece are preparing for their guests. Margaret decides to make tea, and her uncle declares they will probably want whiskey—he already has the bottle in his hands.
On the shore, Powell is overjoyed at the sight, but swiftly converts the rescue into money: “my old man’s gonna make sure this is the richest haul they ever had!”—ironic because all the uncle and niece wished to do was to save him, not for money or glory. Joe then sees the conning tower rising out of the waves. The uncle and the niece, who never were able to meet or even see the objects of their rescue, are destroyed when their ship is blown up. Powell is horrified—and realizes that those people sacrificed for them and killed by the man whom he defended as being civilized. Joe sums up what has happened to them—they have been turned into decoys.
-“they all died . . . trying to save me”
Act IV: what melodrama!—and I don’t mean that snidely. Melodrama is usually dismissed as a cheap bid for emotions, but melodrama also defines and plays out the conflicts that ordinary human beings must pass through—love, selfishness, cruelty, responsibility, being torn between what is right, and what is preferred . . .whether it is a story of girl deciding whether to marry a rich man and be wealthy, or to marry her true sweetheart who is poor but good in heart, or here, a story of the rich boy finally transcending his self-centeredness for the good of others. Melodrama forcefully captures the events and emotions of the human experience both happy and bitter. As the Act begins Joe, always the man of action (but he has a ticking clock in his head) has searched through the supplies to find if there is anything that can be used, but Wessel has outsmarted him in that. “I wish I had hidden the Gibson Girl with the raft,” he remarks. He looks to Powell who doesn’t heed Joe’s prompting him to find a way out; he is finally experiencing an epiphany about himself, though it sounds a little selfish: “They all died . . . trying to save me,” he says. Gallagher is blandly logical: “There’s two of us on this rock.” “I can understand them trying to save you, but me . . . my whole life, what did it add up to?” He then tells Joe that he was right about his crew’s resentment: “Remember what the crew called me? I heard them—they didn’t care that I heard them—‘foul ball.’” Despite the bad timing of this revelation, Powell’s words indicate that his crew’s opinion hurt him deeply because he knew it was right. Gallagher stops him: “Not now, Powell—there’s a U-boat sitting out there who knows what else.” Powell won’t let it go. “I’m sorry Colonel—for all of it.” Suspense–At sea, the carrier comes on—to the sound of trumpets and a kind of nautical trill. The captain is concerned about a lack of signal but continues anyway. In contrast to the surface ship, below, the sub lurks—awaiting its prey, which it sights.
-“want to split it?”
The ship fades into Powell’s sadly bemused face. In a reflex action, he takes out his cigarette case and offers it to Joe: “want to split it?”—which is a tiny action but it indicates he is thinking of other people now. Joe, with a slight smile, accepts it—and then sees the carrier. “How are we going to warn them?” he demands—and at that exact moment, the case flicks lights onto Gallagher’s face. Cut to—down below, a crewmember observes Gallagher’s action as he tries to warn the carrier. There are some interesting shots of U-boat activity as the crew surfaces the ship; levers are drawn and valves are opened and the sub rises like a monster in an epic—and rather than spitting fire, a crewmember sprays the two men with gunfire.
-“Me—I’ve got one last chance”
Gallagher and Powell duck away realizing that his warning signal tipped off the wrong boat. Gallagher sizes up the situation, saying that the sub can hide behind the cover of the rocky point of the island—“Maybe there’s some cover we can signal from,” he says, always seeking a way out, some kind of action. Powell, invigorated by his epiphany—and the gunfire—runs back, finds the raft, and hauls it out (why didn’t the Nazis search for and find the raft?—oh, well!). Gallagher misinterprets: “Are you running again?” Powell tells him that if he can get the raft beyond the point he could draw their fire and the carrier could hear the firing. (This recalls the climax in “Loneliest Place” when Komansky suddenly departs the flight deck—Bailey suggested that Komansky shirked duty, and Gallagher demands “where are you going?”—but the sergeant is taking up duty in his turret to bring down the pirate B-17.) Gallagher becomes Powell’s complete partner, knowing he could not get the raft out there by himself and give warning. “You’ve got an important job to do, you’ve got to stay alive—Me—I’ve got one last chance and don’t try to stop me.” Gallagher refuses his answer—the only important job they have now is to warn the men on that destroyer.
United, they both drag the raft out into the sea. The carrier’s captain, looking for them, takes a few precious seconds to find the men, locates them. “Why, they’re coming out to meet us,” he says. In an exciting few moments, Joe uses the cigarette case to flash a message—the captain interprets his flashes as “s—u—“—Joe looks back to see that they are in the sub’s line of sight—“Get ready to jump” he tells the grimly rowing Powell—and topples into the sea as bullets spray at them. . Powell—like Trask in “Between the Lines” finally finding himself, his courage, and his commitment to others in the last moments of his life—ignores Joe’s orders and stands up to continue signaling to the destroyer—he is hit, naturally—but the captain sees him being struck and realizes that they are being fired on. S and U mean “sub.” General quarters is sounded and we are treated to some interesting footage of sailors being called to duty . . . as on the U-boat, as it sinks, the crew prepares to fire torpedoes as the intense Wessel carries on his own captain’s duties.
-“they hit the sub!—they hit it!”
Back at the raft—wow, a destroyer, a U-boat, and a raft!—Gallagher scrambles back on board, demanding “why didn’t you jump?”—and beholds Powell, blood leaking from his mouth, and his face glazing in death: “We . . . warned ‘em,” he says. As Powell lies dying, Joe watches the drama on the high seas—torpedoes streaking in ghostly lines under the sea, the destroyer evading the first onslaught, but unable to miss the second onslaught—He reports to Powell that the ship is hit, “but she’s still bearing down . . . “ Depth charge markers are hurled into the sea, and then the depth charges—which sink down around the U-boat—at last, Wessel’s hubris catches up with him and he takes down his whole crew—cleanly, for the sea will cover them up.
In the raft, Gallagher exults: “They hit the sub! They hit it!”—sadly, but happily, these are the last words that Powell hears; it’s terrible, but his life and his death have assumed the meaning that he weakly grasped for in his pilot’s career which he probably sought out for the glamour and the girls. In the next scene, once more, a laborious rescue scene is expedited by Gallagher simply being on board the destroyer, blankets wrapped around his wet shoulders, making a hurried phone call, sending a message to Stovall: as arrangements are being made for him to be flown from a carrier, he relays that he will be at the briefing at 1530 hours. Hanging up, he allows himself a moment of dazed amazement—he is going to make it after all, with the help of a former wash-out. We can only hope that Powell’s body has been taken on board—and buried at sea?– but with honors.
-“calling him a foul ball . . . I’m sorry”
In the Epilogue, we get a scene usually reserved for the show’s teaser—B-17s in formation. Gallagher, thankfully, is flying right seat; adrenaline alone must be keeping him going. He peers down at the sea, warns the pilot to “watch the airspeed—the bombing has to be right on the nose.” (We don’t learn what is being bombed.) “Good eye,” Gallagher exults. “And let’s go home.” He looks down to see landing craft NOT going home—but “there go the Rangers,” he says proudly as they carry on their unidentified mission. Seeing the flightdeck at an unusual angle, the viewer actually gets to see Komansky climbing up between the pilots—normally he is shown simply emerging between the pilots in profile. In a typical but always charming scene, Gallagher and Komansky’s conversation helps bring closure to the story. Sandy is smiling but over the colonel’s return: “I’d bet 100 to 1 we’d never be up here today.” “I’d given a lot more than that, Sandy,” Joe says, glad to be among people he knows he can rely on. In a moment that recalls his lament for Harley Wilson, Komansky provides a brief lament for the fallen: “About Captain Powell sir,” he says, identifying him by his full rank, “calling him a foul ball before I knew the whole story. I’m sorry.”
Gallagher is sorry too but positive, and ends the story with the image of baseball, which trumps over Wessel’s chessboard, also at the bottom of the North Sea: “You know Sandy—some people are foul balls—and once in a while they straighten out and become home runs.” “Sir,” Komansky agrees, with a smile, perhaps recalling his own “foul ball” qualities which Gallagher is helping turn into a home run–and so the episode triumphantly ends for both the living and the dead.
“The Hollow Man”
Writers: Gustave Field & Marc Huntley
Director: Robert Douglas
12OCH never stinted on story—which is a strength as well as being at times one of the show’s ironic weaknesses. I noted this quality before in “We’re Not Coming Back” and to a degree in “Underground”; both episodes had a little too much “going on” in them. “We’re Not Coming Back” seems fragmented and undeveloped; as for “Underground,” though narrated ably, with pace and style, the story could be “thinned” and focused. “The Hollow Man” gets jammed up with too many characters conflicting with each other: Wally, who dominates the story, conflicts with love interest Ruthie Gardener, struggling between between rejecting and accepting her. He also tangles with two ex-fighter pilots who are interested in his glory and his girl. Wally and Komansky are old friends which is a story in itself as Sandy both struggles to protect Wally and then struggles with feelings of betrayal. There’s also a journalist in all this! All this is underscored by the fact that the original title was “The Archbury Story” (ctd. Duffin and Mathes)—perhaps the crashing of the B-17 in practice maneuvers was meant to be the story’s central focus. I wonder if the pilot who caused the accident became the focus to make the story filmable within 55 minutes. I like “The Hollow Man” as it finally turned out– but would have enjoyed a more focused story about the 918th’s “domestic” issues with the nearby town too, or a story more focused between Wally and Sandy vs. the two ex-fighter pilots.
Guest star Robert Drivas’ premature death at the age of 47 from AIDS suggests that he was gay, and I wonder if that helps account for his charisma beyond his striking face and electric eyes—in the fifties and sixties and yes, even the post-Stone Wall seventies, when his career was underway and then “cooking,” a gay identity would not be welcomed—but that “secret identity” tapped energies within him not readily available to “straight actors”—just musing . . . ! And this musing winds back to how to “improve” or enhance 12OCH if it were ever to be redone. Beyond CGI to improve the flight and fighting sequences, I would also like to see serialization along the lines of “Dallas” with characters, such as Wally Bolen, being introduced well before his capture, imprisonment, and escape and return. An overall story would emerge like a tapestry, in contrast with a series of loosely linked episodes. Serialization might avoid the “complete that mission!” in the last few minutes of so many episodes, which I find always exciting but a little annoying, not to mention a little repetitious. And, one more musing—if the show were to be filmed today, how could it be made more contemporary? In connection with Drivas’ presumed gay identity, one character and theme that would be contemporary would be a gay pilot—a pilot who is “one of the guys,” proud to serve, does a great job—yet who also deals with a secret that must remain hidden, not only from the military but from society. The viewers could be introduced via that character into the “underground” which gay personnel surely sought out, and the pilot’s personal issues would be interesting particularly if he were to fall deeply in love—with Sandy, who else?–his somewhat strange personality attracts people with either contempt (Vern Chapman) or with confused feelings (Susan Nesbit). Even Gallagher was so intrigued by him after their startling first meeting that he read up on him and then, in an attempt to win him over, “confronted him” in the Langham.
“The Hollow Man”’s most notable predecessors: “Falling Star” as both men, a young pilot and an older pilot, deal with buried trauma which disrupts the 918th’s work, unfortunately kills people, and nearly disrupts the mission as they both go to pieces on the flightdeck—but persevere, get home, and both leave for London medicos with their girl in tow. Also, “Mighty Hunter” is recalled as Wally stows away and “saves the day.” Also, a bit of “The Survivor” is evident as Wally shuts people out after his escape from a POW camp. A new take on an old theme—at last, Komansky meets up with a childhood friend who proves a problem, as old friends almost always seem to do. It is interesting to note that all three flightdeck guys—Joe, Bob, and Sandy—are all physically wounded by story’s end, but unlike Wally, they will quickly recover from their flesh wounds—and Sandy gets his chance to emulate General Britt as he hobbles around with a cane (Joe did the same in “Falling Star”). And so, forward with “The Hollow Man,” which describes Wally: he has been “emptied out” by his experiences at the hands of the Gestapo, and although he is on the way to beginning to rebuild his life at the end, he will never fly again as a pilot, the thing that kept him going during torture and imprisonment.
-“don’t shoot—I can’t tell you anything!”
Like “Decoy” the teaser starts on the ground–and in contrast with what we are about to see we first see a flock of sheep in a sunny pasture. The camera pans over the peaceful image to a dreadful image: a young man being tied to a stake by a German SS officer. The young man, scared but under control, speaks in German and English; not pleading for mercy, but rather for logic:–“don’t shoot—I can’t tell you anything!” In a classic scene, young uniformed soldiers, formed into a firing squad is made ready, they aim—and wait—while the prisoner defiantly if fearfully continues his plea. Still waiting—and the SS officer and the four men observe the prisoner slump to the ground. He orders the soldiers to put down their arms, and comes forward to inspect the prisoner, whose face rests on the grass. He speaks to him, his jackboot nudging his face . . . a gelatinous effect and a trill of weird music assures us that this is a dream. The waking up seems happy as Sandy’s voice says “Wally? Wally, we’re here.” Back in the real world, Sandy is gently shaking the young man, curled up in a nap in the flatbed of a truck, just arrived at Operations at the 918th. Robinson’s acting sense is subtly showcased in this episode; wisely, he underplays to Drivas’s intense performance.
-“Bolen’s the big story”
With a vicious jerk, the victim, garbed in a US Army uniform, and wrapped in an overcoat, flies out of the bed of the truck—and is promptly stopped by shouts. The scene—Operations at the 918th. It too is a day of sunshine, and the young uniformed men soldiers are American airmen who joyfully celebrate his return. Major Stovall too sees the homecoming. He is in company with two officers, and an older man interested in the return. Stovall excuses himself and so does the older man who tells the curious officers “I’ll get back to you boys; Bolen is the big story.” The two officers nod, but a precedent is being set up—Bolen disrupting them, both on the ground, in the air, in enjoyment, and in business. These two officers and Sandy and Wally will mirror each other in being childhood friends, with one suffering the loss of the other. This could have been a more strongly developed point though it is “serviced.” Bolen is still engulfed by the guys, and he is more startled than pleased. Sandy, squatting on the flatbed truck, is behind him, sort of like a guardian angel. The guys’ comments fill us in on Bolen’s story—“Five months in a POW camp!” “Why aren’t they sending you home?” Bolen finally speaks rationally—“Well, they will, when I’m finished,” he answers, and the word “finished” takes on several meanings. The guys try to move him off to the Officers Club, but Stovall claims him to report to the colonel.
-“You almost knocked me down . . . nothing unusual in that”
The men happily move off, and Wally’s relief, startled eyes, and little desire to be heroic make him a twin to Sandy, still over his shoulder. The older man then introduces himself to Wally as “Ken Sharpe” from the press pool, here to do a feature on him—and wants to know “really why he has been recalled” to the 918th. Truly, because he is an escaped POW, Wally will never fly over Europe again; if he were to be shot down and captured, he would be tortured to reveal escape routes. Stovall runs graceful interference; Bolen has to see the colonel first. Left alone, Sandy retrieves his bag, and squats down behind him in preview of one of their final scenes. He knows that Wally fled from him, and Wally knows it too. “I guess I had a dream. I hope I didn’t do or say anything ridiculous.” Sandy reassures him: “You almost knocked me down—but you’ve been trying to do that to me since you were nine years old—nothing unusual in that.” (Did Wally always try to bite off more than he could chew?—this figures into the climax.) With the teaser framed by an unusual opening and the word “unusual,” the six “bongs” strike over these two men, who will be both united and separated by the emptiness within Walter Bolen’s damaged mind.
-“you just try me, sir”
In a routine shot, Operations, solid and unquestionable, opens Act I, and within, Colonel Gallagher is pinning captain’s bars on Wally’s shoulder, who smiles at the sight. “I’ve given out a lot of promotions,” he tells Wally, but “I’ve never been happier to pin on captain’s bars.” Wally is pleased too; he had forgotten he was due. Promotion over, Joe becomes businesslike, which explains Wally’s return to the 918th despite harrowing experiences and an escape from a POW camp. Joe knows he has already been interrogated but he needs additional information about Badenheim which was near Wally’s prisoner camp. He wants information only; he does not want Wally to fly. Wally agrees—he is reasonable, but he is also reasonable about his record—when he was shot down five months ago, he had only completed 16 missions, and he wants to complete the nine he has left to go. Joe is not quite sure about Wally’s fitness, though he knows Wally’s request has been approved by the upper channels. However, he points out that “it’s been nearly six months since you jockeyed a B-17.” “You just try me, sir,” Wally says. Again, he is acting calmly and reasonably—he is not fighting Gallagher over the Badenheim raid and his request to “try me” is courteous. Gallagher approves his spirit and tells him there is a briefing about the upcoming raid at 1600—he is to be there to “have his brain picked.” It’s an apt image and action. Bolen now seems relaxed and happy—his request is being entertained, he is needed, his friends are waiting for him at the Officers Club But as he opens the door to leave, he does a brief doubletake at the sight of a warning poster–a caricaturized Hitler—oversized ear cocked for information, and dark, bagged eyes staring at Wally. The word– “Quiet”—is a warning about the enemy, but seems to warn Wally too, who quietly returns to his quarters and quietly suffers a trauma. (Yet, I think a noisy Wally may have preceded the scene. Soon, Stovall will describe Wally speaking in German, in a scene that was either cut in initial editing, or cut for commercials because I can find no evidence for the referred-to scene.)
-“I just wanted to look after . . . my one-time buddy, is all”
Hitler’s distorted face fades into darkness; there is a shadow of a sentry with a raised rifle, and weirdly, a white swastika looms up. The execution delirium is given over to an interrogation delirium, where the same SS officer tightens a noose around Wally’s neck. He is situated in a chair, in the darkness; the camera pulls up to reveal a light glaring down on Wally’s anguished face and gritted teeth, hopelessly repeating “I don’t know anything, I don’t know anything . . .” Without knowing how he got there, or how long he has been there, Wally comes to in a chair, in his quarters, staring at a light, and only slowly moves his arms, as if to shake off bonds. The pain in his wrists is real, and he rubs them, looking around—what would go through somebody’s mind at a moment like this?—fear of being detected, most likely. He has to hide his illness—from his officers, his friends, and even from himself in order to prove something. Later, Sandy realizes how much he is hiding from him, feels betrayed and tries to turn his back on Wally.
In the background, Komansky is coming from the lighted hallway into the darkened quarters and Wally turns to see him. Here I find that director Douglas seems to be channeling some German expressionism, (best seen in exaggerated display in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari [1919]), and also using the limited palette of black and white effectively. Wally’s dark turned head dominates the gray, angled room; painting the wall at a weird angle is a paned window; in the back, in the dark wall, at a slight slant, is the open door, a square of light. Caligari supposedly takes place inside of a madman’s mind . . . Sandy comes in, with bedding—sort of like a nurse, which he will prove to be. “Why aren’t you at the party?” he asks when he finds Wally. “What are you, the supply sergeant now?” Wally asks, irritated with him, with his intrusion and other things. Sandy is not and says gently “I just wanted to look after my one time buddy, is all.” Wally lets down some of the walls he has built around himself and admits that he “doesn’t want to mix it up with the guys right now.” Wally is fortunate to have Komansky as his friend; he understands Wally’s barbed attitude (they have had disrupted childhoods, and they have both “come back” after difficult experiences; sole survivor and imprisonment) and urges him to go for another reason: “It’s not just the guys. Ruthie’s going to be there.” Suddenly, noisy reality enters in the form a young, grinning officer. Looking for Wally, he demands, good naturedly, “Hey, what are you doing, hanging around with the non-commissioned riff-raff?” Sandy accepts it good-naturedly but alerts the young officer that “Wally outranks him now”—which he is proud of, the sign of a true friend. The young officer seems delighted in this too, indicating he already is a few drinks ahead of Wally.
Uneagerly, Wally detaches himself from the room and his memories. Sandy demurs at the young officer’s breezy invitation—“Hey, riff-raff, you’re invited”—with “and ruin my reputation, sir?” Wally leaves with the young man, but stops and looks back at Sandy. Sandy’s gaze lingers after Wally leaves. He knows something is wrong . . . but what should he do? After Wally leaves, Sandy probably makes his bed for him, again, revealing how he becomes a kind of nurse in this episode.
-“She knew you’d come back” – “I guess I did”
At the Officers Club, the two pilots and the journalist seen with Stovall are having drinks; the two pilots are admiring a pretty girl on a Red Cross Services Bulletin—and the same pretty blonde girl is in the Officers Club, and she turns out to be Ruthie: “That’s only my picture,” she announces to the two officers, later identified as Lewis and Stewart. “I’m me”—by which she contrasts with Wally, who is groping after his identity, nearly destroyed by Nazi interrogation and torture. Lewis tries to give her an exotic reputation—“There hasn’t been a face like that since Helen of Troy!” She is a smart young woman (with too American a voice to be English, which she supposedly is) and doesn’t take them seriously—what she does take seriously is Wally’s return. He is mobbed when he arrives and she forgets the two pilots as she moves toward Wally, through a wall of shoulders. Suddenly, in front of Wally, is Ruthie—who he may not have thought about as much as she did about him, and he knows it. Wordlessly, he crushes her to him, while friends say, “She waited for you. She knew you’d come back.” “I guess I did,” he says, his words more accurate than careless. He then barely kisses her and then moves off, refusing to meet her eyes—she was expecting more than this . . . The two pilots observe this odd greeting, and joke “Well, we’re better looking.” “Let the kid have his moment,” says Lewis. “But wait till she gets a load of what a couple of ex-fighter jockeys can do with a big ol’ bird. She’ll forget him completely.” All in all, not a couple of nice characters who, with a few drinks under their belt, seem to regard their duty in terms of impressing the girls—they too seem underused in the story, though they emerge as a mirror image of Sandy and Wally.
-“ . . . which is a first”
At the briefing, a collected Wally sits on the platform with Stovall, while Gallagher concludes: Badenheim has to wait until weather improves over Germany. When he dismisses them, a nicely spliced in scene of a “great big bunch of pilots” stand up to Stovall’s ten-hut!—being television, they have to keep scenes and the personnel budget-small, and the 918th’s vaunted greatness always seem contradicted by the small group of guys in the small briefing hut. After asking Harvey to send in Captains Lewis and Stewart, and sending Sandy off with a report, Joe is asked by Wally to fly in the Badenheim raid. Gallagher is sympathetic—he knows that if their places were changed, he would be asking to climb into the air again—but reminds Wally that his real purpose at the 918th is to make sure to nail the target so they won’t miss it again. Wally says he will check with the doctor.
Lewis and Stewart report and their smug attitudes are explained: former fighter pilots of the P-47 Thunderbolts, they flew their quota and then transferred to fly bombers, and have flown three missions—“which is a first,” and Gallagher is pleased with them transferring affections to flying fortresses, which he prefers to the sleek speed of fighters (“The Outsider”). We the audience finally learn about the particulars of Badenheim, which touch upon two reasons that Germany “kept going” as long as it did with multiple fronts and dwindling supply lines—the 918th needs to bomb a “synthetic oil” plant, which refers to a solution developed in the thirties to help speed along Germany’s rearming, as well as to improve the economy (the Germans were the world’s best chemists; the IG Farben Industries were probably part of the oil production). The plant’s camouflaging has deterred them, and Wally, as it turns out, “knows something” —his POW camp was three miles away from the plant, and when he escaped a French forced laborer at the plant helped him. (Germany recruited workers in France to man the factories; but this was more servitude than employment.) Joe tells his pilots that a “pathfinder” will need to fly in low and slow, mark the site by incendiaries—them and a third pilot. When they ask “who will the third pilot be?” Joe says he may “fly it himself.”
-“you’ve known him all your life?” – “Just about, sir”
That evening, Joe and Harvey are having the inevitable cups of joe. A knock on the door brings an uneasy Sandy who probably knows the reason for his summons. Gallagher wants to get past the facts—Bolen’s medical report indicates that he is fine, physically, and ready to fly, but he has another story from Harvey. Sandy drove him from Wing just that morning—“how did he act?” “He was tired and slept all the way,” Sandy says, honestly but with a certain amount of avoidance. “When you arrived, was he all right?” Gallagher’s probing is direct but careful; he too has tried to cover up or run interference with friends’ actions (“The Idolater” and “Falling Star”; Gallagher’s superior officers had to force him to acknowledge what he was doing). When Sandy pauses, he says that Stovall had the impression something was wrong. “Like what?” “He was yelling in German.” [This referred to scene implies an extended period of yelling, rather than the abrupt waking and blurting of German.) Sandy over-explains, saying that Wally’s mother and father were both German, and so were his aunt and uncle, who raised him; “he was an orphan.” Also, his father was a machine gunner in the Kaiser’s army—“so he’s always known how to speak German.” Gallagher tries a different tactic: “You’ve known him all your life?” “Just about, sir. Sir, this morning, he was only kidding around.” (This scene makes me wonder—did Sandy and Wally grow up in the same institute or “boys’ home”? Did they know each other at school? Did they become friends because they were both orphans and felt like outsiders? We never learn.) “I see,” Gallagher says, not telling Sandy exactly what he is seeing, and puts him to the test: “Would you be willing to fly with him?” Sandy says he would; he has refused before to go up with pilots he did not trust (“Falling Star”)–in Act IV Sandy reneges on his assurance. Upon his dismissal, Harvey says, “I guess I was mistaken.” Neither man is entirely assured, and may be left wondering why Sandy can’t seem to transcend tragedy in his life—an old friend, one who won’t push him away by “two bits worth of tinsel” on his shoulders, is not right.
-“I was and I am a pilot”
Gallagher trusts Sandy enough to fly with Bolen as well, and together they accompany him the next morning. To serene music, a B-17 lifts off and is soon cruising in a peaceful sky. Gallagher is pleased with Wally’s skills, undiluted by nearly six months imprisonment. Sandy is between them, is face largely impassive, but he is pleased for his friend. A peaceful, happy Wally boasts that “that is all he did in the camp.” He flew every flight, he named every part of the plane every day—“he flew everywhere” –“I smelled it,” he finishes oddly, but odors are one of our strongest kicks of memory. Perhaps a remembered odor kicks his memory. Harsh German voices then fill Wally’s head. He fights them, like he fights the SS officer in his delusions. “The part they never got to,” he says, with gritted teeth—“because I was a pilot. I was and I am a pilot,” he says firmly. Joe and Sandy listen to him approvingly, but what they don’t see are his staring eyes and strained face. However, he keeps himself under control and there is a feeling that perhaps he will be all right.
-“have we done something wrong?”
Act II, tightly riven and quickly played, opens up with the practice briefing breaking up. It’s the next morning and Wally obviously overcame the demonic voices in his head. He is suited up, eager and smiling—and flying lead in this practice run of the pathfinder strategy—yet is cautioned to “take it easy” by Gallagher when he departs. Lewis and Stewart, like twins, come up to Gallagher and ask, in a mixture of childishness and curiosity, “Have we done something wrong?” Gallagher affably asks them to clarify: they have logged more time than Lt. Bolen. “That’s Captain Bolen,” Gallagher corrects. They point out that they outrank him in time seniority. “Yeah, that’s true,” Gallagher says, irritation creeping in.”But as far as heavy bombers go, he can outfly you two.” They persist: “Is that why you made him flight leader, instead of one of us? He wouldn’t have to be commanding to designate the target.”Gallagher becomes blunt: “He’s had four times your experience—that’s why he’s commanding—any questions?” The twins give up with a salute and departure. Harvey comes forward, and Gallagher asks him to find two more stand-by pilots. “Giving you any trouble?” Gallagher both condemns and excuses: “It’s probably their fighter-jockey attitude—they’re a bit aggressive.” But he may sense something, adding if this practice does not run smoothly, he wants back up.
-“Put your left wing in where I can sit on it”
Three B-17s have successful take offs, and Bolen, with Sandy between him and Lt. Nielsen, confidently—perhaps too confidently which may be a flaw in his character–gets the practice mission underway, He identifies himself as “Mockup Leader”—interesting name that–with what seems a little bit of his Germanic heritage he gives the other planes’ flightcrews a hard time—“I’m waiting for you guys over the field—and this is a pretty sloppy assembling.” Lewis in Mockup 1 answers and then is told they are a minute late—and which, in terms of air power, can be a crucial amount of time. “Coming, Captain,” Lewis answers. Bolen is quick and ready this morning: “If you guys want to give me a hard time, do it later.” He asks Sandy to get into his turret and check on the assembling; “Yes sir,” Sandy answers, keeping up an official relationship while on duty. He reports on their position and Bolen orders them to close up. “How close do we get?” Lewis asks, peeved. “Put your left wing where I can sit on it,” Bolen answers. Things happen quickly: Sandy warns him from his perch that Mockup 1 is on top of them. “Stewart, what are you doing?” demands Bolen. Lewis warns Stewart—“Not that close.” Stewart, trying to get into formation, radios for Mockup Leader’s whereabouts: “Where is he?” Wally’s ripple of fear causes German to rattle through his head again and there is a flurry of commands—and confusion—and Sandy’s call for him to “drop your nose,” which becomes key to Gallagher’s inquiry about what is to happen. Wally’s handling of the plane causes a panel to come loose over Wally and Lt. Nielsen’s heads, sort of mocking how Wally’s mind is beginning to operate. Though it is not clear how it happens, Mockup 2’s tail is broken off—and goes into its death plunge, marked by a thick wad of smoke burgeoning up from the green and peaceful English countryside. Wally, despite his problems, maintains command of the plane and orders the crew to bail out before he loses control. Lt. Nielsen and most of the crew obeys. Captain Lewis observes this, as he has observed Mockup 2, with his twin, Captain Stewart, in command, going to its and his death.
-“there’s nothing working, Wally”
Permanently minus a friend, Captain Lewis lands Mockup 1 into a field edged with peacefully waving grass. Then descends Mockup Leader. In the flightdeck, a calm Komansky and surprisingly calm Bolen seek to land the craft, but Sandy must say, “there’s nothing working, Wally.” “Then we’ll belly in,” Wally says, calmly. “Sorry you’re still on board—I don’t know why.” Unlike in “Between the Lines,” when Sandy was forced to remain on board, he volunteered this time, but, then again, a good nurse does not abandon the patient. The landing is rough but successful—but Wally has passed out, leaving Sandy, still the good nurse, to struggle out with his patient.
-“such a pity . . . “
The scene fades to another ruined plane and struggling people—a field near Archbury, with a fairly convincing “smoking wreck” surrounded by rescue and the curious. Harvey Stovall, civilians, and the Red Cross, represented by Ruthie, are handling matters as best they can, and hardly look up when Joe Gallagher roars in by Jeep. He arrives just as Captain Stewart, whom Joe snapped at earlier that morning, is carried from the wreck. The Vicar Gordon, whom Stovall introduces to Gallagher, peers down at the dead pilot with sad, but “stiff upper lip” words: “such a pity.” To the side, Sharpe is interviewing and taking notes. Gallagher, before leaving the base, has checked out Mockup Leader’s survivors. To Stovall’s inquiry, he gives the casualty report—Komansky hurt his ankle, co-pilot Nielsen has head injuries, and the rest of the crew jumped. Joe then gets the civilian casualty report, which is perhaps the only real vestige left of “The Archbury Story”—two boys ran off, one boy was burned, and the elderly man who owns the farm the plane crashed onto, would have died if it had not been for Ruthie—who saw the plane coming down from her flat. Joe looks at the wreck—wonders about the wreck of Anglo-American relations—and demands all the evidence possible. “Occupational hazard Joe,” Stovall points out. “An operational mishap.” Joe won’t accept the euphemisms—“Maybe for us, but not for the people or Archbury. Eventually, they’ll want answers and I want them for them.” Ruthie, attractively placed in front of the Red Cross insignia, hears this and does not realize that Joe’s demand for answers will lead to the man she loves and she thought loved her—Wally Bolen.
-“I think we could use a drink”
Ruthie goes up to the back of Captain Lewis, hands in pockets, grieving for his friend. Though verging on tears, he is polite to Ruthie and her questions, and to her offer to contact his friend’s family, he says he will do it—a true friend, he will not abandon his friend though now dead, and this is the first time we really like the man. “I think we could use a drink,” he says to Ruthie—this time, an invitation to a sympathetic young woman to help him through a bad time, rather than a tippling overture to a “target for tonight.”
-“I’m sorry, I thought I was someplace else . . . “
At the base hospital, Sandy once more hovers over Wally, who, ironically without a physical scratch, lies unconscious in a bed. Lt. Nielsen occupies a bed nearby; this makes for a cloudy point in the story. Gallagher arrives and after ascertaining that Sandy’s ankle only suffered a sprain, provides the grim news to him—Stewart is dead, and his co-pilot’s parachute did not open in time. “Sandy,” Joe says, as he begins his inquiry, “you were in the turret when this happened . . .” Wally stirs nervously in the bed, perhaps hearing Joe’s official voice but his eyes open to see the SS Officer staring down at him. (Somewhat humorously, this is the second time Joe takes on a Nazi’s officer identity—the first time was in “Runway in the Dark” when young Christian describes the angry Joe Gallagher as reminding him of “that Nazi officer.” Joe is compared again, favorably, to a Nazi officer—in terms of duty–in “Face of a Shadow.”) Joe hears his German, and sees the fear in his eyes. Joe speaks sharply to him: “Captain Bolen?” Wally comes to, instantly. He sits up; “I’m sorry, I thought I was someplace else.” “I know, in the German prison camp.”
Wally dissolves into shame. He gets out of bed and goes to the window which in this show is an image frequently evoked as a character seeks to escape, like a caged bird. He finally admits to what happened to him—he was interrogated about “future targets”—“but actually I think it amused them to whack me around.” (Though POWs were protected by the Geneva Convention, as the air war became worse, Nazi and SS officers killed and tortured air personnel, with the most nauseating case at Mathausen in Austria, where prisoners were forced to carry slabs of rock up a hill and when they collapsed were pitched over or shot.) With pain he relates how they used to taunt him by spelling his name as a German would—“B-o-h-l-e-n—B-O-H-L-E-N,” he spells out. “I don’t know how they knew that, but they did.” (I suppose he refers to his family “Americanizing” their German name. Also, interestingly, Nazi Germany’s supreme armorer was “Krupp Von Bohlen.”) Wally plaintively continues: “And they never spoke English.” He then turns, trying to face responsibility for the horrible mess he has made, but he falters and throws it to Joe: “Why did you send him up there with me? Playing tag with me, huh?”—another interesting image of game-playing in the brutal world of air combat. “We’ll talk about it later,” Joe says, knowing he is dealing with a sick man. “No, we’ll talk about it now,” he insists, getting agitated. “Not behind my back—“ He grimaces, and shouts “Stewart, you stupid, rotten fool—“
-“Are you blaming Wally?” – “If I am, I’m blaming myself”
Sandy dares to take firmer charge of Wally, telling him to “Ease off,” and when he does not, both Gallagher and Sandy have to wrestle with him. Joe goes for help and while Sandy continues to fight him, refusing again to let Wally“knock him down,” with Wally continuing to demand to “Get Stewart in here—Stewart, you stupid . . .” An orderly, brought by Joe, comes in and takes over and the shocked Sandy departs to confront—or detain—his colonel. Their eyes are locked on each other as Gallagher probes for the truth and Komansky tries to explain, remain loyal to Wally, and remain loyal to Gallagher: “Was it Stewart’s fault?” “I told you what happened sir, we all saw it coming.” “You did the natural thing—you ducked—you told Captain Bolen to put the nose down.” “Yes sir.” “Why did he have to? Why did he allow things to get so close?” “You ask Captain Lewis that.” “I did. He confirms that Stewart was out of position—Bolen never made a move until his airplane hit his—and he broke away. Now Sandy—it seems to me there wasn’t enough time to avoid what happened.” Sandy becomes defensive: “Are you blaming Wally?” Gallagher tries to avert this by saying “Maybe Lt. Nielsen could give us some details.” “You are blaming Wally,” Sandy repeats, and grasps at a straw: “The medic certified him to fly.” “If I am, I’m blaming myself,” Joe tells him, even at a difficult moment trying to spare Sandy’s feelings. “I gave him lead.”
He then gently digs in: “Sandy . . . the other day, when I asked you about him, were you holding out on me?” Sandy looks down, silently admitting his guilt. They are interrupted by Wally, shaking, clutching himself and speaking German, asking for help—we are not sure what has happened–did Wally deck the orderly? Did Lt. Nielsen suddenly require help for his head wound and the orderly is attending to him? “Wally,” Sandy says, taking his arms, but Wally does not know him.
–“Do you want to call in a psychiatrist?”
Act III: Wally has been sedated and Ruthie brought in from her Red Cross field duties; possibly Sandy suggested this strategy when realizing he is of little use to Wally. Bolen murmurs in English and German, and a nurse, after checking on his temperature, leaves, carrying the viewer from his room to Dr. Douglas and Gallagher in conference in the corridor. Douglas is in surgical wardrobe. Gallagher is still trying to find out what happened, trying to fill in the gap between what they saw and what they remember. “Bolen claims it was Stewart’s fault but the whole situation is cloudy.” Dr. Douglas admits to certifying Bolen, but now that the young man is in shock, “Did the accident cause the condition or did the condition cause the accident?” Joe asks, succinctly. Douglas is just as succinct: “Do you want to call in a psychiatrist?” Joe acquiesces: “In other words, you don’t know,” and asks Douglas “to save Lt. Nielsen if he can.”
-“No hollow man could do what you have done”
The scene shifts back to Bolen, who, sedated, easily and uneasily passes in and out, to and fro, from memory to reality; at the moment, memory has him as he tells Ruthie “Danke fraulein,” after she helps drink some water. She refuses to let him persist in his delusions. “You know me, look,” she says. But the man she is speaking to has little “me” left, though he smiles at her in recognition and returns to English—yet the English reveals the vortex of his thoughts: “You’re beautiful—but I was reaching too high—that’s what was wrong.” She does not understand what he refers to—returning to flying despite the warning voices in his head and memory; but perhaps he always reached too high, such as trying to “knock down” Komansky when they were younger, wanting to fly again despite what happened to him, and being rude to the pilots in the practice assembly. “There was never anything wrong,” she tells him. “There is now,” he says, agitated but trying to pass it off as something easy: “I just want to go back there and paste them a couple of times, that’s all.” –Is he fantasizing about flying back to Germany, parachuting out, killing his tormentors–? It’s an understandable one. She tries to focus his thoughts on her—and him. “When you wanted to fly again, I was so proud—“ “Of me?” His head twists away. She enunciates the titular meaning of the episode: “No hollow man could do what you have done. No hollow man could feel what you felt over the boys who died today . . “ She’s done it now: he demands that she “get away from him,” and her slap, which is less in anger and more in trying to restore him, hurls him into an angry flood of German, which becomes a smile which then twists into a silent cry of agony.
-“be careful what you say about Wally Bolen—he’s my hero”
Her face, anguished but controlled, fades into Operations, where, in Gallagher’s office, Sharpe rather brazenly uses the colonel’s phone in the man’s absence. He tells an unknown party that “he doesn’t want to dishonor Captain Stewart but there was a bad feeling between him and Bolen” and “if the man in Archbury dies, he could be blamed for the accident.” His next words are to protect his story, not to proclaim his admiration: “Be careful what you say about Wally Bolen—he’s my hero.” Yet he too finally seems to seek the truth as well and perhaps gains it with Komansky who also elects to seek the truth. He breaks off as Gallagher enters his office, surprised, and slightly irritated at finding Sharpe there, and to cover it up, heads for the coffeepot. Sharpe is quick with his words: “My chief wants to handle it from here—it’ll keep the press off your back.” Gallagher appreciates this—but asks him not to release the story “until we have all the facts.” “I did release the story on Bolen—we can’t kill that,” he admits to Gallagher’s weary aggravation. Stovall comes in, telling Joe that the Vicar wishes to speak with him. Sharpe cannily offers to handle it, which Joe appreciates and thus buys him some redemption about releasing Bolen’s story. Stovall has news and orders—the Badenheim raid is on. Joe grimly swallows his coffee, orders all the photos he can get on Badenheim, and says that he will get Bolen to “mark those photos, somehow.”
-“Relax—forget the sir”
Evening and in one of the Quonset huts Captain Lewis seems to be sneaking up on Komansky seated at a desk. It’s always interesting getting a glimpse where the characters live; they never seem to eat or sleep; drinking at the Star and Bottle and the base clubs seems their one way to relax and get sustenance. So far we have seen Stovall’s private quarters in “Storm at Twilight” and now we get a glimpse of Komansky’s shared quarters—pictures tacked to the walls, beds, a rack of his clothing, and what seems to be a photograph on a shelf. Sandy is writing his report and has become preoccupied trying to sift the facts from his desire to protect Wally while yet desiring to serve Gallagher honestly—Joe’s forceful but sympathetic dissection of the incident can’t be ignored. He lurches slightly when he sees Lewis who assures him to “Relax” and “forget the sir.” “Okay,” Sandy agrees, but he’s heard this before, such as with Stovall in “Storm at Twilight.” This situation is similar; an officer invites Sandy to speak as an equal, and the outcome is not pleasant as Sandy “lays it on the line.” But these two men have a lot in common; both have lost or are losing a friend, these friends are under a terrible cloud, and the quest for the truth is painful for the survivors. “Writing a letter?” Lewis asks as an overture. “My report,” Sandy says. “I understand you and Bolen are lifelong buddies.” Sandy’s growing doubts over Wally causes him to redefine Lewis’ words. “We grew up in Oakland together—I guess you can say we’re good friends—met each other over here. . . .” “I grew up with Bobby Stewart—all my life.” Sandy acknowledges his grief. “That makes it tough.” “Yes, tough. Komansky, what really makes it tough is that everybody’s trying to throw the blame in Stewart’s lap.”
-“without a lot of crocodile tears”
Sandy fights off his pathos: “Now just what kind of conversation is this going to be, huh?” he demands, rising. Lewis is direct: “Bolen crabbed right into me!” “You want me to throw the blame into Wally’s lap, is that it?” “All your buddy had to do was lead.” “All your buddy had to do was fly and he had the whole sky to do it.” Lewis forgets his offer: “All right, sergeant, that’s enough.” “From the man or from the captain?” Sandy demands. “I thought you said leave the sir out of it.” “I thought we could talk about this without a lot of crocodile tears for hotshot Wally Bolen!” Even in his grief Lewis is jealous of Bolen. They both look up to see some NCOs coming in to see what the fuss is about. Lewis, without another word, leaves, practically bolting. But Lewis’ attack, cheap as it is, will make Sandy think as Sandy’s words make Lewis think.
-“I’m a pilot—it’s all I have left”
About the same time, Gallagher is conferring with Bolen about the oil plant’s location. Wally is now awake, alert, and dressed. With Ruthie standing by (would a female civilian be present at this time?—maybe Joe understands her calming presence and overlooks it.) Wally is a little unsure about the plant’s location but marks the photos as he can. Gallagher, calmly businesslike, thanks him and says he will be flying the pathfinder “alone,” and Wally asks to go with him. “You trusted me before,” he says, and Gallagher is calmly astounded that Bolen, after “the show he put on” could make such a request. “I’m all right” he says to Ruthie’s protests and stares at Gallagher accusingly. They all look up as Lewis arrives—he looks surprised and tries to leave. Bolen, knowing what this is about, asks Gallagher “to listen to him first, not Lewis”—but adds, pathetically, “I’m a pilot—it’s all I have left.” Gallagher assures him that Lewis came for a visit; he was not called there. Lewis seems subdued; Komansky’s words made an impression on him and he states what he thinks, and not accusingly: Stewart was out of position, but he “crabbed into him. I think Bolen could have gotten out of his way. I think Bolen froze.” Wally violently defends himself—“I did not freeze. I told him to break away.” Then, “I’ve heard that voice 1000 times. I did not freeze,” he says, four times. The door opens: there stands the SS officer and his goon. Perhaps the voice that he heard 1000 times, speaks, an order. He retreats in terror. Sandy, at the door, with Sharpe standing beside him, says “Wally—“ Gallagher motions him to be quiet. Wally then recognizes his old friend, the person he has known the longest, and in his grief over such an insult, finally admits he did freeze—“I did kill all those four guys.” (Why is Sandy with Sharpe, and what is Sandy trying to say? Perhaps Sandy ran into Sharpe, or Sharpe sought him out to clarify something, and together, they have to admit that Wally was at fault and they seek him out.) –
“just don’t ask me to kick anybody”
As Act IV rolls, so do the planes, with a handsome array of shots of propellers whirling to life. The planes take off, and in a reassuring scene, we see Joe and Bob in their seats, with Komansky between them. After the planes assemble, Joe hands his slot over to Major Larson, and we learn that Lewis will fly lead on this trip. If this pleases Lewis he does not show it but he has learned there are important things than showboating for the dames—like losing a friend. Sandy is on the brink of losing a friend too. Joe drops down as they begin their pathfinder work. When they clear the group, Sandy orders the gunners to clear their guns, which they do. With the mission underway, Joe asks Sandy “How’s the foot?” “Fine sir, just don’t ask me to kick anybody.” As it turns out, Sandy kicks a bit at Wally and maybe wants to kick himself as he let a friend interfere with his loyalty to Gallagher. Joe then turns to reassuring the crew that “they are on their own,” but they have a light load and they can use their extra fuel for evasive action on the way home. “If you have to shoot, make it count”—and they are marking the Badenheim target, right or wrong. Joe then studies the photo marked by Wally a few moments before his confession—and speak of the devil, a voice comes over the plane’s system asking “I guess there’s no chance of turning back now, is there?” Shades of Stevie Corbett: they have a stowaway—would it have been that easy to sneak into a plane? Oh well . . .
-“with Bolen up there we’ve got trouble”
Joe demands to know who said that and the waist gunners don’t know—but they see Wally coming up from the tail section—relaxed, with a grin on his face, once more revealing his flaw of overconfidence. As he goes forward to the flightdeck, the waist gunner tells Gallagher “that the voice was from the tail—and it wasn’t “Bucky Burns, it’s Captain Bolen.” (There’s that habit of lining up a lot of names on the same consonant. And it would be nice if Gallagher’s crew stayed the same; he always seems to have a different cast of characters beyond Sandy and Bob—whatever happened to Hugo?—“We’re Not Coming Back.”) Despite his confidence, Wally seems a bit abashed when he arrives at the flight deck, but honestly admits that he ordered the tail gunner out and took his place. Joe, fairly unflappable after months of commanding the 918th and flying a lot of tough missions, orders Bob to take over for the waist gunner and send the man to the tail—perhaps typically, Wally does not realize that he has crippled the pathfinder’s firepower, and they will probably need it. (Why doesn’t Joe send the radio man back there?—but Bob needs to be knocked off for purposes of the climax.) At least Wally does not want to fly—instead, he wants to help find the plant. He rightfully guesses that his identifying the site the day before was not accurate, and “I know I can find it if I see it.” Back in the waist, Bob takes over for the right waist gunner and bluntly answers the left waist’s question: “What now?” “With Bolen up there we’ve got trouble.” Sandy, on watch in the turret, does not defend his friend: “I think you’d better get him off the flightdeck.” Gallagher warns the crew: “I don’t want one unnecessary word from anyone in this plane.” He is making the best of a bad situation; Wally is there, maybe he can help, and there’s no more time for any more distractions. Bolen assures Gallagher that he does not have to worry—but it’s a childlike gesture, along the lines of Stevie Corbett who “wants what he wants.” “I don’t want anybody sore at me,” he finishes. “I just want to help.” Sandy is somehow hearing this, objects: “But Skipper—“ Gallagher, as he frequently admonishes Sandy, interrupts: “I said, knock it off.” More flak starts—this time the real stuff comes knocking upwards; Gallagher tells the crew “they found us,” and in the lead plane, Lewis prepares for the message he will send: “Well, Gallagher is down there somewhere . . .
“ -“that’s where I was!—see guys, that’s where I was!”
As Piccadilly Lily cruises over the pastoral countryside, Wally’s memory flares up and he excitedly corrects the plant’s location. Gallagher demurs for a moment: “Wally, those are houses,” a nice nod to the civilian population. “That’s the camouflage!” Wally shouts. “Mark it, mark it,” he pleads, and right or wrong, soon, the incendiaries are whistling down, waggling. Far above, at 20,000 feet, Lewis sees the incendiaries starting their work and leads the formation to their own work. In Piccadilly Lily, Wally regresses to a childish state, which comes from his joy and being able to “go back there and paste them a couple of time”—Behind Joe, peering out the left windows, he says “that’s where I was!—see guys, that’s where I was!” Within a few moments, the bombs “paste” Badenheim and in his plane Lewis shouts, “On the nose! On the nose!’’—without knowing that Bolen is responsible for their accuracy. Wally has redeemed himself but there is more redemption to come and a chance for him and Sandy to come together as friends and partners.
-“take the controls! – You’re a pilot!”
The fighters swarm and in the melee of battle, Bob is struck down, the first time this indestructible co-pilot of Joe’s has “gotten it” (save for a wounded hand in “Back to the Drawing Board”)—and it’s not fatal but it sidelines him from taking over the controls when, a moment later, Gallagher is struck down. Wally both tends to him and goes to pieces; Gallagher demands “Komansky, get up here.” Sandy emerges from the turret, and seems to catch Bolen who is now struggling to get away from the work he so desperately wished to return to. “Wally, take the controls,” Sandy directs him, standing behind him as he does throughout most of the episode. Dramatically effective, Wally goes to pieces, shouting “I used to be a pilot, but I can’t.” Similar to Ruthie’s slap, Komansky lightly slaps him but in this way once more standing up to Wally, and refusing to let his friend knock him down, the plane, and the rest of the men. Gallagher takes him under complete control: “You’re a pilot! Fly this airplane!”—an act of desperation but he is their best hope now. Wally, growing calmer, and with Komansky behind and beside him, takes the controls—and takes a degree of control of himself.
-“I won’t be volunteering for any more missions . . . ”
The epilogue, not surprisingly, takes place in the hospital; after all, a lot of time has been spent there as a sick man struggles to recover. Ironically, the sick man is the only one completely on his feet and unscathed, at least physically, and, with a happy Ruthie, is preparing to leave. Stovall comes in to say that the car has arrived. Ruthie tells Wally that she loves him—“and he might as well not fight, because she’s been transferred to the London canteen.” Stovall, appropriately avuncular, tells Wally “I wouldn’t argue.” Wally agrees but needs to say his goodbyes to the colonel. Joe’s room is full; Bob Fowler occupies a bed, Sandy is seated at Joe’s bedside, and Ken Sharpe, the ubiquitous reporter, is also bedside. Wally is apologetic but charming: he’s going to turn himself over to a Red Cross girl and a whole bunch of brain guys. To Joe’s grin, he adds, “I won’t be volunteering for any more missions.” Joe’s thanks and farewell are simple: “You’re going to make it. You got us home, so you’ll make it.” They shake hands, and Sandy gets up, saying “Come on, I’ll hobble out with you” and leaves Gallagher with Sharpe.
-“he was a pilot” Sharpe wraps things up, and his words—“Well, I gotta figure out an ending to this story” evokes Joe’s words, spoken several months earlier, to journalist Susan Nesbit. Wanting to write a story on Sandy, she is cautioned by Gallagher: “why don’t you wait to see how the story ends”—he knew Komansky was still fighting, but beginning to win. Once more, he cautions a journalist to spare a man from an insensitive or incomplete story: “This is mostly the story of Captain Bolen, isn’t it?” Sharpe nods. “Then just say—‘he was a pilot.’” Sharpe thanks him—for his insight?—and leaves. Still pensive, Joe lights a cigarette (my God, how times have changed!) and ponders recent events, and his own words: though sorry for Wally, he is glad that he is still a pilot.
“Cross-Hairs on Death”
Writer: Robert Lewin
Director: Alan Crosland, Jr. The dramatic title is weak and I think the worst in the series: it doesn’t seem to address the story, the character, and his complex issues which include impersonation, fraud, theft, “incorrigibility.” Perhaps a case can be made that Everett Stone “kills himself” by sighting himself as a target to be destroyed and thereby overcoming an idiotic past for whom there was nobody to blame but himself. But I think a better title would be “Masquerade” or something along those lines. This is another episode I have no memory of—and wondered if I perhaps missed it altogether. But, if I did watch it, to a girl in her mid-teens, this episode would not make much of an impression—a guy has loused up his life and is trying to set things right—but doing so by falling back on the same machinations that got him into trouble in the first place. I had my life before me when I was 14 and 15 years old and had no intention of messing it up—and had little understanding of how people can start out with good intentions, make a mess of things, spiral out of control, and never really get their lives back on track. I’ve seen such things now, and wonder if I have played it too safe all my life, but glad I’ve never had to face problems and issues of some of my friends and colleagues who stumbled into bad marriages, drugs, bad behavior, impulse buying, and relying too much on false things to make them happy.
Also, as I was viewing this episode I thought about my own father who successfully went through pilot’s training . . . when I watched 12OCH in the late sixties I was inspired to learn more about my late father’s military life: I sifted through his papers (which included his written exams to be a pilot), took pride in his medals, and enjoyed his sweet grin in a picture as an air cadet and then looked without much comprehension at the older, more serious face of the accomplished pilot he became. He let some stories fall which he always told as if he had been at summer camp: one was about first parachute jump, staring down at the ground, miles below. Now, older, and battered from the storms of life, I wonder about his feelings, his fellow-pilots, his friendships, possible fears of being a wash-out; his errors, his “making good.” I heard what a good pilot he was in the 1980s when a fellow squadron member tracked me down; a reunion was in the works, and I had the sad task of telling him my father had died in 1965. He wrote me a beautiful letter, telling me how my father, alerted that they had short tanks, manipulated the fuel supply to make it last. Other stories—being stuck for a room in the Los Angeles area and spending the night in all-night movie theatre and getting gum on his pants; airborne and immediately opening up his orders even after being told to open them after two hours; seeing aerial dogfights; and a mysterious story that I have heard twice, second hand—one my mother remembers him telling her—and one a more jovial version that my uncle told me—involving Chinese passengers being sacrificed so the plane could climb—to my mother it was horrifying, to my uncle, it was a joke; and I wonder if Dad saw this first hand or if this was something he also heard about . . . In one of his few letters home I have read, I know that one night he sat in a rain-sogged tent in India writing a letter home, rhapsodizing about the cookhouse which served steaks 24 hours a day . . . and also saying in another letter, he would like to get married someday if he could find a woman who would want to marry him.
Digression over, so let’s turn to the mysterious opening of “Cross-Hairs on Death,” about a would-be pilot blew it, repented, tried again, and this time made it—spectacularly in a typical 12OCH climax—with severe consequences to face. Yet, to him, it is all worth it; he cures something that is making him sick (his failure) but also cures a sickness within him. Overall, this episode is fascinating for how cagily Stone-Carpenter manipulates people, and for a time his tissue of half-truths, excuses, and pleas for pity carry him along—all the way to Mainz and a victory over the enemy and over his own worst qualities.
-“Joe Gallagher’s expecting me . . .”
The teasers of Season II’s last five episodes avoid the “done to death” opening sight of droning B-17s: “Decoy” opens in a Scottish manor house; “Hollow Man” opens in a sheep-pasture/execution field; “Cross Hairs on Death” opens in a symbolically murky riverfront, where trucks and trolleys and moving men unload ships and cart off bundles and boxes. It’s a very atmospheric and complicated scene too, setting the stage for “tonight’s episode”—a mystery is afoot as a man, who will have no less than three names, arrives in London. Joe Gallagher is a sideline character in tonight’s story, with the main actions and difficulties centering on one of his pilots, such as Kurt Brown in “I Am the Enemy,” Harley Wilson in “The Outsider,” and Tom Parson in “25th Mission.” Brown and Parson in particular wear masks of sorts to conceal their identities to the world and themselves, as does the man in this episode—in spades. These characters throw into relief Gallagher and Komansky who “know are who they are”— Gallagher learned to face the world and war head-on without fear, hypocrisy or cruelty; Sandy’s hardships in life put up walls around him, but no “false fronts.”
As the teaser opens, three men, backlighted, come out of the foggy dimness; their clothing and caps identify them as seamen. One veers away. The two men stop and one asks “Where’s Emery Kanin?” “Who cares?” says the other one, and they go in search of well-deserved drinks. One of the story’s themes is set up here: the value of friendship. These men do not consider him a friend and “Emery Kanin” perhaps did not bother with them as they served no purpose for his plans—Captain Enright, whom he originally uses for his own good, finally makes him recant on this attitude. “Emery” re-emerges from the darkness, and we see a slender, handsome face, both Nordic and Greek-god. He walks off into the glinting fog—to a tailor’s shop. A headless mannequin (appropriate image in some ways) in the dark window sports an American officer’s uniform. Emery waits for people to pass by, tries the door, and when that does not give, takes his cap, breaks one of door’s windows, and within a moment is denuding the mannequin of the uniform. Is he a spy?—an agent?
The scene shifts to a large, mansion like building, where a sentry checks with the incoming—how he made it past this guy is not known because we next see Emery Kanin he is smartly uniformed (gee, he was lucky that the uniform he stole fit him perfectly!) casually lighting a cigarette, but ears and eyes obviously at attention. An officer being taken care of—finally receiving his duplicate orders after they were lost—remarks that his new orders have him going to the 966, rather than the 918th—“that’s Joe Gallagher’s outfit; he’s an old friend of mine from Langley Field” (in Virginia; one of the first flight training centers—so, Joe trained in Virginia and Texas, cited in “Falling Star”). Kanin proves a chameleon—taking this information he smoothly goes up a WAC—who smiles at his Greek god looks and smilingly comments that cutting duplicate orders will take two weeks. “You’re going to hate me,” he begins, “but I can’t wait. Joe Gallagher’s expecting me. Do you have any idea what Joe Gallagher, my old buddy from Langley Field will do if I don’t show up?” His words, “I can’t wait” introduce a “ticking clock” into this episode: time is of the essence. She has no real answer for this flood of information, but her smiling face becomes even more pleasant when he offers her two steak dinners, a bottle of whiskey, and two tickets to the show at the Palladium. How he got access to these is never explained but we already know this guy is devious—and will prove to be charming, and quite ruthless—as he is ruthlessly using her. “Are you trying to bribe me?” she asks. He is, for once, truthful: “Yes mam, I am,” he admits. “But I have to get there.” “Well, I’m sticking my neck out,” she says; “It’s a pretty neck,” he says, and despite the hint of violence in his remark, she does it. (I wonder what kind of punishment she would undergo for this foolish action—she could have been passing an Axis agent into secure areas.) After a pleasant evening with the WAC (with a bypass through her bed I imagine), Kanin goes on his way, coolly enlisting himself in the American Army Air Force, as a captain, no less. Yet, we still don’t know what his motivations and his plans are.
Cut to—a Jeep rolling up to Operations, where men come and go, and planes wheel overhead. He thanks the sergeant for the ride and climbs out, straightens his uniform and tugs on his cap—accepts a salute from a sergeant–and as if to test his aplomb (or delay taking that next critical step—introducing himself to a guy he claims he knows) calls the young man back—and asks politely for a match. The sergeant produces one, lights it, and waits—as Kanin becomes engrossed in the sight of two B-17s overhead (wanting to fly one? Wanting to sabotage one?—what is he up to?) Suggesting that he “is playing with fire,” and how careless he is about other people, the match burns out in the sergeant’s hand who snaps “you wanted a light sir?” “Oh, I’m sorry,” Kanin says—at this odd, rather uneasy moment, the six bongs strike but it remains to be seen if the six bells toll his demise or celebrate his victory—turns out, they sort of do both. Also, the clock image reinforces the idea that this man has little time, and he knows it,
-“Captain Thomas Gaines Carpenter”
As Act I takes up in Operations, Joe gladly reacts to Harvey Stovall’s announcement that a replacement pilot has arrived—although he was not expecting one. He asks Harvey to find Captain Enright. Kanin comes in, crisply salutes, and assumes his second name: “Captain Thomas Gaines Carpenter”—and we get our second taste of how quickly this chameleon adapts, declaring he thought he was headed for the 966th, but found out he was headed for the 918th— “I had my B-4 bags stolen in London.” “You don’t have your records jacket?” Joe asks. He deflects it–“No, but I think I have a line on who might have stolen it”—and tells Joe if his stuff doesn’t show up, he will get duplicates of his records. Joe remains affable, his own charm reacting to his new pilot, who is charmingly apologetic. “I’m sorry sir, I don’t like getting off on the wrong foot here,” and to “ice the cake” tells him “I remember you at Langley Field.” Joe beams: “Langley? When were you there?” Carpenter is unfazed. “Just about the time you left.” An innocuous answer, but it works; later on, when Carpenter’s lack of records becomes more pronounced, Joe assumes it’s a foul-up, rather than suspecting he has been duped.
With excellent timing—at least for Carpenter—Enright arrives. A nice, ordinary young man, with a wholesomely handsome face, he affably greets the captain, whom he learns will be assigned to him as his co-pilot—in lieu of combat training. After some mission, perhaps he will be assigned his own crew. Carpenter is delighted. “Sounds like an eager man,” Gallagher remarks. Enright and Carpenter leave Operations, with Enright already offering the other bunk in his quarters. Carpenter cheerfully tells him that his bags were stolen, and takes no offense at Enright’s smiling remark, “that’s pretty sloppy.” Carpenter claims “he planned it that way”—he wanted a new uniform—and “point me toward supply.” How many excuses has this man made already? The two men are foils: Enright, reflecting his name, is upright, but no little tin god. Enright, either by family or temperament “plays well with others,” and has a good amount of confidence—enough to make him a pilot, but not so much that he overestimates his abilities. Carpenter—who knows? Perhaps he was spoiled when he grew up, and his natural talents and abilities were blown up into balloons, which burst under failure—which apparently began when a woman rejected him, probably for the first time. These two men frame the approach of a sergeant, who seems to drive Carpenter off. Enright is surprised at his man’s going because he was introducing Sgt. Holcomb as their flight engineer. Holcomb has only caught a glimpse of the man but seems to know him, and for the first time in Carpenter’s cool quest, somebody remarks “hold it . . . “ Yet Holcomb holds off on saying anything both a courtesy and a mistake.
-“know anything better to put you to sleep?”
Holcomb’s face fades into a Pilot Instruction Manual, being studied by Carpenter as he tensely reclines on his bunk. Enright, his tie unloosened, comes in, remarking he wondered why he was not in town and “didn’t know you were a bookworm.” “I couldn’t sleep—picked up anything.” “The pilot instruction manual?” Enright jokes. “Know anything better to put you to sleep?” Enright leaves to get cleaned up, and Carpenter takes the opportunity to slip out—perhaps he didn’t want Enright asking him anymore questions. Enright is puzzled about his disappearance, even to checking under the blankets—but thinks little of it—and allows Carpenter to slip down the flightline to the “So-Wot.” Here the man knows what he is doing—he easily flips himself into the hatch and for once, the viewer gets to see where the hatch leads to. Another interesting scene—a straight on view of the control panel, which Carpenter feverishly examines by means of a flashlight and his manual. At this point the first-time viewer is still left wondering: Sabotage?
-“he’s an eager beaver”
Carpenter’s midnight work fades into the briefing hut where Joe points to a target—and explains, with a certain lack of details, that its milk-run qualities will help draw off fighter cover for the 966th—which is figuring more and more in the stories; prior to “Angel Babe” I don’t think this “sister base” had been referred to. The anxious Carpenter, though attentive, suddenly sees the eyes of Sgt. Holcomb upon him—and is not reassured by his smile. After Stovall’s “Ten-hut” the men pile out, but Carpenter beats them all, climbs into a Jeep and orders the driver to drive—Enright, left behind, with a half-hour to go before the mission rolls, remarks to Holcomb that “he’s an eager beaver.” So is Holcomb—deferring a wait, he must walk down the long flightline to climb into the So-Wot—and forcefully introduces himself to Carpenter who is busily going through flight pre-check. At last, we start learning the truth about this smooth, good looking guy.
-“but this other man—he wasn’t any ordinary wash out”
Holcomb is easy going about his meeting Carpenter on the flight deck—where he tells the captain an interesting story—which comes to mind because “It’s funny sir but you remind me of somebody I knew once.” “Oh?” is Carpenter’s response. Holcomb relates a story of how, before the war began, he washed out of pilot training at Kelly Field in Texas, apparently due to inabilities or not the “gift of flying.” “If I can’t fly, then I don’t want to ride,” as he recalls, but he had the good sense to cut his losses and do work where he was good—he accepted a loss in rank and went into engineering and gunnery school. Carpenter pretends not to listen as he busies himself with the flight check but his face, without showing it, is strained. “But this other man—he wasn’t any ordinary wash out.” The story is not complete, but he recalls a man who did well, ranked high and obviously had some some golden boy qualities about him—“but he went after a gal the night before his test—too bad, he would have won his wings.” Things spiraled after that—when he finally took his test, he was hung over, crashed on take-off—nearly killed the instructor. The golden boy had feet of clay after all. “I don’t have time to listen to your story,” Carpenter says. “It’s not mine I’m telling.” And he goes on: “He wouldn’t ride either—mouthed off to an officer at the inquiry board—ended up a private at a basic training center.“ The interesting part: he had a short fuse after that, slugged an officer, was court martialed—but reduced to six months hard labor. When he got out, he was discharged—dishonorably.
We finally learn why the guy emerged out of the fog, dressed as a merchant seaman—it was all he had left when trying to contribute to the war effort—perhaps—or maybe it was way to get overseas where he had a better chance of fooling people into thinking he was still a member of the armed services. His apparent hollow qualities have filled in with something a lot tougher, though not seemingly better. Carpenter has listened to this with a fumbling pencil and a taut face: “Why are you telling me this?” The two men start a cautious dance. “I thought you might have known him.” “No.” “Sure now?” Holcomb remembers his name—“Everett Stone,” his third name, and at last the real one. Interesting choice of words—he was a Stone, now he is a “Carpenter”—a worker in wood, a fabricator. The broken Stone has built himself a new identity, but it’s not passing muster, and Holcomb lets him know this. “Why? What are you trying to do? Make up for all that happened?” Stone finally turns on him with an ambiguous question: “what are you trying to do?” “You can’t bluff me,” Holcomb says.
In an interesting shot outside the right window of the flight deck, we see the crew arriving. Carpenter holds firm when Enright arrives, who senses the two men are at odds. Carpenter gambles and invites him to speak—but Holcomb demurs—the mission is ready to roll and it’s no time to hang things up; he could be wrong; or he perhaps has a gut-level admiration for Carpenter who against all odds is trying to make up for things. (In any case, Holcomb exists in the story as a means of exposition; he is knocked off almost immediately. He seems more expeditious rather than meaningful; I would have liked to hear Carpenter himself confessing to his past.)
-“We’re looking good” With Holcomb holding his tongue, the So-Wot gets underway in the parade of planes waiting for take off. Enright, experienced, calm, and responsible, warns the crew about take off, to get into their positions; and warns Carpenter “easy does it” on the brakes. With Holcomb counting off the airspeed, the plane goes up with Carpenter doing a passable job. They climb into their slots, and the So-Wot is the “tail end Charlie,” possibly the berth for pilots gaining combat experience. This affords the viewers an interesting view of a massed formation from the perspective of the last plane—what a sight! Enright remarks “The colonel likes it tight,” and then asks Carpenter about the 902nd. “Oh yeah . . . it’s been broken up.” Holcomb listens, amused but maybe with a hint of admiration in his eyes: Carpenter’s “hanging in there.” Enright pursues his question, without realizing how much he is rattling Carpenter. “Who was your CO?” “Oh, you mean Colonel Linder?” “I don’t know, I was asking.” Gallagher, from the Piccadilly Lily, sends out encouragement. “We’re looking good,” which is somewhat ironic given the high state of tensions in the So-Wot. Holcomb continues to hold his tongue and Carpenter flies on, wide-eyed and taut-jawed. You have to admit—the guy has guts—although he reacts badly in the upcoming scene, yet this is the first time he is in air combat–by which he can contrast with Lt. Jaydee Jones, who has the “pie” scared out of him by combat.
-“they’re jumping all over us!”
Joe’s earlier description of the day’s mission being a milk-run disappears when Sandy, in his turret, spots fighters at 12 o’clock level. The sudden surge of combat cracks into Carpenter’s masquerade; as the fighters swarm, he keeps under control but his eyes are scared and his face strained. “They’re jumping all over us,” he exclaims which proves true as a Messershmidt shoots out their window and Holcomb slumps from his top turret, wounded. In fear or compassion Carpenter unbuckles and twists out of seahis t, seemingly to help the wounded man—which is the first time he has seen wounding or death in combat. To Enright’s instinctive demand “What are you doing? Get back!” Carpenter obeys, his face in shock; Enright efficiently tends to matters by getting the radioman up to the top turret and the mission continues . . .
-“how many combat missions have you flown?”
Cut to Carpenter coming into Joe’s office later that same day; Joe demands of him “How many combat missions have you flown?” before salutes are barely exchanged. Carpenter deflects the question, pushing the matter back into the lap of the questioner. “What is this all about?” he asks. Gallagher does not pick up on Carpenter’s tactics: “Since we’re waiting for your records I want to have it from you—how many combat missions have you flown?” “Why, seventeen sir,” he answers, probably coming up with the most familiar number—17 as in B-17. “And in any of those 17 missions were you in the habit of leaving your seat during a fighter attack?” Whoops, he didn’t know that—flying a plane in combat is one thing; taking responsibility for nine other lives . . . he didn’t even take responsibility for his own life once. He denies the act, like a child: “I didn’t leave my seat.” “You unbuckled,” says Enright. He claims he does not remember. “When we took the hit I felt something crash into the back of my head—Maybe I did unbuckle,” he admits and hands the matter off to his pilot: “I’ll take your word for it Vic, if you say so.” The riverboat gambler has dealt the “pity card.”
Gallagher, his face open and inquiring, looks at Vic for confirmation. “I didn’t you know you had been hit,” Enright says. “Did the medics check you?” asks Gallagher. Carpenter audaciously plays this moment too: he was on his way over there but was called into this interrogation. Gallagher does what he wants—dismisses him. Joe turns to his coffeepot—now on a hotplate—and remarks “Vic, you should have checked with him first”—which is true; the scene made Gallagher look like a hothead, and Enright looks as though he is tattling on his co-pilot. Gallagher offers Enright coffee as a token of peace and he accepts it, feeling comfortable enough with his CO to continue his confidence: “I’ve flown with all types but with him I’ve got a weird feeling,” he begins and then ends lamely: “He’s not with it.” “Are you asking for a new co-pilot?” “No sir. I’ll… keep an eye on him”—which is a kind of compliment to Joe; this man wants to alleviate a problem, rather than shoving it off on him. It also shows Enright’s basic decency towards a fellow human being; he wants to help.
-“Sgt. Holcomb didn’t make it”
Wisely Carpenter heads for the base hospital—but to check on Holcomb. (I can just hear him—when asked “did you see a medic?” he could say, with honesty, “I went to the base hospital.”) This section involving Holcomb’s death seems a little vague—we’re not sure how it is affecting Carpenter. At the hospital, the nervous Carpenter is intercepted by Doc Douglas, who tells him about Holcomb, who’s in a bad way. “When can I talk to him?—if he pulls through.” Douglas advises him to “wait and see.” Sympathetically, he touches Carpenter, who lingers in the corridor, nervous—frustrated?—does he want Holcomb to die?—probably, that would solve a situation. But his guilt at his severe personal failures, which Holcomb made him listen to, is probably rising. He may also feel sorry for Holcomb though his injuries were not his fault. He jams his hat down on his head and leaves.
He ends up at the Star and Bottle, the scene of many worried, scared, frustrated men. Nicely, appropriately, you can hear “There Will Never Be Another You,” playing in the background; it’s highly appropriate because Carpenter doesn’t really exist—the body is there, the mind is there—but he sold himself down the river months earlier and there is only a shell left—a shell engaging in a perilous game which, he is beginning to realize, involves others. Vic sees Carpenter at the end of the bar and joins him, asking him to join his party. Carpenter declines: “Beware the solitary drinker,” Enright says, refusing to leave him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demands, showing that short fuse Holcomb described. “Nothing,” Enright smiles. “Still sore at the report I turned in?” “No, forget it.” He drains his drink to Enright’s concern and then turns the tables on Enright. “I just have a feeling that you’re on my back.” “I made a mistake is all—but I’m responsible for the crew—if you told me you were hit . . . “ “Ever since I got here you’ve been eyeing me like I bother you.” Enright stays calm. “You’re acting strangely for a guy with 17 combat missions,” he says, adding “maybe you’re a little rusty.”
Enright has given him a way out, and he takes it. He admits to being in the hospital—Enright asks about the hospital; he knew a nurse at the 902nd. “Uh, the 44th General,” Carpenter says. “The what?” “See, there you go—you question everything I say!” Carpenter’s strategy is running thin; he can’t keep this up much longer. “But the 44th couldn’t be farther away from the 902,” Enright points out. Framed by the two men, Komansky comes in to deliver the news: “Sgt. Holcomb didn’t make it,” he tells Enright. Carpenter is the one who goes to pieces at this news: he smashes his glass on the bar and leaves, leaving Enright and Komansky staring after him. His actions reveal how scared he is in this masquerade, but maybe there are other reasons: Holcomb proved a kind of friend to him by not blabbing his identity; and it seems unfair that he has died.
-“three missions and I’m still flying right seat”
Act III begins in media res; the 918th is unloading bombs on an unspecified target. “A few hits for all they’re worth,” says Enright as Komansky, obviously “loaned” by Gallagher, emerges between the pilot and co-pilot. Carpenter is calmer and more confident—confident enough to say “Three missions and I’m still flying right seat.” Enright makes a friendly offer: “it’s peaceful, why don’t you take over?” Carpenter looks at him. “Take her home—and set her down when we get there—it’s your airplane.” This friendly offer is a way of more thoroughly checking his pilot skills. Carpenter is thrilled.
-“Well, we’re on the ground, sir”
It starts out as an uneventful landing; Enright and Komansky are impassive but observant as Carpenter begins the landing procedure, which is the hardest of tasks—is Komansky remembering his own terrible moment of landing a plane?—whatever, Carpenter puts the gear down; it is locked; full flaps—and the cross-wind badly jolts them; this is no surprise, there is always a crosswind to deal with. “Well, I guess we made it safely after all,” is Carpenter’s self-effacing comment when they go down on the runway. “Well, we’re on the ground sir,” Komansky remarks, in his typical fashion—he has stated a fact yet inflected a certain amount of snot into it. I assume this is a scene led to another (cut) scene in which Gallagher questions Komansky about Carpenter’s abilities; otherwise, I don’t get why Sandy is there—later, there is yet another flight engineer, unnamed.
-“Captain, haven’t you forgotten something?”
After the mission, at one of the ugly Quonset huts on base men are eagerly clustering around the door. Carpenter thoughtlessly bypasses them to find Major Stovall who consents to talk with him. Despite everything—Enright’s questioning of him, Holcomb’s death, Komansky’s fairly obvious negative opinion of his skills—Carpenter asks about getting his own crew and his own plane; but time is passing, and he knows how limited it is. Stovall tells him he will speak to Gallagher about this; the colonel needs to get Enright’s fitness report. Carpenter thanks Stovall and prepares to leave; Stovall calls him back: “Captain, haven’t you forgotten something? . . . It’s payday.” Carpenter’s forgetfulness of this reveals his ignoring of administrative detail—as well as he wants to get into flying so badly that he has not given any thought to money. Suspense builds—although we know that Carpenter’s name will not appear on the paymaster’s list, or on the supplemental list. Stovall, as befits an adjutant, is concerned about the lapse; it never takes more than a few days to get names on the proper list. Carpenter is blandly reassuring; it’s okay; he has enough to last until next time. He leaves, but with a renewed sense that the paper-pushers and number crunchers are his real enemy now; the Nazis are just an annoyance.
-“take it, you phony”
He meets Enright back in their quarters; he refuses Enright’s invitation to go out with him. “I’m short,” he admits, and blames it on another “snafu” a vivid acronym for “situation normal—all fucked/fouled up.” “I’m used to it though,” he says, which may be the truth in his case. Enright presses some bills on him, and when he refuses, his words are interesting: “Take it, you phony.” Carpenter, for once, is fully sincere—he thanks Enright, telling him “there’s no one else I could have told—I don’t make friends easily . . . I’m going to miss you.” For once, Carpenter is being pretty damned sincere, though the reason he is going to miss Enright has a number of meanings. Enright happily turns to the most positive meaning: “you’re getting your own crew?” “Yeah, yeah!—unless you tell them what a rotten pilot I am.” This is said in a slightly joking fashion, through which he tells Enright that yes, he has problems, but please, please . . . give him a good report. Enright is slightly abashed at this and does not respond—and leaves to Carpenter’s words of “You can understand how I want to get into that left seat?” –a request that reveals the man’s arrogance–getting into a uniform, piloting a B-17 from right seat is not enough–he has to be the pilot. After Enright leaves, Carpenter, alone, gives into his fears—time is running out.
-“I don’t want to mess things up for him”
In Operations, Joe has finished setting up the “big picture” for three unidentified officers—and sends them on their way, with words he will join them soon. He pours that inevitable cup of coffee—I think when Joe pretty much sacrificed the ladies for duty, and quit losing co-pilots at an alarming rate he took up coffee drinking with a vengeance!—and Stovall comes in and asks about Carpenter being assigned his own air crew, with Enright providing a fitness report. Joe is not sure, but a maximum effort is required for the “big mission” which inevitably climaxes so many episodes. Stovall also uses the moment to mention that Carpenter’s name was not on payroll that day. Gallagher, who was drawn in at the beginning by Carpenter’s telling him that he saw him at Langley, has no suspicions and asks Stovall to check the matter out with Wing. With good timing, Enright arrives to give his fitness report (a colonel’s work is never done). He is courteous and hesitant over Joe’s questions—he has flown with him three times—bunks with him—“but I don’t want to mess things up for him.” Joe, typically, appreciates Enright’s feelings, and also typically, remembers the men that will fly with the pilot in the left seat: “If he’s going to get his own crew, he’s going to be responsible for nine lives—and you’re partially responsible.” Gallagher’s “good shepherd” view on the overall issue (his men’s lives, always important to him) clears up Enright’s worries over personal issues: “No sir, I don’t think I’d recommend him now.”
When asked, Enright fumbles a bit for reasons, but he has been dealing with a cagey chameleon: “He always has an excuse for something that should have been done right in the first place—does that make sense?” “Yes, so far,” Gallagher assures him. “His actions as a pilot, which should be instinctive, are confused and hesitant.” From what I have read and heard, pilots are trained to instinctively react to routine and to problems; there’s no room for confusion on the flightdeck. Joe agrees; the man is not ready. Stovall comes in announcing “they have no records on him at all.” Despite everything, which reveals Joe’s trusting nature, he still believes that Carpenter’s records have been fouled up—but he wise enough to know that you don’t backburner such an issue and asks Stovall to follow it up, even if he has to wake people up–Stovall points out that it’s night, and people are gone. Even after all this Enright still agrees for Carpenter to be his co-pilot. He is hesitant, for good reason, but he does not want to abandon the man, whose only apparent crime is being somewhat unsure of himself as pilot.
-“I’m sorry—friendship’s one thing, but . . .”
That night, Carpenter, displaying his short fuse, angrily wakes up Enright with a violent image: “You gave me the knife, friend . . .” Enright is so startled that for a moment he doesn’t know what the problem is, but gets with it: “I’m sorry Tom—friendship’s one thing, but with the colonel wanted my evaluation as a pilot—I’m sorry.” He sees Carpenter’s state, which is more agitation than anger. “It’ll only be a little while longer—what’s the rush?” The clock ticking in Carpenter’s head is getting louder and more insistent. “I want to get—I want to make up for a lot of lost—time,” he says, but there are other lost things he wants to find, to make up for. He tries to make sense for Enright: “I don’t want a lot of co-pilot time on my record.” “According to Major Stovall, you don’t have a record,” Enright tells him, sleepily. This brings Carpenter up short; his time, always in danger, is now shrinking like a puddle in the desert. Enright encourages him to get some sleep—briefing is at 0300. Trapped, by his own desires, and by circumstances, all Carpenter can do is go to bed.
-“after today, I don’t want to go back there”
In Act IV, an intriguing if implausible story (yet I imagine there were real incidents like it) comes to its implausible if exciting and yes, somewhat predictable climax: target destroyed, and a fouled-up pilot redeemed! (In my memory, Josh McGraw and Harley Wilson are not completely redeemed, though they do “good work” at the expense of their lives.) At the 3:00 am briefing Gallagher describes the formation, the code names, and that the bombardiers will toggle on the leader—“and the rest is in your pilot flimsies” (all right, what is a pilot flimsy?—but one thing I like about this episode is the use of jargon about documentation and record keeping in the armed services.) Gallagher then asks for questions and when none come, makes a dramatic announcement: the pilots know this target well—too well: “for those of you who don’t, they make tanks in the town of Mainz. We’ve hit it twice before, but it’s still there.” He adds that the 966th took a beating there last week—the week when the 918th flew some milks runs during which Carpenter gained left-seat experience—“after today,” Gallagher concludes, “I don’t want to go back there.” Carpenter’s reaction to these words is somewhat ambiguous—scared, worried—but maybe thinking this is his last chance to make good, because his time is running out. “Let’s go Tom,” says Enright. Tom goes, determined—to do what?—to pun a bit about the first name, Kanin, he’s a loose one. –and a note; as the planes roll out on the work, we finally see the Piccadilly Lily!—I was beginning to wonder if Joe had “given up on his girl” after she crashed in Switzerland (“Underground”)—turns out, she will crash again, on June 5, 1944.
-“then we’ll go back . .”
Aloft, and in the Piccadilly Lily, Komansky slaps Gallagher’s arm to point out enormous clouds, dead ahead, calling it “a bowl of soup.” Gallagher describes the target area as clear, even if they have to fly through a front. In the So-Wot, Carpenter is antsy at the weather—“what if we can’t find the target?” “Then we’ll go back,” Enright says, accepting the situation. “Another day.” “Another day?” demands Carpenter—knowing that this is his last chance and he will gamble big.
-“they think that he’s an imposter”
Back at the 918th, a Jeep pulls in and two men hustle out—the “long arm of the law” is a Captain Bertoli, 33rd Military Police, and he is there is response to Stovall’s request for a “search on Captain Thomas Gaines Carpenter.” Stovall asks: “have you located his records?” “There are no records,” says Bertoli. “They think that he’s an imposter.” Efficiently (a little too efficiently for reality, but what the heck) Scotland Yard investigated a break in at a tailor shop, and since it could not identify the prints “they turned them over to us”—presumably because an American uniform had been stolen. He presents photos (where did they get them? Mailed in from Washington?—that was quick, but possible; military communication would have been privileged): “Is that the man?” Stovall identifies him but won’t contact Gallagher on this ground-matter; “he has too much on his mind right now.”
-“I want them down the smokestacks”
The next scene confirms Stovall’s words: the 918th are over the violent skies of Germany. In the Lily, Bob observes that the fighters “are heading for the deck”; “Yeah,” Gallagher agrees, “they don’t want to follow us into that flak.” They approach the IP and Gallagher tells the bombardier “I want them down the smokestacks”—despite things looking good, from the So-Wot, Carpenter can see the bombs go too wide. Of course, at that moment, the So-Wot gets hit; they have to feather an engine (it always seems to be #3!), and their wing has been hit. Enright, dealing with the situation, orders a bail. Carpenter, who has gambled with nothing except sheer gall, has nothing to lose, so “goes for broke”—he refuses to bail, and when Enright persists, trying to haul him out of his seat, Carpenter declares “I’m taking over”—and to enforce his mutiny, pulls a gun on Enright— wow—Enright has some bad choices here—to stay in a crippled ship and help, bail into Nazi Germany, or stay and get shot—he tries to physically overcome Carpenter, which is kind of senseless—what could he do? His best decision would be to stay and help Carpenter, but of course, this is all taking place in crippled B-17 being bombarded by flak . . . Carpenter solves the situation by knocking Enright out.
-”the story . . . isn’t very pretty” – “this isn’t the way to change it”
The concluding business is pretty implausible but, what the heck, it’s absorbing, which is a way to deal with melodrama . . . As Carpenter gets the upper hand in the So-Wot, its damage has been observed and parachutes counted—there have been only eight, so Gallagher contacts “Yellow X-Ray,” urgently asks about the remaining crew. “I’m going to get that target for you. I’m going down there where I can’t miss.” Gallagher, calmly, orders him not to do it—and this scene reminds me the climax of “The Outsider” when Gallagher is trying to counsel Harley Wilson about his death wish—which he is not successful at. Carpenter seems to be headed in the same direction: he knows his time—that precious time which he is always referring to—is up “and there’s going to be some people waiting for me back there—the story you’re going to hear isn’t very pretty.” “This isn’t the way to change it!” Carpenter still can’t quite let go of himself—“I know what I’m doing—a lot of people will thank me because they don’t have to come back here again.” Gallagher hears this selfish vote for self-glory, even if it’s being made by suicide, because he calls upon Carpenter’s personal side, which needs more mending than his tattered military career: he asks if Enright is still with him. Carpenter admits that he is and “that’s he’s sorry—he was a friend.” “Is that what he gets for being your friend? Carpenter, what you do is your own business but he didn’t ask for this.” “Sir, he’s only one man—he’ll save a lot more—“ “That’s not your decision to make! Stop thinking only of yourself!”—as is typical, Gallagher reaches down into a man’s troubled states and pulls it out and presents it to him—even thousands of feet in the air, and in the middle of a flak-ridden bombing-raid! (Oh, well!)
Fortunately, in his kamikaze plunge, Carpenter has advanced nearer the target than thought possible—and showing an amazing ability with bombing equipment (well, it’s possible!) he releases the bombs from the flight deck and– “I got it!” “Now can you bring her home?” Gallagher asks. “I’ll sure try, Skipper,” and as Enright begins to revive, Carpenter revives his compassion for others, pulls the plane up, and they head for home.
-“it’ll do, friend”
Stovall is waiting on the crippled plane which lands well after the others have arrived (say, what about those eight men who jumped?). Carpenter and Enright, dropping out like twins from the So-Wot, see him and come towards him together. Carpenter takes the lead; he knows what is coming. Perhaps Enright does too; in their long ride home, maybe Carpenter tells him the whole story. “They’re waiting for you in Colonel’s office Captain Carpenter” – and tells him “Or should I say Stone, now.” Gallagher, however, is already honoring him—rather than the MPs greeting him, he sent out Stovall to pick him up and come to him—“he knew you wouldn’t disappoint him,” the Major adds. Carpenter obediently nods but before getting into the jeep, and going to “face the music” which is going to be a particularly harsh tune, looks to Enright first: “Shouldn’t you have that head looked after?”—thinking about the wound he himself inflicted on his buddy. “It’ll do, friend,” says Enright.
“your attitude was incorrigible – but . . . that is no longer true”
Cut to Carpenter walking firmly into Gallagher’s office: “You wanted to see me,” he says, a confirmed pilot now, a better human being, and ready to take on full responsibilities—of everything (like Stevie Corbett in “Then Came the Mighty Hunter”). “Yes I did,” Gallagher says, unfazed. “These men are going to put you under arrest and the list of charges against you is pretty long—and you do realize that what you did today won’t wipe them out.” “Yes sir, I do.” Gallagher notes from his records that “your attitude was incorrigible.” However, according to his records “but . . . that is no longer true.” That seemed to happen when Carpenter for once stopped thinking of himself, decided to live so he could bring the deserving Enright home—right into the face of his arrest, trial and imprisonment–he could have jumped out and let Enright take her in, but he did not . . . Gallagher displays his charm when he lets him know that this screwed up but courageous character can now find something to be proud of.
“Stone,” addressing him one last time with his real name, “if you were one of us, I’d recommend you for a citation—all I can say is thank you—and I’m speaking for all of us.” He stands and salutes—which may seem like a small gesture, but in military circles it can be prized, particularly when it is taken away. After Hitler was nearly assassinated by Stauffenburg, to punish members of the army who were left after a vicious onslaught of punishment, officers were forbidden to salute each other; they could only give the “heil” gesture. An old acquaintance of mine, who was in German POW camp during the war, saw an American officer mocking a German officer by deliberately saluting him, knowing the German could not return it. That means a lot to Carpenter and after a moment, Carpenter dares to salute him back, gratefully; that privilege may help him in the long months ahead while he squares his debt—again—to the army. “Good luck,” Gallagher says, Carpenter is taken away through the very doors he entered ten day previously, and Enright, who does not say goodbye, stands looking at Gallagher, saddened—but maybe Stone has a friend who will write to him, encourage him, and help him to get on with life when he gets out.
“Day of Reckoning”
Writer: Halsted Welles
Director: Alan Crosland, Jr.
-Happy is he who hath the God of Jacob for his help . . . which executes judgment for the oppressed; which giveth food to the hungry . . . the Lord loveth the righteous . . . but the way of the wicked he turneth upside down. -Psalm 146
This episode flips conventions: though the 918th sets out on “the usual bombing mission,” the real mission in “tonight’s story” is the German bombing of the 918th. From the Luftwaffe giving the 918th a “taste of their own medicine” to mainly base-bound action, from a chaplain seeking redemption to the story being largely confined to one terrible day, “Day of Reckoning” is distinctively different, and one I remember fairly well despite a lapse in over forty years between viewings. A few more considerations: Despite a fair share of violence (the bombing sequence; three direct shootings); this is one of the gentler stories of 12OCH as a chaplain, rather than a pilot, struggles not only for redemption but for his faith—in himself as a man of God–as he deals with death of a beloved, recoils with guilt over killing a helpless German airman, and re-establishes his strength in the needs and examples of others—including Nazis. The epilogue’s deeply tender qualities rank up there with the epilogue of “Target 802”: at the base hospital, Claudine has been healed of her bitterness and Jean-Paul recovers from surgery; in comparison this epilogue also takes place in the hospital with Chaplain Archer healing from sorrow and loss of faith in himself, and Komansky beginning to recover from a deadly wound. Another parallel: In “Between the Lines” the downed Americans hide in a church; in “Reckoning” the downed Nazis hide in the base chapel; both stories involve duty, having faith in yourself, and sacrificing for others. Also, in “Between the Lines” a physical cross is both a betrayer and an instrument of surrender–the more celestial crosses of “Day of Reckoning” episode are beacons of warning and of faith. Suitably, for this episode about a chaplain’s work and woes, there are images and references to faith (particularly a cross made of shadow and light, see over the Chaplain’s shoulder in Act III) and of course, the Bible, particularly the lovely 23rd psalm which the chaplain evokes as he feels his faith returning. Isaiah 2:12 is evoked in the title and throughout the episode’s characters and actions: there will be a day of reckoning which brings down the fall of the high and the mighty: “For the day of the Lord of Hosts shall be upon one that is proud and lofty; and upon every one who is lifted up; and he shall be brought low.” This refers to both the Nazis and the Americans: the Nazis are brought low as they are shot down (twice); the Americans are figuratively brought down as they experience what their bombers do on German ground; the Chaplain is also brought low as his “taken for granted” faith in his belief in God which bears him aloft, is nearly destroyed. I will be prefacing the Acts with several psalms, particularly Psalm 4, which begins as a cry of distress and ends in peace:
-“Hear me when I call, O God of righteousness: thou hast enlarged me when I was distressed: have mercy upon me, and hear my prayer”
-“they’re such boys”
In keeping with recent episodes, “Day of Reckoning” begins on the ground; this time, with a British lorry trundling into the calm, businesslike 918th. In the back are young airmen who have just arrived to their new assignment. Eager and curious about everything, they peer at the bomb dump, at which personnel are getting the payloads ready for today’s mission to Vistula—presumably to a manufacturing site or port along the Vistula, which is a Polish river. The truck comes to a stop in the middle of huts and airmen; a young uniformed Englishwoman climbs down from the high right seat and beckons the young American airmen to get out and meet their sergeant—“Ten-hut!” announces Komansky as he comes forward to claim the new men for orientation; this gives some credence to Gallagher’s description of him in “Rx For A Sick Bird” as one of the key NCOs on the base (many times, I can’t see the designation!). “They’re all yours, Sandy,” she tells him; Sandy starts reading their names (“Sing it out, Feeny,” Sandy says; “Yo!” the airman answers). The names range all over the map; interestingly, two names, Feeny and Witowski, Irish and Polish, reflect Gallagher and Komansky. As this goes on, the young woman’s interest is diverted by a relaxed and smiling officer just coming up: “Chaplain Archer,” she greets him.
Chaplains have already figured in Season II, notably in “I Am the Enemy” when a Catholic chaplain asks Kurt Brown to speak with his dying bombardier; and in “Grant Me No Favor” another Catholic chaplain administers last rites to a dying pilot, in a heart-tugging moment. In Season III’s “Duel at Mont St. Marie,” a battle-garbed chaplain helps Gallagher in a desperate mission to evacuate nuns from an endangered convent. Our chaplain here has no particular denomination; however, he really represents the U.S. Chaplain Corps, brave men who went to war with the troops. Though considered non-combatants (if captured, they were to be returned unless they administered to fellow prisoners), chaplains might carry weapons, but only by choice. Chaplains can also train and compete as marksmen; Archer seems skilled on this point as he shoots at and hits a parachuting German airman. Chaplain Ethan Archer (that is one strong name!—and appropriate for the psalm which begins Act I) is more than pleased to see the young British sergeant, but asks “What’s the matter, Winifred?” “They’re such boys. It’s like lambs to the slaughter,” she says, one of many religious images and references. “Just new troops,” he assures her. “A lot of them have more courage than us older men,” which previews the courageous acts of two young men, one a Nazi, and the other an American. As we will see throughout the episode, the three Nazis airmen—Majors Schindler and Bentz, and Sergeant Luchen, reflect in certain ways the three men of the 918th: Colonel Gallagher, Chaplain Archer, and Sergeant Komansky, respectively. In example, in a nice “twin action,” both sergeants are badly wounded; and both provide the clues that help Gallagher stave off the destruction of the bomb dump.
In the background, Komansky sets the men at ease and tells them after they stow their gear, they will get breakfast and then proceed with base orientation. Winifred Broome leaves; Sandy, coming up to Archer, and showing how Gallagher’s charm has had its effect on him, remarks “You know Chaplain, I think that girl will make a pretty good helpmate someday.” Archer is not shy as his love is revealed. “I never argue with a sergeant,” he says in way of agreement and perhaps making an important decision: he will propose.
-“it will be, as they say, a ‘turkey shoot’”
Fade to . . .a wonderfully turreted structure in the heart of Nazi Germany (seen most recently in “Back to the Drawing Board”; perhaps it’s the same facility where Colonel Ehrland denounced the 918th “for using our skies.”). Within its heavily furnished confines, black-jacketed Nazi pilots are receiving their orders. A Major Schindler refers to a map: “Here are their bombs,” he says; their specific target is the bomb dump, which previews the climactic moments of the episode. “Now intelligence reports that the 918th plans to take off at 11:00—we will first go toward London, then change course and attack them at 10:30.” He goes on to declare that they will surprise them when “the planes are loaded with gas and bombs.” As he speaks, the camera focuses on the tall and quiet Major Bentz, who listens, but without the blood lust of Major Schindler. Schindler finishes, pleased: “It will be, as they say, a ‘turkey shoot’” and adds, “and we will have the pleasure of seeing the 918th wiped out.” The camera goes back to Major Bentz’s face, which betrays a hint of weariness—and the “six bongs” strike over him. This may seem odd, but he is Chaplain Archer’s “twin,” the central figure of the episode: Bentz will also deal with the enemy, wrestle with duty vs. his true feelings, and provide an example of sacrifice that will help re-inspirit a chaplain who loses faith in himself.
“For lo, the wicked bend their bow, they make ready the arrow upon the string, that they may privily shoot at the upright in heart.” -Psalm 11
-“the weather is closing in . . .”
The psalm reflects the actions of both sides, and certainly reflects the chaplain’s name—“archer”—as well as the flip action of a grief-maddened American chaplain committing a terrible act against a helpless German soldier. Act I, and in a scene parallel to the preceding, a tense Joe is getting the mission ready, though he is less sure than Schindler. On the phone with an unknown officer, Joe says the men are ready, the bombs are still being loaded, which is what the new arrivals were gazing at when they came in. He hangs up, reporting that “the weather is closing in” and orders Stovall to move up take-off to 10.00. As Stovall leaves, Sandy comes into his office, with the new arrivals’ schedule. Brusquely Joe informs Sandy that the chaplain will handle the orientation and that he’s decided to go on the mission (for reasons never made clear). Sandy seems a little surprised; but the day will be full of surprises. Cut to–German war footage of pilots and planes taking off on their missions is always interesting; particularly interesting here is how all the planes fly to the right, whereas the American planes, whether coming or going, always fly to the left! Soon a Junker 88 (?) is airborne, with Majors Schindler and Bentz on the flightdeck; the gear is brought up, and the mission is underway. Back in England, a similar scene is revealed; as flares arc up, the planes of the 918th take off, and soon are in formation.
-“I’ll pack a picnic basket” – “They’ll come back to devastation”
Back on the ground, the new men, stowed and fed, are brought back to one of the huts, where Chaplain Archer and Sandy step out to greet them. Archer leads the men in, and then says to Winifred who is accompanying them, “I forgot to ask if you were free this evening?—as soon as the mission returns.” Is a marriage proposal at hand? She is calm and direct: “I’ll pack a picnic basket,” which creates a heartbreaking contrast with what is coming and what will happen. The men assemble and Archer smiles at them, with an “At ease.” . . . and the Junkers are making their way toward this calm scene. On the American flightdeck, Gallagher, still unaccountably on the mission, is taking an unusual position: between Captain Fowler and his co-pilot. As Sandy usually spots things first, Gallagher similarly spots the Junker formation and points them out to Bob—“first time I’ve seen Germans on a daylight raid,” and Bob relays a message that Junkers are headed for London—where else? At a distance, the American colonel and the German major begin their duel which will climax later that day–also at a distance. In the Junker, Major Schindler recognizes the formation as the 918th: “they took up early.” Major Bentz says they can send the Stukas after them but Schindler refuses the tactic, but for less than charitable reasons: “No, no—this is a bombing mission—they’ll come back to nothing—to devastation.” Schindler is so filled with hate for the 918th that he refuses a chance to deter them from bombing a Nazi location—however, that location is in Poland, so who cares? Schindler’s hatred of the 918th is never explained, but he comes off as a “real Nazi”–who hates anything and anybody who defies and defiles the Fatherland, and he will have his revenge—he should heed the words of Chaplain Archer, being spoken . . .
-“duty and hatred, vengeance and victory are not the same”
Upon Schindler’s word of “devastation” the scene switches to Archer’s pleasant face, as he finishes his task with a request—and words of wisdom that prove terribly ironic: “when you go outside that door, look at the nearest building—it’s called steeple hill, gospel mill, and angel factory—sometimes, just the chapel.” He goes on: “they close the PX every night, but not the gospel mill. Sometimes the pubs are put off limits—but the angel factory is always open.” He becomes frank. “Boys, mankind is in a mess—and sometimes questions come up, I may not have all the answers but I do know who to ask. One thing I do know is that duty and hatred, vengeance are not the same—but there’s got to be some brotherly love left—that’s the only thing I’ll ever try to sell you.” Turns out, he has to re-sell himself on that idea . . . At that moment, the air raid sirens begin their terrible whine.
-“holy cow, the base is under attack!”
“Sir, is it an air raid?” one of the new boys asks. “Nothing to worry about,” he says, but turns to Sandy who is a little worried. He advises them to stay under cover and strides out. Winifred asks Sandy is they should get under cover. Sandy, to keep the new men calm, remarks “Sometimes they pass over,” and follows the chaplain. As they emerge from the hut, all hell breaks loose. “They ARE hitting here!” Sandy shouts, and dashes out to a (remarkably handy) machine gun emplacement; another man jumps him with him and steadies the machine while Sandy commences firing. What follows is a terrible, exciting—though not absolutely convincing—assemblage of war footage and filmed scenes of bomb strikes that look a little too much like rigged explosions and stuntmen flinging back as a shellburst strikes near them (but, what do you want? Real explosions?).
In Operations, a helmeted Stovall flattens himself beneath a table as the bombing shatters the windows; then literally rises to his duty, getting on his feet and getting on the radio to alert Gallagher and the group about what is going on. In the air, Bob receives the message from the radioman—“holy cow, the base is under attack!” “What base?” “Our base is being bombed!” Bob, without missing a beat, asks, “What do we do now?”Gallagher’s sense of duty, as in “The Loneliest Place in the World,” takes over despite the awful thing that has happened: “What we’re up here to do—we bomb Vistula.” This echoes his continuing the mission after Savage goes down, and previews his actions later when he discovers the wounded Sandy but takes off without a backward glance to stop the saboteurs.
-“oh, dear God . . . oh, dear God!”
Back at the base, the briefing hut is struck. Archer’s dirty face is horrified. “Winifred!” he shouts as he runs toward the hut, enters and walks through smoke and past hurt young men until he finds the “upright in heart” Winifred crumpled under debris. Tit for tat: in the air, Schindler and Bentz’s plane is struck by anti-aircraft fire; the men unhook themselves and order their men to bail. In the hut, Archer has realized that Winifred is dying and, like an avenging angel, rushes out between the young men asking for his help. He emerges to see one of the bailed crew coming down. One of the wounded men has followed him, either to ask for his help—or to help him—but Archer is beyond help now. As Sandy pauses in his firing, Archer finds a handy rifle, and with the wounded man trying to stop him, aims and expertly fires at the helpless man. “He got one!” shouts the airman with Sandy; the latter suddenly sees and realizes what Archer has done—to a man helplessly parachuting to earth. To paraphrase Schindler—it was a turkey shoot. “CHAPLAIN!” Komansky’s shout pierces Archer’s madness. “Oh, dear God . . . oh, dear God,” he says, a moan of anguish, not a prayer.
“O ye sons of men, how long will ye turn my glory into shame?” – Psalm 4
-“don’t be impatient—we have 27 American boys to bury”
After the violence in Act I, Act II is fairly “talkative”—but there is emotional violence as Gallagher, rather brutally, “straightens out” the chaplain, and as the captured German airmen weigh their chances of escape—and completing the mission. Majors Schindler Bentz and Sgt. Luchen are captured in the fields surrounding the 918th and are loaded into a truck. Never-say-die Schindler, on his way to the transport, spots the dump. They are taken away. In an appointed hut, under guard, the prisoners are then tended to by Dr. Douglas. As Douglas tends to the young man’s leg, Luchen complains to his superiors about their man, gunned down so terribly. Bentz, who emerges as more German than a Nazi, pats the young man on the shoulder, and asks Douglas, “Since this was our man, might we have permission to bury him ourselves?”—which, as we get to know Bentz better, seems a sincere request to honor the dead, rather than a chance to escape. “It’s not up to me,” Douglas says, “but I’ll pass your request along. Don’t be impatient—we have 27 American boys to bury and maybe more before the day is out. Your companion will be treated as we treat our own.” He then adds a comment in German, which previews a future pivotal event. Bentz looks mildly surprised at the doctor’s bilingualism (perhaps he studied medicine in Germany) but Schindler shrugs it off—“we have to be more careful”—and announces, rightfully, that it is their duty to escape—“and destroy that bomb dump.” Bentz’s expressive eyebrows rise quizzically at this plan.
In the air, the 918th is returning home, but to different forward bases. The airborne Joe, mirroring Schindler’s dogged sense of duty, is in conversation with Harvey, and learns that only one runway could be made ready, but not until 4:00. Joe asks if a runway could sustain the landing of P-51; and tells of his plans to land at Fleetmoor, borrow a P-51—which will be never be returned—and get back to the damaged base as quickly as possible.
-”I have an idea . . . “
Back in the hut, the two officers bide their time, while the younger sergeant frets on his bunk. (Why aren’t they in the guardhouse?—maybe it was damaged.) For no reason, except he feels he must do something, Sgt. Luchen flings his mattress and sheets together, and flings them on another empty cot, sits down, and then buries his face in his hands. Schindler does not understand his action, remarking upon it to Bentz, who answers, “He’s a very simple human being,” but there is sympathy in his remark, recalling his kindly pat on Luchen’s shoulder. The door then opens, and the guard lets in a cocky, aproned man; from one of the mess halls, he brings in a box—“chow down Jerries,” he announces. “Eaten-ze, ja?” and leaves. Schindler and Bentz exchange looks at this crude bit of clowning; Luchen pays no attention, neither to him nor the messkits, bread, and the Thermos Schindler pulls from the box. Bentz is content to eat; Schindler forgets his hunger as he finds a can, and candles. “I have an idea,” he says. (All right, why are these guys given candles?—the only thing I can figure is perhaps they have pulled the power to the hut in an effort to restrict escape attempts so this is the only light they have, but candles seem pretty dangerous—they could set their bedding on fire, etc. The candle helps in their bomb plot, but he could have found candles in the chapel, where they hide. Oh, well, what the heck . . .)
While this is going on, Gallagher, piloting a Mustang (it was a good idea to get him piloting fighters; the legitimate need for him to fly one of them comes up in several episodes). Cut to Joe arriving by Jeep to Operations, where he stops to view a young man filling in craters–frankly, I think this guy should have been helping with the runways, but it creates a disturbing image of ruin and death, as though he is burying something, like the 27 young airmen. The expression on Joe’s face is of weariness, sickness and anger—his “beloved,” the base he has commanded for months now, is hurt. (He once viewed his brother’s African base after such attacks and bluntly remarked, “What a mess.”) His own emotions of loss and perhaps a loss of faith of sorts set up his confrontation with Archer, which provided Burke one of his best scenes in the series.
–“I’m a man of God” . . . “Yes, a man, not a judge or a saint”
Gallagher angrily enters Operations, jumbled and awry, but work flows on. Sandy is making a grim phone call: “Give me Graves Registration . . . let me talk to the lieutenant . . .” Harvey finishes with one of the dozens of calls and gets Joe’s angry words: “Okay Harvey, bring me up to date.” Harvey is blunt: “We thought they were going to London, they hit us instead.” No numbers, no lists; those are still being assembled. Joe then gets a startling request—Harvey tells him that the chaplain wants to talk with him. Joe figuratively blinks at this—“Joe, let me explain,” Harvey begins.
The following is a difficult scene, akin to Joe’s rough handling of adolescent Christian Borg (“Runway in the Dark”), his near abuse of Harvey Stovall (“Storm at Twilight”); it is also similar to Sandy’s confrontation with the heartsick Sarah Blodgett (“The Survivor”). As Joe gets the story from Harvey, Archer sits blankly in the inner office, almost idly reading the Bible, which he tosses on Joe’s desk, strewn with debris (apt image, that, but does it mean he is rejecting God, or that he is rejecting himself as a man of God?—it seems to be the latter.) When Joe enters, peering at Archer, he begins with sympathy: “I heard about Winifred Broome, and I’m sorry.” Archer tells him, in a dead voice, that her father, the vicar at Adam’s Heath is coming. Joe won’t and can’t give into his pity; his base is in ruins, men are dead . . . But he kindly, carefully encourages Archer that “work is wonderful therapy, and they’ve just moved the 27 men to the chapel—I thought maybe you’d like to go over there and say a service for them . . . “
Archer is too self-absorbed to heed Joe’s wisdom and request. “I told those boys to stay in that building—when it was bombed, I went into Winifred and ignored them—“ He confesses that in his anger he shot a helpless man. “Well, let’s say you shot an enemy airman under extreme circumstances,” Joe rationalizes, his pity evaporating—he needs this man now to help heal his wounded base. “He was helpless,” Archer says. “All right, right or wrong,” Joe snaps. When Archer points out that he’s a man of God, Joe, as is typical for him, reaches into the man, roots out of the problem, and offers a solution: “You’re a man of God . . . not a judge or a saint.” Archer fights him off with a startling image: “I’ll carry garbage, but I won’t conduct a service in God’s name”—when he tells Joe that Winifred’s father will do it, Joe is appalled. “If I did it, it wouldn’t count.” Joe angrily reminds Archer of his work, which mirrors Schindler’s dedication: Archer is not through with his duties on this base. Archer counters him with a selfish request: court martial him then. “Court martial? What would a court martial do for those men in your chapel? No, CAPTAIN—they made the supreme sacrifice and they have friends and families who expect to have that dignified—and THAT’S YOUR JOB.”
Archer is still immune to Joe’s pleas, now turning into orders. He has lost the power to help others—he was on his knees, praying for Winifred when she died, and now he “can’t pray for those boys” (though he does, first for the German boy and then later over Komansky; conceivably, he also prayed for the dead in memorial services). Joe gets brutal—he thrusts out the Bible that Archer abandoned on his desk—and tells him to “read a psalm—it may not do any good for you“–but he is needed by others. Hanging onto himself, Gallagher dismisses him—“that’s all, Chaplain,” and he sends Archer out, Bible in hand, expecting him to continue with his duties. As it turns out, he will . . . though he ends up re-endangering the base; but the new dangers bring Archer out of his sorrows.
-“he’s not a dead horse, he’s a man”
Archer comes into the front office to hear Komansky still speaking with Graves Registration, barely holding onto his own anger: “Lieutenant, I was told to speak with Graves Registration—what’s the sanitation department go to with it? He’s not a dead horse, he’s a man—all right sir—what would you do with a dead German on the base?. . . .yes sir! . . .” He sees Archer and turns the matter over to the chaplain. “I’m only the duty sergeant,” he tells the man on the other end of the line, and gives him to Archer, thus starting a chain of events that includes his near-death. Archer, beginning to revive slightly under Joe’s scorn, and hearing Komansky’s compassion for the dead German, takes up the phone to talk about what to do with the man he himself killed—perhaps in punishment, or an act of self-denial of hatred, he elects to serve the Germans before the Americans. After several words he tells the lieutenant, “I’ll handle it.” You know the way he offers the words that he is not seeking revenge anymore; rather, he is starting on the road to his own personal Damascus, to find his faith once more.
-“have you come to watch the monkeys in the zoo?”
Calling on his strength and courage, Archer visits the German prisoners—I suppose that no rules have created that would bar the chaplain from visiting them; the guard lets him in and stands ready—though not ready enough. Prior to him arriving, Bentz wants to try their planned escape at night (perhaps trying to head off what he sees is impossible) but Schindler, more committed than his companion, insists it being done soon, “before they move us”—moving, separating, is one way you control prisoners. Archer is escorted in and he quietly looks at the three men. Bentz and Schindler regard him quietly, until Schindler finally jokes, “Well, what is it—have you come to watch the monkeys in the zoo?” Archer is polite. “I didn’t come to stare at you—I’m the chaplain.” “Well, is it about our dead companion?” Archer admits that he is the man who killed him: “I feel very bad about it,” he finishes. Bentz has some fellow feelings for Archer: he introduces himself and his companions, and as they face each other, admits “what you have done we Germans have done.” Archer tells them he wants to do a simple memorial for the man: “it might bring back something inside of him. . . I don’t know your faith.”
Bentz says he must ask Schindler about this—“he’s the party member,” which introduces some facts and some gray areas: just because you were German, and in the army, did not make you a Nazi—that was party identification, not national identification, and a lot of officers in the armed forces did not like or admire Hitler, even though they served the army faithfully—Bentz is clearly the latter; although loyal to his companions, he shows signs that he is weary with it all, and probably knows that Germany is doomed. (This previews Gudegast’s [Braeden’s] characterization of Captain Dietrich in “Rat Patrol”—he was committed to his work and he was not unlikable. Indeed, in one episode, in an act of sheer mercy for his enemy, he saved Troy’s life by killing a sadist torturing him.) As for faith and the church—Nazi relationship with the churches was a difficult thing; they did not dispense with religion but tried to subvert religion and God to the cause of the state—and that is all that I really understand and feel comfortable enough to write about. The two German officers choose their time wisely; both the Chaplain and the guard are distracted by their civil conversation. They overpower the guard, knock Archer back, who catches himself on the stove—helplessly, he rushes forward to do something, anything, and suffers his own physical wound, which figuratively helps knock some sense into him. Sgt. Luchen is then sent out to distract the guards; without a hope in the world, the young man sacrifices himself for them and is shot; the guard unwisely bursts into the hut, “gets his,” and the two majors disappear out the back (I’m assuming that one of the two guards distracted by Luchen was guarding the back way.)
“Offer the sacrifices of righteousness and put your trust in the Lord” – Psalm 4
-“they’ll probably head for the coast . . . “
Act III subdues talk for action, quickly starting with finding the wounded chaplain, and ending with Komansky being shot by Major Schindler. As the scene opens they are helping Archer to his feet; Joe snaps at a helmeted Sandy to take a defense platoon to patrol headquarters and get somebody to take care of the chaplain. He then tells Harvey to notify the Home Guard about the two escaped Germans; “they’ll probably head for the coast.” With the defense platoon, Sandy enters the chapel, a Quonset hut consecrated for God (with blackout curtains) and now serving as both a memorial and a morgue, with blanketed forms set on the benches. He motions a man to check out the corners and he checks out of the curtained off area behind the modest altar and pulpit. Deciding all is clear, Sandy assigns Dooley for a guard, tells him to challenge all who want to enter, and “smoke if you like.” Dooley, left alone, immediately lights up to fight his nerves, which could not be very calm as he left alone among the dead—the first real sense of numerous dead since “Big Brother” with Preston’s “walk in the garden” of his soldiers’ remains. Or is Dooley alone?—in a kind of horrible joke of the resurrection (suitable for this episode, however!), two of the blanketed forms stir. Rather than being on their way to the coast, Bentz and Schindler have hidden among the dead. Bentz efficiently uses the blanket to smother Dooley, with Schindler’s help. Bentz pauses after this—and has to be encouraged by Schindler to keep moving, much like Archer being pushed back into business by Gallagher.
-“all we need are tools!”
Schindler, all warrior, searches the dead man; Bentz turns away. Schindler takes a bullet, bites it for the powder, and gestures with it: they now have means of destruction; “we need tools.” Bentz does not seem interested, and with a barrage of German, Schindler catches him by the shoulders and shakes him. “We have enough powder, now all we need are tools!” Bentz wearily agrees and they begin to remove the man’s clothes for his disguise. Dissolve to the chapel’s door; eerily, the cross on the door emerges whitely and warningly as Bentz emerges, disguised (shades of John Carpenter Gaines from the preceding “Cross Hairs on Death”!) to quietly, impassively move among the startled men and destruction.
-“you went to the hut seeking something . . . did you find it?”
Under misty skies, a lone B-17 descends to the 918th’s one repaired runway; the warriors are returning home like birds to their nest, albeit a damaged one. The noise the planes create prove important the plot. At the base hospital, Gallagher swiftly enters a room where a bevy of people are attending to Sgt. Luchen, including the bandaged up Archer. He stands aside, hands in pockets, looking on as Dr. Douglas and a nurse do their work on the young man’s body. Gallagher has come to ask, “Has he said anything?” “No,” Douglas tells him, “and he might not ever.” The day of reckoning is claiming two more casualties, Dooley and this young man. Gallagher can’t stay; the group is beginning to return, and you can hear the sound of planes vaguely overriding the dialogue. Archer volunteers to stay with him, but Dr. Douglas says he should be sacking out. “Why? Because he used my head for a baseball?” Archer says, with a slight smile. “I’ll rest here.” Gallagher lingers a precious moment: “You went to the hut seeking something. Did you find it?” Archer does not return to his woes; he tells Joe “I believe they had a plan—and the kid sacrificed himself as their decoy. If he were on our side I’d put him in for the Silver Star.” He then lets Joe know that he is “on the road to Damascus”: “He and his buddies knocked the self-pity out of me.” Joe then leaves, reminding Archer that Dr. Douglas speaks German.
-“the Lord is my shepherd . . . “
Alone, Archer sits down by the young man whose act of sacrifice for others has helped with his own journey. Over his left shoulder, on the wall, is light from a window; a cross formed by the panes’ silhouette. Without emotion, Archer begins to recite one of the most well known and beautiful of the psalms, the 23rd one: “The Lord if my shepherd, I shall not want . . .” He seems to be saying it for both of them; the sergeant struggles for life; and Archer still struggles to refind his faith but he seems to be well on the way—which I appreciate. Of course, losing and then refinding your faith in a matter of hours is a kind of a stretch, but events are happening hell for leather, and each event has an effect on the man—in other words, unlike Paul, who was converted the moment Christ confronts him on the road to Damascus, Archer gains his faith back bit by bit, and by human example. As another plane lands, Bentz returns to the chapel with a bundled blanket; a tap on the door brings Schindler who is happy over Bentz’s plunder: a gun and a pair of pliers; later it seems he somehow managed to secure or locate a Jeep. While Schindler changes into American clothing, Bentz impassively “uncorks” cartridges and pours their powder into a can. Ever resourceful, Schindler then arranges clothing under a blanket to resemble a body.
-“the Kraut the Chaplain killed is still waiting”
Back in Operations, Joe is in the middle of hasty phone calls; in one he orders that four sentries be assigned to every bomber that comes home. “What?” Joe asks the unseen voice. “No, I have not had the pleasure of meeting them, but they’re on the loose and they’re both pilots.” Sandy comes in and waits, and finally reports that his platoon searched every building around Headquarter and he posted a guard in each. Waiting on another call, Joe tells him to let the MPs take over and then take the defense platoon to guard the hardstand. The sergeant, though calling the dead man a “Kraut,” at least remembers him (who is never named, but is a source of both violence and renewal): “the Kraut the Chaplain killed is still waiting.” Joe directs him to take the man to the chapel. After Sandy leaves, Joe speaks to a “Mr. Ridgely,” perhaps head of the local Home Guard, warning him that his own men have several changes of clothing which the Germans could steal, and one speaks excellent English—“don’t take anybody for granted,” which is a sub-theme of this episode—Archer took his faith for granted until it was severely tested; Joe, in his stress, takes Sandy’s steady presence for granted; they both nearly lose what and whom they value.
-“I left Dooley in here”
Back in the chapel, Bentz and Schindler continue their work, interrupted by Sandy’s knock—“Hey, Dooley.” Schindler packs up, stows the effects and disappears behind the curtains. Bentz leisurely opens the door and turns aside; Komansky comes in, with two other men transporting the dead man. “Another one, huh?” asks Bentz from underneath his helmet, as they lay the body down among the Americans the dead man had helped kill. “Kraut the chaplain shot,” Komansky says, and then directs the men to report to Captain Goldman to hardstand duties. In a somewhat tender gesture, Sandy adjusts the blanket and tells Bentz to lock up—but as he straightens up, his eyes indicate he is not taking Dooley for granted. Schindler appears between the curtains. Sandy raises his gun: “I left Dooley in here,” and before Bentz can react, Schindler shoots him.
Schindler leaps forward and efficiently drags his body away from the door, though he carelessly forgets to take Sandy’s gun. Bentz gazes at this act, somewhat akin to the chaplain killing their companion; it’s yet another “turkey shoot.” “Bentz,” Schindler announces, returning to his work. “Bentz!” He lifts his helmet, flicks his eyes in disgust and compassion, and then goes to help. (Hold on!–Why doesn’t this gunshot alert anybody?—but, maybe the sound of the incoming aircraft has muted it.)
“thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou might still the enemy and the avenger.” Psalm 8
-“mysterious ways, Colonel . . . ”
In Act IV, the chaplain’s concerns get put on the backburner– the episode speeds to its action-filled conclusion as the bombing plot is discovered, and Gallagher nearly sacrifices himself to save the base. He then becomes an avenger, enforcing a “day of reckoning” for Major Schindler whose strong sense of duty allows him to escape, while his supreme arrogance gets a likely reward: he becomes the victim of a “turkey shoot,” the likes of which he prophesied for the 918th. As the Act begins, another plane comes home; it may seem reassuring, but these planes are now in new danger from the bombing plot. But these are all part of mysterious ways that Archer speaks of . . . In the hospital, Sgt. Luchen lurches awake; Archer, still in attendance, hears him confess to the bomb plot—perhaps his conscience is bothering him, or he fears being caught in the destruction; in any case he talks, brokenly and hoarsely. Unable to understand his German, Archer calls for Dr. Douglas. In the chapel, the mysterious ways continue as the two German majors finish up the small but deadly bomb and speak about the Jeep; in their hurry they have grown careless: not only did they not claim Sandy’s gun, they did not check on his status—by leaving him alive they created a witness who will help in their capture. Sandy, struggling into consciousness, overhears and sees them. Back at the hospital, Gallagher is called in but arrives in time to only see Douglas pulling the sheet over the young German’s head. “Too late, huh?” he asks. Douglas says he was too late, but “Chappie” heard something. For the first time in a while, Archer “gets it right”—he heard the young man say “bomb lager,” which Douglas translates into “bomb warehouse.” The exhausted Gallagher (mission to Vistula that morning, in the afternoon and evening, dealing with destruction and escaped Germans) can’t put it together.
Back at the chapel: Bentz and Schindler are finally ready. Struggling against pain and shock Komansky grasps his gun and waits . . . Back at the hospital: as personnel come in to remove the latest of the dead, Archer rather dryly remarks “I was waiting on some kind of word from the boy, and I guess I got it . . . even if we don’t know what it means.” However, he remarks, “Mysterious ways, Colonel . . . “ Back at the chapel: the two men leave out of the back; Sandy waits again—he can’t alert the men just yet—and finally fires three times. Joe, Archer, and Douglas all hear this and dash out. Joe bursts valiantly—if a little foolishly—into the chapel; but at this point he’s angry and not thinking too clearly. Like Winifred,Sandy is injured and helpless. “Sandy– Doc!” Then somewhat frantically: “DOC!” Sandy has enough grit to hang on to report; intelligence is more precious than anything right now. Coughing as blood gets into his lungs, he reports “two of them, something about a Jeep—they had a can back there.” Joe investigates and with Douglas’ help, finally figures out they’re going to bomb the dump—“they missed it on their first try and they’re going to finish the job.” “Sir,” Sandy says reflexively, “they’ve got GI uniforms on.” Joe dashes out–something like Archer did when he found Winifred–but for duty, not vengeance. Without a backward glance, leaving Sandy in Douglas’s hands. As he told Archer earlier that long day that there is no time for personal weakness when other people need his knowledge and abilities.
-“They ARE the Krauts!”
Rapid cut to the bomb dump; in the distance Joe is driving in. (Of course, why didn’t he call? Well, maybe the wires were down, or he didn’t want to alert the two Germans he was on to them, for fear of them detonating the bomb.) A sentry greets him and to Joe’s harsh questioning—“did two men drive that Jeep here?” Schindler and Bentz easily hear this and, lighting the tiny bomb that could do such immense destruction in a chain effect, place it carefully under two bombs, and hasten away. To the sentry’s words that “two defense platoon guys arrived looking for Krauts,” Joe says, “They ARE the Krauts!” Perhaps Joe tells the men to get the hell away from there because they all scatter, leaving Joe to singlehandedly conduct the hunt and capture the two Germans. Brave, but a little foolish, I think, but again, Gallagher is now furious and somewhere must be heartsick over Sandy being the latest victim of this terrible day of reckoning. . .
-“you’re undoubtedly the better killer . . . “
The two men hide behind a pile of debris—and, a little implausibly, but excitingly, Schindler sees the P-51 Joe flew in earlier. (Also, very implausibly, there are low dark mountains in the background that don’t belong in southern England and recall hills seen in the background when Harley Wilson rescues the downed Joe in “The Outsider”—oh well, but once again, aggghhh!—if only some CGI could come to the rescue!). Schindler makes a decision that seems quite easy for him: “Bentz, I’m a better German than you are, and a better soldier,” he tells his companion whose conscience is still alive and active. He will take the P-51 and escape. “You’re undoubtedly the better killer,” Bentz says, without recrimination, but without any regret, and volunteers to cover for him. We admire him for this; it’s a noble gesture to help his countryman and we would lose our sympathy for him if he gave Schindler up. He wishes the man good luck and Schindler runs for it. Searching frantically, Joe finally locates the bomb by means of the rifle the men left behind in their haste, akin to them leaving a gun in Komansky’s hand. He throws the bomb in the direction of Bentz; the explosion, by itself, is small enough but brings Bentz calmly out of hiding. He affably waits and puts his hands behind his head as Joe comes up to him, finally meeting one of these troublemakers face to face. At that moment, the P-51 comes to life, and to his Gallagher’s question—“who’s that?” Bentz quietly tells him “Major Schindler. He’s taking home our reports.” In the air, finally, Schindler has made good his escape, and seeks the freedom of the skies. He is undoubtedly disappointed that in two tries in one day the 918th is damaged but intact, but, perhaps, finally, “c’est la guerre.” His experience allows him to easily conquer the P-51 and he allows himself a slightly smug smile.
-“they will kill him“
As the Act closes, a personal duel, opened earlier in the day when their two formations passed each other in the air, is fought between the American colonel and the German major. Back in Operations, Joe and Harvey, along with a guard keeping an eye on Major Bentz (why is he there? well, the scene becomes more dramatic) monitor the escape. Joe, on the line with coastal services, learns that the lone P-51 has been spotted heading for the continent. Harvey is placed on the open line, and Joe begins a very special broadcast for the ears of Major Schindler—and the Luftwaffe. Joe, many times the good shepherd, is now the avenger—though not for cheap reasons; it’s a good idea to down the P-51 so it won’t fall into enemy hands and become a pirate ship. Speaking carefully, Joe begins his broadcast, which has the ironic effect of turning the good German and party member into an American: “This is Ramrod to Ramrod Charlie . . . it’s better if you don’t answer me . . . remember, the important thing is get those pictures back . . . if you feel the need to change course from time to time, feel free to do so . . .”
Bentz is listening to this; his basic decency allows him to sympathize for Schindler, flying right into a death trap. In the air, the hunter (he’s participated in his own turkey shoot this day) now becomes the hunted as German fighters pick up the broadcast and approach. Joe figuratively corners Schindler: “ . . .so you’re on your own. . avoid a fight if you can. . . get those pictures back . . .that last turn . . .you may need your fuel supply for evasive action . . and if the jerries do jump you, give them the name of those two jerries we have in our guardhouse . . . get on the channels and tell them your name is either Bentz or Schindler . . . the Luftwaffe knows we have them so they’ll believe you.” “No, they will kill him,” Bentz says, quietly. “. . . be very careful along the Belgian coast . . . the flak concentrations are heavy.” Stovall reports: “there’s a group of fighters closing in on him.” “Great,” Joe says and perhaps really enjoys his next words: “. . . well, Charlie, I’m going to close this transmission—jerry fighters are closing in on you.” Perhaps a slightly gleeful goodbye: “good luck, fellah.” As the Bible says, he who sows the wind reaps the whirlwind, and in a terrible, delightful irony, Schindler is set upon by his countrymen—and dies, in what amounts to be yet another “turkey shoot” . . . and only a ball of fire and clouds of smoke remain at the end of this day of reckoning.
“Thou hast put gladness in my heart . . . I will both lay me down in peace and sleep” – Psalm 4
-“this Yankee sergeant is just a little tougher”
The epilogue is so tender that it might cry “ouch” if you brush against it . . . A few days after the “day of reckoning,” Gallagher, in Dress-A uniform, enters into Sandy’s hospital room; he is in the same room and bed the German soldier occupied (it saved on creating a new set, but also keeps the two sergeants as “twins”). A quick cut to Joe’s face reveals a flicker of fear as he sees Archer, elbows on the bed, praying quietly for Sandy: last rites? Archer then says “amen”; Joe relaxes, for it was a prayer for the living. “Well, he’s looking better today,” he says, smiling as Sandy blinks at “his shepherd’s voice.” “Well, he oughta be—I’ve been working on him,” says Archer. “So’s Dr. Douglas.” As his faith recovers, he’s taking pleasure in Sandy’s recovery rather than grieving for Winifred—a poignant ending to the chaplain’s love story, barely opened before it was violently closed. Gallagher asks him about the German sergeant he similarly sat with and prayed over: “you said he showed you something.” Archer is no longer taking his faith for granted but yes, God does act in mysterious ways: “He sacrificed himself for that plan of theirs—the Nazis teach them, there is no God—but if that’s the kind of strength my enemy has, I’d better get with it. It’s funny . . . Komansky has the same kind of wound. I hope it turns out better.” As always, when Gallagher and Komansky express their regard for each other, the “other” is not present, in some fashion, to hear. Gallagher tells Archer, “You know chaplain, the German soldiers are pretty good and they’re tough—but,” turning his eyes to Komansky, “I have a feeling that this Yankee sergeant’s just a little tougher.” Sandy has struggled awake again; he’s been flirting with death for awhile and now he struggles to rejoin the living: “what happened sir?” Joe grins. “We’ll tell you later. Go to sleep.” Sandy obeys, drifting off under the eyes of two men whom he has helped beyond his abilities of knowing at the moment—and, as he and the Chaplain recover, so will the 918th.
“For thou only, Lord, makest me dwell in safety” – Psalm 4
“Siren Voices”
Writers: Story: Ed Kelso; Teleplay; Carey Wilbur
Director: Robert Douglas
Last episode of Season II—so “Loneliest Place” and “Siren Voices” frame Season II—from start to finish, the season opened with the image of B-17s flying in formation minutes before Savage’s death and ends with the image of Helen Conboy leaning into Komansky’s arms. Very different from each other, these two framing episodes still possess a common theme: Savage’s downfall and death were due to a masquerading B-17 which Gallagher and Komansky finally partner to destroy; Patricia Conboy plays a courageous masquerade in Nazi Germany and is finally destroyed. There’s also the “completed mission” (Fokkenwulfe factories leveled; correct information sent); redemption for a woman called traitor; and even a triangle—which is much stranger than the one that Gallagher, Komansky and Susanne Arnais kind of stumbled into in “Loneliest Place.”
If we take the end of Season II as a sort of an end of 1943 (or in the first few months of 1944) the Allied air forces are still struggling with the Luftwaffe for mastery of the skies and the destruction of the war industries; both will be achieved in the coming year of 1944, which will “kind of” take up in Season III; sadly, we viewers never get to see the boys in 1945, though I have a few ideas about how “the guys” will spend the five months before V-E day. This episode, after several preceding episodes, escaped from overdone conventions (“Decoy,” “The Hollow Man,” and “Day of Reckoning” all begin on the ground), completes the season on a familiar note: the episode begins with B-17s in flight; General Britt is back in town and bearing down on Gallagher, though with more pity shown to him in “Back to the Drawing Board.” Gallagher, once again, comes up with an audacious plan to bomb the Fokkenwulf Industries in Marienburg, and it works!—though with casualties including the people who made the plan work.
The Gallagher-Komansky partnership ends on a good note with Komansky contributing to the plan—indeed, one of his “kidding remarks” sparked it—and in a pleasant note for Season II’s end, Sandy seems to have a found a nice girl though typically their romance is beset with troubles. Another nice point: both men and women figure in this story; the Americans are victorious with the help of brave Englishwoman; and both sides suffer grief over betrayal. Of course, a nod toward the title—and the mythical allusion. We all know that Sirens were lovely ladies on dangerous rocks; their irresistible songs lured sailors to their death—only Ulysses resisted them by filling his rowers’ ears with wax, ordering them not to follow his orders to be released, and to be tied to the mast of his ship. The Sirens themselves are interesting in who and what they are—stories differ on their origins; some versions say these women were turned into Sirens as punishment for not helping Ceres find her daughter Persephone after she was carried away by Pluto, lord of the underworld. Ovid declares they willingly turned themselves into Sirens over grief for Persephone—whichever, the Sirens reveal the array of human emotions involved in love, violence, loss, and grief. Also, they are not fully women—from the waist down, they possess the bodies of birds, recalled, interestingly enough, by Particia Conboy’s code name of “Bluebird.” Komansky, like Ulysses, is “lured” by her voice–though not fooled by her lies. (Curiously, he also gets to see her—her family shows him a portrait.) He is lured by something that can’t be explained—he is indeed “fascinated by her” (ctd., Duffin and Mathes), but this fascination seems to either grow out of or express a “psychic connection” he has with “the Danzig Lady.” And, of course, Axis Sally is recalled in this episode; she was an American who claimed—and was subsequently defended—that she was dragooned by the Nazis into making propaganda broadcasts for the Germans. Almost disappearing into the rubble of Berlin after the war, “Sally” was found by Americans who tried her for treason in 1949. She was released in 1961, and died in 1988, after teaching in a Roman Catholic school. The “Danzig Lady” was a made-up figure—but Danzig is interesting place for her location, because this was a bitter thing for Germans—the “Danzig Corridor” was the only link Germany had with Prussia prior to 1939; Poland occupied the separating territory until the Wermacht came smashing in. But, on with tonight’s story which some have praised as among the season’s best in terms of acting, story and direction, with a nod toward Robert Douglas’s noir-like atmosphere. Personally—yes, I think it is among the best, for reasons I will discuss below. But check out my “12OCH Awards” with which I will conclude this blog for Season II.
-“they won’t let us fly to Marienburg without trouble…”
As stated earlier, this “finale” starts with a return to a conventional image of B-17s in flight, with Piccadilly Lily and her companions 12 minutes away from the IP. Sandy, in his turret, his scanning the skies and sees—nothing. Joe, co-pilot Bob (he made it to the end of the season!!) and Sandy all know something is wrong; the 966th on the same route, on the same business the day before, was knocked to pieces: “they won’t let us fly to Marienburg without trouble,” Joe says. Down below, there’s that turreted castle again (“Back to the Drawing Board” and “Day of Reckoning”—maybe there was a chain of them!)—within, a distaffer, all wired with a headset, reports to her superior officer, a handsome Nazi colonel that the B-17s are approaching and we learn that the fighter squadrons will soon be airborne—the message is passed to another radio man who sends out a tense message—which accidentally reaches the ears of Gallagher’s radio operator. He immediately asks Gallagher to translate for him—“that’s German for B-17, isn’t sir?” Gallagher confirms this and says the message is coming from their command station. “Where are the fighters?” Sandy asks, his turret wheeling as he searches the sky. “They’re playing hide and seek”—the first game identified in tonight’s episode. And then—the fighters come over the clouds, looking like a swarm of mosquitoes—Bob’s tense face sees them and he remarks “the whole Luftwaffe is out there!”
-“do you have any friends in the B-17s? . . . poor General Britt”
Cut back to the lovely castle . . . the handsome Nazi colonel, Kurt Heller, is pleased, and his pleasure is matched by the sounds of lovely music drifting in the background. He turns, comes to a window and presses against it; within the soundproof studio the window gives onto, a lovely, 30-ish woman, plays a piano, creating the music—which she interrupts when the colonel comes in and shows her a report: She takes up her microphone and begins her broadcast in a lovely, clear and ever so slightly mocking voice, which is heard by many: “Forgive me for interrupting the music my dear, but I’ve just been given some news. Do you have any friends in the B-17s . . . such a pity . . . “ The scene switches to a busy pub, the patrons listen. “Well, my dear, our fighters are attacking now.” General Britt and another officer listen, close to the radio. “Your friends are dying . . . the bombers will not reach Marienburg . . . “ Stovall, at his desk, listens. “Some have exploded in mid-air but perhaps that is more merciful than spinning down from 15,000 feet in flames . . .how depressing it must be for you General Ed Britt,” she continues, as the scene shifts to the general, angry but controlled, “yesterday he lost the 966th, today the 918th—poor General Britt, why doesn’t he quit?” Suitably, the six bongs strike over Britt’s face; he is getting an earful of lies, propaganda, and some bitter truth . . .
-“. . . a lot of my men die with it, sir”
Thank goodness, we are spared the aerial battle (or slaughter); rather, the battle has been narrated by the Danzig Lady—and Act I starts with a B-17 wheeling onto the 918th’s recently repaired runways (“Day of Reckoning”) with flares going up, as if in grim celebration for making it back. After her brief appearance in the teaser, except for her voice, she does not appear in Act I, leaving the viewers angry and intrigued . . .who is this woman? Sandy will help us find out. Cut to Britt’s staff car; he anxiously waits, tapping with with his cane until Joe arrives. He emerges from the car to walk with the quietly distraught Joe, whose troubles “were broadcast by the Danzig lady.” Joe makes his report—they concentrated the whole Danzig fighter squadron on them—“they hit us all at once.” Out of 24 bombers, only seven got to Marienburg, and “eight are never coming back.” Britt asks about the Folkenwuffe factories—“Barely scratched . . .”
“Is that all?” Joe is plain. “Yes sir. And unless we get some good luck that is all we’re ever going to do.” Britt provides numbers: “The Nazis have built 331 fighters in the last 21 days, and 218 have come from that complex.” –Are those numbers possible?—according to Goering: Hitler’s Iron Knight, German plane factories notoriously underproduced—however, by 1942, Albert Speer and Edward Milch had “rationalized” production methods and factories were producing more efficiently, so maybe it’s possible. and in 1943, the Allies were surprised when the Lufftwaffe had rallied their numbers–helping to dispel ideas that Europe could be liberated by air power alone. But, according to the author, if Nazi Germany had produced like the US and Britain with round the clock shifts and long-entrenched assembly line methods, the war may have turned out differently. Joe asks a good question: “Where do these numbers come from?” Upon learning they are from British Intelligence, Joe asks “I wonder if British intelligence can tell us how German intelligence knew exactly where to hit us . . .” Britt points out sensibly that the 966th went through there yesterday; it wasn’t a difficult guess. “We’re going in there again and they’ll anticipate us—it’s a thing we have to live with.” “It’s a thing a lot of my men die with sir,” Gallagher answers.
-“Oh, bother that girl . . .”
That evening, at the Star and Bottle, a working-class sort of fellow heaves darts at a dartboard; nearby is a caricature of Hitler, his enlarged ear warning “Less talk fouls Hitler’s aim,” a warning that Sandy will heed. The fellow collects the darts, quaffs his beer and seems to aim his sights on Sandy, who huddles next to the radio. The music, a 40s ballad, is being played by the Danzig Lady; her voice seems to absorb him—and repels his date, a pretty young woman, Helen Graham—“Don’t you want to dance?” she asks to distract him. “Isn’t enough room in here” is his distracted reply. Sandy’s sort of out of practice with women: Susan Nesbit, months earlier, really worked over his heart, not that confident to begin with. Since then, he was seen with another girl only briefly in “25th Mission”; as Naomi is being escorted by Parson’s friend, Bruce, Sandy perhaps was escorting a friend’s girl as well. Maybe his close brush with death in “Day of Reckoning” alerted him he has been on the shelf too long—but climbing down doesn’t guarantee happiness. Yet Komansky, after a year with Gallagher, is growing out of his isolation and finding compassion for others (and his love life flowers in Season III).He seems to offer himself to particularly lonely or dispossessed people who need an ally: his first and rather unsuccessful allying was with Steve Corbett (“Mighty Hunter”); he then allies with Ray Zemler (“Back to the Drawing Board”), and then with Ernie Bradovich (“The Survivor”).
In this, the final episode of Season II, Sandy in a way “offers himself” to the Danzig Lady—in a kind of riff on the “Knights of Camelot” theme which underscores some of the episodes; this knight serves—with compassion–a strange and distant lady. Through him, Patricia’s heartsick sister Helen is finally released back into some kind of life; his “kidding remark” helps to spur Patricia’s last act of espionage, he looks upon her face, he hears her real voice, he hears her die, and he avenges her.
At the moment, Helen doesn’t seem to need him, because he’s acting like a jerk: “It’s so boring, just standing around,” she protests. “Sh—just listen, okay?” “Oh, bother that girl.” A friend’s girl chides Sandy to forget her, but he can’t—particularly when she seems to be kindly offering to send messages home from those who participated in the disastrous raid on Marienburg. “Hey, Komansky, she’s jealous,” says the friend. “Jealous, huh,” says Helen. Komansky grows frustrated trying to hear her sweetly bitter words: “why go on fighting for someone who doesn’t care if you live or die? . . . I miss you . . . see you tomorrow?” This seems to describe some of his date’s feelings: she leaves, and Komansky’s friend has to notify him of the fact: “Hey, Komanch . . . you’re losing your date.” “Ohh,” Sandy says, realizing she’s serious; the other woman sees she has left her compact behind and hands it to him. (This actress went on to marry Paul Burke in the 1970s.)
As Sandy leaves, so does the dart-thrower. On the street, Sandy catches up with her: “Hey, Helen, don’t let your feelings get hurt so easily,” he says nicely; his are not and he is truly sorry. “You’re in love with a voice, a traitor’s voice that gives me a headache,” she snaps but then quickly apologizes; she doesn’t feel very well. Sandy is sympathetic, and then tries to explain to her about his interest in the voice of the Danzig Lady—he’s wise to her ways, and doesn’t buy the business about General Britt not caring if the airmen live or die, but his interest is hard to explain: “the way she plays and sings . . . you wonder . . .” Helen cuts his musings short: “Will I see you tomorrow?”—an echo of the Danzig Lady’s words. Despite his behavior, she likes the American sergeant whom, she perhaps senses, is as lonely as she is. “Tomorrow, we –oops,” he says, minding the warning sign. “Look, if I’m free, you want me to pick you up?” “No, I’ll go to the Star and Bottle—come if you can.” He bids her goodnight, without any funny business. After she lets herself into the building, he walks away, and the follower watches him from the shadows. He feels her compact in his breast pocket, and goes after her again—to find her leaving the building in company with his follower. They walk off in a noir mixture of light and shadows and Sandy quietly follows.
-“It’s a long shot gamble at this point . . . “ The dark street gives over to Pinetree, equally dark, and where the midnight oil burns. Britt speaks sharply on the phone; a superior is complaining of losses—23 ships in 48 hours—“and I have to have replacements, period.” Gallagher waits, looking slightly like a schoolboy at the principal’s desk.”Thank you, Colonel,” Britt finishes, cradling the phone. “He’ll send us ten aircraft by tomorrow and put himself in for a medal.” Gallagher takes advantage of Britt’s humbling—since he has to go back to Marienburg, he would like to speak of a wild idea—calling it “a long shot gamble,” one of the series’ most frequent references. Britt then gets some news from a major that leaves him grasping for straws—British Intelligence reports that it took only four hours to repair the damage to the factory: “you lose ten aircraft and 100 men and they’re back in business before you get back to base.” Gallagher doesn’t wait for Britt’s interest, asking the Major if they requested British Intelligence to get some specific information, could they? To the major’s question, Gallagher says that it’s not the flak but the fighter screens that knock them out of the box—“if I could just get past those fighters.” Gallagher, somewhat typically, has a great idea—but it was sparked by another. He tells Britt how his radioman had picked up a Nazi broadcast—and “Komansky, my flight engineer, made a kidding remark about talking back with them.” If he could talk back, he could feed them false information and “scatter their fighters all over the sky.” It would only work once, maybe twice, but that would be enough. Britt admits that “it’s wild,” but will listen to Joe’s plans, probably damned pleased with “his boy” when he has a chance to think about it.
The major tells Gallagher that he requests radio frequencies, times and dates is a “big order—and somebody’s going to have to stick their neck way out.” Joe points out that such intelligence is always leaving England—and the Danzig Lady seems to know what they are going to do—“are the Germans smarter than we are?” “Hold the phone,” Britt says, “he didn’t say it was impossible.” (This creates a question—is the Danzig Lady a double agent? Does she get information and feed it to the Nazis, to protect herself?—is the information leak referred to ever identified and plugged?—apparently not; but this part of the plot is teased into a point of interest but then lapses.)
-“No, spies would kill you . . .”
At a careful distance, Sandy shadows Helen and her escort down a dark lane toward an old stone house—the ominous music lets us know he is stumbling into a trap; maybe this is where and how the information leaks out. Is he a little jealous (as Helen seemed jealous earlier?) or just curious about why Helen, supposedly sick, has set out for parts unknown? Helen passes through a heavy door; her escort, unseen by Sandy, stands down in the shrubbery perhaps to enjoy a cigarette before going in. As Sandy approaches the door, he intercepts him with a curious threat: “What is it, poppet?” Sandy is honest—“Look, I came here to see the lady—“ This time, he’s the one who’s pushed back and struck; perhaps his recent severe injury has slowed his usually quick reflexes. Helen opens the door and stops the affair—“Bring him inside,” she orders and Sandy is pushed into a quaintly furnished parlor, with a roaring fire and an older man in a wheelchair. For Helen, this is the final straw in an agonizingly lonely and worried life, and she goes to the man and asks, “Father, please tell him the truth.” Rather, her father apologizes to Sandy about “Mayhew’s” actions—he was a member of His Majesty’s Army, the Welsh Fusiliers, and Mayhew was his orderly—and he’s very protective of him and his daughter—and urges Mayhew to show the “young man out.”
Helen won’t have this secrecy anymore–“I’m tired of living in the shadows.” Sandy stares at all this, wisely heeding the poster’s warning, and keeps silent. “I reckon he thinks we’re spies,” her father says. “No, spies would kill you, sergeant,” and tells him again to leave. “He hasn’t done anything,” she protests, telling her father that he’s not just hiding, he’s cringing and skulking, and “it’s doing something to you”—and to her. Without his permission, she tells Sandy that her name is Conboy. Sandy does not react to the name and his silence draws her and her father on to explain to him. Picking up a photograph of a stunning blond woman (whose hairstyle is a little too sixties contemporary) he tells how she, the woman in the picture, will “turn the name of Conboy into the likes of Guy Fawkes [the gunpowder plot] or your own Benedict Arnold.” With those grim words, Helen shows the still silent Sandy the photo, and admits that her sister is “The Danzig Lady.” A strange triangle has formed; Sandy is involved with two siblings— a traitor and her possibly traitorous sister. To a man without a family, it must be interesting learning that having a family brings it own agonies.
-“Well, interesting evening?”
Moody lighting in Joe’s office sets the scene—Joe tells Harvey to get the new crews training, back to back—“I want this transition period over with.” If they’re here by noon, Harvey says, “I’ll have them up by 1:00.” “Fine,” Joe says; this is about the only thing that is fine. A knock on the door emits Sandy. Passing him, Harvey looks at his bruised face and remarks jocularly, “Well, interesting evening?”—that mark could be a punch from a male fist or the slap of a female hand; in some ways, it’s a bit of both. Sandy is too startled—and perhaps too intent on distasteful duty–to take any offense or embarrassment. Alone, he tells Gallagher about “about a breach of security. This girl I’ve been out with—a real nice kid—turns out she’s the Danzig Lady’s sister.” Joe is now startled. Sandy goes on to tell them about the Conboy family—they seem to be hiding out—“and the question is, are they in touch with the Danzig Lady? I think they would have killed me if they were spies and I don’t recall saying anything they could have used—but if one member of the family is a traitor, maybe that’s how the information is leaking out—that’s all I can figure.” Joe tells Sandy to make a report and he immediately calls Counter Intelligence—“and scramble it.”
-“come back at 7:00—and shave”
Sandy’s worried face dissolves into a scene of Germany; suitable for his odd but growing connection with the Danzig Lady. After Act I’s handling of the Danzig Lady—she is only spoken about though her picture is seen—we once more get to see and now meet the lady in her attractive apartment. She—Patricia Conboy– sheds her robe and changes into a dress; the doorbell takes her away, and the camera remains fixed, viewing her through the carvings of a screen—meaningful images, these. The handsome and charming Colonel Kurt Heller is calling; they kiss like affectionate lovers and he zips up her dress in an intimate gesture. But she is not staying; she is going to market so she can cook dinner for them—which seems to surprise him: ”I love you, my little Englisher,” he tells her gently; and a long deep kiss ushers him out—“but come back at 7:00—and shave,” she tells him; dinner will be apparently followed by making love. There’s a feeling in this episode that she does love this man—he is good to her, and she needs the feelings of warmth and love to help her with her lonely work.
-“They’re in the clear—and so are you” Back at the 918th Operations, Britt is speaking to both Gallagher and Komansky. In “Loneliest Place” Britt, in the same office, kind of presided over Gallagher and Komansky’s partnering (“Well, I’ll leave to you two to work things out” after Joe has admitted to grabbing Komansky by the lapels and Komansky has blamed himself for goading Joe), and his presence in this final episode of Season II brings into focus how the two men’s relationship has advanced with trust and loyalty: Sandy made a clean breast of the Conboy situation and Gallagher reported on him, but then protected him, and then lets him in on the story. Britt can’t trust sending information by telephone so in this scene he tells Gallagher and Sandy that the British have given him a full report—he just hasn’t told them that this report was filed weeks, months earlier and there is more than what he can tell them: The Conboys have been under surveillance ever since the older girl showed up in Germany as the Danzig Lady—“they have a clean bill of health.” Joe adds that Patricia was identified some months ago and ever since “they’ve had a pretty rough time.” “You mean they are just trying to hide from it?” Sandy asks. “They’re in the clear—and so are you.” Sandy, ever since exposing Lt. Harley Wilson’s actions and receiving Gallagher’s anger in return (“The Outsider”), veers on the side of caution. “Can I still see Helen?” Joe seems a little surprised at the request, but may be distantly pleased that his lonely sergeant has a girl: “That’s up to you” is his courteous advice. Sandy salutes and leaves, perhaps on his way back to Helen.
Britt turns to business: “About that harebrained scheme of yours—“ He tells Joe that British Intelligence has put an agent on it, who is getting the needed codes and frequencies—but time is a factor. He can’t promise timely information “because I can’t comprehend the kind of nerve it takes to be a spy.”
-“checkmate . . . “
Fade back to Germany; Miss Conboy, with a shopping bag, enters a hofbrau and speaks with a waiter about a table, apparently. Their rather stilted conversation is overhead by a plainly clothed man, supposedly absorbed in a chess game (recalling the sub captain’s game-playing in “Decoy”), and contrasting with the dart-throwing back in England—which means a skillful aim rather than an intellectual dance. The waiter seats her and amidst other words adds, “I’m being watched.” “Checkmate,” says their listener to his partner. The waiter lights her cigarette and speaks—“the British want details on the Danzig air defense at once,” and gives her the matchbox. She, knowing the Gestapo are upon them, announces “I have no idea what you are talking about!” The waiter turns, hurries away—out the door—and a moment later, gunshots are heard, disturbing the other customers. She is on her feet and hurrying out another way (with the matchbox) which is what a trained agent would do. Aha!—as her family has been cleared from suspicion, she is now cleared for the viewer—she is one of the British agents whose nerve General Britt marvels at. Her courage and her loneliness are to be marveled at.
-“this is a crude invasion of a lady’s privacy”
Some time later, a knock on her apartment door brings in the Gestapo agents, who demand her papers. Kurt, present, immediately defends her, calling their actions—with great courage—a “crude invasion of a lady’s privacy.” Not surprisingly, the Gestapo ignore him to say she was followed from the café where a British agent was apprehended. “I knew it,” she says. “He must have recognized me; he spoke to me in English.” To the Gestapo’s puzzlement, she adds “it was dreadful—he whispered to me ‘help me miss, help me’—and that’s when he ran.” “The lady ran too,” says one. “I was frightened,” she says, drawing Kurt closer to protect her. “Calm down,” advises the other Gestapo. “This is Patricia Conboy, the Danzig Lady.” She deals the pity card: “Oh, Kurt, can’t I have protection?” The Gestapo are wise enough to end this scene, which they know is a charade, and with a kind of warning—“we have all we need for now”—they leave. Patricia is sweetly pathetic to her concerned lover: “Oh Kurt, I’m sorry . . . “
-“my own flesh and blood . . . I wish she’d come back”
In England, Pat’s sister is with her man under different circumstances: rather than playing a masquerade (and she has been as Helen Graham) Helen is reclaiming some of her life, speaking openly and freely with Sandy as they walk along in the darkness. But the triangle is in place—her sister is there between them; she wants to talk about her and Sandy wants to hear about her. They both still think she is a traitor; the viewer’s knowledge makes this scene poignant. “Everybody loved her; my father worshipped her. He sent us to school in Switzerland and when she came back she had met a man—a German officer.” “There are nice Germans too,” Sandy tells Helen; he seems to sense that she is not whom she seems to be. “Well, he wouldn’t come here with her; oh no, she threw it all over for him.” Helen goes on to say that her sister turned to studies—“geopolitical science—rubbish” (it may have been when she trained to be an agent) and then she went back to Germany and stayed there. “I hope I never see her again”—somewhat ironically, nobody from the “Allies” sees this woman who is risking her life, almost completely alone; most just hear her voice and hate her; the ones who know better must protect her secret, and distantly admire her. “Do you ever hear from her?” Sandy asks. “Hear from her—I wouldn’t read a letter from her. I can’t stand the sound of her voice—my father; she’s destroyed him. She’s ruined my life and hers and everybody despises her. Oh Sandy,” she then says, “My own flesh and blood . . . I wish she’d come back.” Holding her, Sandy whispers “I know”—and what does he “know”? Again, it seems as though there is a strong connection between him and Helen’s sister.
-“a little bluebird told them”
There is a tight focus on a music sheets on a piano; Patricia is marking them. Finished, she then sets fire to the bit of paper in the matchbox; the flame then burningly fades right into the heart of an enormous swastika, draped on the wall of the studio where she is seen playing her music, a tune with more than a few discordancies. Outside the booth, Kurt listens; in England, close to a radio, Sandy and Helen listen; in an unknown location, British and American officers make a transcription of her performance and sleeve the record in a jacket. Then, the record is played to the ears of the codesmen who make notes . . . with Britt watching. Britt hand delivers the information to Joe who for once is “out of the loop”—but with secret agent work of this type, the less people who know, the better. The information includes designations, rendezvous points and code frequencies. Joe is pleased—“This is terrific,” and “how did they get the information so quickly?—do you know?” Britt merely smiles: “A little bluebird told them.” “Yes sir,” Joe says, understanding. (Again, what is never cleared up in this story is the information leak, which is referred to and the Conboys briefly suspected of.)
-“something in the Russian mood . . .”
Thankfully, for the story, her strange music is questioned; Nazis can’t be that stupid! In Germany, a weary Patricia returns to her lovely flat; asks Kurt to get her a cognac, and then answers his question—“What was that strange sounding piece?” (I figure that she did not have time to create a smooth sounding piece of music and had to do it “quick and dirty”—and she is smart enough to know that her cover is diminishing.) “Something in the Russian mood,” she puts him off with. “Bolsheviks listen to music too.” “But does it have a name? Or is it like the others?” She wearily, smilingly tells him that someday she will put them altogether and create a “beautiful symphony.” His suspicions are aroused and he tries to warn her—“Muller, the Gestapo fellow doesn’t like it all.” “I don’t write it for the Gestapo,” she says, which, with some irony, is absolutely true.
-“Heil!–I hope my Milwaukee accent doesn’t give me away”
B-17s, led by Joe and Bob, are on their way back to Marienburg. They start their diversionary raid, and the viewer gets to see the radio room. Sandy has joined Sgt. Froedlich, and they both hear Joe ask to let him know the second they pick up German transmissions. Froedlich amiably speaks German, ending with a “Heil!—I hope my Milwaukee accent doesn’t give me away.” Everybody grins, including Joe and Bob. Down below, at the Command Station in Danzig, Colonel Heller takes a phone call and hangs up with the words, “Goering—and the order is for the entire Danzig force to be deployed, by the order of Reichsmarshall Goering.” The 918th is facing the “big guy himself” whose efforts to run the Luftwaffe as well as the German economy were “well-intentioned” (for Nazis, that is) but ultimately disastrous. The orders are given out, and up in the Piccadilly Lily, Froedlich picks up the transmission and, without a pause, inserts his own orders, startling Colonel Heller, and, in the skies, bemusing and confusing the German pilots. Heller finally barks “That is an American lying!”—Froedlich reports this and Gallagher tells him, “Then say he’s the American jamming the channels”—and on it goes, reminding us of a similar ploy used by Gallagher in the preceding “Day of Reckoning.” Fade to the B-17s, still intact, flying into the flak fields, which must seem reassuringly familiar and easy to deal with. Joe looks, gets the word, and tells his crew: “I give you the Folkwuffe factories, Marienburg, East Prussia,” with a touch of pride. When the bombs go, he grins slightly.
-“I hate to call her a liar . . . “
This scene indicates how easily the story moves between England and Germany . . . That evening, in the Star and Bottle, Sandy, and an impassive Helen listen to the Danzig lady’s broadcast: “While it was a good idea, the bombing was done so poorly that some innocent civilians were killed . . . but the factory was undamaged . . . too bad, too bad.” Knowing that he is speaking about Helen’s sister, Sandy says “I hate to call her a liar on top of everything else, but we hit those factories dead center”—her music then takes up, filled with the strange notes, which are listened to by Allied officers as well as by Colonel Heller and the Gestapo, who can no longer be ignored . . . They snidely point out to him the lack of cohesiveness—but he marvels, that on state radio, such messages are being put out . . . Heller angrily denies the accusation. Muller tells him, calmly, that she “has been under observation for a while now and any further association with her might hurt an otherwise brilliant career.” Colonel Heller, probably from the Old School of German military honor, and probably secretly despising the Nazis, says he will kill him if he says one more word. Muller laughs a bit at this empty threat and tells him, “You will not betray your country.” In many ways he already has, but confronted with evidence—that his beloved is “a liar”–his first allegiance is to Germany.
-“to fly the second mission as a tribute to him”
In Operations, Joe and Britt confer over the day’s work, which was coded by the Danzig lady’s music: in contrast to her remarks, her musical notes report that “repairs will take ten days . . . only 50% damage” despite a dead center bombing. Joe, his sense of duty up, wants to return, refusing Britt’s offer to send in the 966th: “I don’t like to sentimentalize, but I would like to fly the second mission as a tribute to him”—the courageous agent who is risking everything to get them information. His compassionate words echo is successful mission at the end of “Underground” when he acknowledges all the people who helped him make that perilous trek. “Him”—is the beautifully gowned Patricia, who has her hair down, and seems to be suddenly very vulnerable—and, how do you live with an ongoing masquerade?—it’s hard enough, but she has to deal with Nazis, and the Gestapo, one of the worst set of goons the world has ever seen; and she must miss her family . . . Seated with him on the couch, she asks her longtime lover “Kurt, what is the matter?”—and to his words, she sympathetically asks him “Are you concerned about Marienburg?—you can’t protect it indefinitely”—which are true words coming from the masquerading woman. Kurt relies to the effect that “that is the way we lose the war,” and she asks “they’re not blaming you for what happened?” He does not bother to tell her that is exactly what has happened and he can only escape the Gestapo by helping to trap her. Their conversation continues in a tissue of truth and lies: He tells her that he “has changed the codes” (which he has, but they are now phony ones) and “that he has few tricks up his sleeves” (indeed he does, but one is actually to protect her). One trick is to find no cigarettes, and to usher himself out in search for some—“Lock the door when I’m gone,” he tells her, and leaves. In the hallway, he pauses, finds and lights a cigarette, letting the viewers know that he has now turned on her. Within the apartment, Patricia takes his briefcase, finds a tool, and picks it—and, peeking through the old-fashioned keyhole, he views her reviewing the codes.
-“The B-17s are coming . . . “
Act IV takes up on its typical quick note as the actions hurl toward climax: Sandy, with Froedlich in the back, brings up the Jeep to pick up Gallagher. The colonel hands Froedlich the (incorrect) codes, and says : “I warn you, it won’t be so easy today.” He’s right . . . . In a nice segue, the scene changes to Patricia finishing a melodious piece—and the door opens on Colonel Heller. He seems more wicked here, as he sports a black jacket and his Iron Cross; but he is taking up his flying duties, and reminding her and himself that he is a German first. To her question, he answers, “The B-17s are coming.” “To bomb Marienburg, do you think?” The climax all this is hurling towards is terribly melodramatic, but absorbing if you give yourself up to the muddle of human emotions involved in a spy’s dangerous, lonely life and simply enjoy incredible coincidences that glosses this war show with romance. He doesn’t bother to tell her that he knows who she is and what she has done; instead he issues orders, but they are to protect her: there is a man coming for her and she must go with him—she will be flown to a place near the Swiss border, and there a car will be waiting. S
he understands but her response is cryptic– though it suggests her terrible loneliness which seemed to reach over the miles to connect with Komansky: “So now I’m a traitor everywhere.” He ignores her pathos: he tells her that Hofstein, his aide, knows—“but he will not betray you.” “How long have you known?” she asks. His hatred and just plain embarrassment over her spying activities rises to his face, but he tells her, as it turns out, unwisely, that the codes she stole from his briefcase are false ones: “I couldn’t permit you to send the right ones—I’m a soldier and a German—I’m also a man who has loved you.” Patricia does not become smart and arrogant at this juncture; instead, her face fills with true grief over what she has done—to him—as well as perhaps for herself, either trapped or dying for her country which believes her to be a traitor.
-“only a female voice will be obeyed”
As Colonel Heller prepares for the intercepting mission, he pauses at the command station. The two distaffers listen to him as he sends out an order to his pilots which is both clever in fighting off the radio transmissions of the allies as well as assisting Patricia Conboy’s last successful effort: “only a female voice will be obeyed.” In the Piccadilly Lily, Froedlich’s admission that he can’t pick up radio transmission is the first sign something is wrong—and they are approaching Marienburg, “right down the alley,” as Bob puts, a reference to bowling. (This is the fourth game evoked—chess, darts, hide and seek, bowling—all suggesting how the war, in a horrible way, is one big game.) In Danzig, the Danzig Lady, now fully Patricia Conboy, is preparing—a long-time agent, she, unsurprisingly, has a gun ready in her satchel—as she prepares, the enormous swastika is in the background. She starts to leave but Hofstein, as he has been ordered, has come for her. She nervously takes control of the situation—hiding her gun behind her satchel, she waylays him—she does not shoot even though they are in a soundproof booth: “I’ve never shot a man before,” she says, locking him in. Her victory lasts only a moment as Hofstein throws the concealing curtains aside to plead with her or to warn the two distaffers. She shoots him and then another man in the command station and holds the gun on two distaffers—being women, they don’t fight back and hand over the communication.
-“Hey, it’s a dame!”
By now, Gallagher knows something is very wrong, and warns the crew to stand by their guns, making a special point to tell Komansky to get in his turret—he has his duty to perform, which will take a weird twist. Suddenly, “Bluebird”—the other half of the Siren–comes on the radio frequency. “Hey, it’s a dame!” says Froedlich. Sandy refuses—or at least pauses—to follow Gallagher’s order, the first time he has done since “Loneliest Place” when he attempted to refuse Gallagher’s direct order to fly with him. No disrespect intended this time as he freezes at the voice of his girlfriend’s sister—for the first time hearing the real woman, with whom he has a strange, distant connection. She is direct and simple: “I sent the wrong codes”—and gives them the right information. There comes an unintentionally funny scene, but what do you do?—in the air, Colonel Heller is trying to sort out the situation, suddenly changed in the Allies’ favor—and is speaking English to his pilots. Froedlich, the American airman, is speaking in German—which he is supposed to be doing, but the situation is an odd one . . .
-“fighters at 12 o’clock high . . . “
At the Command Station, the Gestapo enter—they have been monitoring the situation so their presence is understandable. Patricia takes one down before Muller shoots her, and a courageous woman dies. In the air, two men who love her, both in their own fashion—Sandy and Colonel Heller—hear the shot—you might say, a couple of sympathetic ears are in attendance at her final act or courage.
In the Piccadilly Lily, Sandy is frozen momentarily, knowing he has heard Helen’s sister being killed. Joe cuts into his shock, demanding he get in his turret. Heller, who also knows what has happened, stiffens up; in a hail of crescendoing music, he orders his pilots to “follow me”; is there a hint of suicide in his actions?—after all, the woman he loved is dead, and he will never escape the suspicion of the Gestapo. Joe sees them coming and appropriately, for the final episode of the season, calls out “fighters at 12o’clock high”—but, he adds, it’s only a squadron. “Keep ‘em off our backs,” he tells the crew; “we’re only minutes from Marienburg.”
In a deliciously wonderful coincidence—but a coincidence that nobody will ever know—Sandy, in his turret, using his ace-like skills (Joe expressed admiration of his shooting in “The Hot Shot”), manages to shoot down Colonel Heller. It’s more sad than satisfying; this man did love Patricia and even after betraying her to the Gestapo, sought to save her. But he’s a German and a soldier, and dies in defense of Marienburg—and is unknowingly shot down by an unknowing man—who, hundreds of miles away, a few days earlier, had more or less said of him to his lover’s sister, “There are nice Germans, too.”
-“you see, there was a girl who helped us this morning . . .”
Epilogue: In direct contrast to the sunlit air battles of the morning, that evening, Sandy cycles up to the Conboy’s still rather mysterious household. In contrast to his first coming to the house, this time Mayhew politely opens the door to him, calls him “Sir,” and when he asks for Miss Conboy, he is escorted in. Sandy smiles slightly when he sees her; his news is both good and bad. He and Helen hug each other comfortably, and he tells her that he is sorry he was rude to her and her father the other night (cut scene, or is he referring to his rather violent entry into their home?), and “we really hit Marienburg today.” She asks him to sit down and he does—and admits that what he has to tell her isn’t all good news. (I suppose the news of the Danzig Lady is probably classified, but, because Sandy reported on his “breach of security” maybe he is a trusted carrier of information.) “You see, there was a girl who helped us this morning—I recognized her voice—and I think your father ought to hear this too.”
She looks up at a noise and both seem surprised when Colonel Gallagher, pushing her father in his wheelchair, enters. “I’m here at the request of General Britt,” he tells Sandy and Helen, revealing Britt’s compassion, which dances in counterpoint with the general’s occasional ruthlessness. “Some time ago, British Intelligence had informed them of the identity of the Danzig Lady.” “I understand my daughter is dead,” says Mr. Conboy. “Yes sir,” Sandy says quietly, and does not say that he heard it as it happened. Gallagher makes no lament for the fallen: “But the story I’m going to tell is the story of the honorable Patricia Conboy, and I think the story should begin with—this was a very brave woman.” Helen, both grief-stricken and happy, leans into Komansky’s comforting arms and on this sad but heroic note, Season II concludes. The American soldiers are grateful for the efforts of a noble Englishwoman, and this long-suffering English family takes comfort in their sympathetic story of what she has done and Sandy, in a way, has completely overcome his isolation in his far-reaching love affair with the “Danzig Lady.”
Four Ending Thoughts of Season II and my own personal “12 O Clock High Awards.”
First, I still believe that taking Savage out of the action—even though it was done for other reasons than narrative—was stunning, and, in many ways, carried out the original story—in the novel, and the movie, Savage was compelled to leave and you know the 918th continued, by means of his example. Gallagher was brought up to snuff by Savage and he taking over and succeeding was a tribute to the man and the men under him. Second, I appreciate the growing sense of history in the second season—Gallagher and the issues of running the 918th were still front and center, but the war’s progress assumed greater importance and is less of a backdrop that it sometimes seemed to be in the “Savage season.” Now I will admit that I don’t have all data at hand—my experience with the first season as I write this is confined to a single viewing of episodes over forty years ago (and rather irritably viewing them while I waited—for 32 weeks—for Gallagher and Komansky to return) and reading episode summaries in Duffin and Mathes’ Logbook. However, my data at hand suggests that, of course with exceptions, 12 OCH was Savage’s world; the scripts frequently seemed to prop up the character to run every kind of melodramatic situation at him. Reading around in the summaries I observe that in a single season Savage was shot down at least three times (in all fairness, Gallagher went down twice in Season II); suffered (temporary) cases of blindness and amnesia; fell in love with a dying woman; met an old girlfriend and went through a “David and Bathsheba” situation; was suspected of murder; tried for murder by angry French villagers, was trapped in an air raid shelter with that inevitable group of strange people; was seriously injured and was saved through transfusion of that rare blood type; and, to crown matters, was actually imprisoned in a POW camp and escaped . . . isn’t that a little much?
In the meantime, a P-51 was introduced too early, and there seems to be actions going on from all over the place. It’s not that the show escaped such melodrama in the post-Savage episodes, but at least the show became more grounded in real time. Gallagher, while dominating many episodes, did not suffer quite so many over-the-top situations; and Komansky was there to catch some of the melodrama. Again, in my old dream of this series being refilmed with the benefits of CGI, more permissiveness in sex, language, and violence, and hindsight about script and characters (Harvey Stovall had grandkids in the first season; I think the poor kids got done away with in the second), I think the series would start out SO MUCH BETTER if it began with Savage coming to and taking over the 918th, as Gregory Peck did in the 1949 movie. In the first season Savage would concentrate on sorting out the problems and bringing the men and their work up to snuff, and thus Gallagher is really poised to take over in Season II and carry the 918th to the end of the ETO war, which would conclude Season III. But, back to Season II: Third, I will admit there was a real problem with Paul Burke taking over Robert Lansing; Burke was good while Lansing was, yes, magnificent—hammy at times but magnificent. As I said, I still prefer Burke-Gallagher to Lansing-Savage, though Burke’s limitations were apparent, particularly when he was up against Chris Robinson. Robinson’s mixture of leading-man qualities and character-acting skills channeled the more intriguing qualities of Savage, and cast Burke into some shade–and I can see the need to reduce the impact of Komansky whose personality crises outshone Gallagher’s. Though I spend quite a few episodes wishing that he figured in the action more (there was a long somewhat dry spell between his showcase performance in “Show Me a Hero” and a return of sorts in “Between the Lines”) the show, after all, was 12OCH, not “Komansky at War—with Himself and the Nazis.” Gallagher needed some bulking up, and he received some personal demons and was forced to rise to certain occasions—and Burke’s conception of his character and acting grew stronger as the season progressed; and I confess that as a more mature viewer, I grew to appreciate Burke’s slight shifts of expression that revealed so much–best seen in Season III’s “The All American” when his distress as Ted’s flying abilities filters across his face and in “Duel at Mont Ste. Marie,” when he is deeply pleased when Sandy agrees to come with him, no questions asked, and his fear when the German colonel threatens his future reputation as a murderer if the abbey is bombed by his actions.
A needed reorientation–Notably “Joe’s girls” seem to disappear after Sandy’s powerful jinxed “collision” with the journalist; maybe that was just coincidence but Joe’s girls were . . . well . . .what? Good women, and he had an understanding with Capt. Phyllis Vincent that they were free to see others. He didn’t take advantage of them, but still it was a feature of the story best left to lapse. But, with the exception of his brief, almost spiritual liaison with Ilka Zradna (“Rx”), and a “strange romance” with Angel Babe, Gallagher never did quite get a really good love story; a recent collaboration with another fan of 12OCH promotes the idea that before war’s end Gallagher meets and falls in love with a gutsy flight nurse, and they marry before D-Day and their duties separate them. Komansky’s few romances seemed more substantial, because the girl had problems too—after the ambitious Susan, there was the sad Helen Conboy and the mourning Jeanne Springer in “Long Time Dead,” though she and Sandy seemed united in sadness over her dead lover.
Fourth, the second season had some nice character development: Savage always seemed to be Savage, except for moments of expected softening (such as his love affair in “Interlude” and his deeply moving talk with the bombardier in “Sound of Distant Thunder”). In Season II, Gallagher and Komansky both have places to go with their characters, and this progress creates plot elements. Though more static than Komansky, Gallagher grew stronger, but his strength did not make him another Savage; rather, it made Gallagher “the good shepherd,” which is nicely seen in the epilogue of “The Slaughter Pen,” as his dedicated project management helped his flock fly in safety to Hamburg. Under the mentoring of General Britt and brutal experience, Gallagher moves from a firm if tentative commander—the difference between the uncertain man trying to take over command in “Loneliest Place” contrasts with the determined colonel fiercely protecting his base in “Day of Reckoning”—even to shouting at a chaplain to “get on with it” and coolly maneuvering the escaped German pilot into a turkey shoot. Between these episode Gallagher’s weaknesses can be seen as he protects old friends who are creating trouble for his group and his men (“The Idolater” and “Falling Star”) and then must answer for his hesitancy; his strengths can be seen as he develops new strategies for hitting targets, transcends personal pain when confronted with old enemies (“The Slaughter Pen”); and, in “Grant Me No Favor” suffers the grief of watching too many men die, defies his father and suffers for it, and hangs in with his men in the line of fire. He also learns to stand up to Britt on occasion with “my base, my rules.” Returning to the idea of the “good shepherd”—Gallagher led his men through courtesy and compassion and got good results. Being a good shepherd is no walk in the park; it is a dirty, dangerous job in which the shepherd fights off predators; leads the unwilling, seeks water and forage, and when one becomes lost, goes after them–and sheep are stupid, smelly creatures…
Joe’s qualities grew throughout the season. Within brief time he had the snappish Komansky eating out of his hand; he helped Kurt Brown deal with personal anguish; helped bring Colonel Wexler down from the skies; helped a chaplain start moving forward again, and in a particularly good example, at the man’s bedside, helped Tom Parson face up to his failings and his clouded future (“25th Mission”). Komansky, in contrast, “softens.” It’s a little hard to detect but the writers did not forget Komansky’s interesting character, which, as a foil to Gallagher, needed to learn how to trust and to care for others. He soon commits himself openly to Gallagher and sticks to it. Twice Komansky “behaves badly” and, by Gallagher’s example, then takes himself in hand, including offering an apology (“Between the Lines” and “The Outsider”). As Gallagher protects him (particularly in “The Hot Shot”), depends on him (particularly in “Falling Star”) and disciplines him, Sandy’s confidence grows. Though failing with Steve Corbett (“Mighty Hunter”) the once fiercely lonely Sandy reaches out to people who truly need his help: he supports Ray Zemler when Dr. Rink abandons him (“Back to the Drawing Board”); supports and protects Captain Bradovich when the bitter man turns his back on everybody including himself (“The Survivor”); and befriends two terribly lonely women—Helen Conboy and her “traitorous” sister Patricia. Even Harvey Stovall gained in depth, as he suffers the loss of his son, returns as a pilot, forms a connection of sorts with Sandy, and in the future is called upon to support Gallagher in this way too. In all, this series shows thoughtful writing, a lack of fear of melodrama, and subtle touches that that make me realize once again what a character-driven show this is and how the characters intertwine with the stresses of war and the issues of World War II.
The Twelve O’Clock High Awards
Best episode: “The Loneliest Place in the World”—not perfect but a slam-bang transition from Savage to Gallagher; wonderful introduction of Komansky; great war movie conventions (the mission, redemption, clashing personalities transcended for duty, a romantic triangle) in a tight script.
Worst episode: “We’re Not Coming Back”—enjoyable in its own way!–but muddled script, cut scenes and undeveloped characters and situations suggest why it got “misplaced” in schedule—the filmed episode must have gone back to the drawing board.
Best title: Too many to choose!
Worst title: “Cross-Hairs on Death”—it had no real bearing on the story about a disgraced and discharged pilot masquerading as an officer to redeem himself.
Best Gallagher story: “Grant Me No Favor”—Joe’s strengths and vulnerable qualities on excellent display as he parries his loving but manipulative father and protects a pilot facing court martial. Runner up: “Underground”; Joe sorts through feelings of suspicion and trust over a young German soldier seeking to escape with him via the French underground.
Best Komansky story: “Show Me a Hero”—Sandy’s barbed personality, confused sense of identity, strengths and weaknesses well explained; this story sends him through an array of emotions and Robinson nails each one. Runner up: “Then Came the Mighty Hunter”; Komansky’s isolation is both explained and breached by a foolish and needy underaged soldier. Honorable mention: “Siren Voices” in which Sandy forms a distant connection with “The Danzig Lady” and unknowingly avenges her betrayal.
Best Stovall story: “Storm at Twilight”—Stovall’s grief for his MIA son also becomes grief for his lost youth which he must confront. Particularly strong scenes between him and Gallagher and Komansky.
Best director: Richard Donner; excellent work in “Loneliest Place” and “Show Me a Hero.” Runner up: the busy Robert Douglas who directed several episodes; though doing rather pedestrian work he could prove inventive (“Angel Babe” and “Siren Voices”).
Best mission: The linked shuttle raid episodes “We’re Not Coming Back,” “Big Brother,” and “The Hot Shot.” Runner up: “Grant Me No Favor” in which nuclear facilities are destroyed at high cost to the 918th and Gallagher’s standing with his superiors. Honorable mention: “Between the Lines” as an air mission gets grounded in Russia with vital information a long way from London.
Best air battle: The sequence in “We’re Not Coming Back” which damages the Piccadilly Lily.
Most screwed up pilot: Major Kurt Brown (“I Am the Enemy”). Runner up: Tom Parson (“25th Mission”). Both pilots’ fears and angers are mentally and physically destroying them, making them hate themselves and destroying the trust of others. Honorable mention: Josh McGraw (“The Idolater”).
Best trauma: Wexler’s long-buried memories of his air-circus partner’s death (“Falling Star”). Runner up: Wally Bolen’s tortured memories (“The Hollow Man”). Honorable mention: Komansky’s childhood terror of rats (“Between the Lines”).
Best redemption: Captain Ethan Archer (“Day of Reckoning”) in which he loses faith in himself as a man of God and rediscovers it through an unlikely example: Nazi valor. Runner up: Everett Stone (“Cross-Hairs on Death”). Stone redeems his miserably wasted life and talents at a high personal cost but one he is willing to pay. Honorable mention: Sgt. Trask (“Between the Lines”) whose mixed motives for surrender allow Gallagher, Gargas, and Komansky to escape.
Best female character: Angel Babe, who embodies all women, loving, peaceful, motherly, and warlike—one “grand dame”! Runner up: Patricia Conboy, the “Danzig Lady” (“Siren Voices”). Honorable mention: all the good women who figure in this male-dominated series, civilians, officers, partisans, widows, and girlfriends. Somewhat dishonorable mention: Susan Nesbitt whose efforts to exploit Sandy’s heroism for her own ambitions gets a comeuppance of an injured body and an injured heart.
Best Gallagher romance: Gallagher’s brief but meaningful relationship with Polish patriot Ilka Zradna (“Rx for a Sick Bird”). Runner up: “Angel Babe” in which Gallagher is Angel Babe’s last lover before she kills herself. Honorable mention: Captain Patricia Bates (“Which Way the Wind Blows”).
Worst Gallagher romance: Mara (“We’re Not Coming Back.”) Silly situation (a near “shotgun wedding”); bad dialogue (“Why have you made yourself beautiful?” “It’s not for you”); undeveloped story about jealous boyfriend.
Best romance: Komansky’s confused affair with Susan Nesbit throws all conventional Gallagher affairs into the shade (“Show Me”).
Runner up: Angel Babe’s brief but passionate affair with her defender Gallagher as she takes her final flight (“Angel Babe”).
Best Romantic Triangle: The brief but vicious triangle between Gallagher, Komansky and Susanne Arnais (“Loneliest Place”). Runner up: the strange and distant triangle between Sandy, Helen Conboy, and her sister, “The Danzig Lady.” Honorable mention: Sgt. Willets, Gallagher, and “Angel Babe.”
Best new weapon: Bomb through Clouds (“Back to the Drawing Board”); its abilities to bomb effectively flipped to become a beacon is disturbing; however, American ingenuity and cut up tin cans save the day!
Worst Nazi: Major Schindler, “Day of Reckoning”—but you admire his dedication to duty! Runner up: Karl Weigand, the innocent looking Gestapo major (“Underground”); his pursuit of duty is also admirable
Best Nazi: Major Bentz, “Day of Reckoning”—his humanity survives even though he performs his duty. Runner up: Colonel Heller (“Siren Voices”); truly loving Patricia Conboy, he both betrays her and then tries to save her.
Best “old acquaintance”: Though family, Preston Gallagher, Joe’s loving and proud older brother is Joe’s best meeting with people from his past; it’s interesting seeing Joe reverting to a “little brother” (“Big Brother”). Runner-up: Wally Bolen, whom Komansky tries to protect but finally must admit there is something terribly wrong with his childhood friend. Honorable mention: Gallagher’s fractious dealing with his father (“Grant Me No Favor”)
Best rotten “old acquaintance”: Captain Barney Deel (“The Slaughter Pen”). He’s the worse because the guy is a jerk!—and nobody mourns him. Runner up: Lt. Josh McGraw (“The Idolater”); he’s out to get Joe’s job, girl, and glory, by taking short cuts and finally short-cuts to death. Honorable mention: Captain Powell (“Decoy”) whose decoyed life finally assumes meaning in his final moments.
Best American: A tie: Colonel Joseph Gallagher and Alexander Komansky—both carrying their ethnic names from country of origin; and both referred to as “Yankees” (“The Slaughter Pen” and “Day of Reckoning”). Though vastly different in experience (privileged son of an established military family vs. orphaned son of unfortunate immigrants) both are intelligent, hard working, and uphold “duty above all.”
Worst American: Sgt. Vern Chapman, whose cruelty and envy in “Show Me” descends to theft, lying, assault and potentially murder (“The Jones Boys”).
Best wound for regulars: Sandy’s shooting in “Day of Reckoning”—it drives Major Bentz into disgust; Joe must ignore his sergeant’s deadly wound to get on with duty as he earlier counseled Chaplain Archer to do.
Worst wound for regulars: Gallagher’s expeditious wounding in “Storm at Twilight” which almost matches his wounding in “Show Me a Hero”; both sideline him so Komansky and Stovall take over the piloting. Once okay, but twice?
Most ambiguous death: Lt. Josh McGraw, “The Idolater.” Runner up: Lt. Harley Wilson, “The Outsider.” –“what was it with these guys?”
Best “twinned action”: Stovall talks Komansky literally down in “Show Me a Hero”; Sandy then talks Stovall figuratively down in “Storm at Twilight.” Runner up: Sgt. Komansky and Sgt. Luchen’s twinned actions in “Day of Reckoning” even to suffering the same wound and recovering in the same bed. Special Award for Captain Bob Fowler: after the loss of so many of Gallagher’s co-pilots, Bob persevered and made it through, even surviving woundings (“Back to the Drawing Board,” and “Hollow Man”).
Best overused clip: Too many to count! However, there is a particularly nice shot of a B-17, seemingly flying alone, over the clouds. This clip takes on different meanings according to the music played—in “Show Me,” it is the Piccadilly Lily which Sandy is helplessly piloting, and tense, worried music makes it scary. In other episodes, lovely music makes it safe and graceful. Worst—that clip of the B-17 landing, pivoting, and then exploding. It looks phony anyway.
Best underused clip: A B-17 landing, filmed through trees (“Rx”).
Runner-up—German fighters clipping and destroying each other (“We’re Not Coming Back”).
Hokiest scene: Gallagher rescuing a boy—and his dog no less—from a nuisance raider (“Which Way the Wind Blows”).
Favorite scenes: Gallagher and Komansky bonding in the Piccadilly Lily in Magadar (“Big Brother”); followed by Komansky’s exasperation with Gallagher when he ignores his loyal offer to be busted in punishment (“Hot Shot”); Gallagher desperately pleading with General Britt over disciplining Josh McGraw (“The Idolater”); Gallagher’s angry embarrassment over his date being stolen (“The Hot Shot”) which first galvanizes him into bringing Troper and his men into line; Komansky’s tough but tender confrontation with Stevie Corbett in the Lion Pub (“Mighty Hunter”); Joe and Ilka’s conversation in “Rx for a Sick Bird” when she describes the difference between men and women—“he for God, and she for nature”; Gallagher’s grief over and salute to Komansky whom he thinks has died in a burning plane; Gallagher, after suddenly reuniting with his father, finding a bottle of something and taking a fortifying gulp (”Grant Me No Favor”); a contrite Komansky telling Harley Wilson that Gallagher “is the greatest” (“The Outsider”); Angel Babe’s flirtatious, impassive face going up in flames (“Angel Babe”); Susan’s shaky deriding of Sandy in The Hound and Heather as she tries to understand her feelings for him (“Show Me a Hero”); Joe’s panic after a German sentry stops him—for a match! (“Underground”); Stovall and Britt, in evening shadows, talking about an unpaid bet (“Storm at Twilight”).
Favorite lines (among many these stand out)
“The sky is full of scientific tin!” – Komansky, after the crews have tossed out the chaff to baffle Nazi homing efforts (“Back to the Drawing Board”).
“What was that you said?” “I don’t know sir . . . It’s Ukranian. The fellow upstairs said it to his wife all the time.” “Well, let’s hope they loved each other.” Gallagher and Komansky, after the sergeant startled him by speaking in a foreign tongue, “We’re Not Coming Back”
“It is, huh?”—Gallagher’s weary response to Dr. Rink’s glorying in the destruction that his BTC device accomplishes, “Back to the Drawing Board”
“I’m going home.” “Me too—when the war is over.” Gallagher to Capt. Patricia Bates, shocked by real war, and not quite comprehending that, as an Army officer, her personal desires are deflected by duty, “Which Way the Wind Blows”
“You stunk up the air.” Sandy’s angry words to Stovall after the major forces him to assess his flying performance, “Storm at Twilight”
“Sandy, is this some kind of loyalty to me?” “It’s ME, sir—my skin, my life.” Komansky to Gallagher who is trying to protect Colonel Wexler whose trauma Sandy alone has been privy to, “Falling Star”
“I could have shot you myself!” “I’ll thank you a lot, sir!” – Gallagher and Komansky after the sergeant punches Sgt. Trask for shooting at him; Gallagher probably feels as if he could shoot himself by now, “Between the Lines”
“Why don’t you wait to see how the story ends.” Gallagher to Susan Nesbit, in a compassionate request to hold off on writing her story about his sergeant, “Show Me a Hero”
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