Hello, returning readers–to Twelve O’Clock High

This is a new posting message for two reasons: to assure interested readers that I will continue the blogging of Season I–the “Savage Season”!–and to invite you to stay tuned for some upcoming novels based on 12OCH . . . in which the futures of Joseph Gallagher, Alexander Komansky, Harvey Stovall . . . and a new hero for the story: Captain Rigel B. O’Ryan.

“Gauntlet of Fire”

Writer: John T. Dugan

Director: Joseph Pevney

The third season opens with some startling changes: for the first time since “Show Me a Hero” a date is established, and what a date!—early June 1944. Also, color!—which I don’t particularly like, as discussed below. The third season also features differences in tone and story: episodes are grittier in that Gallagher begins to inevitably break down under the terrible pressures; however, his partnership with Sandy and Stovall strengthens. Also, sadly, at least for the television series, it’s the beginning of the end—and the ending, grimly, in “The Hunters and the Killers” leaves us dedicated viewers with the assurance that Gallagher will be all right, but his body has been severely broken; Harvey is in temporary command, and a battered and fearful Sandy has been assured by the sympathetic Britt that Joe will be okay, but he seems bereft not only of his CO, but his mentor and good friend . . . and in the skies, a B-17 flies overhead . . . we know what the end of the war will be, but the caring viewer is left wondering . . .  what are the fates of these three men?

“Twelve O’Clock High [roll of drums] in color.” So the third season opens, and I myself believe that color did not particularly enhance the show by much. Color reduced its gritty, documentary quality; reduced film library footage, and further promotes the fact that the series was filmed in California—though the dust and bright skies were always pretty obvious even in black and white. Unfortunately, the prints I am watching seem a little faded. First transmissions surely were better, but again, I don’t think color was right for this show, and I sympathize with the producers who didn’t want to move into color either—“World War II was in black and white” they pointed out (ctd. Duffin and Mathes) but the “third network” executives, straining to keep up with NBC (which, in 1966-67 had an all-color line-up), started converting shows. About the only thing I can get out of color is that the Mae Wests are bright yellow, and I think I detect some reddish glints in Alexander Komansky’s hair, which explains his seemingly odd if charming Scots nickname of “Sandy,” which seems at odds with his very Polish surname.

I wonder if the limitations posed by color footage being needed led to the decision to start Season III, a little startlingly, at the time of D-Day. By that time, as Bill Christy says in the episode, the Luftwaffe had been pushed back, an objective that had to be reached before land forces started hitting the beaches (air power combined with ground forces created the invincible Nazi juggernaut at war’s beginning) and while bombing missions did not stop, the agenda modified. However, it’s good to know some dates; in Season I, the 918^th seemed stuck in 1942-1943 with just about everything happening to Frank Savage from amnesia, tragic romance, rare blood type transfusion concluding with POW imprisonment and successful escape, and some historical howlers, such as the too-early bringing in of a P-51. In Season II, as the reformatted show sought increased historical accuracy, and Joe Gallagher less a “target” of highly dramatic situations (after all that was done to Savage, was much left?) two dates were provided: Kasserine Pass in North Africa (“Big Brother”) and Sandy was decorated in June 1943 (“Show Me”). A year has passed since that moment. The lack of aerial combat clips in color probably also led to the decision to use the B-17s in notably different ways; in this episode they are couriers, dropping leaflets low enough to deal with ground fire (sort of previewing the third season being a lot more “ground bound”); in “Massacre” the B-17s figure in the factual shuttle raids and are used as ground-forts as the men fight off Nazi air attacks from the tarmac,  in “Face of a Shadow” Piccadilly Lily becomes a kind of tank;  in “Fortress Weisbaden” planes  are used for drop-off and pick-up of Commandos along their sudden unwelcomed comrades of Joe and Sandy;  in “Long Time Dead” a B-17 even becomes the scene of Sandy’s “murder.” But, on to “Gauntlet of Fire”—an excellent title for one of the best episodes of the series—and a wise switch from “Gotterdammerung” which described the Nazi situation at episode’s end, rather than a seemingly grim description of the 918^th’s own “twilight of the gods” as men and planes and nerves fail. It’s a damned good launch of the third and final half-season. The title well describes the agony of work, lack of knowledge, and growing despair that the 918^th and Colonel Joe Gallagher are running through, punished in the air and punished on the ground.

Being that this is the first episode of Season III, there are interesting connections to be made with the opening episodes of Season I and II: in “Golden Boy” Gallagher’s sense of duty is heightened and cemented; in “Loneliest Place” his devotion is tested and raised to new heights as Britt hand-selects him to command the 918^th. This duty carries him through many difficult situations, and Komansky beautifully if grimly describes it in “Between the Lines” as “Gallagher’s only fear—not pulling his weight.”  In “Gauntlet,” this fear seems to get out of hand, draining his emotional strength and allowing  his personal demons to grow—into an almost psychotic devotion to duty which nearly becomes a path of attempted escape between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Other images and events of “Loneliest Place” are recalled: as Savage went down in the Piccadilly Lily, In “Gauntlet” the Lily goes down again, but at least her 3-man crew escapes.

Also, in “Loneliest Place” Gallagher nearly physically assaulted Komansky after he goaded him; in this episode they briefly pull guns on each other!– but for good reason. In contrast with “Loneliest Place,” Harvey Stovall becomes, on this occasion, “a fighting man,” and actually experiences being on the ground in embattled Europe which both Joe and Sandy have experienced (“Underground” and “Loneliest Place” respectively). The air war moves into a new and different phase: to “interdict” with ground forces as well as carry out remaining bombing missions, including Berlin—which is taken up in “Massacre.” There are several episodes recalled and referenced in this episode: obviously, “Grant Me No Favor” is recalled as Bill Christy makes a final poignant appearance—and the episode is also recalled in Joe and Britt’s confrontations which grow increasingly bitter. A less obvious parallel is “Show Me a Hero”—but as Sandy ran an emotional gauntlet of growing self-doubt fueled by ridicule which leads him to a near-nervous breakdown and attempted escape, Gallagher, in this episode, runs a similar gauntlet to escape as his own ability to cope begins to break down. I find this strong and compelling, because it reminds us that Gallagher, frequently god-like in his resiliency, the ability to “take it,” to grow and expand his skills, to identify and help solve the problems of his pilots, is a human being too, thus more deeply etching his character. Thus, this episode contrasts with Gallagher’s strong unending efforts to keep his men together. In “Gauntlet” his flock, observing their “good shepherd” has become lost or distant from them, begins to scatter …

-“I don’t know, Sandy . . .”

In the teaser, B-17s are flying in formation, but the view lowers for the viewers to see that the mission is over . . . the Piccadilly Lily comes to a stop and Sandy, followed by Gallagher, drops from the hatch and watches a damaged B-17 come bellying in. Sandy delivers the first line of the season (he delivers the last line as well!): “How much more are they gonna pile on us Colonel?” “As much as we can take,” Gallagher says. Sandy’s response explicates the situation: “21 missions this month, 3 times more than what we can take.” “I don’t know Sandy,” Gallagher says, his words summing up one of the themes of the episode: lack of information which damages morale and robs their punishing, non-stop, endless missions of meaning–which Gallagher is always trying to find for his men (referenced in “Grant Me No Favor” and “Runway in the Dark”). Stovall, in a Jeep, calls to them, and they wearily climb in. Stovall offers a message to Gallagher, who breaks it open—“did you read this?” he asks his adjutant. Stovall, also weary, only rubs his face in answer. Joe reads the good news: “you have just had the roughest month of your lives” and they are to stand down for ten days of rest and relaxation—“and signed by General Britt, that tower of judgment and gratitude!” Sandy is too weary but to stare and smile; Stovall lops twenty years off his age by emitting a “Wah-hoo!”

-“It’s about time . . .”

In the Officer’s Club, a Captain Bluitt strides in, with the good news. With him are fellow pilots Wallach and Borega, who will figure in “tonight’s story.” Lt. Colonel Bill Christy, whose rank and honor Gallagher helped save in “Grant Me No Favor” (which has certain similarities with this episode), takes a long pull of his drink and announces “It’s about time.” Turns out time is running quickly out for both Lt. Col Christy and Borega who will not survive to mission’s end and never learn that their efforts are helping to signal “the beginning of the end.” Indeed, time is running out quickly as massive forces move into position for the “longest day.” The anxiety, the fear, the sense of time running out is nicely created by this episode’s editing—almost every scene is a “quick cut” to the next. There’s only one notable “dissolve” as I recall and that is used tellingly as Gallagher fights with his grief and disappointment and perhaps shame at the episode’s turning point/end of Act II.

-“Somehow, I get the feeling this is the ‘big one’”

Cut to—from flightline, to Officer’s Club to Wing—General Adcock calls for Britt to come down because Air Marshal Keith is waiting. Britt arrives to find General Pritchard, his boss, waiting for him, and who reduces any more waiting by announcing that there will be no typical conference for this news. “Somehow, I get the feeling this is the ‘big one’” says Britt, not naming it as D-Day—in this way, the viewers are kept in the dark about current operations as much as the 918^th.  Pritchard does say they are moving into the final phases of Operation Point Blank, a combined Allied air offensive, with the objective “to make mush of the channel coasts.” Air Marshal Keith adds that this is going to be an around-the-clock maneuver. Pritchard is checking all his Wings personally—Britt admits he has only half a wing. The 966^th was filled out by cannibalizing another group (a preview for a problem later in the episode) and the 918^th is being stood down for ten days. “Then you’d better revoke that order,” says Pritchard. Britt defends it; the 918^th has been taking the brunt for a month, and “if this were the real thing. . . “ “They are going play as if it is. Revoke that order,” says Pritchard, and the six bongs strike over Britt as he realizes what he must do with an exhausted, edgy group . . .

-“a little enigma for you . . . “

Act I opens suddenly with Britt visiting Joe personally at Operations; we later learn that this is a very courteous gesture to his subordinate and mentee who will come close to failing him in this episode. Perhaps to help Joe at a horrific time, Britt has a job opening–if this were meant to be a benevolent gesture, it backfires with Joe’s conscience and sense of duty to his work and to his men combine to nearly destroy him. “I have a little enigma for you,” he tells Joe. “I pulled Sam Adcock off the G-3 desk for time being to move up and I don’t think he’ll be back—the job is open and it’s yours if you want it.” “Mine?” Joe asks. Britt reveals his understanding of Gallagher, his handpicked successor to Savage over a year earlier: “It’ll take you out of the air and I know how you feel about flying . . .” Joe reflects a moment and then closes his office door; Sandy and Stovall in the outer office observe this. This episode extends three partnerships–Joe and Sandy, Joe and Harvey, and Sandy and Harvey–into a trio, beautifully portrayed when all three fly out together, go down  together, are separated, unite and see the dawn of “the longest day.” “I need a top-notch officer, a man who is 110% committed to the job,” Britt tells him, a description which will become ironic as the episode continues. He is 110% committed to his job as a pilot and a commanding officer, which serves Joe well and also becomes a kind of blind to him as he suffers agony and self-doubt over his work and his men—and over-commits to flying mission after mission.

Joe, at this time, recalls that the day before, when he was at the hardstand, he could not see himself ever getting back into a plane—so the idea is appealing. “Suppose I give you my answer when I get back from leave, sir?” Britt pauses and suddenly goes in search of Joe’s favorite drink, brandy. Joe says he does not keep a bottle in his desk; his being caught tipsy by Komansky, who proceeded to exploit it in “Loneliest Place” may have made him wary of such things.

Britt faces the music: “Joe, your leave’s been cancelled.” Joe is defiantly aghast. “You can’t do that!” Britt becomes a general: they are going into the final phase of Operation Point Blank. “We’ve gone into final phase three times already,” Joe protests. “Raincoats on, raincoats off.” “Every rehearsal is important,” Britt says. “How many times do you have to rehearse a disaster?” Joe demands. He has no men, no machines; this is the sounding of the theme of attrition which will grow worse and worse. Britt tells him that men and machines will start feeding in, likening their situation to an assembly line. “General, my men are tired!” Britt blows up: “And this trip has cost me one hour of precious time! I could have sent you the order!” Joe does not back down in the face of flouted authority. “What am I supposed to do now? Make a choice between this and G-3? This isn’t an enigma!” He more or less makes his choice when he demands Sandy find Stovall and start preparations. Britt won’t accept this as a choice, and leaves the door slightly open: “I don’t want to prejudice your decision—but Point Blank isn’t going to be easy either way.” He then tells Gallagher that the 918^th will fly “Overleaf,” distributing flyers over the coastal areas of France.

-“May I ask . . . “  – “You may not!”

Cut to–an irritable Komansky inspecting one of the leaflets—“It’s in French,” he says with disgust. The ground crewman with him nods and they both watch a B-17 hauling into the air to start the work. Cut to–This take-off is also observed by an irritable Gallagher, neatly shaved and dressed, from his office window. His sharp outer appearance contrasts with the man within; he is exhausted, angry, disgusted—which soon shows. With him are Stovall and Captain Bluitt, who tells him, apologetically, that his gunners are too sick or hurt to go on a mission. “Well, if you were too sick or hurt, you wouldn’t be here,” says Gallagher, somewhat illogically.

Bluitt seeks information: “May I ask . . . “ “You may not,” Gallagher cuts him off with. “Sir, I think we have the right,” Bluitt tries and Joe suddenly demands “Attention!” “Sir?” “You question one more order . . .you’re going to face court martial.” Stovall frowns at this, embarrassed for his commander. “Colonel, I—“ “Brace!” shouts Gallagher. He warns Bluitt that if he speculates or questions this assignment he’ll be busted to a buck private—and finishes by demanding he go to quarters to shave—“and change that filthy uniform, and shape up!” Bluitt leaves, probably shaken to his core—what happened to “good shepherd” Gallagher?  Stovall quickly moves in, providing reports on Bluitt’s gunners and telling Joe, “Sir, you haven’t told them anything.” Gallagher has no real information to give. “This is the same stuff the 305 was dropping off the last week.” (D-day was postponed for lousy weather.)

-“Are you sure this is just a milk run?”

Cut to–the briefing hut, to a close-up of the leaflet, finally being interpreted for the viewer. Its message is grim: people are to flee immediately; their city must be bombed; reparations will be made. Go to the fields . . . The men turn uneasily as Christy comes in; as executive officer he has a certain duty to his CO; this is matched by his personal obligations to Gallagher. Several months earlier, Joe defied several generals, including his own father, and nearly went to the guillotine for Christy when the latter faced a court martial. He counsels the men “Don’t let it get you down, this is a milk run across the channel,” adding “That it should be, the Luftwaffe has been pushed back.” To Stovall’s “Ten-hut!” the pilots wearily push themselves to their feet as Gallagher comes in, faces them, and explains the facts of the mission. Bluitt then neglects Christy’s counsel to ask, “Sir, after this, will we get our ten days off?” Gallagher stares at him; his flock is beginning to scatter, and he can’t rely on explanations anymore because he doesn’t have any or does not know. Instead, he calls them to attention, puts them at ease, and then announces “Ten-hut!” They do it again. The men stare at him, no longer knowing or trusting their “good shepherd,” and Stovall and Christy sweat for him. When the pilots finally snap to, Joe calls a recess—to demand they return to quarters, clean up, get in proper flying fear and be back in 15 minutes, ready to fly.

-“Gallagher is bucking for promotion . . .”

Cut to—B-17s in the air. Gallagher, with the uncomplaining Sandy by his side, and more like himself as he lets his pilot identity take him over, radios the other planes that they are flying low enough for the Jerries to throws rock at them. In another B-17, Bluitt and his co-pilot Wallach, mull over the situation—what is going on with these two-hour hops just to throw out leaflets? Bluitt decides that “Gallagher is bucking for promotion, and he doesn’t care who he rides over”—changing Gallagher’s good shepherd identity to that of a cowboy, who, in the romantic American West, was the shepherd’s enemy.

-“I think we just lost Pat Barstow . . .”

Act II is muddled, dense, and jumpy—which reflects the overall situation. In this act Joe continues his descent literally and figuratively to the ground as his devotion to duty goes awry; his neat outward appearance covers up scrambled emotions and logic. Recalling Savage’s dressing down in “Golden Boy,” Britt, undertaking the brutal duty that a good mentor must perform on occasion, is forced to dress him down as well, and Joe’s exhaustion and grief at Act II’s end is hard to endure. As Act II opens, the mission is underway, with the leaflet drop coming in 45 seconds. Sandy prepares to cut the nets while, in 100 Proof, Christy observes a B-17 beginning its plunge. Christy radios for information and Joe snaps at him to shut the system down.

Christy, oblivious to Joe’s order, says “I think we just lost Pat Barstow.” “We’re on the job,” Joe reminds him, one of the few friends he has left… Christy’s face clenches as he swallows this bitter pill, and he goes on with the job. In the hatch, Sandy sets the leaflets free; they scatter over the French countryside and a large town. “Bombs away, close the doors,” he hollers, even though the bombs were paper this time. Down below, the leaflets hit ground and scatter, bringing forth three German soldiers—I think we see them again at the end—to pick up and study them.

-“put it on the desk, I’ll get to it later”

Cut to—Joe’s office, into which the tired man enters, with Stovall following, with a status report. Currently, the 918^th has sixteen planes, even without replacement parts—he will make up a list of items for Joe to sign and he will put them through. Joe listens to this as he pours his one millionth cup of coffee, and eases his back. “Put it on the desk, I’ll get to it later,” he says. Stovall reminds him that Kaiser is coming with reports on the men. The phone then rings. He has taken little notice of Christy, who has followed him in. Neither Stovall or Gallagher take much notice of the phone, so Christy answers it—“Britt,” he says, giving it to Joe. He takes it with a “Yeah?” rather than a crisp greeting. (For once, I really get a sense of Joe’s “impudence,” referred to in “Grant Me No Favor” although this could be sheer weariness.) After he listens he hangs up. Christy seizes the moment to apologize–unnecessarily– for his actions—“that Barstow’s death hit him so hard. I’m okay now,” he adds. Joe seems to hardly care—the call is summoning him to Wing, and he tells Christy to sign the papers for him, and leaves to clean up—pausing to say, “Bill, I thought I made myself clear that I want the men clean and properly uniformed at all times.” Joe now resembles the inexperienced Colonel Wexler (“Falling Star”) who seemed to equate a good base with Dress-A uniforms; worse, Joe has palmed off this cosmetic duty on Christy who apologized to him for reacting to a friend’s death. As he leaves, Kaiser comes in with his reports—“sign those too,” Joe mutters. “Is he wound up or am I getting old?” Kaiser asks. Joe is gone, leaving three worried men—the scene somewhat reminds me of “Show Me a Hero,” when three worried men mull over Sandy’s “escape attempt” when they figure out he has gone AWOL.

-“better grab the desk while you can. It’s going to get rough for you”

Cut to—a civilized scene: in his Wing Office, Britt decants brandy into a glass and carries it to the neatly uniformed Gallagher, but gets to business: “How many planes are flyable?” “Sixteen I think,” Gallagher says. “How many pilots are certified?” “It’s all there in Kaiser’s report,” the colonel directs, and it can’t be known if he is being rude or if he is so exhausted he can’t do more than that. Britt kindly looks up the information and then calls for Sam Adcock, who has not left yet, despite Britt sending up to London. When Gallagher asks about this, “Not while Overlord is pending,” Britt tells him, giving a solid clue as to what is going on—no less than D-Day—this is no mere rehearsal. Ironically, Gallagher questions Britt like Bluitt was questioning him: “General, when will the payoff happen?—or will it?” Britt doesn’t answer—he has observed that important documents have been signed by Christy. “Yes sir, as a convenience for me,” Gallagher says.

Britt tells him bluntly that he is slipping—he should know how many planes and pilots he has at his disposal. Gallagher doesn’t seem to care and when Adcock arrives, he learns to his weary anger that there are three more days of Overleaf. “I thought Overleaf was finished?” “No, we’re not,” says Britt. Adcock is sympathetic: “Better grab my desk while you can. It’s going to get pretty rough for you.” (With his men, or in the air?—actually, both.) Joe regards him with weary confusion—he has no control over anything anymore—and receives his instructions from a brusque, not to be questioned Britt: the 918^th is to continue dropping leaflets, for three days, four missions a day: “It’s impossible, but it will be done.”

“Should I weigh G-3 against this?” Joe demands. “The G-3 can wait three days,” Britt tells him. He tells Joe that he wants him to be in control—but warns him, “And Joe, I mean in control.”

“. . . Sitting Bull was the only one to get the headlines”

Cut to—the Toby Mug being turned. “Four times tomorrow,” Stovall tells Bluitt. “And it isn’t going to get any better.” Though counseled to get some sleep, the stupefied men sit down to drinks and black thoughts. The flock is restless, continuing to scatter for lack of the shepherd or for failing trust in the shepherd. “I’m beginning to think Gallagher’s right. . . this is a garbage detail.” Dropping papers, helping “suffering France”—and “somebody is making headlines.” “You accusing the Skipper?” asks Borega, cap pushed back on his head. Bluitt has an interesting analogy: “There were a lot of Indians at Custer’s Last Stand . . .but Sitting Bull was the only one who got the headlines.” Wallach gets angry at this and Borega says “Don’t get sore at him.” Bluitt insists that Gallagher is trying to move up—which makes the two opponents stand up, ready to trade blows. Christy, who knows Gallagher better than anyone in the room, intervenes, directing Borega to get another beer—“we’re all too tired to talk straight.” To make his point, he tells Bluitt to quit “mouthing off—it only makes things worse.” Bluitt says that it’s a good thing Christy is looking after them because he’s “doing half the work already”—Borega points out that they can’t knock Gallagher too hard—“not when he’s up there flying with us.” Which is true, but Gallagher might be serving his men better by staying on the ground—indeed, he seems to use the missions as a way of ignoring things he can no longer cope with—such as a seemingly growing doubt in himself.

-“he’s got to do something about these rumors!”

Cut to—the loyal Christy knocking on Joe’s door, and admitting himself to find Stovall at Joe’s desk—telling image, that. Joe is not here—he is getting himself certified to fly again. “He’s got to do something about these rumors!” Christy tells Stovall—is he bucking for G-3 or not? “Some of the guys think he’s riding us into the ground [interesting image, harking back to the cowboy image already indicated] for his own ambition.” Joe appears at the door: “What do you think?” he asks, quietly. “Did you ask for Overleaf?” “We’re under maximum security,” Joe says, a conundrum in this whole affair, and recalling his earlier experience with Christy when the 918^th was being decimated flying missions against a facility the crews were in the dark about (nuclear power). “Are we?” Christy demands, for the first time showing doubt in Gallagher but his doubt has foundations. “That’s not what you told the men. All you told them was confined to base and proper uniforms. Are they gonna get those ten days off? They’re beginning to think you don’t care.” “I’m going to bed,” is all Gallagher can say which suggests he does not care. When Stovall asks for a minute Joe tells him that Christy is still executive officer—and “he’s not flying tomorrow—I am.”

-“Sir? . . . Skipper?”

Cut to–the Piccadilly Lily in flight; Joe reels off orders, crisply and efficiently, ending with the pilots to “break for home” when finished. Cruising at only 1500 feet, they are hit by ground fire—but another B-17 is struck the death blow, and as Gallagher radios to “bail out now,” they watch it tumble from the sky. Cut to—the Piccadilly Lily landing, and the ground personnel preparing it for another flight. Joe pushes back the yoke, hauls off his headset, and for the first time we have seen, cocks his cap over his eyes and leans back to take a nap on the flightdeck—he needs sleep, they all do, but this action suggests that he is hiding, exemplified when the co-pilot removes himself to get some coffee, urinate, maybe grab a laugh someplace. The next few moments recall Joe and Sandy’s first tentative bonding in “Loneliest Place”—when they worked together to bring down the pirate ship and then Sandy, requesting permission, as a veiled apology to his ugly actions toward Gallagher, occupies the co-pilot seat—Sandy crawls once more onto the flight deck, sits in the co-pilot seat—and speaks gently to his CO: “Sir?  . . . Skipper?” Gallagher crawls awake to look at his flight engineer and right hand man whose loyalty never fails—though it seems to falter before the final act. Sandy is beginning to think first before speaking and then speaking with care: “Look, I know I’m out of line, but why don’t you sit this one out? Everybody else is alternating.” “Unfortunately, I’m fresh out of combat leaders.” “Colonel Christy’s good.” Joe’s words indicate his taking on the mission is a kind of apology to the man: “Remember when Pat Barstow’s ship went down?” “He took it pretty hard,” Sandy says. “They were buddies.” Joe says that Christy can come in later—“right now, the man is tired.” Komansky lays it on the line: “And what are you, sir?” “That’ll be all, Sergeant,” Gallagher says, pulling rank and pulling his cap over his eyes. Sandy’s eyes flicker over Gallagher in concern, but he obeys him and lets him sleep; it’s all he can do for the man at the moment. Gallagher and Sandy have here flipped behaviors: in “Loneliest Place” Joe figuratively extended his hand to Sandy who at first rejected it; now Sandy is doing the same, and Joe is the one doing the rejecting.

-“a man with a broken nose cannot perform his duties!”

Cut to—two running men, one in pursuit of the other. The pursuer catches the pursued and it’s a literal dust-up as the two ground crewmembers slug it out; suddenly, the 918^th resembles a playground with unruly students. Stovall frantically tries to stop it and gets decked. Sandy comes running up but is stopped—as are the other men running to see what is going on—by two legs, accompanied by a cane, striding away from a staff car. Christy dashes up.  All freeze. Puzzled, Britt looks around and goes to a man who is clutching his face. Britt looks at his face—“dispensary” he tells the man—and turns on the assembled. “A man with a broken nose cannot perform his duties! How many lives will that broken nose cost? Was it worth it?” “Sir,” says a tired ground crewman, “I started it.” The fight was over a spark plugs; he took what he needed, starting the fight . . .”there aren’t enough spark plugs to go around.” “Why?” Stovall points out that four missions a day—and, trying to shield Gallagher, says, “I can’t get the requisitions fast enough.” Christy speaks up, pointing out what needs to be pointed out: “The situation needs to be looked into—the 918^th can’t go on this way!”

-“your patient, doctor”

Cut to—Joe, sacked out at the hospital, once more being certified by Kaiser, who gives him pills—“Ready to fly—you shouldn’t want to but you will.” Joe asks Kaiser an odd question, one he should know the answer to: how many pilots are fit to fly? The number is down to fourteen, and planes down to eight. Britt comes in. “Your patient, doctor,” Kaiser says, probably hoping for what is going to happen. Joe is physically fit, but he is desperately sick in heart and mind, much like Komansky had been when he suddenly broke  down over taunting (“Show Me a Hero”). Britt wordlessly tosses him a spark plug. “Yes sir, I heard about the fight,” Joe remarks, and obviously has done nothing about it. Britt, in contrast to his courteous visit to Joe earlier, and even pouring brandy for him at Wing, begins issuing orders, telling him things that Stovall and Komansky cannot: he is to get to his desk, start signing requisitions, get in front of your men and make some kind of statement. “What kind, without violating security?” Joe demands. “Moral encouragement!” snaps Britt. Joe cynically redefines that as a “pep talk” and refuses, and Britt warns him as Gallagher frequently warns Sandy: “No more back talk.”

Outside, a plane starts up and Joe responds—he also realizes that he has gone too far, but rather than facing the music, tries to run, and starts pleading almost like a child: “General, last mission of the day—General, I promise you that when I get back—“ Britt tells him that he needs to stay with his men. Joe, pathetically frantic (reminding me of a similar scene in “The Idolater” only he is more desperate this time) says he can’t send them up there to die; at least he can lead them— “If you’re running from that G-3 job, forget it!” “General I haven’t even given that a thought!”

Joe is so tired and discouraged he probably doesn’t know what he is running from or running to. Britt, in contrast with “Loneliest Place,” when he gives Joe his eagles, grounds him. In comparison with “Golden Boy,” when Savage dressed him down for incompetence, Britt tells the shocked Gallagher something similar–that he will go to his desk and administer this group—or he “will cut orders declaring him unfit for command.” He leaves and Joe is left alone to contemplate Britt’s threat: defeated, exhausted, almost devastated, he struggles to collect himself from a breakdown. At this point, the only dissolve in the episode brings Act II to its close, and its turning point: Gallagher may indeed no longer be fit for command.

-“that’s the first time you’ve sounded like Joe Gallagher . . .”

Act III, appropriately for its final image, is like a plane out of control: before its end Joe Gallagher launches out  on what amounts to be a suicide mission and though his flock “rallies” to him, things go from bad to worse: Piccadilly Lily is shot down and the parachuting Gallagher is truly,  literally grounded with the enemy all around–near the Normandy beaches. Act III opens, appropriately, in Joe’s office. Obediently, if bitterly, he has taken command of himself and has taken his place behind his desk, behind a stack of paper—and he is speaking with Bill Christy. As he nervously taps and lights his millionth cigarette, he tells Christy, in a tight voice, that he won’t be flying—“he’ll be at the briefings, but the mission is all yours.” Christy, who may feel guilty about demanding Britt do something about Joe, accepts this quietly, and starts to leave. “Oh, Bill,” Joe says in a quieter voice, “I’m sorry you lost Pat Barstow. I’m sure you know that . . . and you’re all right now.”

Christy is pleased. “That’s the first time you’ve sounded like Joe Gallagher since . . . tell me, Joe, are you leaving?” “I don’t know,” Joe admits, gesturing toward the papers which sit like both a barrier to his being a pilot and a greeting for his future—he flicks a leaflet, the piece of paper which seems to have started it all. Christy, who has not been quite so consumed with duty, pleads with Joe “Tell the guys how you feel—don’t you understand?—this is a rum-dum job for the best—and we were the best!—now they seem fed up; they feel double crossed and resentful.” “Yeah, I know,” Gallagher replies, sickened at how he promoted this feeling among the men. “Of course, they’re sore—they have a right to be.” “They’re sore at you,” Christy tells him. Joe then literally and figuratively rises to the occasion, and tears a page out of Savage’s book: they are just kids, kids pushed beyond human endurance—“You keep them sore at me, and you make them sore at you because being sore is about the only thing that’s going to get them through this mess.” Christy does not like the advice—and as it turns out, Joe’s advice is actually wrong.

-“okay you guys, this bar . . . is open for one more drink, on me”

Cut to—the Officer’s Club; the sections of the Quonset Hut are decorated with the 918^th’s victories, which stands in contrast with the recent mood and attitudes—and the qualified sense of victories being announced . . . as the scene opens the men are talking about the embarrassing fight over sparkplugs, which infuriated Britt, opened Christy’s mouth, and revealed Joe’s lapses as a CO. Bluitt is laughing—“that must have looked like a regular gang fight!” Christy suddenly enters, without fanfare, and Bluitt leads a toast, hoisting his beer mug: “Here’s to Colonel Christy who this afternoon stood up to General Britt and stood up for the guys—to the guy who’s running the show—may he be our next CO!”

Christy does not like this—but tries to become the commander he may very well become for real and announces—“Okay you guys, this bar . . . “ He demurs. “This bar is open for one more drink . . . on me.” He quietly winces at the cheers and applause he receives for this, which is a punch that he has pulled. He finishes by saying “Somebody’d better turn that Toby Mug around four times—tomorrow is a big day.”

He leaves, but never to return.

-“if you think it’s tearing the group apart . . . see what it’s doing to him”

Cut to—B-17s in flight, being jostled by flak. In the lead plane, a tense Christy remarks “They sure are ready for us today.” This is no milk run. “You telling Gallagher it’s getting worse?” Borega asks, perhaps curious as to why Gallagher is no longer flying. Christy speaks plainly to his co-pilot: “He knows—he knows exactly what we’re doing—and if you think it’s tearing the group apart, you ought to see what it’s doing to him.” Borega considers this remark, and wonders since they have only one more to go, maybe they’ll come back to earth . . . an eerily correct statement not only for Borega and Christy, but for Gallagher as well. The drop comes: Komansky, who seems to get passed around the pilots a lot, is told to stand by.

The doors open and Sandy gets ready—the groundfire, increasingly murderous, strikes the plane, a piece of flak knocking Komansky back, and nearly out the doors—a preview of his experiences in “Long Time Dead.” Komansky scrambles for a hold, pulls himself up, and shocked, hangs on for dear life. “Komansky, are you hit?” demands Christy. His concerns are his last words as flak spews in the flightdeck, raking both pilots.

Christy slumps back in his seat; Borega recovers and keeps flying . . .

-“maybe they’ll get him a leaflet for his tombstone”

Cut to—a pensive Komansky in a treatment room in the base hospital. Too tired to be angry or to feel the pain of his wounded leg being wrapped, Sandy stares at nothing as a subdued Gallagher, cap in hand, talks with him. Joe does not speak to him directly; he stays behind him as if not wanting to meet Sandy’s eyes; indeed, Sandy’s posture and attitude reflects Gallagher’s own attitude when Sandy attempted to reason with him on the flightdeck. “We were lucky to get four ships back,” Sandy tells his CO. “I don’t know how Captain Borega found the strength to keep us in the air.”

“Yeah. Well, the flak is getting worse,” is Gallagher’s vapid, helpless reply. “It’s like they knew we were coming to Marquise. Maybe we don’t know what this is about but I have funny feeling they do.”

Gallagher changes the subject but to a painful one: “What about Colonel Christy?” “Colonel Christy never knew what hit him, sir,” Sandy replies. “Maybe they’ll get him a leaflet for his tombstone.” On these cynical words, Kaiser and Stovall enter—to Joe’s question, Kaiser reports that Borega has died. Stovall compounds the bad news—four pilots are in another room, too sick to fly. “Are they really sick?” Joe asks. “They could be,” Kaiser answers. “They’ve probably been sick for three or four days.” Frankly, so has Joe . . . Gallagher takes an accounting of the situation: two more pilots dead, and one of them was set to take over for him. Joe’s grounded, and Komansky is injured. Four pilots are sick. “This is the last mission,” Joe says, not thinking of himself but of his group’s honor—as Christy said, “we were the best” and now they are on the mat. “Joe, it’s one too many,” says Stovall, being practical, not disloyal.

Joe departs, and in a strained voice matching his strained face, he demands Stovall get every pilot able to fly in the briefing hut in ten minutes. The moment is rife with ambivalencies—you don’t know if Gallagher is fighting for himself, fighting for the 918th’s honor, or for the war—is he demanding too much? Is he demanding this for the right reasons? Is his fear of not pulling his own weight developed into despair?—one of the requisites of suicide.

-“I guess they just wanted to see what would happen, Colonel”

Cut to—the briefing hut, surprisingly full with weary, bandaged, slumped men. Bluitt, his back to the platform, mumbles to Wallach something about the “rich getting richer” and “now Colonel Christy is gone.” Stovall, summoning his strength, strides in with a “ten-hut!” Unimpressed, the men still shove themselves to their feet, again, save for Bluitt, who remains seated.

Gallagher comes in—looks at Bluitt—but saves his words. Bluitt finally rises to his feet. Joe looks at his men. “As you were,” he says, civilly. “I asked for all pilots fit for duty to report. I see some of you are not. What are you doing here?” Bluitt stands up and speaks civilly, though his words edge on mutiny: “I guess they just wanted to see what would happen, Colonel.”

Gallagher brushes this aside. He announces that in twenty minutes, the four remaining planes will go to Toulon—“I only need eight of you.” Bluitt still speaks for them: “Colonel, this group has had it.” He admits that Doc Kaiser has certified some of them to fly “but even if you were to order us, I don’t think we could make it.” It’s not exactly mutiny, but the men don’t deny his words or try to rationalize them. Joe grasps at straws: “Even if only one plane is in the air—it’s still the 918^th. One plane—two of you.” Bluitt and the other pilots, stare at him—not malevolently, just helplessly. Gallagher makes a decision of a career, and a lifetime: “I know one ship that will try” and leaves without bothering for Stovall to shout “Ten-hut.” By now, he may feel he doesn’t deserve that formality. “What ship does he mean?” asks Wallach.

-“Where’s he going?”

Cut to—the answer: The Piccadilly Lily, being prepared and cleaned for the mission—with what’s coming, the actions seem like a body being laid out for the funeral. The cut goes to a nice shot of Gallagher’s Jeep hurtling down the flightline towards his plane—the plane he inherited from Savage, who is now long gone, and Joe’s future seems pretty much the same to him. He seems headed for that unwanted promotion, his men are refusing to fly, and duty is not being completed . . .by now, Joe seems suicidal. Joe jumps out, grabs his stuff, hurls it into the hatch of the Piccadilly Lily, and climbs in. Three groundcrew members, resembling the three Germans we have already met and will meet again, stare at this, but without much enthusiasm: “Where’s he going?” remarks one.

Cut to–Wallach pulling up to the tower, and asking a suited-up Stovall a similar question. “Don’t tell me you young heroes are going back to work,” he says, good-naturedly, but his flight suit indicates that he was not trusting the pilots to fly; in which case, he will fly. “He can’t fly a B-17 by himself.” “Take 625, she’s loaded,” directs the adjutant.

As Stovall gets into a Jeep, a transport pulls up, with Bluitt, also asking where Gallagher is going. “Forget it, son,” Stovall says, probably enjoying the moment. “He’d slap charges on me if I did,” says Bluitt, his words indicating that Colonel Gallagher is still in command. “Go find yourself an airplane,” says Stovall.

-“Sir, General Britt may court martial you  . . . and me–Sir”

Cut to—Gallagher, back where he belongs, calm and collected, is determinedly starting the plane up. He does not react when Stovall crawls in beside him, nor is he worried when the adjutant tells him “You know, you’re violating Britt’s direct order.” But he is surprised when Sandy emerges beside him and between the two pilots. “Where do you think you’re going with that wounded leg?—Start Number 3.”

“Sir, General Britt may court martial you . . . and he may also court martial me—sir.”

It’s not exactly a logical answer, and Joe only answers it with “Start Number 4.” All the propellers whirl in unison, reflecting the situation in the flightdeck—the three guys are together inside the Piccadilly Lily, all for one, and one for all. It’s a particularly nice touch about Stovall and Sandy’s joining him—their loyalty to Gallagher is absolute, so they could not, without gaining the audience’s disgust, turn away as the other pilots do, though Sandy comes perilously close in the hospital scene. However, they can demonstrate “above and beyond loyalty,” as Stovall refuses to give into his age and his position, and Sandy refuses to give into his wound. Their loyalty is put to a terrible test as things go awry.

-“We’ve had it—bail out”

The third act does not end in victory—anything but–but it couldn’t because there are still some twelve minutes left and Act IV stands in contrast with the preceding three, complete with a surprise ending. Cut to–four B-17s in flight, and this time the flak is replaced by fighters, some of the few left to Luftwaffe. The Piccadilly Lily, out in front, takes a hit immediately, and as the body of the beautiful Lily fills with smoke, Gallagher announces “We’ve had it—bail out.” As Bluitt watches, two parachutes are seen peeling out, and the Piccadilly Lily, missing a tail section, sails downward.

In Bluitt’s plane, Wallach is struck—but they fly on.

-“Sir, we chickened out  . . . he took off—and we followed”

Cut to—Archbury, where personnel at the tower observe the final return of the planes—one is landing when Britt’s staff car pulls up. Britt lurches out of his sedan, uncaring that an airman does not salute him. Another B-17 comes in. A third . . . The 100 Proof rolls to a stop, and ejects its wounded. Bluitt braces himself to meet Britt—reporting “Colonel Gallagher went down.” “I ordered him not to fly,” says Britt. Bluitt now defends his CO: “Sir, we chickened out . . . he took off—and we followed.” Almost too late, the good shepherd managed to get the flock together and following him—but now, the good shepherd has gone missing . . .

-“Let’s find a better hiding place”

In the final act, the overall theme, image, and direction 12OCH changes—for the rest of the show’s run, which was not, sadly, that long. From here on in, 12OCH becomes largely ground-bound; and may I say, low-cruising altitudes of the multiple missions of this episode seem to be signaling this. Interestingly, Act IV is on the ground, and not even the epilogue has a single flying plane. Indeed, the ground scenes which begin the act swiftly shift to below-ground—which suggests death, as well as rebirth and indeed, it is the night before the dawn of the new day of European liberation–and a long bitter fight to May 8. Immediate opening on—the Piccadilly Lily, perhaps improbably in a “belly-landing” position, is burning: Miss Lily will calmly stay behind after she crashes for what is perhaps the first time in Gallagher’s hands (Joe bailed from a plane in “Underground” and belly-landed in Russia in “Between the Lines” but the plane’s identity was never established in either episode).

From a distance, Gallagher and Stovall hide behind debris, watching—which makes me wonder—did they ride the plane in? Joe’s order to bail and parachutes being seen at Act III’s conclusion suggest they jumped, but Piccadilly Lily’s position indicates a landing—although maybe this is symbolic of the show’s “coming to the ground.” Frankly, I would have skipped that scene (which was probably darned expensive) to show Gallagher and Stovall hiding in debris, and simply witnessing the explosion from a distance—which happens, spectacularly. There is no time to mourn the “Miss Lily”—in the past he protected her valiantly in “We’re Not Coming Back”–“we have to protect Miss Lily here,” Joe says, refusing Komansky’s suggestion to blow her up and then fought his own flesh and blood when Preston Gallagher threatened to blow 918^th planes up in “Big Brother.” But, under the circumstances, if she has a spark of “Angel Babe” in her, she probably approves.

From their hideout amidst rocks and wood Joe and observe three transports, which roll over the roads to the rhythm of drum taps. Stovall, in words that I cannot fully understand, remarks something to the effect “that would explain a lot of things.” “It sure would,” says Gallagher, perhaps too stunned from what happened to come up with a better answer. Stovall seems to be one in charge at the moment, including saying “Let’s find a better hiding place.”

Cut to—Gallagher and Stovall running through open fields and are fortunate to find a destroyed farmhouse—any old port in the storm. Joe first kneels down and checks a garret window, and beckons Harvey to a cellar door. They proceed down the stairs, cautiously, and hear the barest click of noise, beyond another door. Joe, with his gun drawn, perhaps foolishly flings the door open—to reveal Sandy, scared as hell, pulling a gun on him—in an interesting variation of their third and violent meeting at Susanne’s flat over a year before. I wonder if the show were to be refilmed nowadays, if this moment would be more open to hugs all around—against the odds, they’ve all survived and have rendezvoused in the same place and rank should be damned– Joe just stepping back to allow Stovall a view of the “third musqueteer” is not quite satisfying.

-“I know we’re to the east of Cherbourg . . .”

Cut to—terrible explosions in the night . . . and cut back to Sandy and Harvey, sitting tiredly at the table, listening, and worrying. If the episode had more time this would have been a nice moment for Harvey and Sandy to talk—relieve themselves of their feelings, or speak hopefully about the future which doesn’t seem too sure a thing at the moment. A sudden noise makes them jerk and huddle down, guns drawn: Gallagher has returned. Sandy crawls back on his chair. “How’s the leg, Sandy?” Gallagher asks; his concern for others has returned.

“Fine, sir,” Sandy lies. “Do you know where we are?” asks Stovall.  Gallagher points out the garret window—past one of the hedgerows that are going to pose critical problems for securing Normandy–there’s a rise, and the channel is beyond. “What part of the channel?” Sandy asks. “Did you see a boat?” “I know we’re to the east of Cherbourg,” Joe guesses. “There must be a fishing village around here somewhere.” “It’s 2:00,” Harvey says, believing they should move out. “So much troop movement we’ll never make it in the daylight.” They must be seeing German troop movement; as the paratroopers came in the night before, there had been some alarm. “I think you’re right,” is Joe’s rather vapid reply. But it’s a wonder they’re not all dead from exhaustion. . .

-“I surrender . . . “

Sandy freezes at the sound of German voices and seizes his gun. Gallagher helps him get into his hiding place and he and Stovall hide in the darkness. Shot from beneath the stairs, shadows of legs and feet move over Joe’s tense face. There are, curiously, three of them like our trio, one is even wounded, with his arm in a sling—could these be the three German soldiers who picked up the 918^th’s leaflets, earlier? In a tight, unclear scene, we are not sure if the Germans see them and make their move, or if all three Americans shoot point blank at the Germans. The wounded one is spared—and with wide eyes, and raising arms, he declares—“I surrender.” He doesn’t know it, but his surrender foresees the fall of Nazi empire from the west, starting that very day by the Allied forces.

-“Take it easy, Sergeant . . . welcome to Normandy”

Cut to—in the morning, ships firing, LSTs approaching the coast, men disembarking into the sea and onto the beaches, paratroopers jumping out in long lines of parachutes . . . D-Day is on. Cut to—perhaps in the afternoon or maybe even a few days later–with German soldiers, on the defense, run through a field to the orders of their officer, and one is killed near the corner of a farmhouse—by a small group of American soldiers (whom, I think, would not be that far inland –unless it was Utah Beach which was in direct contrast to Omaha’s terrible problems). The American sergeant then holds fire as a white flag of surrender pokes out of the stones–why did not they flee as they planned to? Perhaps the firing became too bad, there was too much movement, or with the wounded German and the wounded Sandy they realized their escape needed better planning. “You in the house—come out.” Komansky first limps into sight, holding the banner, followed by Gallagher and Stovall, with their prisoner.

“What the—“ utters the solider, and does not finish the third word. The four men come out into sunlight, leaving their figurative coffin behind. They have been in a sense reborn as Europe is being reborn on this day of days. “Take it easy Sergeant,” directs Gallagher. “We’re American. Welcome to Normandy.” With these words, a delightfully jaunty bit of music brings action to the end—and a new day has dawned!—and nicely, American flyboys, who have been dealing with Nazi Germany in the skies for over two years—and the last three terrible days–welcome the ground forces that will now be taking the brunt of the punishment.

-. . . the beacheads are secure”

The epilogue opens in Britt’s tidy office, with both General and Colonel crisp and fresh, and a mentor and mentee willing to start over a relationship that commenced over a year before and sunk to its lowest point a few days earlier. Britt promises Gallagher five days off—not ten. “What am I coming back to General? Court martial?”—Joe seems compliant, but after what he has been through, a court martial might seem a walk in the park. “You disobeyed an order but you used your own personal example—that’s part of the game,” Britt says, evoking one of the most common images of the show. “Of course, I didn’t fly to prove a point,” Joe says—avoiding saying that he flew in a state so close to despair it might have been declared suicide if the remains of the group had not followed him. Britt makes a complicated point—he tells Joe that he is brilliantly qualified for the G-3 position—and it’s his only way to move up—and does that mean that Gallagher has permanently hurt himself as a CO? “I’ll do what I am ordered to do,” Gallagher says, the soul of compliance—reminding me a bit of how Sandy humbly offered himself up for sacrifice in “The Hot Shot.”

“I’m sure you will—you’ll do it better if it’s what you want to do.” “Sir, I don’t want my desire to interfere.” As Joe protected Sandy in the earlier incident, Britt protects Gallagher. “We need you Joe. Tell you the truth, that’s where I want you.” Britt takes a difficult step and apologizes for what Joe and his men have suffered. “It’s too bad about Bill Christy, and all the others.” Joe, taking some joy from Britt’s sympathy, finds the good in the situation, which is what the leaflets were trying to do, and which is what the men, including himself, either didn’t know, couldn’t comprehend, or lost sight of in 24 terrible days: “But we’ve saved some lives . . . and the beachheads are secure.”

“Massacre”

Writer: Carey Wilbur

Director: Robert Douglas

As in the preceding “Gauntlet of Fire,” “Massacre” has its origins in specific historical events, this time “Operation Frantic Joe [as in Stalin]” the first American shuttle mission to the Soviet Union. To put it kindly, it was not successful–tactically or diplomatically and had certain effects on the future of American-Soviet relations. Going into the full details would bog down this blog; however, the interested reader can learn more on the Internet. Because this is an episode on series television, the massive tactical and diplomatic problems of the real event are “boiled down” to a more manageable melodrama, in which a haplessly guilty Soviet officer must sacrifice himself for others, personal friendships are created, and the mission, though damaged by Nazi attacks and American-Soviet suspicions, does achieve success by going, returning, and bombing Berlin, “which Hitler and Goering said would never happen.”

According to the dates of this Operation, the shuttle started on June 21, some two weeks after D-Day, which means that the 918^th, in particular Joe Gallagher, after passing through a punishing, almost destroying gauntlet, are rested, re-outfitted, and ready to take on a new and equally difficult mission: bombing Berlin in a new strategy. And there is something perhaps even more difficult: ambassadorial duties, most of which devolve on Joe Gallagher. This gauntlet does not call for brute resiliency as much as it calls for restraint, hasty but cautious decision, “sub-rosa” conversations, improvisation—and some plain angry shouting but at the right time. In this episode, we see that Joe has really and truly assumed command of himself and of events both “local” and international—and this strong sense of self provokes Harvey Stovall’s intriguingly incomplete remark to his CO: “You sound like . . .”

Balancing Joe’s determination to lead the complete the mission and do it well is a rare comic moment: a riff on the classic “bathtub scene” in tv and movies; in this one the abluting Gallagher has the hell startled out of him by Lt. Irina Zavanoff suddenly appearing at his tubside—however, rather than seeking to see Joe in the buff, she is seeking answers . . . answers which will both complicate and help untangle a cooperative venture that has gone awry. A loyal Soviet officer assumes the painful identity and grim denouement of Oedipus, one of the most tragic figures Greek myth and lore, and subject of Sophocles’ annihilating tragedy Oedipus Rex. The parallels between Baladin and Poltava, and Oedipus and Thebes will be duly pointed out.

-“We all had dates . . . live with it”

The teaser opens on the ground at Archbury, and the 918^th resembles a disturbed ant-hill as trucks carrying personnel trundle by, officers talk with each other, a bicyclist swoops by, two WAC officers pass through the confusion. As in “Gauntlet,” a non-com delivers the first line–a disappointed sergeant calls to a friend, and their conversation provides a kind of exposition to the activity: “What’s going on?” Also, as in “Gauntlet,” passes have been cancelled and all are confined to base and little information is forthcoming—the young sergeant was stopped as he was leaving the base, his fellow sergeant has no answer; the viewer is left to figure how quickly affairs can shift in war, particularly since the date is probably around D-Day plus 15.

Cut to Operations, where another sergeant, this time Komansky, phone headset clamped on his ear, eyes grim, is agreeing to a series of orders given to him over the phone—probably by Gallagher–one of which probably includes the alert that the Russian officer Baladin is arriving. Two other curious non-coms await for information, and Sandy reveals his latent officer qualities when he tells them brusquely, yet with brutal empathy, “All leaves are cancelled—if you want to cry, go to the chaplain—we all had dates [in his case, with Helen Conboy (“Siren Voices”) or the young lady in “The Pariah”?]–no communication with anybody off base—live with it,” are his closing words. Underscoring his words is the sudden whine of an air raid siren, which sends Komansky and the two other non-coms scrambling out of the office.

Sandy flies around an arriving sedan, and tries to take charge of the passenger, the Russian officer Major Baladin. Bravely, angrily, perhaps foolishly, he only stands and watches the oncoming plane. “Nazi bomber,” he says contemptuously—while U.S. forces had good reason to hate the Nazis, Russian hatred was white hot as Germany invaded, raped, and pillaged the country of the inferior Slavs—indeed, German forces, including those in Berlin, when they knew the war was lost, struggled to surrender to the Anglo-American forces knowing they did not carry the grudge—to put it mildly—of Soviet forces.

The more practical Komansky, in whose hands the safety of the officer has been given temporarily, says, “Nuisance raider, sir—we’d better get inside.” “He’s escaping,” Baladin says grimly, foreshadowing his actions on the Poltava-bound B-17. As Oedipus, Baladin is a brave, good and sympathetic man—but as Oedipus cannot control his flaw of rage, Baladin cannot control his raging hatred of Nazis. He stares angrily at Doc Kaiser who is ignoring the nuisance raider to greet him—like a doctor, he asks, “Everything all right sir?” and then hustles Baladin into a nearby Quonset hut. Later, Baladin will call upon Kaiser’s sympathy and offer of help. The first puzzled sergeant takes advantage of Komansky’s presence and asks again “what is going on?” Sandy has no answers except to admit “If I were superstitious I would have a feeling that something very funny is going on.” The six “bongs” strike over these sergeants’ faces rightly emphasizing his words. “Something very funny” does not refer to the emergency situation; rather, they refer to Baladin. Sandy has proven to have an odd sense about things, well exemplified in his sympathy for the Danzig Lady, whom he never meets, but he knows, protects, and finally avenges. He senses there is more than just a mission getting ready to roll; he also senses the complications that Baladin’s “flaws” will cause for his colonel, their group, and their mission—and maybe how Baladin will atone for his errors by giving up his life.

-“In three days you will fly the first 8^th Air Force shuttle to Russia”

Act I takes up, a little unsettlingly, at Pinetree, accompanied the usual flourish of music. It’s unsettling because in the teaser we see Baladin headed into a Quonset hut, and now he and others, including Stovall and Gallagher are in Pinetree—it just seems as if the hut was some kind of passage to Wing HQ–but that’s quibbling…However, as the scene takes up, a General Owen, and General Archie Olds, the real man, the leader of the first shuttle to Russia in 1944 (which is a bit unsettling in itself) come down the staircase and assembled in a conference room, drawing curtains and getting down to business.

In contrast to the milling scene at Archbury, all is polished and orderly, with General Owen introducing General Olds to the assembled group commanders who are meeting a man “who rarely pays just social visits.” “In three days you will fly the first 8^th Air Force shuttle to Russia,” he begins, and Stovall, Baladin, and Gallagher, all lined up at the table, have the same look on their faces: serious, serious attention.  Olds describes how the groups will strike a key target, fly on to Poltava in the Ukraine, reload and return—the camera focuses on Gallagher’s face as he tells them they then will strike oil works in–Berlin. Gallagher, because of his previous experiences with shuttle raids—which formed the three-parter in Season II, “We’re Not Coming Back,” “Big Brother,” and “The Hot Shot”—designates him as the leader. We finally learn that Baladin, a Russian liaison officer, is there to assist these new efforts of coordination. Olds’ closing words define a new difficulty in these raids—“this will be tough job, both tactically, and diplomatically.” Diplomacy becomes the number one issue and places temporary hurdles to the tactics—and survival–requiring a great deal more from Gallagher than flying ability.

-“fly through the back door to the Big B—Berlin”

Cut to General Owen giving additional details to Gallagher and Baladin at a map, and explaining how B-17 groups flying east after finishing their mission will “cross them up” by continuing to fly east, and then, they will return from the East and “fly through the back door to the Big B—Berlin.” Gallagher remarks they know how Berlin is defended to the stone-faced Baladin, and how they don’t expect attacks—from the East. “[B]ut they will rally,” says the General. Gallagher declares, though not smugly, “by the time they figure things out, we’ve already been there.” General Owen reorients the European war—“This is now the new front,” he says, drawing on the map, which is aggravatingly hidden by Gallagher’s and Baladin’s heads and shoulders!—but names “Poltava as the vital link.” The term “link” is an appropriate one because the whole operation depends on coordination—disparate parts being bridged or welded together so they can work together—“and you Joe,” the General says, “are the ambassador.”

It’s a good choice as Joe has proven over and over that he seeks teamwork and togetherness, and leads by example rather than by enforcement. The Good Shepherd is being sent to new pastures and new flocks—which will prove just as tough if not tougher than the ones he has already gathered to himself and led. Joe agrees to this work and this designation and he and Baladin join Harvey Stovall, who is designated as his “ground executive”—soon, as Gallagher and Stovall have been redefined in duties, so will Sandy who officially becomes Gallagher’s aide. They are preparing for this critical mission by Harvey coming along not only as Gallagher’s co-pilot but as his administrator, and Doc Kaiser is along as the “medical section”—Joe knows that there is liaison at Poltava but “we need to go self-contained.”

In the background, Baladin, stiff and cautious, enunciates what seems to be his only preparation:  hatred. “Together we destroy Nazi pigs.” Not a bad objective, but his thirst for vengeance contrasts with the other men’s attention to organization and coordination, and once more reveals his “fatal flaw.”

–“an aircraft is trailing their formation”

The 918^th is undertaking a distant quest to a distant kingdom, to draw in the “knights of Camelot” image mentioned before. This “kingdom,” as the kingdom of Thebes in Oedipus Rex, will suffer severe problems because Baladin’s error—both the inhabitants and the visitors must deal with crisis and a scapegoat is sought, though unwillingly. –and an aside—how much time does this mission take up, at least post-Archbury and Pinetree scenes? They fly in, massive amounts of trouble immediately erupt, there are two Nazi ground-attacks, the storage dumps are found . . . and there doesn’t seem to be a clear passage from one day to another; it all seems to happen in one afternoon, which I’m sure it does not. As the scene takes up, the mission has already rolled; B-17s are in the air, bombs are dropped, and below smoke and flashes of fire blossom up; on the ground, gun crew go at it, and we see a young German soldier dying in defense of his homeland.

In the Piccadilly Lily, a steady but tense Joe and his co-pilot Harvey calmly instruct the crew in what happens next—which suggests that the crews were kept in the dark about what is going on, similar to how Gallagher did not tell his crew several months ago that “we’re not coming back” until the planes were in the air and radio silence demanded. In Simpson’s plane, airmen keep an eye on the skies. In the waist Kaiser tends to a wounded man, and Baladin tensely waits. At Pinetree, Gallagher’s transmission comes in, and is reported on by a handsome if unnamed aide—who in real life was the son of the director William A. Wellman, also known as “Wild Bill” for his exploits as a pilot in World War I, in which he crashed, and walked with a limp for the rest of his life. Aviation actually led to his career in movies, in the still “frontier days” of the silents. Wellman directed many films, notably Wings (1927) one of the great aviation films of all times, and The High and the Mighty (1954) in which John Wayne gave one of his best performances (“Now I lay me down to sleep,” he grimly prays as he brings a crippled plane bouncing on empty tanks into the San Francisco airport).

This aide  at Pinetree brings news that “an aircraft is trailing their formation”—the Russian officer in the background of Pinetree has no remark on whether this were a scheduled rendezvous. In Piccadilly Lily, Joe and Harvey are peering around to see their visitor; Sandy, in the waist, with binoculars, confirms that it is a Russian plane—but who’s in it?—it might be a “pirate” the likes of which shot down Savage over a year earlier, and left him as a sole survivor. Gallagher, being cautious, orders all the planes to “hold their fire”; Harvey remarks that the “Germany might have captured dozens of those crafts,” which is true because the Nazi juggernaut rolled over and into Russia, overrunning towns and people and material—and the village that Baladin and his beloved Irina are both from. Baladin is called into cockpit of the plane, and tries to contact the plane; terribly, there seems to be no way to get through to the pilot, though changing channels and a fellow Russian talking. Nothing works, and the plane keeps trailing them. Baladin, as does Oedipus, lets his rage overcome him. As Oedipus unknowingly kills his father in his rage; Baladin, in his rage, refuses orders to hold fire, goes into the waist, primes the 50 caliber gun, and fires the ship down—Baladin watches this, and his face reveals neither joy nor horror—there is a sense of satisfaction and then a shade of confusion.

But the deed is done, and there will be hell to pay—for everybody, not just him—as happens when Oedipus, in a rage, unknowingly kills his father, assumes the monarchy, and brings plague and drought to the kingdom of Thebes.

-“we’re off on the wrong foot . . .this guy’s giving orders”

Their “homecoming” is being observed by a Russian officer, Grulov, an aide to General Vorodenko, who hastens in an American jeep to greet the planes. There is a particularly lovely and dignified sequence of the queenly Piccadilly Lily landing, and taxiing to the hardstand, the plexiglass nose slowly coming toward the camera, and the gunner inside visible. The loveliness and dignity disappears immediately; they have come to a troubled kingdom as is Thebes, when Oedipus comes. Grulov comes forward to meet the deplaning crew and more or less confronts Gallagher, Stovall, and Komansky who both stand to the back and observe. Gallagher and Grulov salute and exchange greetings.

Gallagher wants to see to the rest of the planes land and Grulov becomes, like his name, a bit gruff—“Vorodenko wants to see him now.” Harvey is quietly disturbed, and Joe knows he’s already off on the wrong foot—“this guy’s giving orders.” When Joe asks if he change into” proper uniform,” he is told “will not be necessary,” and that he is expected to come, as in now. Joe divests himself of his parachute, puts Harvey in charge, as climbs into the Jeep. Komansky comes to Stovall’s side, knowing his “funny feeling” is coming true. “Tovarich,” he remarks, perhaps recalling when he shouted it to an approaching Russian rescue team in “Between the Lines.” “Tovarich,” Harvey echoes, perhaps worrying that Joe has been kidnapped.

-“. . .except for a little excitement?”

Vorodenko’s general headquarters, while not palatial, are certain impressive—and a little worn and stripped, exemplified by the empty bookshelves, a mended chair, and the drapes in some disarray. Grulov escorts Joe into the Vorodenko’s nerve center; people are busily working at a table and pay no attention, or so it seems—as we will find out Vorodenko has a strong and dramatic sense of himself and wishes to “stage-manage” the first visit of the American commander of the shuttle mission—and to let him know he, Vorodenko, is in charge and perhaps to suggest that the Eighth Air Force is here on mere sufferance.

Our first impression of the Russian general is both telling and unsure—we see a hand holding a cigarette holder; the elbow of the hand rests on the arm of a fancy chair. Our first impressions are not alleviated by Vorodenko’s neutral-stern face suddenly smiling, and him getting up out of his chair to greet the American colonel with words of welcome and with a phony hug, which startles Gallagher more than it pleases him. Joe, wisely, holds his tongue . . .The American liaison officer, Captain Doane, who is present, but comes forward when called, is clearly playing by Vorodenko’s rules. “Everything go well so far?” he asks, obviously out of the loop.

“Of course,” Vorodenko then says. “Except for a little excitement . . .?” Joe pauses ever so slightly. “Well, there’s always a little excitement.” He continues, cautiously—there was an incident—something they have encountered before (how well he remembers)—the use of captured aircraft to infiltrate formations. “There was one today?” “By one aircraft, yes sir.” “You shot it down.” “Eventually.”

“Why not immediately?”—this startles Joe a bit—as it is probably meant to—Vorodenko wants to keep these Americans on the end of his leash. However, his comment also buys some redemption for Baladin; his superior might have done the same thing in the same situation. “It was a Soviet aircraft sir,” he says, provoking alarm. “So you shot him down,” Vorodenko digs in. “Did you not give the command to shoot?” Joe fields the question. “Who shot then?” Joe’s controlled anger now gives into alarm. “I’ll find out,” he begins, and Captain Doane intercedes and buys Gallagher a chance to breathe, calm down, and get his bearings: “Sir,” he says to Vorodenko, “it will be easy to find out—as soon as the colonel has a chance to get himself oriented.” Vorodenko wisely backs down—he is an intelligent and even a compassionate  man as will become clear. Falling back on hospitality, he calls his chef—to serve up a banquet which will be seen, but never eaten—and is eventually owed to Gallagher. Into this pause, Baladin comes in . . . and walks into the small but meaningful embrace of a dark-haired Russian woman officer, Irina Zavanoff. Grulov welcomes Baladin but the Major’s unease is growing. Baladin waits and Irina, whose dark gentle eyes follow him pauses in front of a cracked mirror . . .  In the meantime, Vorodenko has ordered a banquet—“to show how well you are treated here,” and invites Joe and Harvey—but into the warmth of this moment Vorodenko coldly informs him what he has just learned– that the plane was shot down “by one of your subordinates,” was indeed Russian.

The pilot—Major Tabolkin, a Soviet war hero, was killed. Baladin’s stony face reveals his guilt but no one sees it. “As the American commander,” Vorodenko continues, “I am sure you are eager to place exact responsibility.” Joe, his face clenched, says he will investigate. “Thank you,” ends Vorodenko, and finally lets the shaken but still steady Gallagher leave.

-“I will not accept evasions!”

With Joe excused, Vorodenko fully reveals his anger and tells Grulov that somebody must be with Gallagher at all times . . .  and adds “In my command, a man would be shot for such stupidity!”—reminding me of how when Sandy shot down one of the P-51s arriving late for rendezvous (“The Hot Shot”) Joe asked questions first, and never did get around to shooting, though Sandy figuratively offered to go before a firing squad (“I’ve been busted before …”) Baladin’s face grows more clenched when he hears this threat. Upon being called upon to report, Baladin says, “. . . there was confusion.” “I will not accept evasions!” snaps Vorodenko—and tells the shocked Baladin that he cannot obtain supplies for the visitors until they learn who is guilty. Baladin is ordered to “find out”—and Grulov says to him, “I think you know.” As Poltava is “sterile” of supplies, Oedipus’ kingdom of Thebes was also sterile from drought and plague. Oedipus declares he will find out the cause of these problems and starts to search—and finally learns that he is the cause. Grulov orders Irina to attend on Gallagher; the Russian woman first speaks tenderly to Baladin—“you were gone so long.” “A week,” he tells her, scraping words up from somewhere and then must decide what to do . . .his life or, as it turns out, the life of the visitors and Poltava itself. It’s a damned unfair situation and nothing but confession and death from a good if overhasty man will right the situation . . . one of the terrible conundrums that the Greek mind sought to unriddle—why do the good have to suffer? In Oedipus’s case, the Greek mind decided that the inscrutable gods were simply against him, though Oedipus’ temper impelled the crisis. In Baladin’s case, the worst war in history is still claiming victims, innocent or not, but yes, his hatred, his emotions, impelled the crisis.

-“boy, you sound just like—“

Act II opens up in a fine if battered house where Joe and Harvey are quartered. As Joe is escorted in, Harvey has cleaned up, and is tying his tie in an uncracked mirror—“Well, what do you think of it?” Harvey asks about their somewhat dismal but still fine surroundings. “All this, and a banquet too.” “A banquet they’ll probably run,” Joe remarks; he understands Vorodenko’s actions very well. “I’ve got a problem.” “So I’ve surmised,” Harvey says.

Joe tells him they need to find the gunner who brought down the plane—and to Harvey’s offer of calling a briefing about the Nazi scout Joe tells him the dismal truth—Tabolkin the Soviet war hero was shot down. Thinking like a diplomat, he knows this can’t come out in a debriefing, but he has got to know “so he can slap charges on someone.” Harvey is surprised at Joe’s decision and demands “How can he slap charges on someone over an incident like that?” “Like this, Harvey, like this!” Joe protests, telling the attorney Harvey this is no abstract legal point, this is now, this is here, this is war in a foreign country and “Vorodenko wants blood.” Harvey says he can send Komansky to ask around. Joe declares “no one will get in trouble if I find out quickly enough . . .but I’ve got make some kind of show!” The next time we see Joe so overwrought is in “Long Time Dead” when he’s trying to find out what happened to Komansky.

Harvey hears Joe more or less demanding somebody’s neck: “Boy, you sound just like—“ Harvey begins.

“Like what?!” Joe demands . . .and gets no answer. (Who Harvey may have named is intriguing—Britt? Pritchard? . . . Savage?) Joe continues: “What the heck I am supposed to do? Those were my orders—to cooperate, to get along.” His dilemma will mirror Irina’s own dilemma of doing her duty, or protecting her lover. “I’m sorry Joe . . . it’s a mess,” Harvey says in apology. His face then softens. “I want to show you something” . . . . and beckons the tired frustrated colonel into an adjoining room.

Joe’s face also softens with curiosity—and then glows like a kid looking a Christmas tree when Harvey escorts him into a marble-lined chamber, complete with a regal marble bathtub. Joe puts affairs on hold for a few blessed minutes . . . “Is this ours?” “Why don’t you take a nice hot bath,” Harvey encourages him, hoping to both cool him off and warm up the real Joe Gallagher, not the startled diplomat faced with an untoward situation. “You don’t know what it means,” he continues, “to a man who’s been bathing in two inches of tepid water from the 6-pence British geezer.” —which leads to a cultural-social side note: One of the best descriptions of this dreadful device appeared in Our Hearts Were Young and Gay (1942), a LOL account of Cornelia Otis Skinner and Emily Kimbrough’s wonderful summer in London and Paris in the early twenties. When living in London rooming house, they had to deal with such a contraption—called a geyser, pronounced “geezer,” which heated water by means of a tuppence dropped into a slot: The water for the bath was heated by one of those gas-jet arrangements which flicker beneath a small copper boiler. After a time, if you’re lucky, a forlorn trickle of hot water dribbles forth, cooling off considerably before it hits the tub below. Cornelia goes on to write of “one morning, when, as I was disporting myself like a dolphin in a couple of inches of tepid water . . .” which suggests Carey Wilbur took his information, or the description from the same source. I also wonder if American bases in England were outfitted with such contraptions, or if they simply installed the all-American showers—An email correspondent tells me that these devices could be found at some American bases in England—surely Bassingbourn did, which had been an RAF facility before being given over to the American–and Bassingbourn is a kind of model for the 918th base. After this disquisition of bathing habits and devices . . . Joe, despite everything, is succumbing to the suggestion, particularly when he is told by Harvey that he could take a bath before Komansky can make his report . . . “Joe, all the hot water you want, and you can fill it all the way up,” Harvey adds, and that does it.

-“who are you?!—What kind of duty?!”

Cut to an unusual scene . . .as Komansky got to bare his chest in “Falling Star,” Gallagher gets to bare “the full Monty,” though camera angles, whitened water, and television rules don’t allow us to see much . . . .except some nicely muscled shoulders!

Foregoing an immediate scrub, Joe has reclined in the tub, eyes closed, dreaming of who knows what, and a rap on the door produces the mumbled invitation “Yeah, come in Komansky.”

Irina steps in deliberately, completely unembarrassed, coolly telling him, “reporting for duty”—which suggest she damn well knew what she was doing; catching the American officer in a vulnerable moment—and really crystallizing how the Soviets are trying to unsettle Joe– though with Irina, it’s in a humane cause. And boy, is he ever unsettled . . . though calm and cool through flak and fighters, the naked and embarrassed Joe flies to pieces, demanding “Who are you?! What kind of duty?!”

Komansky suddenly appears, startled, but a great deal more calm than his colonel. Still in his summerweight flight fatigues (which fit him very nicely by the way!) he escorts Irina out, to Joe’s shouts of “Take her out of here!” “What room sir?” Joe has lost it, temporarily: “I don’t care, any room!” Komansky politely hustles her out, leaving Joe aggravated as his sybaritic moment goes figuratively down the drain.

Outside, Sandy, not sure what do with her, offers her a seat, and more startled than suspicious, perches on a piece of furniture. She picks up Joe’s uniform jacket and smilingly examines the medals while Komansky looks on, perhaps thinking that Joe has simply attracted another female. “What’s your name?” she asks him. “Komansky, Alexander,” he says briefly. “Your duty?” “Flight engineer and aide to Colonel Gallagher,” he says, for the first time really identifying himself as Gallagher’s aide—at which he has proven reliable and will prove reliable—although it’s rather funny that his first duty as a defined “aide” is shooing a woman away from his tub and bringing in towels . . . She shakes his hand saying she too has been assigned the role, and when Gallagher calls for a towel (well, why aren’t the towels in the bathroom?—oh well) she fetches them from the bed and Komansky firmly takes them from her with a “thank you,” and looking at her, letting her know he doesn’t quite know what to make of her, becomes briefly Gallagher’s valet and delivers his towel and robe.

Gallagher is now back to business, energetically finishing his bath. “She says she’s assigned to you,” Komansky says, apparently unembarrassed reporting to Gallagher in the midst of soap and water. “To me?” Joe asks. Komansky starts his report—he knows who shot the Russian pilot down—and Gallagher, back to business, wonders if she is listening. Komansky checks on this and finds the door to the room closing, and when he opens it up, the only face he can see is Lenin’s portrait decorating the corridor. By now, Gallagher is out of the real hot water, and getting ready to face the figurative hot water, which is heating up, by leaps and bounds. Komansky confirms Simpson’s report, and only Simpson’s crew knows about it. He is dispatched after Irina and while Joe finishes drying off, Harvey appears and delivers the most recent batch of bad news—the supply officer was given no orders for their gas, ammo, and bombs . . .the kingdom is growing more sterile.

-“Help me”

While this is going on, Baladin, supposedly in search of  the shooter, walks out to the American encampment, past a Red Cross vehicle, and into the medical tent, where Kaiser is also washing himself, but in a basin of water. Seeking the only American he might be able to trust, Baladin seeks out the doctor who kindly greeted him a few days before in faraway England. Kaiser dries his face as he responds to Baladin’s greeting—which is accompanied by a drawn gun, a pleading look, and the words “Help me.” “Put that gun away!” he demands and Baladin obeys him, and helplessly confesses to what he did—and that he will be shot. “Did they know you did it?” Kaiser asks. “They will find out,” he tells him. To Kaiser’s questions, Baladin confesses that his terror and anger drove him . . .The Nazis killed his brothers and his sisters; to this Kaiser drops his eyes, sympathizing with the pain that motivated him to such a foolish act. “I was afraid,” he finishes. “Yeah, but I’d think your own people would understand too,” Kaiser says. “Understanding is not our way!” he declares. Stalin proved that to a degree by ordering unsuccessful generals to be shot–rather than being called to account to some fashion. Kaiser honestly wants to help him but he can’t—for two reasons; one it would not be wise, and two—Kaiser has heard about the supplies being held up—“We can’t find gas for ourselves.” Baladin becomes hopeful—he knows where the gas is being stored.

-“you have a word—‘scapegoat’”

Joe, in his Dress-A uniform, has invited Vorodenko to speak privately in his room. Vorodenko is huffy; saying “Yes, yes, yes,” to Joe’s concern but he checks the bathroom for listeners . . . Joe makes a personal appeal to him for supplies, and Vorodenko fends him off: “You brought me here to tell me this?” Joe makes himself clear—his duty is to establish cooperation and coordination and the only way to do this is to discuss their problems with him—“Are you withholding my supplies for any reason?” Vorodenko counters: “Are you withholding the name of the man who shot down Major Tabolkin?” Their privacy, Joe tells him, is to speak about a difficult situation: it was Baladin.

Vorodenko does not believe him. “You have a word—scapegoat. Are you trying to make a scapegoat out of Baladin?”—and brings up another parallel with Oedipus, and also recalls the story of Ilka Zradna in “Rx for a Sick Bird”—an ancient ritual in villages was to load a human victim—later a goat—with the sins of the community and drive him out and kill him, thus cleansing the sins of the people. Oedipus, when he realizes that he is the reason for the drought and the plague—because he killed his father and married his mother—blinds himself and drives himself out to cleanse Thebes—as it turns out, Baladin will also accept his fate and drive himself out of the community by suicide and thus helps liberate the supplies. “If I were,” Joe tells Vorodenko to his question, “I would denounce him publicly.”

-“General, by that time it may be too late!”

Vorodenko, now believing—yes, his intelligent mind tells him that this is the answer and that Joe is being rightfully cautious—goes toward the bed, with Joe following him. Between them rises the spiraled bedpost, somewhat symbolic of the situation which is spiraling more and more out of control. He is still defensive and fights back Joe’s compassionate reasoning—they all thought he was a Nazi scout—there was no identification—“Are you trying to defend him?” Vorodenko demands. “I don’t want him to suffer for what he did—and for this incident to upset our relationship.”

Joe pauses—he has been patient, cautious, diplomatic—compassionate and now he demands the supplies. Vorodenko is honest—nothing can be moved until the incident is explained. Joe becomes brutally logical: the longer they wait in Poltava, the bigger the target they will become. Vorodenko can’t even bargain with him—and reveals his own frustration—Joe doesn’t understand their system—every element must be in place and in its proper order—“I want to hit Berlin as much as you do!”—but to his superiors, Tabolkin must come first—he must find and question Baladin—there must be an investigation . .

“General, by that time it may be too late!” To underscore his words, as Komansky’s words were underscored in the teaser—cut to Nazi bombers flying eastward—the noise of which interrupts their negotiations . . . and the Nazis find their target which includes both planes and young men, so surprised by the attack that they don’t seek cover.

-“we must get the supplies released”

In this state of double jeopardy, Vorodenko rushes into his headquarters, and his tune has changed—first by Joe’s rhetoric and second by the brutal reality of bombs—“We must get the supplies released,” he shouts and tries to get his superiors. Vorodenko then appropriates Irina—“You are close to Baladin?” As it turns out they may not be lovers as much as they are old friends, from the same village, and tragedy and terror has brought them together; she dearly loves him but they have no real romance in their live as they seek to survive and continue in world stripped of families and home.  In their hasty, desperate conversation, she reveals that she learned it was Baladin who shot Tabolkin down—“and you did not report?” demands Vorodenko. “I am now reporting,” she says, which is true—perhaps she had not had—or made–the chance until this moment . . . and obeys Vorodenko to go out, find, and bring in Baladin.

-“it’s going to be awful tough to assemble them”

The bombing has also scrambled the American groups. Joe, furiously dressing himself in his flight fatigues, snaps orders to Simpson and Harvey to get all the planes away from the airfield; take them five miles away. Harvey doubts that some of them can fly that far and, thinking like an adjutant, remarks “they’re going to be awfully hard to assemble.” They leave and Sandy appears, saying he lost the girl when she re-entered headquarters (which seems a rather delayed report in itself). “That’s all right Sandy,” Joe snaps, greater worries on his mind, heading out the door—at which appears, in a timely fashion, Doc Kaiser who knows where the gas is—because he’s made a deal with Baladin. “With Baladin?” Joe demands. The door opens again, revealing Irina. Far more subdued than in their first meeting over the soapsuds, she asks “May I speak with you please,” to which Joe snaps “No time,” and leaves, with her pondering what will happen next—but her coming to Joe is both touching and revealing; she senses this man will help her to find and help Baladin, and then help her to protect him.

-“Sir, we just can’t seize it” – “I’ll decide that!”

Act III opens with strains of grim music; the Luftwaffe is assembling, rolling out, and flying in lovely formations to Poltava—and unfortunately these clips reveal a problem with 12OCH going into color—these black and white films were tinted blue to give them some color value, and the result is not particularly good, again, prompting the desire for CGI—and used well, not splashily and fictively as it is in 300 (Zach Snyder 2007) a beautiful if astonishing version of the Battle of Thermopylae—however, that is a digression. Cut to—Kaiser opening a door to a massive storage depot—in which barrels and boxes piled up and waiting. He is followed by Gallagher and Captain Doane who looks around and remarks with a slight edge of sarcasm, “American aid . . .”

Did the Soviets hide these supplies deliberately to hamper their visitors—or were they stored here for safety?—it’s never made clear. Gallagher demands men be brought in to start carting the materiel off. “Sir, we just can’t seize it,” says Captain Doane. “I’ll decide that!” Gallagher snaps, angry—but thinking tactically: “One bomb and it all goes up.” Doane again tries to be diplomatic—“I don’t think the Germans will be back—they don’t have a bomber fleet”—information he has been fed by the Soviets—and didn’t he see the attack earlier? Where has this guy been? It underscores how diplomacy fails on occasion. It reminds me a bit of some bumper-sticker philosophy: “War is not the answer.” I frequently think, “Well, sometimes peace isn’t the answer either.” Gallagher the warrior is taking over and knows this is no time for restraint or caution—he knows he wants to avoid any further problems with the Soviets, but he snaps “I’ve just given you an order and if you don’t obey that order you’re going to have trouble with me!”—boy, he does sound like Savage! Captain Doane simply salutes and leaves; he knows that reasoning time is over. He leaves and Gallagher turns his still humming anger on Kaiser, who, as a doctor does not simply take what’s coming—which reminds me of the scene when he rather testily comes into Gallagher’s office to consult Stovall’s fitness for flying (“Storm at Twilight”).

“Where’s Baladin?” he demands. “I don’t know,” the doctor says. “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Kaiser does not back down at his tone. He let him go—he couldn’t hide him—but admits “He wants to fly out with us—he might be in one of the airplanes.” Gallagher, calming down, takes this in stride, and orders Kaiser to go to the colonel’s quarters. Kaiser indicates how he is more of a doctor than a major by saying “Why?” –if necessary, Gallagher snaps, he can say that the doctor is under arrest. “Thanks a lot!” Kaiser says, sounding very much Komansky in his more hard-headed moments. “Now don’t pull that on me!” Gallagher responds, pointing out that they’re being watched—he knows this first hand—and thus Kaiser might be an accessory—and “then we’re all in trouble”—or worse trouble than they are already in.

-“Go on—GET ‘EM OFF!!”

Tension builds as the Nazi squadron streaks along in neat formation; on the ground a truck loaded with Soviet soldiers pulls up to Piccadilly Lily, the suited up crew helplessly waiting—one can only assume that some of the ships have left already for the safe field. Grulov jumps down from the truck, followed by the soldiers who don’t surround the airmen but they do confront them. Grulov then confronts Stovall, waiting with other officers and tells him that they believe that Baladin is trying to escape—“Major, these airplanes are about to fly off,” Stovall points out, and, stalling, says he will have to talk with his CO before allowing the men on board. In timely fashion, and framed by Grulov and Stovall, Gallagher, driven up by Sandy, arrives, and climbs out of the jeep, shouting “Major!” With blood in his eye, his shouts are louder than Grulov’s: “Get these men away from my airplane!—We’ll take it up with your general later but right now GET THESE MEN OUT OF HERE!” When Grulov pauses, possibly to shout back even louder, Gallagher pre-empts them: “Go on—GET ‘EM OFF!” He storms over to the Lily to watch as Grulov orders a retreat of sorts; you wonder what the dedicated lieutenant will say to Vorodenko . . . however, an air attack takes care of that issue. The camera pulls back to reveal Irina, pausing, watching the event, by an American jeep.

When Grulov and his men depart, she runs to Gallagher, determined to speak with him, now. . . no longer polite, she is desperate—“Please, please help me find Major Baladin,” she begs him, probably knowing it is a terrible time to do this, but there is no time left—not only for Baladin, but for the 8^th Air Force, many of the planes still on the ground, stuck in the sterile kingdom of Poltava. The planes are as good as dead, the crews in a similar situation, death is coming on wings with swastikas on them . . . Gallagher tries to brush her off, but she demands his attention—and his pity—the SS came to her village—and Baladin saved her life—“Do you understand?” she demands. “I understand you’re trying to help him escape,” the distracted colonel says. “He cannot escape,” she tells him. “But if I am the one to find him, I might save his life”—in this way she casts herself as a consort of a type to Vorodenko; queens were often appealed to in an attempt to withhold or soften judgment. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know where he is,” Gallagher says, and her fears—and his fears—are ramped up as the propellers start, and the air raid siren blows—the Germans are coming. Joe hauls her to safety under equipment; Stovall and Sandy, both in the jeep, hurtle it to a stop, and jump out as the attack begins.

-“forget Tabolik!”

In Vorodenko’s headquarters, events are hardly less peaceful. With Grulov’s report, Vorodenko has contacted his superiors.  With the same kind of blood that was in Gallagher’s eyes, Vorodenko’s eyes and voice demands fighter protection—“NO, THE ANTI-AIRCRAFT IS NOT ENOUGH!” he shouts. “Of course the B-17s are still here!” He demands permission to release the fuel and the words on the other end prompt him to take a risk: “Forget Tabolik!—aggghhh,” he growls, slamming the phone down. Bad news follows on bad—the Nazis, the ones that the liaison officer thought didn’t exist, are approaching. Back on the field, Joe, Irina, Harvey and Sandy have assembled and flee to the Piccadilly Lily (what happened to the other waiting crewmembers?). Sandy takes his turret, while Joe takes on duty in the waist and thus the Piccadilly Lily, like Joe, Harvey, and Sandy, assumes another new identity—a land fortress as they fight against Nazi attacks, which includes, I think, a dive-bomber, its fixed stand and bent wings a loathesome sight. Joe sends Irina into the radio room—where she finds the helpless, scared Baladin hiding—they go into each other’s arms as friends, and perhaps as lovers, but bullets rake into the plane. Together, they are alarmed, but not scared. Unlike Oedipus, Baladin is trying to avoid his fate . . . before bravely facing up to it.

-“everyone is my enemy—you know that”

As Nazi fighters swarm off to regroup and try again, Harvey and Joe, both at a very unusual place—the waist gunner’s stands—fire away, but know that ammunition is running low. “We do what we can,” Joe says. Irina and the despairing Baladin try to come to terms with each other, duty, life and death . . .and what is right according to their system. There are answers, but none that serve these people as the melodrama plays out to a bitter end. “Everyone is my enemy, you know that,” he finally tells her, and then demands “What will you do? Will you take me back?” As he says this, he puts his cap on his head, preparing to leave and to face the situation head on—as Oedipus realizes he is the problem in Thebes, and prepares to expel himself, Baladin realizes he must do the same. But he continues to probe the woman who loves him: “Would you kill me?” “I have my duty,” she says, stating the soldier’s objective and sometimes the dilemma. “And your love . . .? He takes out his revolver—to give to her? Gallagher, seeking more ammunition, enters the radio room, recoiling a bit at the sight of Baladin and his gun. “Forgive me sir, this is not for you,” Baladin says, and Joe tells “I don’t know what you’re hoping for . . .” “No sir, no longer—to leave with you, but no more,” Baladin says, brokenly. “But she came to me, pleading for you,” Joe says, his heart moved despite all the chaos Baladin unleashed. “Of course, it is her duty . . .you know the history of our country—two years ago [more like three or four] our country was friends with Germany—and Irina and I were in love—but in my fear and hatred I made a mistake . . . “

And his “system” he says with a sardonic smile, has made him a deserter. “Now Irina must take me back or kill me,” he finishes, and then leaves. “Did you hear what he said of me?” she demands of Joe, who is puzzled—as he should be, as these two lovers square off over duty . . . and perhaps he is provoking her. (I wonder if this scene were cut a great deal, or in the filming, dialogue was cut—it’s rapid fire and I have a hard time making complete sense of it.) She leaves for the waist. Komansky sticks his head in—“they’re coming again and we’re low on ammo,” he reports; “All right, find some more,” is Joe’s helpless answer. No matter which way they turn, they’re trapped; if the Nazi fighters don’t get them, then political-military hardheadedness will . . .

-“you think I could?” – “I don’t know”

Oedipus’ wife—and mother—kills herself when she learns the truth of her husband and son. Irina takes up a similarly desperate act when she takes charge of the right waist gun and watches Baladin walk out into the field—asking her to shoot him. “Well, go ahead,” Joe tells her. “You think I could?” she demands. “I don’t know,” Joe says. “I’m supposed to know you people, but I don’t.” “Before I was a soldier I was a woman,” she says, but holds her fire—waiting, debating—what would she tell Vorodenko? Baladin now has another option to Irina executing him: Nazi fighters surge up; he takes out his gun and aims—and the helplessly guilty scapegoat is killed, relieving Irina of a horrible chore, taking the burden of Vorodenko, and satisfying the “higher-ups” who exist, facelessly, on the other end of a telephone line—something like the inscrutable gods that demand Oedipus suffer for the crime of patricide and having relations with his mother, crimes he did not deliberately commit. Irina collapses with grief and Joe, behaving like a knight he is frequently figured to be, takes the gun and manages—perhaps improbably—to shoot down the Nazi aircraft, and thus avenges his death, at least for her.

-“you didn’t know, you didn’t know . . .you improvised and you were correct”

Back at headquarters, as the banquet food grows colder and less enticing, an irritable Vorodenko tries to straighten a wooden carving over the mantel—which resembles a pre-Soviet noble crest of some sort. He then tosses down a glass of vodka, ignores the food, and Joe, Harvey, Grulov, and Irina have escaped the plane. Joe tells him they have no more ammunition . . . Vorodenko’s question—“How many planes did you save?—Joe reports that nineteen got off the ground, but he’s not sure. Vorodenko comes clean with answers, questions, and suspicions: “The gasoline they did not permit me to give to you was saved because you had it moved . . . how did you know these raids were coming?”—which touches on the understandable position both sides took in the “real deal” when the newly arrived B-17s were bombed, and both sides pointed fingers at the other. “I . . . didn’t know,” Joe says.

It seems lame, but it’s absolutely honest and Vorodenko realizes this. “You didn’t know, you didn’t know—you improvised and you were correct.” Joe points out it was the only way they could save themselves—to get off the ground before the Germans come back . . .Sir, can’t you do something?” Vorodenko’s hesitation reveals a critical hollowness—his powers are defined by superiors, which happens in all armies—but he has been warned or trained not to think—about what is best for all, and this is hampering American-Soviet relations. Finally, he declares he will give them their supplies—everything—“and maybe if you do hit Berlin, I may be forgiven for not following the system.” “We will hit Berlin,” Joe says. “I promise you. . . and what about Major Baladin?” “Forget . . .forget,” he advises him. “You see,” he says, lighting another cigarette and assuming authority—a dangerous authority and he takes it on lightly but determinedly—“You break one rule, they all get broken.” Considering the banquet, which Joe peers at rather wistfully, Vorodenko wonders if this banquet of welcome will turn into his farewell dinner. “Colonel,” he finishes, extending his hand, “American handshake.”

-“and he still wants to bomb Berlin tomorrow . . .give him everything we’ve got”

Back in relatively calm England, lighted windows—should they be covered up?—beckon the viewer into Pinetree, where General Owen receives a message from Gallagher at Poltava—asking for fighter cover over Berlin tomorrow—“Tomorrow?” echoes Owen—and then hears the grim news that 34 B-17s will be able to make it, while 43 were destroyed on the ground . . .”and he still wants to bomb Berlin tomorrow . . . give him everything we’ve got.”

-“that was not part of your duty . . . “ As the kingdom of Thebes was cleansed of plague and drought, Poltava is once more functioning as it should . . . with B-17s ascending into the air towards Berlin, with Vorodenko, Irina, Captain Doane and Grulov watching—the Americans finally got their way, and Vorodenko must deal with this, and he moves away, with Irina, leaving Doane and Grulov to watch. They return to HQ, where Irina assumes her duty—to report that gas, ammo, and bombs were released without authority. “By me,” he confirms. She sits down at the typewriter and similarly nominates herself for report—she failed to bring in Baladin. Vorodenko improvises, as he lightly, tenderly touches her epaulet—“That was not part of your duty,” he tells her, and picks up the phone to call General Tashkov.

-“the worst and the best is yet to come . . . that’s Berlin down there”

In the Piccadilly Lily, Joe, back to being “Ramrod Leader,” learns that the IPO is two minutes away, and cautions his men to “”the worst and the best is to still to come–fly tight and make it count—that’s Berlin down there—remember, Goering and Hitler said we’d never bomb it.” The pilots trade tight grins just as Komansky warns “fighters coming through the flak at 3:00”—and the battle begins. Reassuringly, Piccadilly Lily once more is an airborne fighting lady, not the land-fort she became while grounded in Poltava. And, as promised the fighters arrive,  jaunty P-38s that Harvey warns about—“Those are ours—they’re friends,” a good word after a strange interlude with the Soviets, but they left at least two friends behind. Countdown and there is quite a dramatic display of the bombay doors opening and the bombs going down on Berlin . . .by the “Mighty 8^th.”

“How does it look?” Harvey asks.

“It looks good,” Joe tells him. “Let’s go home,” which are sweet, sweet words—and he kept his promise to Vorodenko. (And how nice that Harvey Stovall, the man who has been at the 918th the longest was also over Berlin.)

-“and send Gallagher back with them . . .we owe him a banquet”

The Epilogue is particularly moving as all the travail and destruction of the first shuttle mission to Russia reveal a few good things. . . among which there are homecoming planes, with the groups landing, as the aide reports to General Olds. Additional messages, probably sent by Doane—eleven left-behind planes can be repaired, and the request is accompanied by a list of parts needed—and another request—“send Gallagher back with them . . .we owe him a banquet”—which brings the terrible episode to a rather festive finish as food is offered to celebrate a determined man.  Owen is pleased . . . “I’d say our man Gallagher is a pretty good ambassador.”

-“circled a field not half that pretty”

The closing moments are particularly and refreshingly lyrical as the “three musqueteers”—as Joe, Harvey and Sandy are becoming—circle the fields of home. The “pretty good ambassador” smiles as his base spreads below him and Sandy gives the welcomed word “that all units are safely down, sir.” “Want me to take her in, Joe?” Harvey asks. Joe lets him and then, in a moment reminiscent of Joe and Sandy’s homecoming flight in “Big Brother,” in which he recalls his West Point days, Joe recalls a wonderful, prophetic moment from his boyhood days.

“Look at that,” he says, viewing the landed B-17s. “You know, when I kid, I went to an airshow—we circled a field not half that pretty—five times around for five bucks—why don’t you go around again, Harv?” The three men—two officers and the non-com of which correctly predicted the troubles they flew into—have been welded together by their experiences in Normandy and this last challenge have brought them even closer together. As these three questing knights return to their own kingdom they smile with gladness and relief.

“Face of a Shadow”

Writers: Dave and Andy Lewis

Director: Richard Benedict

A moody, multi-layered title ushers the viewer into a complex episode, which nonetheless possesses a simple formula: redemption of Colonel Arnold Yates, a face from the 918^th’s difficult past—apparently, even pre-Savage. This face, despite being illuminated in the brightly mellow sunshine of Italy, is literally hidden by enormous sunglasses, and figuratively concealed by booze and bitterness. Yates is dwelling in the shadows of professional disaster, which led to the decision to coast out the war with as little effort as possible in a way to gain revenge—a case of “cutting off your nose to spite your face”—an appropriate old saying for this story. His beautiful, somnolent, somewhat careless world is changed when the Colonel Gallagher leads the Piccadilly Lily and her flock into Bellagio, Italy to commence new strategies in the bombing of Nazi Germany in the critical summer of 1944. The complexity of this episode lies not only in Yates’s tortured personality, but in the medley of shifting alliances, the multiplicity of allegiances (endemic among Italians who deal with a racked history and country that was re-united in the 19^th century), the subterfuge of each person including children, and of course in the strange situation of wartime Italy—partners with the Axis, relatively quick surrender as the Allies invaded, a soft underbelly which at times became a “tough old [Fascist] gut,” and survival and pride amidst yet another conquering army, so bitterly described by the Baroness.

Glossing all this are appropriately classical references from Laocoon to Hannibal, the near-conqueror of Rome; deeply resonant themes of death and rebirth; and once more a sense that the King Arthur and his knights are on another quest, in which they come to a troubled kingdom. The heartsick king serves, in some fashion, a heartsick lady, whose alliances are at once expeditious, patriotic, and perhaps from a deeply personal need of being loved by someone. This love is offered by Arnold Yates, who, despite his problems, is the only man in her life who is not exploiting her—and actually wants to relinquish the booze and sun and beauty to take her to Iowa to “raise corn and bambinos”—a doubtful plan at best. Also, despite the color, there is a cinematic feeling in this episode of Italian Neo-realism, an artistic creation a default of–or fuelled by–the war, during which Rossellini’s 1945 “Open City” was filmed, using the grimy streets, natural lighting, and capturing a sense of the desperation of the times.

-“moderation is the first step on the road to failure”

As in the previous episodes “Gauntlet of Fire,” “Massacre,” and the upcoming “Fortess Weisbaden,” “Face of a Shadow” is based on real events the advancing Allied armies. Like “Massacre,” it largely takes place on the ground, and what ground!—“Bellagio, Italy, July 1944” informs the viewer of time and place—away from England and Poltava to Italy. The country and region of Italy creates an interesting polarity in this story of two-facedness and disparity. Europe’s landmass extends from the polar regions to the Mediterranean and thus are created vastly different cultures from the more intense, squared away Nordic cultures, to the more relaxed c’est la vie cultures of the near-African regions. Yates himself is a fugitive from the “stagnant” and organized north, and, after a detour through North Africa, and has tried to lose himself, deliberately, in Italy . . . but the north, represented by the 918^th under the command of Joe Gallagher, will invade his southern latitudes.

As the teaser begins, a white tower, seemingly above all the problems below is seen, and then a swift cut to a close-up of sunglasses—reflective ones too, which closes the world off from the wearer; that is, nobody can see his eyes. Behind them is a a suntanned face, bathed in light—seemingly no shadow here. Onto the sunglasses appears an appropriately distorted vision of a friendly face which is claiming “the trouble is, is that we suffer from an embarrassment of riches—too much good food, too much booze.”  “Moderation is the first step on the road to failure,” aphorizes the handsome, suntanned face, backdropped by a bright green robe laid out on the chaise upon which he reclines.

To make his point, the face asks for another scotch, and his wish is granted by the friendly face, the bearer of which is likewise wrapped in a robe. “Sunny Italy,” he comments, but his voice is overlaid by artillery fire. “Remember how in Africa we hated the sun? Here we take sunbaths.” “Well, that was Africa,” says the sunglasses. “Yeah,” replies his friend, “a guy could really get to like it here . . . if it weren’t for those lousy guns.” Have we stumbled into Joseph Heller’s surrealistic world of Catch-22?

Cut to a more real world—also high in the sky. B-17s fly in tight formation and we find recognized faces—Joe, Sandy, and Harvey, who, for the third time, are flying together . . . into foreign realms—France, Ukraine, and now .   . . where are they going? Harvey reports that they are only twenty minutes late–so comments the man who worries most about the numbers. “That’s not bad,” Gallagher says, knowing “the later we arrive the harder it will be for unfriendly eyes”—an interesting consideration of the masked eyes on the terrace, which in themselves recall the masked Toby Mug back at Archbury. Sandy starts the exposition, asking Gallagher “What are they using Bellagio for?” Gallagher tells him that the site is mainly used for fighters, and “it’s not that big.” “Think our guys are protecting the runway?”—turns out, that will be one of his tasks as security proves to be the paramount problem beyond Yates’ self-pity. Gallagher’s response leads Sandy into some grim humor but demonstrates how close these three have become: “Isn’t that exciting, Major?” Stovall kids him back: coming in on a captured Luftwaffe air base under enemy fire? “What’s so exciting about that?” They all grin, if a little grimly. Joe prepares his hosts, asking the radio man to send a message—their ETA is about an hour after dark—and he wants the runways dark, no beacons, as little attention as possible is to be attracted.

-“what they expect and what they want . . . are two different things”

On the ground, in a salon redolent with Renaissance furniture and excesses of Victorian trimmings, with gilt-framed ancestors on the wall and potted plants lurking, the friendly face, who is Major Harry Shell, drink still in hand, takes a phone call, receiving the message that Gallagher directed out. He delivers it to his friend . . .whom, as reality begins to invade this sun-drenched tower, we learn is Colonel Arnold Yates. “Jolly good,” Yates says, “onward and upward . . .’V’ for victory,” he almost sneers, recalling his days in England which, we are to learn, were disastrous. His ground executive finally looks disturbed, and tries to rouse him from his somnolence. “Better get dressed.”

“You get dressed, Harry,” he retorts. “They’ll probably expect us all at the field,” he prompts. Yates then identifies the conflict he will have with a man he has not met–Gallagher–and whom, it seems, distantly benefited from Yates’ unfortunate experiences. “You know what the 918^th did to me. . . what they expected and what they get are two different things.”

With a rattle of ice cubes, the six “bongs” strike over this still hidden face, that, during the episode, will gradually reveal itself, in strength, in weakness, and in sadness.

-“it looks like a battlefield”

In contrast to the sunny afternoon on the terrace, Act I begins at night, with the Piccadilly Lily making another queenly approach down the tarmac. Stovall, from what he can see, remarks, “it looks like a battlefield,” which will prove true in more ways than one. Gallagher replies that the Germans destroyed all they could before “getting out of here”—turns out, some didn’t go very far, using the shifting battlegrounds and friendly natives as a cover.  As it turns out, the Piccadilly Lily becomes a ground-bound fighter in this episode, similar to her new identity in “Massacre.” The hatch opens, emitting the three men; Harvey comes out last and into a fairly pleasant surprise of recognizing Yates’ ground exec, who is uniformed and attentive to the new arrivals. Shell is also glad to see Harvey, a friendly face from an unfriendly past. He introduces Gallagher to the Major, and Harvey remarks on the crudeness. “We’re still living in tents,” says Shell—ironic, considering their celestial quarters on the hill. Gallagher, in contrast with Shell, is all business; he has a briefing to give to his pilots, who are deplaning at this time. They climb into a waiting jeep, and we see the first bits of a director’s grace notes—Benedict liked to provide visual transitions; the Jeep’s headlight drives into the camera; the scene then cuts to a glaring lightbulb in an ugly fixture—perhaps a commentary on the kind of exposure that Yates is hiding from.

-“I’m afraid you’re going to have to reach for cooperation”

The light illuminates a tent, filled with weary, conversing pilots. On the platform, Stovall is obviously surprised that the CO is not there. Gallagher calls for the men’s attention, and “we can now open our sealed orders.”  They do and the “mystery is solved” as they learn they are temporary reinforcements for the Fifteenth Air Force, “to coordinate with their heavy equipment and strike a series of important targets”—which includes, in a way, the sudden appearance of a civilian kid, black bit of paper over his lip, shouting “Achtung, achtung!” The tired and easy-going Americans laugh at the sight; the perpetually wary Gallagher demands the meaning of this with an odd question: “What’s that?” “Sir, that’s a security guard,” Shell replies with a smile. “I mean that boy,” Gallagher snaps and orders “to get him out of here—and post a guard outside. Now Major,” he adds when Shell regards him with surprise.

In some ways, we are encountering a different Gallagher here—though this builds a character arc that started in Gauntlet as his strength and nerves falter; continued in Massacre as competing priorities of ambassadorship and brutal military necessity drag him in two directions; and continues in this episode as the once more “displaced” Gallagher deals with situations, events, and people that he cannot bring to heel because he is not fully in charge. Indeed, there are times when Gallagher emerges in this episode as a rather stick-like figure of authority and military protocol, but this creates a strong contrast with Yates’ lax command—which is in response to the situation of the Italian battlefront, but also a kind of revenge for what happened to him at the 918th. Notably, Gallagher even avoids smoking in this episode, to further contrast with Yates, whose own sybaritic smoking is played out as a sign of his decadence.

The kid is known to the men; “You’re a panic,” remarks a staff-sergeant, before Shell addresses him in Italian, telling him nicely to get lost. “Si, Magiore,” the boy salutes and leaves. On the platform, Stovall remarks, “it seems like a different war in Italy.” “It’s not that different,” Joe retorts, but as it turns out, he is a bit wrong in his judgment–Joe fights his war from England and over Europe; here they are on the ground with the former enemy–it’s a very different situation. With the tent secured, Gallagher completes the briefing, asking the men not to question or speculate—but they are to fly north, over the Alps, to hit industrial targets in Italy and Germany—they are closer now, and there will be less flak and fighters to deal with; they can hit more often and more effectively—and see some beautiful scenery.

He then introduces Major Shell to the men; he welcomes them with pretty casual words—the artillery they hear is “ours and theirs”—which indicates how blurred the lines are in this world; no frigid English Channel separates the 918^th from the battlefield now. “The natives are friendly—and hungry—if you have a chocolate bar you’re a millionaire,” which produces laughter and cheers from the men, and an annoyed look from Gallagher. Shell winds up his (very) little talk: he has some “poop sheets” about the local customs, and “anything else you want to know, read the bulletin boards, that’s all.” With the men dismissed, Gallagher asks to meet the CO. Shell will set up a meeting with him in the morning; “he’s off the base”—and probably in bed with the luscious lady we are soon to meet.

Gallagher remarks that the CO should be here—though he does not add HE, Joe, would be. Stovall, with some sympathy, fills in a blank for Joe, who apparently was not around at the time of Yates’ brief tenure. “You remember that Yates once commanded the 918^th,” Harvey begins and choosing his words carefully, like a lawyer, continues that “Yates was bounced . . . he was accused [emphasis mine] of fouling up the mission—he lost a lot of  men and lot of bombers—and when he was bounced, Shell bounced out with him.” Stovall’s story puts us in mind of the character of the first commander of the 918th who, in the original novel and in the 1949 movie, had been responsible for certain disasters and was replaced by Savage, who transformed the inexperienced crews into a fighting unit—though at the expense of his nerves and human feelings. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to reach for cooperation,” Stovall says. He is right.

-“only the best!”

Joe takes this in stride, as revealed by the camera focusing on his legs as he leaves the tent . . .which leads to a legless civilian crutching along a battered if sun-drenched street in Bellagio . . . the next morning,  Komansky drives the Jeep with Joe and Shell up to a large blue doorway and instantly Italian urchins swarm upon them, yelling “Hey Joe! Chocolate!” Gallagher’s confusion produces an explanation from Shell; they call all Americans “Joe,” and he shoos them away. They scatter only to be replaced by a middle-aged street peddler, whose cocky hat, necklace of a wine bottle, and bon vivant attitude stalls Joe who knows the importance of being friendly to the natives, despite his suspicions. He accosts them—“Anything you want? Vino? Only the best.” Shell grins in recognition. “Not today Elmo . . .scram.”

Undeterred, Elmo comes closer and flicks a knife in Joe’s face—for sale. The Colonel is surprised but does not flinch. “No thanks.” Once more undeterred, Elmo climbs into the Jeep to sales-pitch Komansky. “Ring? A wristwatch? Swiss!—only the best!” Komansky’s somewhat startled “Nah,” brings forth a silk stocking—which Elmo stretches over his face, indicating the thigh that might fill it out. “Nope,” Sandy responds. Finally, he puts away his merry personae and bluntly panders: “How about a nice girl? Does your laundry and everything.” For a second . . .Komansky is intrigued–but gives his third refusal. “No,” he says hastily, climbs out, and joins the two officers, who have observed the sales pitch and his somewhat reluctant refusal. Jovially, Elmo watches them go in; he is then joined by the adolescent from the night before. “His name. What’s his name?”  he nudges the boy. The boy merely rubs his fingers. He understands, pays him, and learns that his seeming prey is “Col-o-nel Gallagher.” He then motions to a young man idling beside his bicycle; he nods and takes off. Nobody is who they appear to be; everyone has another agenda.

“ . . . but you can stop handing out information”

From the scruffy street, we are carried back into the grand house. As Shell lays down his hat, he lays down, but nicely, a few facts for Gallagher. “Fact of life, sir—a few weeks ago, these people were our enemies—now they’re all just scrambling to stay alive,” in the wake of the collapse of the Fascist government of Italy, which had hitched itself to Hitler’s star, and did not do very well–though stories about Italians being poor fighters were not fully based in fact and Mussolini had developed followers who matched Nazis in devotion and Hitler remained loyal to his Axis ally, even rescuing Mussolini from prison. “You can bet some of them are die-hard Fascists,” Gallagher retorts, to which Shell agrees. “That peddler found out we’re from England.” “These people find out about everything,” is his easy-going but useless reply; however, he’s no idiot and agrees that they are all potential spies, but “we can’t begin to check them all out.” “Perhaps not, but you can stop handing out information.” Shell, somewhat defeated by Gallagher’s unbending attitude—and rightness—silently gives in (or gives up) and goes to fetch Yates, as though he is fetching a king for emissaries, leaving behind an even warier Gallagher.

-“you must learn to recognize our friends”

As Gallagher is struggling with the fact that there is a profound difficulty with separating friends from enemies, the young man who peddled off on his bicycle has found his destination: he arrives at a semi-concealed building, and his trek up to the door is halted by a German soldier coming out of hiding—and suggest how lax Yates has been, who has allowed pockets of German soldiers to remain in hiding. A smiling officer, whom we learn later is Major Ernst Holz, and has dwelled in the house that Yates now dwells in, comes out of the cottage and presses his hand down on the guard’s weapon: “You must learn to recognize our friends,” he tells the guard, smiling at the young Italian man, who smiles back, even if tensely.

-“in two days these people will know your shoe size”

Back at the mansion, Yates’ coming is so protracted that Gallagher is on the terrace, rather rigidly considering the view, while Sandy has found the courage to sit down at the piano and pick out a tune . . . does he play by ear? His rough childhood suggests that he probably had no musical training. [It is claimed that he plays a few notes of the Frontiere theme for 12OCH; (cited Duffin and Mathes;) however, I can’t hear it!] However, his bit of music heralds Yates’ coming—and his entrance is memorable: the camera focuses on his bare feet, naked calves—and then the full Yates moves into frame—still wearing sunglasses, and wrapped in a bright green robe. This is the first time I really appreciate the full-color palette of the third season; that green robe has a variety of meanings, two of which include it being a deliberate slap at the Army green; also, green is a color of dual meanings; it denotes sickness and envy; it also denotes rebirth—turns out, Yates assumes all three meanings.

Yates’ shadowed face regards Gallagher’s set but startled face; Sandy’s taciturn face still reveals his own surprise. Introductions are made; and Shell’s speaking of the absent Harvey provokes a slight defrosting: “Yeah, how is old Harv?” Yates asks with a degree of genuine warmth and then gets down to points: “Harry tells me you’re worried about security here—don’t . . .don’t . . .in two days these people will know your shoe size.” “I don’t doubt,” says Gallagher. (The two sound-alike names of Harry Shell and Harvey Stovall is interesting; it creates Gallagher-Stovall and Yates-Shell as mirror images; with both illuminating successes and failures in the other.)

From behind, in walks a lovely young woman. No spitfire Italian signorina a la Anna Magnani, this is a Northern Italian woman of culture and breeding. “Amore?” she asks. Yates undergoes a distinct change. The sunglasses come off for the first time, and he says, sweetly, “Hello, darling,” and going to her, introduces her as Carla, no less a Baroness, to Gallagher and Komansky, who can’t help but be happy to meet her. “You’re the 918^th bomb group from England,” she says. “It is different here, is it not?” Standing safely behind Gallagher, Sandy cannot quite suppress a wry smile at the Colonel’s frustration. “Yes, it’s quite different,” Joe says, curtly. “You’ve upset the colonel already,” Yates says, slyly. “He’s quite proper, quite security conscious.” He then deliberately switches to a ridiculous subject, asking Shell about the oranges. Shell trots off, like a dog eager to please—these men have, at best, a strange relationship; they seem to genuinely depend on and like each other—almost to a homosexual sense, suggested by the earlier scene of them both lounging in their robes, and Shell obligingly fixing him another drink. Shell seems to enjoy the good life that Yates has secured for them, but there is always a sense that he respects him in his own fashion, and attempts to protect him—he even followed him after his being disgraced in England; many men would have dropped such a relationship. Yates and Carla follow Shell, with Yates snottily excusing himself.

-“it’s pretty hard to hide a B-17, sir”

Sandy and Joe are left staring after them. Sandy reveals a growing comfort with the boss by remarking, “Now there goes a man who knows how to run an airbase, sir.” His irony is lost on Gallagher, who states at this rate people will soon know what they’re up to. “It’s pretty hard to hide a B-17 sir. By now, lots of people know that Triangle A on our tails.” Gallagher beckons Sandy out on terrace, provoking a “nice view” from the sergeant, but he quickly informs him that the entire village has the same view they do. A pair of binoculars easily picks up the men working on the planes—the color clip is so nice, that it makes me wonder if the entire episode may have been built from that clip, plus another particularly nice clip later on. Merry voices distract them, and in come Yates and Carla; playing with oranges, which help endow Yates with a “vegetable god” image—that it, the miracle of the seeming dead plant of winter blooming and producing fruit in the right season—which he does. “Something bothering you, Colonel?” Yates asks, provocatively. Gallagher sends Sandy outside. “Yes sir,” Komansky answers, his voice indicating he would like to stay behind and hear Gallagher tell this jerk off. As always, Komansky lacks respect for anybody who hampers the Colonel—as first glimpsed in “The Idolater.”

-“sobriety can ruin a man, Colonel”

Yates offers liquor; Gallagher refuses—“Sobriety can ruin a man, Colonel,” Yates mocks. Gallagher does not take up the challenge, preferring to readdress the security problem indicated by the view. Yates, for once, does not come across as an idiot—yes, he knows about it, and what is he to do? He’s thought about smoke screens, or barrage balloons dangling nets . . . “Okay, you’re funny,” Gallagher begins. “Now listen—“

“No, you listen,” Yates says, redirecting Gallagher’s concern to the artillery, faint but insistent. “Forget the village meatballs—that’s the enemy—they’ve got guns. You want to give me a sermon about your air group?”—the word sermon faintly accuses Gallagher of being “holier than thou”, but his next words are nothing but self-pity: “Well, I don’t command an air group, not any more.” Instead, he has been grounded, a bitter fate for a sky god; he commands men who come in with tools and guts and set up bases for “you hot shots—no glamour, no medals, no 25 missions and home. Jerries shooting at my guys and you and your formation come in”—bitterly, he finishes telling Joe this isn’t “your stagnant little English country base vacuum.”

Gallagher has no pity for him. He too fouled up and if not for the merciless grace of Savage, came out of a tail spin, took up command when it was thrust upon him; he knows no glamour in the dirty job of aerial combat, and he has long since passed his “25 missions and home.”  “I’ll try to keep that in mind,” is his courteous, “eat my shit” reply. He then reminds Yates that he commands the air element of this operation—which produces another sneer from Yates—and the orders “stipulated you were to cooperate with me—now when do you suppose that phase might begin, Colonel?” Yates does not answer, directly. “Maybe we’re a little relaxed around here.” “Not relaxed . . .lax,” Gallagher redefines. To underscore this, Carla, arms loaded with oranges, comes in . . .Yates once more becomes tender . . .and encourages Carla to entertain Joe. Despite everything, he finally seems to have gotten Gallagher’s message, and is going to dress to go to the base and take up duties, such as he sees them. Carla offers an orange; Joe politely accepts. Despite everything, he is disarmed by her and by the fruit—and he irritably tosses the orange while he revisits the terrace.

With his back turned, Carla shows that she too has two faces—she lowers the blinds, twice, and out on the street, a handsome young man sees this, comes forward—and then observes Sandy. He has bought a newspaper to read while waiting for the Colonel and is returning to the Jeep. The jovial peddler then, as he does with all, accosts the unknown young man, and sends him on his way—but to stand and watch the house, lightly but definitely guarded by the dutiful American sergeant.

-“that’s weapon fire defining a range!”

Act II takes up in the dark, business-like tents; Stovall joins Gallagher and Shell with a weather announcement which leads the Colonel to decide they will leave on their mission at 0900—and “that the navigators can catch up on their beauty sleep”—over all this is the sound of artillery fire; a sudden cut to a monstrous piece of artillery cuts through the constant rumble with a new sound, headed towards them. They literally hit the dirt of the tent’s floor. “That’s weapon fire defining a range!” snaps Gallagher, and this “defining” even brings Yates out of his own beauty sleep—he comes to the terrace where he sunbathed the day before, realizes that things are changing, and that Gallagher was right–and his fist comes down on the railing— Visually echoed by Gallagher’s own fist slamming down on a map—“Right here—I want every house overlooking this airfield to be cleared and evacuated.”

-”I don’t know what you carry around inside of you . . . but I DON’T CARE”

Gallagher says this in the presence of Yates, dressed, on the base, but listening to all this with a smirk. “Just a minute,” he says, lighting a cigarette, “German artillery isn’t in the village . . .it’s in the hills.” Shell, as always, hastens to agree and protect his old buddy who keeps him in booze and a beautiful house. “We’ll have that runway repaired by 0600.” Joe defines the situation: even if the artillery is in the hills, its range was determined close up and the village is the only place—Gallagher emerges as the doctor that roots out the cause of disease, while Yates is happy with simple treatment of the symptoms, which describes his resorting to alcohol to cover up his pain. Gallagher appoints Shell to take charge of the search, Stovall will supply all the men he needs—“I want to keep your men busy with repairs.” “This is a joint venture,” Yates reminds him, now buying into what he rejected the day before. “The base and the village are my responsibility.”

Gallagher is plain. “Gentlemen, you have your orders. You’re dismissed.” Stovall and Shell take up their orders; Yates remains behind to be petulant: “You guys are still after my scalp, aren’t you?”  Gallagher retorts—a great deal of his dialogue in this episode can be described as “retorts”—“Yates, I don’t know what you carry around inside of you—too much booze, probably—but get something straight—I DON’T CARE.” In answer, Yates blows smoke out of his nose, resembling a dragon, rather than the slave-king he styles himself to be. “You wallow in authority, don’t you Gallagher?” he says, likening the colonel to a hog and authority to nothing but mud. Another retort, fuelled by rage: “Yates, I’m ready to cooperate when you are. . . but I have authority here.” “Yes sir, Colonel, anything else, sir,” Yates says. “Knock it off,” Gallagher orders him, using a command he hasn’t slung at even Komansky in quite some time, “and give me security.” “Okay Colonel . . . ciao.”

Gallagher reveals his rage when Stovall appears in the door; he snaps for Harvey to get those Jerry batteries knocked off today; they can’t afford another 24 hours loss. Harvey’s aging, tired face remains neutral; but Gallagher knows his ground exec well enough that he will be understood and that Harvey will carry out the orders to best of his ability.

-“You…can fly your elephants over the Alps…”

“Gung ho, isn’t he Harvey?” Yates asks. The camera allows an extremely close up of this “face of a shadow,” as he talks candidly with Harvey. “I was like that once, remember?” Stovall gently recalls the terrible incident which this man allowed to derail him: “I was one of the guys who didn’t think you were to blame,” he says.

“But I got splashed for it, right?” Harvey intercepts his self-pity: “So what are you doing with your life—proving you’re a real disgrace?” Yates starts off smartly, but becomes tender: “Just trying to get through the war, Harvey, old boy,” he says. His smirk gives way to a sad smile. “Maybe . . . marry my baroness . . . “ His next words strongly display his “vegetation god qualities,” though they are his dream, not his reality. Taking her back with him—improbably–to Iowa, he wants to “raise bambinos and the tall corn.” The dream ends and his reality invades, with an image appropriate for embattled Italy: “You twentieth-century Hannibals can fly your elephants over the Alps—fill the pages in the history books—but there’s another story . . .about the faces that get stepped on along the way . . that’s one I can tell better than anybody.” In answer, Harvey leaves a man wallowing in bitterness.

-“nothing personal, but we have our orders”

Back in the sunlit streets, Shell drives up in his Jeep, and observes dutiful GIs, wearing helmets and carrying rifles, conducting the search that Stovall has organized. Komansky, in nominal charge of this platoon, dislikes the duty but carries it through, telling that to a complaining shopkeeper pointing at empty shelves. One of the GIs defends the shopkeeper, saying, “He’s our friend.” Komansky proves himself of Gallagher’s mettle by retorting, “Nothing personal but we have our orders. Open these cabinets or we shoot the locks off, okay?” The shopowner opens the cabinet and reveals expensive items that makes Komansky recognize the place as a black market headquarters. The same GI, a friendly soul, says, “Around here, we just close our eyes, you know?” Komansky does not care–this is about security, not the necessary evil of the blackmarket–ordering the shopkeeper to be out of his shop; he has until midnight, and the man can only obey. Komansky leads the platoon down the street, and Shell intercepts him telling him that the baroness’ house “will be handled in a different way.” Komansky agrees, probably feeling some relief, and he and the other men continue their work.

-“she’s a woman alone in a big house . . . “

Back at the base, with repairs going on, Gallagher and Stovall, indeed “gung-ho” study a map; Harvey, fetching “target folder 895” looks up to see a drunken Yates stumbling in. In a mixture of pity and anger he tries to shove Yates out and away, but Yates is insistent on talking with Gallagher, even allowing him to be “Colonel in chief.” Gallagher throws his pen down, demanding if Yates “is trying to scrape the bottom of the barrel”—in reality, Gallagher’s comment would probably have reference to excrement. Yates is probably drunk to deal with his pride, which he casts away in order to request an important favor, which refers to the special handling that Shell mentions to Sandy. Yates’ request rises from his sincere love for Carla—not only is she beautiful—and accepting—but he also finds in her his own loneliness, and, as we shall see, his own  bitterness.

“Let’s not moralize,” he begins, “you’re too sober and I’m here on a sentimental errand.” He requests Gallagher do the unpleasant duty of searching Carla’s villa—“you, top dog.” Gallagher is furious at this kind of shit work; it suggests corruption as well sexual overtones . . .is he being invited to share Carla’s bed? Yates gets Gallagher’s revulsion, and he now he becomes a kind of animal (he’s referred to Gallagher both as a pig and a dog) and claws at Joe’s leather jacket–yet his request comes from deep human compassion and knowing what a screw up he is:  “She’s a woman alone in a big house—with a lot of bad memories—don’t judge her by me—she’s a lady,” he adds, lurching up, and steadying himself on Gallagher—an interesting image. “And you’re a gentleman . . . give her that respect.” Gallagher now looks aside, puzzled–at Yates who has proven he can be a caring and sensitive man. Perhaps for this revelation, Gallagher agrees.

-“you are an American with a German sense of duty”

A highly visual rendering of these entwined, twisted, and painful lives is well viewed in the scene—which begins with focusing on the Laocoon sculpture—an Ancient Greek sculpture discovered in 1506—and portraying the agony of the Trojan priest who, with his sons, is attacked by serpents sent by the angry gods who have declared for the Greeks…in yet another war at the gates of Troy. A hand slides over the top of this sculpture, followed by a face—it is the young man who seemed to be earlier spying on Carla’s mansion and sent away by the peddler. Not seeing anybody, he moves into the salon, looks around, and picks up a small package on the desk. The voices of Carla and Gallagher send him behind a screen. Carla gives the American colonel a history lesson when they appear—“Through kingdoms, republics—and invasions . . . Nazis  . . .and now the Americans.” “Were the Germans stationed here?” Gallagher asks. “What would you have me do?” she asks. . . .as they continue to converse, the young man peers at them through the opening in the screen. She ends on a note both complimentary and rude: “you are an American with a German sense of duty.”

Joe’s response is tart: “Really? Well, I’m afraid I don’t have your basis for comparison.” (This is the second time that Joe has been compared with a Nazi; the first time was in “Runway in the Dark” when Chris tells his father that Joe reminds him of “that Nazi officer.”) Carla, understandably angry about yet another inspection, even though conducted by a polite colonel, still makes her point, seizing a goblet—over 200 years old, and expensive—and matching the goblets Sandy found in the shopowner’s cabinet. She tells them she sold the valuable goblets to Delvecchio—“you know him—the Americans call him Elmer–to you Americans everything must be simple,” she finishes, without really explaining what she means, but she is beyond logic in her weary bitterness.

-“you want a souvenir, joe?”

The young man, knowing that Gallagher is there for an inspection, foolishly but desperately flees. Gallagher stops him—and he suffers the embarrassment of learning more of her agonies heaped on her family, on her pride. The boy is her cousin, and he, upon her signal, sneaks in, takes items given to her by her lover, and sells them on the Black Market—which explains her lowering the blinds after she received the earlier gift of oranges from Yates. “You found us out,” she remarks. “You might even be decorated.” When Gallagher digs into this strange situation, she reminds him “I’m in a position to take care of myself”—which means selling herself to the conqueror; this time around, to Yates. But her relatives . . . and a baroness can’t go to any kind of market to make a deal. She is caught in a web of circumstances that have her as trapped as the statuary of the priests and his sons are trapped by serpents. Struck by how cheap her honor has become, Gallagher hands the chocolate back to the young man, and tries to apologize—she won’t have it and hurls her bitterness at him—possibly because she knows he is decent man and will, as a chivalrous knight would, quietly accept her scorn. He’s the conqueror, the victor—“everything is for sale—you want a souvenir, joe?” she asks, in her embarrassed misery, offering herself to him, as she has offered herself to others.

He starts to leave. She demands to know where he is going, taunting him for what he is leaving, as if oddly stung by his rejection; but she believes that she is nothing but trash to him, selling goblets, chocolate, and herself. “You’re leaving a high class baroness? . . . I can’t even do your laundry joe,” she taunts, alluding to Elmer’s blunt pandering to Komansky. “Anything for the victor, anything for the buyer,” she says, kneeling to him, extending her hand. His eyes are sick with pity for her, but he can do nothing but leave her in a huddle, alone in a big house, with bad memories. The camera pulls back at this point, leaving her small and helpless and alone—but finally revealed is who she is—a desperate, embarrassed, heartsick woman. Yet there is another revelation to come.

-“men who are willing to die for the Reich”

From this sad scene, we are taken to the concealed house, where the Italian messenger earlier delivered his news. Two German officers now emerge from the house, somewhat improbably airing their plans—they understand the runways have been repaired, and the 918^th’s first strike  in Germany is imminent. The German sends off his own messenger with a “plan for tonight”—and he needs “100 volunteers—men who are willing to die for the Reich.”

-“I gotta cute one for you, boss …”

Act III starts out with a beautifully set up and filmed clip of a real wartime scene: a Jeep hastening onto a green airfield, where efficient crews are preparing . . . a bomb. But the airfield has been repaired, the planes are being readied, and back in Gallagher’s operations tent, men type, messages are relayed, and Yates, for once steady, comes in with a message that seems to back up what he and Shell keep saying about the swiss-cheese quality of any possible security arrangements: “I got a cute one for you, boss. . . . two German transmissions were intercepted . . .they know the whole operation, right down to the paper clips.” The other messages admits the barrage did little damage, the runways are repaired, and naming targets. Gallagher snatches the communique. Stovall asks, “Is that all?” Gallagher sees the name “Luigi.”

Shell, as ever, is smiling: “That’s the local contact.” “Good. That gives us something to go on.” “Oh sure,” retorts Yates. “Finding a Luigi here is like finding a girl at Vassar.” He points out that Gallagher keeps asking for more security —“but it does no good.” “Then what would?” Gallagher demands, still refusing to give in. Trying to prevent further ugliness between Gallagher and Yates, Shell intercedes, pointing out something that is a reality. “You see sir, pushing around the villagers does no good—we’ll be here a long time after you leave and they’ll be sore at us.” There is truth in his words. Gallagher really channels Savage’s example: “Major, that’s my responsibility,” and orders Harvey to double the guards and get all the anti-aircraft he can find; to the question “You think they’ll bomb us?” Gallagher points out “they’ll attack us any way they can.” While Yates lights another cigarette and listens, Shell points out “the message make no mention of an attack,” Gallagher nearly explodes as these two American officers fight every step he takes for protection: “Well, let’s be ready regardless, shall we?!” There is truth in his words too. Gallagher tries to make them see the entire picture, for once—the whole 8^th Air Force is involved in this operation and the 918^th, coming up from the south is part of it. Shell continues to think of the local and the present: “You put these men on the ground tonight and fly them tomorrow they’re not gonna like it much.” “What do you suggest I do? Put it up for a vote?” Gallagher demands. Shell, beaten, but not in agreement, leaves. Gallagher, possibly feeling like a tyrant, but as frustrated as hell, turns to study a map of Europe—which underscores how he is thinking “globally” rather than locally.

-“hate and love are very much alike”

Yates stays, but he seems to soften—whether in sympathy or in satisfaction it is hard to say, but he needs to broach a delicate matter. “Let me ask you Colonel . . . I’m sober now,” he says, dandling his cigarette (Jack Lord could really handle a cigarette, making it extension of his personality and his attitude.) “Did you see Carla?” Gallagher turns to him, his eyes gentler. He tells him yes, but she still must be evacuated for a week. Yates considers his cigarette, and admits his failings. “Once I would have had the guts to tell her that myself—but in my normal state of bibulation . .  . “ Here an interesting quality of the man emerges, which is backed up my future references—this is an educated man, who possibly studied literature and the arts, yet found himself a pilot, a senior officer and to his shock, failed at both—and then dreams, ridiculously, of being a farmer in Iowa with a baroness for a farm wife. He is many faces, all of them in shadow. He says that when drunk two things matter—Carla, and revenge.

“When the booze wears off, it’s still Carla . . .and there’s something else.” Gallagher encourages him. “I appreciate you being honest with me—what’s this ‘something else’?” Yates  refers to a great poet—possibly Oscar Wilde, whose own excesses destroyed him—“love and hate are very much alike,” and admits “that I haven’t flown in combat in 18 months . . . you think I’d ever be good in the air again?” “It’s possible.” Whether he likes it not, Gallagher’s example, though he has mocked it, has driven him out of his self-pitying muddle. “I’ve got to find myself. Can I fly with you tomorrow?” “Not tomorrow,” Gallagher says, emphatically, but still kindly—reminding me of his words of “We’ll see,” that he spoke to the overwrought Komansky fumblingly asking for a field commission (“Show Me”) and Christian Borg asking if he can see his father depart (“Runway in the Dark”). Yates, accepting Gallagher’s refusal, flicks his eyes, but accepts the refusal, and also accepts Gallagher’s courtesy.

-“your American . . . patron”

Cut to—a grouchy, steaming truck trundling into the narrow streets, attracting the attention of two GIs, who alertly talk with the driver, who has stopped—deliberately to let a civilian escape from the hay heaped in the back. He is hard to recognize, but this is the smug German officer, whom Luigi carries messages to. He disappears into a pile of rubble, climbs into another street, flicks hay out of his hair and walks along . . .where is he bound? He comes through the terrace, the same terrace that Yates sunned himself on, Paolo crossed, and from which Gallagher angrily regarded the view. Carla, preparing to leave, sees him: “Ernst, what are you doing here? This is madness.” An ambivalent reply, but it defines her horrible, exploited life: she had been this German major officer’s woman, as she became Yates’ woman—not to satisfy and protect herself, but to protect others. Ernst is now using her beautiful home as a rendezvous point—safe, because, he says, “they have already searched it.” When she says she must gone by midnight, “by midnight, we shall all be one.” “What do you mean, ‘all’?” “I’m meeting friends here,” he says smoothly.

She attempts to scare him—she’s expecting somebody any minute—she is, Yates is on his way to help her leave. Ernst is not scared, rather he taunts her—“My rival? My replacement?” bluntly describing her accommodation of the conquerors. “Leibchen, you’re breaking my heart,” he says, kissing her hand, and asking her “to spend a precious night—and if your American—patron—comes—“

Yates comes in, much like Ernst—only for him, he can come through the front door. Carla, to avoid bloodshed, pretends—as always, she is pretending—to intercede for a lover. Yates comes in, the expression on his face resembling an Iowan boy who has just fallen off the turnip truck, can only ask “who is he?” Carla moves as it to protect a lover–who is not recognizable as a German because he has civilian clothes on. “Never mind who he is—you drive me from my home—now get out.” Yates, who has tried to clean up, has now been rejected by Gallagher and by Carla—and he leaves, stunned.

-“Sir, nobody gets by my post without the password”

From a beautiful if embattled house, we go to the embattled airfield, where Sandy and two other airmen are doing sentry duty from within a sandbagged circle. A noise brings them to and they witness the sight of Yates, drunk to the gills, stumbling around the airfield—rejected by Carla, he has nowhere else to turn but to where he belonged in the first place, and probably in search of Shell, Stovall, and maybe even Gallagher. To Sandy’s demand of “Halt!” he merely spins around—“Who said that?” When Sandy comes forward, Yates either jokes or tries to retrieve an ounce of his authority: “Just a little inspection of the security outpost, Sergeant,” he says to Sandy’s tired face. “How’s your ammunition?” Sandy has met the man, viewed the circumstances under which he has lived, and will not concede. “Sir, nobody gets by my post without the password,” he tells him. “Good man, good man,” Yates mumbles. “Password—beelzebub? No, that was yesterday. Give me a hint.” “Colonel, why don’t you go somewhere and sleep it off, huh?” Sandy says. In retort, Yates hauls out a yard of Shakespeare . . .  “Sir,” Sandy says, taking hold of him. “Get your hands off me,” he snarls. “Sir, you are drunk and disorderly at the wrong place and the wrong time,” Komansky tells him. Yates forgets Shakespeare—“You’re finished,” he tells him, and demands Sandy call Gallagher—“Call Gallagher!” he shouts, the last person he should want seeing him like this . . .and stumbles forward and falls on a sandbag . . .

-“you are a scavenger, picking on the bones of the motherland!”

Back to Carla, playing a better tune on the piano that Sandy picked out the day before; Ernst, in a parodic pose, leans on the piano, pretending to be a lover enjoying his lady playing . . .perhaps believing, because she did not reveal his identity to the American colonel, that she prefers him… the moment ends when a few of the 100 men loyal to the Reich pass through the drapes—including the jovial Delvecchio, whom Carla actually defended earlier that afternoon. “Good evening, Baroness.” Now she wants to leave, and tries, but her way is barred, politely, by Luigi—somewhat like Yates being barred by the sentries. “Must I stay here?” Still smiling, Delvecchio says she must—and she cannot signal, not to Paolo, not to anybody. Luigi has instructions to release her in an hour. She snaps she can understand Ernst—he is a soldier—but Delvecchio—“you’re a scavenger, picking on the bones of the motherland!”

Delvecchio merely smiles at her words—and then strikes her to the ground, startling even the German officer. “Every man, in his own way, is a patriot,” he says, which is poetic, but the more the phrase is examined, the muddier it becomes which reflects  the whole strange world of changing lines, shifting alliances, survival, pride, and grasping for redemption in a world that might only spit on such  an innocent notion. Ernst has no more time for pity, if he felt any; he announces the attack starts in one hour, and they move out. Carla is helped up from the floor by Luigi—she suddenly shouts “Delvecchio!” and shoots him—where did she get the gun? Either she copped it from Luigi, or she herself also packed a gun—not a bad idea, in her world. Luigi, startled and scared, strikes her once—again—and then flees events that have grown too terrible for him to handle.

-“so I hit bottom—wherever that may be”

Act IV and climax—of emotions, of war, of a man’s bottoming out and another perilous first step toward redemption. The act begins with the sentries, alert but not realizing yet that maybe 100 dedicated men are coming on to the field, like rats . . . and start their business. Two tired sentries, keeping watch beneath a plane, but shadowy figures come in from behind and garrote them—it is never established if they are unconscious, or if they have been killed. Their attackers fasten explosive devices to the B-17s, including, of course, Piccadilly Lily. Cut to—a close up of Yates’ face—and he looks, spookily, like Savage, only on the skids . . . He has been escorted into Gallagher’s tent, his inebriation and collapse becoming his passwords. His weary hand grasps a tin mug of coffee and he takes a drink, while Gallagher stands behind him. Coffee rather than booze—The climb back up is beginning–and the man faces up to things and stitches facts together. “Okay Colonel—you don’t owe me anything—neither does Carla. I don’t know what I expected of her, but I sure got it . . .so I hit bottom, wherever that may be—you think I’m finished.” “That’s not up to me,” says Gallagher, his retorts now gentled to responses. “But you will file charges.” “Unfortunately, I have to.” Yates bargains with him—“One last pitch—hold off till this operation is launched. I know my job Gallagher and drunk or sober I’ll try to do you some good.” This scene of contrition is violently broken in upon by Stovall. who, with guards, is hauling in the naïve, stupid, and now terrified Luigi. He was found running from an evacuated building . . . and he has been babbling about the baroness . . . Yates, for once, supplies the answer—“What about the German transmission we intercepted?” “Luigi,” Joe acknowledges. Things are beginning to come together—just as they are getting ready to explode.

-“red alert—something’s wrong”

Sandy and his partners, horribly exposed to the rats swarming their way, try to stay warm in their emplacement when they hear a siren, probably tripped by Gallagher over Luigi’s confession. To a GI’s demand of “What’s that?” Komansky identifies it as a “Red alert—something’s wrong.” Correct words; they are attacked. In hasty action, his partners are struck down; Komansky clubs, avoids being clubbed, and shoots—twice, point blank. Akin to Joe’s shooting of Karl in “Underground,” Komansky finally has his terrible moment of killing face to face. It won’t be the last. In the Operations tent, Gallagher, Stovall and Yates barricade themselves with the table as all hell breaks loose outside. Joe gets on the phone while Stovall, knowing the layout of the base, shouts that they’ll lose some airplanes, but “they’re going after supplies”—however, that is a feint. Harry Shell, loyal and foolish to the last, comes charging in, shouting—and is struck by gunfire, despite Gallagher’s motion to get down. Suitably, he dies in the arms of his “lover,” Yates, who winces as he makes his last optimistic but useless report—“I’m okay—they got the Krauts, the Italians—the works—they got mortars, machine guns—the works, you know?” He dies and Yates loses his last ally—who in today’s language might be considered his “enabler”—who crippled him more than he helped him.

Yates is really alone now, his only friend the man who will file charges on him . . . In a war movie convention—perhaps a cliché, but it is melodramatically satisfying—Yates is finally impelled to action in revenge for his friend, and takes off and in his desperation reaches the Piccadilly Lily, which Sandy is also seeking for refuge. After Yates climbs in, Sandy follows him, probably thinking it is Gallagher—finds and removes the explosive device (thank heavens!)—and coming onto the flight deck, says, “Turn ‘em over”—and Yates does, once more a pilot—although Piccadilly Lily, as in “Massacre,” becomes a fort, or, as Yates says, a tank.

-“we’ve got a tank . . . I can’t fly, but I can drive”

Gallagher joins them as Sandy takes up a waist position. Yates, on the flight deck, is now the man in charge, saying the attackers have infantry at the north end of the field—“and we’ve got a tank Colonel—I can’t fly, but I can drive.” “Okay,” Gallagher says, finally in agreement with Yates. “It’s your tank.” It says a lot for him to hand over his special lady . . . and in an exciting sequence Yates rolls the Lily down the runway, right into the infantry unit. with Gallagher and Komansky firing at the 100 men who fire back, but eventually run like the cowards Holz calls them, or, like Holz, dies . . . in the Piccadilly Lily, Yates suffers a physical wound . . . like the vegetation god Adonis, who is killed by a boar, Yates’ blood is spilled, but the blood is like water, nourishing the dead land so that rebirth is imminent.

-“she’ll live . . . she’ll always live”

The epilogue begins with the lovely, triumphant version of the theme, as B-17s take off from a beautiful green countryside . . .on a bombing mission, but the mission must be completed, and will be, despite the emotional, the verbal and the physical attacks of the last two days. Meanwhile, back at the embattled villa, which is no longer so white and lofty, a bandaged up Yates idles on the well-used terrace. Paolo, Carla’s cousin, has come, possibly at her request, to the villa and he pours the American colonel some scotch and brings it to him. Refreshingly, his first words are sympathy for Major Shell. Then he asks:  “Carla . . . she will live?” “Yeah, she’ll live  . . . she’ll always live,” Yates says, which is ambivalent, at best, but the man is facing up to a lot—death of his only friend, Carla’s helpless betrayal (by which she protected him but her past and her expedient use of him has been exposed), the death of his dream of “raising corn and bambinos”—which must seem pretty ridiculous to the sobered man—but somewhere he must have some admiration for a woman who is doing what she must to survive. But this expeditious love affair is over and he is taking the first hard steps into redemption . . . which starts with him relinquishing the lofty white tower, complete with a “fouled” princess that he can’t rescue. “I just came back to clean up,” he tells Paolo. “I’ll send for my things.” “I don’t know if it makes any difference . . .but she loved you,” says Paolo. In this world, such statements must be taken at “face value” . . . “Yeah . . . yeah.” Dramatically, if not too realistically, the massed B-17 formations heading for Germany fly overhead, which he looks up at. (They will presumably fly back to Bellagio.) There’s his past—and his future, possibly. Satisfyingly, he pours the liquor out, possibly on the terrace which has seen so much pain, so much subterfuge, so many men, most of them exploiting Carla.

-“when the chips are down . . .  we’re family”

It is with some relief that the viewer is taken to the flightdeck of the Piccadilly Lily—after all this drama of a high Italian Opera—not being snide!–with the stalwart trio who stand contrast with Yates, Shell, and Carla. Komansky is smiling, the massed formation and the fighters all working together—“it feels good.” “We’re family,” Stovall says. “We may fight, but when the chips are down, we’re family.” As they approach the target—in an about a half hour—Stovall wishes that Yates could be with them—and that he may just straighten out. “He sure saved our bacon last night,” Joe grants, and then turns to business: the 8^th Air Force is within striking distance of Germany and “the strategy is working—now let’s make it pay off.”

 “Fortress Weisbaden”

Writer: Carey Wilber

Teleplay: Michael Lalor Brown

Director: Joseph Pevney

After three well-done episodes engaging in historical events (D-Day; shuttle operations to Poltava; 8^th Air Force support of the 15^th Air Force in Italy), “Fortress Weisbaden” furnishes some classic 12OCH: a slam-bang if somewhat improbable adventure against the Nazis; Gallagher and Komansky operating like partners though snapping at each other while supporting each other; Britt setting the agenda; a time-clock ticking as the mission goes awry but Gallagher seeks to complete it—successfully. Somewhat grimly and amusingly there is also an unnamed co-pilot dying (perhaps the last time that happened was in “Show Me a Hero”; after that, Bobby Johnson–who then seemed to go on to become “Bob Fowler”– proved a stalwart co-pilot, making it all the way to the end in “The Hunters and the Killers.”). Also after an episode in which Joe rather conspicuously did not smoke, he returns to his habit; indeed, our first sight of him is him lying on his bed, relaxing with tobacco, a scene curiously mirrored when Mallory dies, in the bed of a truck, smoking. On an historical note: Weisbaden was a heavily bombed area of the Reich; moreover, the 918^th and the RAF groups flying against the target are no longer dealing with fighters (most of the Luftwaffe had been nullified by D-Day); thus flak is the problem. “Fortress Weisbaden” also recalls a number of previous episodes, most notably “The Slaughter Pen,” with its story of Commandos and the destruction of a radar facility that is knocking out Allied offensives; “Underground,” as Joe, this time with Sandy, find themselves on foot in Nazi Europe with a dedicated Nazi proclaiming herself otherwise (like Karl Weigand); and “Between the Lines,” and “Gauntlet of Fire” as Joe and Sandy  are hurled to the ground, and then concealing themselves in a local structure, such as the farmhouse in “Gauntlet.” Very nicely, this episode completes a story “arc” started in a fashion in “Show Me a Hero”—as Komansky does not bail on the injured Gallagher leaving him and others to die in an out of control plane, in “Fortress Weisbaden,” Gallagher does not bail on the injured Komansky, leaving him behind for interrogation, perhaps torture and murder. “Left behind” is a poignant theme to this episode; it’s the Commandos’ “hard, hard rule” about the injured and helpless, and highlights one of Komansky’s primal fears: abandonment.

Unfortunately, this episode has a little too much action in too little time, which diverts some emotional themes. Time is so short we don’t see Britt and Stovall worrying about the downed Gallagher and Komansky while keeping on with their work, creating brief interludes which created a nice counterpoint to Joe’s peril in “Decoy.” However, there are small pockets of intense feeling, notably expressed by Sandy’s controlled panic as ground fire rocks the plane; his gaze when the farm dog is killed; his gentle but firm “Sorry,” when he prevents the treacherous Frieda from escaping; Gallagher’s fury at Frieda when she finally reveals herself; Gallagher’s gentle joking with the dying Mallory.

Interestingly, Gallagher’s own doubts about his new and distasteful work are frequently expressed through Sandy. But Joe must seek successful conclusion to the mission, rather than doubt what he sees and become diverted by his doubts–though Sandy’s questions and concerns reflect his Colonel’s. And a brief scene in Act I rolls an emotional theme: a partnership that is tested and cemented by a terrible question of –could I leave you behind? Would you leave me behind? The answer is presented forcefully in the climax.

-“Another mile in this flak will finish us all . . . “

The teaser opens on a familiar sight—bombers, flying through flak—though these RAF bombers flying at night, taking up their nocturnal ETO strategy of “bombing around the clock.” Things are bad; the steadfast British pilots, whose names we never know, observe that they have already lost two to the flak. They’re coming up on the target but the pilot is fatalistic: “Another mile I this flak will finish us all.” He radios the other flight leaders in this ironically named “dandelion group”; pathfinder II has got through, and all are to bomb on his “red marker flares . . . “ His message ends when flak strikes them, in a burst of fire and sparks . . .

-“Well, what is your point, General?” “Bomb Weisbaden!”

Cut to a single flame burning . . . In the early morning the dressed but reclining Joe touches the lighter’s flame to his cigarette. The quiet is broken by a knock on the door; to his permission the door opens, bringing  Komansky also in flight suit and jacket, holding two mugs of coffee. Gallagher sits up and turns on a lamp, and for the first time we see Joe’s living quarters—we saw Stovall’s in “Storm at Twilight,” and Sandy’s in “The Hollow Man.” Joe’s quarters are pretty utilitarian, as least as much as we can see by the ugly, ornate definitely non-GI lamp he switches on. Sandy announces that briefing is in 40 minutes—“and that General Britt is on his way over . . .thought you’d like to know”—which explains the two coffee mugs.

To Joe’s question, Sandy says that the visit seems unofficial, and as he asks “any word on that RAF raid?” In answer, the door opens, revealing Britt; Sandy comes to attention, Joe rises. A subdued Britt bids him “good morning,” and tells Sandy “you may go.” Joe offers him coffee, which he accepts, and then Joe still reveals he can’t quite get Britt’s life: “What brings you out so early?” he asks, and with a touch of impudence, “Can’t sleep?” Brit remarks, “I see you’re fully clothed.” “Yes sir, just like a fireman”–prophetic words, given the work he will become involved in. Britt hasn’t been to bed and his weariness is explained by the fact that he was “sitting up all night with General Pritchard and Air Marshal Kingsford, RAF.” He turns another light on. “The RAF got clobbered again.” “Too bad, the Weisbaden flak—we get it by day, they get it by night.” “Yeah,” Britt says, and makes an unusual request, perhaps created by month after month sending young men to do battle: “I’d like to go with you today.” “No, sir,” Joe snaps. “I mean, there’s no point in taking that kind of chance.” “Maybe there is a point,” Britt says. Joe refuses; the Germans are using a new kind of radar—whatever, they’re cutting us to ribbons—“you coming with us won’t change that.”

Britt looks at him so pensively that Joe thinks the worst: “do you think I’m dogging it?” Britt wearily admits that he doesn’t like being a messenger—delivering a threat which grows out of RAF “complaining that they’re taking a beating trying to soften up a target for you.” Joe hurls the accusation back: “Well, if they have, I’ll be able to score this morning!” “His point,” Britt rejoins, “is that if you had done your job the day before it wouldn’t be costing him so much.” “His point?” Joe demands. “And what is your point, General?”

“Bomb Weisbaden!” Britt demands, his voice rising as Gallagher digs into him; this snapping previews  Gallagher-Komansky relationship in this episode.

“Yes, sir,” Joe says. Britt concludes: “If you don’t I’ll be ordered to relieve you of your command.” Joe stares at him and then away, seeing his career and honor go on the line . . . the six bongs strike over his clenched face as already tight screws tighten on Joseph Gallagher.

-“we missed by a country mile!”

In Act I, the droning B-17s are on their daylight way to Weisbaden;  though there are few Nazi fighters left now the flak is murderous, as seen by planes veering off, on fire, out of control and the crewmembers reporting “Red Sugar going out;” “Blue Leader out of control,” finally prompting a tense Gallagher to demand “Knock off the chatter!” The bombardier’s words are equally tense as he does his work and releases the bombs, “Bombs are away sir . . . now get us out of here!” Gallagher orders the crew to count the other bomb-drops and watch the strikes . . . “We missed sir . . . we missed by a country mile!” the bombardier reports. Gallagher grimaces at the news . . .his time as Group Commander of the 918^th is up. It must be a lousy flight home…

-“requesting transfer” 

Cut to typed orders, written and submitted the same day:  “J.A. Gallagher/Col. Commanding Officer . . . requesting transfer from the 918^th to another group, a unit of the 8^th Air Force . . .” Britt, reading it, has changed his tune: “What do you think you’re doing?” Gallagher bluntly reports he got less than half of his group home, and “you told me what to expect if I failed.” Britt tells him what he also had in mind—“to get his licks in first.” Gallagher probably has such feelings, but he is sincere in his answer—when a CO is fired, “his whole group takes a beating”—and they’ve suffered enough with Weisbaden, and “I don’t want them to take the blame for British losses, or anything else.” “So you’re here to be fired?” Britt asks, in his slightly mocking way. Gallagher looks confused and aggravated. “I was told to report to you sir,” he says. “I can’t imagine . . .”

Britt changes the agenda, telling Joe to sit down, asking a distaffer to bring in a Major Mallory, and asks “suppose the situation were to change? Would you tear this up?” Joe still says he wants to reduce embarrassment. Britt becomes dryly apologetic: “Joe, when things go sour, there is usually a problem . . . I’m sorry things had to focus on you.” “Focus on both of us,” Joe points out, acknowledging that Britt takes heat too—Britt thanks him for getting him off the hook—“but at times,” he says, “you behave like a gadfly”—meaning, a tormentor, which Britt both appreciates and dislikes about his protege. “I think we can tear this thing up,” and disposes of the request for transfer. “Because now we know what the problem is.”

The distaffer escorts Major Mallory in . . . and revealed is a British officer, at attention. Gallagher courteously rises to meet him. “You mentioned this morning we might be up against something new—and we are—a new kind of electronic anti-aircraft radar fire control. British Intelligence has a man in Weisbaden—German as a matter of fact—we’re going to find out exactly where that center is . . .and when it’s out of commission, we’re going to Weisbaden factories with all we’ve got.” Mallory, with an impeccable British accent (first heard in “Show Me A Hero” when he played the morally ambiguous Kirby Wyatt) proposes “a well-timed saturation raid, sir.” Gallagher isn’t quite in the loop yet. “How?” “I’ll do that, sir,” he says. Britt smiles as he introduces Mallory as a Commando—and that “they’ll parachute in with a demolition team.” Despite its “highflying opening,” once more 12OCH is grounded . . . Gallagher’s slightly clenched face suggests he doesn’t like this—perhaps it’s pride; he wants to knock out that target rather than giving it up to somebody else.

-“you think he knows where he’s going?”

Cut to a single B-17 in night flight; perhaps to atone for his group’s failures, Gallagher has volunteered to take the Commandos to their venue, although, as Mallory says, when his Sergeant Major Higgins wonders at the time and asks “You think he knows where he’s going?”—“He’s flown over many times in the daylight, he knows.” “He’s takin’ his ruddy time, gettin’ there.” “Evasive action takes time . . .we’ve haven’t been shot at yet.” This conversation limns the relationship between these men and the two flyboys they must join with—they’re okay in the air, but on the ground, he will consider them useless and directs them to give themselves up at the nearest village. Side note: Bernard Fox, playing Higgins, is always a delight, his roles ranging from the feckless Malcolm Merriwether in The Andy Griffith Show (“awn’tcha kind”) to the warlock-physician Dr. Bombay in Bewitched. Of course, this is his second outing on 12OCH, first appearing at Major Dutton in “Big Brother,” a tired but stalwart officer in the backwash army in Magadar.

On the flightdeck, Gallagher, once more assisted by an unnamed co-pilot, closely studies a map with Komansky, portending their adventures. The navigator confirms their position, and the drop comes in 60 seconds, and Komanky alerts the Commandos. Almost immediately searchlights stab the sky; the flak starts up, prompting Gallagher to issue the alert, “Hang on”–the bomb bay doors open for their jump. The flak intensifies as Komansky observes the Commandos calmly preparing to jump into Nazi Germany; Higgins, the ever-jovial good lad, comments “Just like the slide at Brighton,” turning the task into a jump at a beach resort—which reminds of my own father, when he was telling a pre-adolescent daughter about his training and experiences in a war that I was growing aware of, he always made it sound like fun, like a rather violent summer camp. The flak bangs them about; Komansky’s face is alarmed but set. To Gallagher’s orders, Komansky sees them jump, one by one . . . and hell breaks loose on the flightdeck as flak shatters a window, the co-pilot slumps  . . . Gallagher calls for Komansky “to get up here fast!”—as a kind of portent of their threatened separation, Komansky is barred by fire in the bomb bay.  Gallagher gets the message and gives the message—“Abandon ship.” He hangs onto the plane as long as he can as fire begins to consume it and brings about a dramatic descent . . . with one last look at the unfortunate, unnamed co-pilot, Gallagher leaves.

-“Gor blimey . . . “

Below, amid pines, the Commandos roll up their parachutes while viewing their carrier go down  . . . no time for sentiment. Mallory, with his parachute resembling a shroud, watches the B-17 crash. “Gor blimey,” remarks Higgins, but the rest have nothing to say. Alerted by the plane’s crash, German soldiers, including one curiously on a bicycle, prowl cautiously about; one has found a parachute. They find their prey: a shod foot, not quite hidden—he is ordered to come out, and his alarmed face is succeeded by their own as his colleagues garrote the young men. His luck is poor—despite being saved, one of the German’s pistol goes off, hitting him. While his men dispose of the bodies, Mallory tends to the fallen. One of their men sees and hears figures approaching—and sounds his clicker.

Amazingly, Gallagher and Komansky, both unhurt, have found each other . . . and have gone in the direction of the gunshot, heard moments earlier. They are recognized, and Gallagher kneels by the seated Mallory, saying “I’m sure glad to see you, Major.” Mallory is not, and while tending his man, instructs them that a good Commando would wait . . .“We didn’t come to you,” Sandy testily replies. “We heard a noise.” Neither Yank is a “good Commando” and as it turns out, they don’t want to be…Sandy is appalled by their methods and Joe reluctantly takes them up–but cannot follow them to the letter. “And came toward the sound.” “Yes,” Gallagher says, “five of my men bailed out and one of them could have been in trouble,” revealing his lack of Commando mentality—which he will develop in the ensuing 24 hours, though he does not go all the way . . . and what happens to the five other men? We never know. But we do know that Joe has gone to offer help to his men. One man will need it soon.

-“not a glamour fly-boy  . . . I don’t need you”

Mallory finishes with his ministrations and gestures for Gallagher to come with him. Alone, he calmly tells Gallagher that there is a village a few kilometers north of here. “You and your sergeant go there and give yourselves up. I don’t advise you to stay here . . . Jerry’s rough on Commandos.” “Wait a minute,” Joe says, thus setting a “ticking time clock” into narrative motion: the following morning a plane is scheduled to fly in and “pick them up.” Mallory is snottily realistic. “If he can land and if we survive.” “All right, I prefer that gamble,” Gallagher says, bringing in a gaming theme not heard so far this season. “Besides, you’ve lost a man.” “One well-trained British Commando, not a glamour fly-boy,” Mallory answers, strongly revealing an important trait of a Commando—utter confidence in himself as a daring, independent, and quite superior operator. “I don’t need you and I don’t want you.”

“I need you Major,” Gallagher confesses.

“Colonel, my kind of war is pitiless,” he says, setting up the central emotional and ethical conflict in this episode—and Gallagher’s pity is called on numerous times in this episode, sometimes strategically by Frieda,  intellectually and then desperately by Sandy, and he allows it to overcome his instinct for survival in the climax.  Mallory continues: “Most of my problems are solved one way—I kill.” But if Gallagher is willing to place himself under his command . . . “Okay,” Gallagher says. “But you won’t like it.” “I’ll judge that Major,” Gallagher returns—and no, he doesn’t like it, and doesn’t give in to it, even though he must practice their methods. Joe’s sense of duty keeps him focused and accepting of the Commandos’ methods though he doesn’t like them; Sandy’s anger over their methods and his questions to Gallagher, in a way, become an extension of Joe’s conscience and his feelings.

As Sandy watches, the wounded man is prepared . . .he is given a box which he grasps with a steady if scared look . . . Higgins goes forward to consult with Mallory. They plan their march with their goal being “in time for breakfast tea”—which appalls Gallagher. Back at the wounded man, Sandy is appalled as well as the man is dragged, if carefully, into hiding. He asks Higgins what the man was given. “Morphine.” “I mean the little box.” “Interrogation pills.” A euphemistic answer; they are probably cyanide. “You mean, he’s supposed to . . . “ “Well, that’s his decision,” Higgins says. His bluff attitude is later belied. They prepared to leave.  Gallagher and Komansky then regard each other briefly, their eyes asking the other: “Would you do that to me? Could I do that to you?” The question is answered in the climax.

-“we mustn’t have a barking dog, must we, Sergeant Major?”

Act II begins with a close-up on their objective, a farmhouse, and then, setting the scene, the camera widens to show the rural farm—and the color aspect of Season III is well exemplified by yellow fields, dotted with California live-oaks! Black and white would have reduced the non-German qualities of the scene. However . . .the Commandos approach the house, one by one, going from haystack to haystack—and a distant shot makes them seem so terribly vulnerable, on foot in Nazi Germany. Crouching in trees, Mallory watches his men depart, and then he himself leaves, letting Gallagher and Komansky follow them at 3-second intervals. Joe and Sandy are earning their keep by toting the radio; Komansky must have a feeling that he is low man on the totem pole as the subordinate to the unwanted colonel, and bringing up the rear of the rear. Since they are being the “mules” neither man openly sports their service revolvers, thus differentiating them from the Commandos.

Since no one has stopped them, the Commandos finally openly approach the farmhouse; the yards and barns are checked out—and a report comes “All empty, Major—nobody home.” The men stand up and survey matters; as Sandy and Joe join them, a barking dog also joins them. “We mustn’t have a barking dog, must we Sergeant Major?” Mallory says, and the good-natured Higgins goes after it.

Joe and Sandy watch; Joe moves off but the camera stays on Sandy’s blank but sickened face as the barking stops . . . a supremely melodramatic, if slightly hokey moment—but the point is made; these men are pitiless even toward an absolutely innocent dog. Giving the barn to Higgins, Mallory goes to the house, leaving Joe and Sandy startled, and without orders. They follow him, wordlessly; Mallory observes half-eaten food on plates, remarking, “these people left in a hurry,” perhaps reminding Sandy of the dog that will bark no more. Mallory then orders water to be heated for tea. We never learn what exactly has happened to the people who had sat down to dinner before being permanently interrupted. The Nazi woman never explains … “For tea,” Sandy echoes, dropping his bag. “Settle down,” Gallagher advises him—as the situation grows more desperate, Gallagher’s “advice” to Komansky becomes ever sharper. Mallory gives his report that obviously the agents were “twigged and scooped out.”

-“suppose he has interrogation pills, sir?”

The conflict between the Commandos and the fly boys heats up: the man who knows the fire control center has been taken away; Mallory finally gives him a name: Von Weurtzel, an anti-Nazi and all that . . . like the dog, he will never be seen again. “I don’t suppose there is a prayer now of finding the set-up,” he concludes. Joe theorizes about their danger: the Gestapo or the crew there will try to find out what he knows . . . “Suppose he has interrogation pills, sir?” Sandy demands; Joe deals him an exasperated yet understanding glance. Mallory gets down to cases: without the contact, “I’m afraid our game is up.” “What does that mean? Do we pull out?” Gallagher asks. Mallory does not see how there can be a raid, but comes up with a disturbing alternative: “We’ll simply move about on foot and do in as many Jerries as we can”—a roving goon squad, in other words–and killing civilians?  Gallagher, Mallory says, will stay her and send a signal home. He leaves.

“What are these guys?” Sandy demands. He has not had an easy life, and he is a battle-tested veteran, but their naked sense of duty astounds and sickens him.

“They’re experts,” Joe says.

“Expert killers . . . to them, killing’s a party,” Sandy says. Joe makes a point: “If we’re going to survive, we have to play by their rules.” This is no party; this is a fearful game they have been forced to engage with. Sandy still protests, if quietly, but Joe reminds him that ending up dead would be “easy, Sandy—just take a walk.” Sandy ‘s questions allow Joe to air his feelings—“Sir, you’re not saying you like it their way?” “Let me tell you,” Joe snaps, “my only concern is that these men know what they’re doing. We’re still alive,” he adds, and snaps a cigarette in emphasis. “Yes sir,” Sandy mutters.

-“hey, it’s a skirt!”

In the barn, unflappable if dog-killing Sgt. Major Higgins heats water for tea over a candle, while engaging in his usual hearty conversation . . . about his mum and “it’s not the bombs,” she said, “it’s the shortage of tea.” When one of the Commandos demands how long he’s going to take heating the water, the actor replies in nearly undecipherable working class patois. Bits of hay drift down into the water . . . and while keeping up a bluff conversation about breakfast and mums and kippers, a Commando ascends to the loft. “Come on out or I shoot,” he announces, and slowly, almost like a mermaid from the depths, a beautiful blonde head arises from the hay—“Hey, it’s a skirt!”

Like a mermaid, she will prove to be a man killer. The young woman is escorted into the kitchen, where a gentlemanly Gallagher, with the impassive Komansky listening, asks if she speaks English. Beautiful, blonde, and blue-eyed, she confidently answers his question: that she was educated in England—and readily identifies herself as the daughter of Von Heurtzel, the vanished contact . . .or so she says. Her identity is never established, but she projects herself as the stalwart daughter of a British Intelligence contact. Her father, she relates, was arrested this morning by the Gestapo, who have suspected them for some time. Mallory enters, suspicions, as they should be, flying. “Well, what have we here?” After Gallagher makes introductions, he says, “We’ve heard about you”—but he does not say what.

“Your father was arrested by the Gestapo,” he continues, motioning with his head for Komansky and his own man to depart. “And you were not.” “Your soldiers were so fierce,” she says; her appeal to pity is lost on him as he grabs by her bright blond hair, whirling Sandy around; Joe silently stops him. She now protests that she was frightened– “What do you know?” is Mallory’s  stiff rejoinder, which perhaps arises out of his desperation to complete the mission. He tells her “she knows where the center is, and that she can take them there.

He then addresses a question to her: “Do you know what I’ll do if you cross me?” She assents, and he releases her—at which time she sits down composedly and brushes back her mussed hair. She’s a cool one.

-“this is the Major’s game”

Mallory sets a time table with Gallagher, who checks his watch: the Center will be destroyed by 0530, and they will return by 0630. “If we’re not back in time . . . “ “Not back? Are you leaving us here?” Mallory points out that if they were to gum up things, then Gallagher can cancel the recall. Gallagher doesn’t like it, but it makes sense. Mallory leaves Frieda with the “nice Americanos . . .but I’ll send for you.” Frieda takes advantage of his absence. “The Major is giving orders to the Colonel?” she asks, flirtatiously, sensing this man is more malleable. Gallagher answers, “This is the Major’s game,” and goes to the mantel, perhaps seeking pictures of her . . . and her father. “You’re fighting the Major’s war, are you not?” He does not seem to find any pictures of her. Gallagher is blunt. “You know, you’re not subtle enough to cause trouble. Divide and conquer, is that your credo?” “Not mine,” she says. “Nobody will trust me.” Joe takes up an old picture. “You know, I think you had the Major saying exactly what he wanted to hear . . . you could lead him into a trap. We have one other choice . . . to sit here. And he’s not the type of man to just sit.”

Frieda plays on his pity—if she goes with him, she might die—or go to a camp. “I’m afraid to go with the Major,” she says, not piteously, but rationally; she know she is dealing with a smart man. “Let me stay with you.” Gallagher doesn’t like any of this, and Sandy seems wary, if perhaps hopeful . . . “I will tell them where to go. They cannot fail.” “Sir,” Sandy says, still thinking about the dog, “Why wouldn’t that work?” “Colonel, please,” she asks, moving in quickly. Joe looks away in lieu of an answer. Mallory returns: “Fraulein, we go now.” Outside, Higgins has the men lined up and Frieda is placed in their midst. She delivers a wistful glance to Joe; he and Sandy watch this venture start. They depart, and Joe turns to business—the radio needs to be set up. Komansky hesitates—he’s not disobeying Gallagher, but his perceptions are muddled.  To his questions, Joe’s answers translate his seemingly heartless decisions into logic. “Colonel, you’re not beginning to like this operation?” “I’m just cautious about getting my throat cut.” “Why couldn’t they leave her here with us?” “To guard her? It’d be a long day while they work their way into position. It’s a lot safer having her guarded by seven men.” “If the Nazis find her  . . . “ “Sergeant,” Joe says, “How do you know she’s not a Nazi? Or that she’s Frieda Von Heurtzel?” Sandy’s no fool, though not fully accepting. “Yes sir,” he mutters again.

-“May I go now?” – “You may not!”

To the strains of some rather pleasant music—notably, the 12OCH theme does not occur, at least much, in this ground-bound episode—the Commandos fall up next to the road. Mallory and Higgins flank Frieda. The time is now 1640; he asks her to point out the Center. “That is the collection point for supplies,” she says, describing “one cement building—very heavy cement.” Mallory orders his never-failing Higgins to form the men around the perimeter, “then we’ll have some biscuits [cookies] and wait until dark.” “May I go now?” she asks. “You may not!” he responds, and she will hide with Higgins . . .the sound of a heavy truck takes their attention . . . clamping his hand on her mouth, Mallory crouches down into the grass, but the truck, after it rumbles past . . . stops and disgorges German soldiery.

They have been found out. The outnumbered Commandos are swiftly taken, but not without inflicting casualties—including the seemingly invincible Mallory, who suddenly rolls over with pain as a bullet lances his head.

Back in the peaceful farmhouse, Sandy, sitting on the stairs’ landing, listens to the radio—until another sound overrides . . . the sound of an oncoming truck –which seems a little foolish of the Germans to announce their arrival so loudly but they are not Commandos. Alarmed, he makes for the door, and is intercepted and pushed back by Gallagher. They make their escape like uncaged birds, through the window, and their exit is followed by a German soldier, shooting first . . .and considering the room next. Joe and Sandy, fleeing down a rocky riverbed, must surely hear this as they seek a hiding place and a chance to reconnoiter.

-“Shut up, Sergeant!”

Frieda watches as the Commandos are loaded on the trucks, with two supporting Mallory—without giving any particular thanks to her, the soldiers drive off with their load of enemy cargo . . .leaving her alone…on foot…which seems curious. This seems to be one of those unexplainable things that help expedite the plot. The captured Commandos (their numbers are never very clear; four, six, eight?) are hunched in the back, grimly accepting their fate, perhaps fingering their suicide pills if they have not been searched, and the faithful Higgins comforts Mallory. Frieda, striding along the road with complete confidence (she informed the Germans of the two men left behind and assumes they are dead), wraps her scarf over her head as the evening chill falls—and is snatched from the road by Gallagher.

Sandy waits in the thicket, a good deal less sympathetic than he was, but still, he will demur . . . “You make another sound and you’re dead,” Gallagher threatens her and her glance at Sandy who regards her steadily, reveals that her masquerade is over, and the two men she went to for sympathy have lost it. “Where are the Commandos?” Sounding a bit like Sgt. Schultz from Hogan’s Heroes—“I know nothing,” she claims. Joe, furiously, drags the scarf from her hair, twists her arms to tie them at the wrist with the scarf, and reports that the soldiers came to find them at the farmhouse—“how did they know?” Sandy makes one more protest—“Sir, she may be a spy, but she didn’t—“

“Shut up, Sergeant!”—Joe wants no more pity or reasoning to foul up his objective; again, Sandy seems an extension of his conscience, but Joe’s sole thought now is time and men’s lives—in the air and on the ground. He takes up his Commando identity, thrusting his revolver in her face. “You listen to me Fraulein—tomorrow, American airmen are flying over here . . .” and he has to either stop those planes or blow up that fire control center. “Now I’ll probably die trying,” Joe says, “but I’ll tell you this . . . you’re going to die with me.” She knows Gallagher means it. The Commandos were taken to interrogation—in the compound, over the hill. How well is the compound guarded?– she says, “too well—but I don’t think they will be kept as prisoners there.”

-“a Nazi patriot perhaps . . . “

The plot here becomes a bit too expeditious to be satisfying, but . . .true to her word, the Commandos are being conveniently taken out of the compound for Interrogation elsewhere . . . and in the thicket, Gallagher and Komansky prepare for an ambush, stringing a rope across the road, they got somewhere (yeah, where? Maybe Komansky went back to the farm and got it). Going across the road to wait, Gallagher digs up a short word of sympathy: “Sorry, fraulein.” “You still think I’m a Nazi agent?” she asks. Gallagher is not sure she is even Frieda, but allows her to be a “Nazi patriot, perhaps.” “Soldier of the Reich?” she asks in turn. “We were taught you Americans are soft . . . I think of myself as a soldier . . . you surprise me, you treat me like a soldier.” She appreciates this—and in the rather thinly populated 12OCH gallery of women, we meet a woman who, though devoted to a bad cause, is nonetheless devoted. You have to admit, she stands her ground, and is not intimidated.

Sandy whistles, reminding me of them being on the ground, under similarly strange circumstances, in Yugoslavia. Gallagher takes his gun, clamps his hand around Frieda’s frequently clamped mouth . . . and the ambush begins with the rope stopping the lead car; and is over quickly, with Gallagher and Sandy both killing, directly . . . In the melee, Frieda, who probably is a soldier of sorts, begins her escape, but stops, looks up and sees Komansky looming over her. “Sorry,” he says simply, echoing Gallagher’s words opening the scene.

-“Thank God it wasn’t me . . .you know the feeling?”

The next scene is a little improbable in that the rescued Commandos, along with Gallagher and Komansky, aren’t fleeing in the truck—that firefight would have stirred some interest, I would think, in the nearby compound—oh, well! However . . . Gallagher demands to see Mallory; the Commandos, taking their rescue in stride, show him the dying man. Ironically, this Commando has been struck down while his friendly nemesis, Gallagher, has survived—and is speaking gently with him as he lies on the floor of the truck. Higgins, despite his joking, bluff acceptance of things, and cool slaying of a dog, peers down with sorrow on his commanding officer.

“You know what they say in the films?” Mallory asks Gallagher, which makes an interesting point—the Commandos modeled themselves on swashbucklers and gangsters, always strong fodder for the movies. “Do you have a cigarette?” As Gallagher lights one for him, he says “You’ve been a good subordinate Colonel, it’s been a pleasure.” Once more, a reclining man is smoking, much like Gallagher appeared in the teaser . . . these two men become twins, which is echoed in their names: Mallory and Gallagher. “Don’t leave me now Major, I’m scared of the dark,” says Joe, and urges Mallory to “save your breath—we’re going to get you out of here.” Mallory knows better and speaks final words. “Every time I see a man get killed, I say to myself ‘thank God that wasn’t me.’… You know the feeling?”

“We all do.”

“Well, here I am—face to face with Old Nick—“  Mallory sees himself meeting the devil, rather than a friendlier figure . . . “I should be terrified, actually . . .” he dies, without apology. Gallagher takes his cigarette but does not smoke it. Higgins gives in, in controlled fashion, to his emotions, citing their history together, in North Africa, including Tobruk. “Sergeant Major, we’re losing time,” Gallagher orders, though his eyes are compassionate. He then makes his final transformation into what Sandy seems to dread him becoming but what is needed: a Commando, or a man thinking like a Commando. “Get their bodies in the brush. Get the German uniforms. Get these vehicles turned around . . .Well, come on, Sergeant Major!” “Sir,” Higgins says, probably realizing this is the best way to serve Mallory—but knowing  that this time it’s Mallory’s body being left behind.

-“Okay, we have one hour . . .”

Act IV begins on a disturbing note with German soldiers moving about the truck as if investigating—one soldier’s back moves up to the camera, turns around, and there is Komansky. In the thicket, Gallagher, also dressed in a Nazi jacket is holding a council of war with Higgins. Komansky helps hold up a blanket as a shield, as a flashlight shines on the dirt where Higgins traces the compound, and indicates that the control center is concealed behind a façade—“just as the Fraulein said.” One of the disguised Commandos says, “she’s a ruddy liar,” but she is right about this—but she never expected the Commandos to leave it alive. Very expeditiously, a Commando comes up with six “potato masher hand grenades”. Gallagher gets down to cases: “Where do we get in?” “Here.” “Okay,” Gallagher says, once again ramping up the time clock, “we got one hour.”

-“Go on, leave the man!”

Deep night at the dark compound . . . tense music, along the lines of the “Twilight Zone” theme (four notes, over and over) sets the scene, and two German sentries die in a classic come from behind Commando maneuver. A signal is given; Gallagher and Komansky, in the cab of the enormous truck, looking scared out of their wits but calm, get the thing going forward . . . and drive right into the enemy’s nest, rather than fleeing from it . . .or striking from above. The Commando sentries let them in—these men are then questioned by an advancing officer; they advance toward him and kill him and his attendants. Sandy, in a “chauffeuring Gallagher” of incredible dimension, drives the truck into the compound and they get out. Helmeted, in different uniforms, heading into very different business, they are scarcely recognizable.  Covered by the Commandos they go toward the door, which is hesitantly opened from the inside by a German officer . . . and, operating the like partners they have long been, they rush the open door, toss grenades, shoot, and dash back out into the darkness as all hell breaks loose, within, and without. Gallagher immediately, instinctively bends down over a dead or dying Commando.

“Leave him, Colonel, leave him!—go, go, go!” shouts Higgins. “Come on, he’s dead,” Joe shouts to Komansky and they flee to the automobile…For once, Gallagher is the driver while Sandy literally takes up the shotgun position and the lurching car throws him out, injuring him and fulfilling his dread of being put into such a terrible position–of course!—but this is the “emotional climax” of the story nicely embedded into the “action climax.” This story has been building since the moment Komansky dutifully if thoughtfully delivers coffee–and an alert–to Gallagher in his quarters; heightens as the two men witness Commando logic and duty and question it until finally they must accept it in order to complete the mission and survive . . . and climaxes when Gallagher stays true to himself; his conscience calls him to this duty. Hurt in the fall, Komansky can only cringe helplessly as the German guard comes forward, bullets digging up the dirt; Higgins bellows “Go on, leave the man!” and Gallagher relinquishes his Commando identity and makes a moral decision. He stops, goes back and under the covering fire, hauls Komansky to safety. Grenades are tossed; the truck pulls out . . .

-“there is no flak!”

Cut to a female hand writing a message out in England—she gives it to Britt, and then signals another member of the staff. Britt, at his desk, is on the phone . . . “Are you in communication with the mission’s commander?” demands Britt. “Then try to get me an answer.” Two tense RAF officers watch and listen. I’m trying to get Air Marshal Kingsford now—“ He holds the phone—“should be over Weisbaden now .. . yes, I have that. . .” Triumphant music heralds the victory: “Between your commandos and my best group commander they succeeded . . . there is no flak!”

-“you tried your best—we just did a little bit better”

As the epilogue takes up, the sight of B-17s in the blue sky . . . and they are heard by Frieda, tied up, in the barn of the farmhouse. Komansky is nearby, broken but seemingly unbloodied but perhaps drugged against pain. Gallagher comes in and kneels by her. “Fraulein, your friends will find you here.” “My friends are now my enemies,” she tells him accusingly, clarifying the strange worlds of both Nazi Germany and the Commandos, into which Gallagher and Komansky unwillingly dropped into and thank god will leave. The mission completed, Joe is actually a little apologetic. . . “You tried your best. We just did a little bit better, that’s all.” “So far, you did better Colonel . . . so far.”

“Yeah, so far.” The answer doesn’t fly flags, and neither agrees or disagrees of confidently projects the future.

He joins the Commandos at the door, scanning the skies for their rescue plane and remarks, realistically. “If that pick up plane isn’t here in five minutes, we’ve had it.” Higgins pulls out a knife remarking they can still defend themselves . . .and then clarifying why they are still here, rather than in the appointed field—though I am not sure what he means: “Of course, we could have made a run for the ship if it hadn’t been for . . .” Although, how they could make a run for the ship when it hasn’t arrived yet?—however, maybe Higgins means they could be out to meet it  . . . however, it seems wiser to be under cover, not exposed to some angry Germans–script rumple?

“If it weren’t for Komansky, is that it?”

“You know, you’ve got the makings of a good Commando, Colonel . . .but the hard, hard rule is, leave the helpless man behind.”

-“they’re a team . . .our rules are different”

To Gallagher, leaving Sandy behind would have been leaving his true self behind—indeed, Sandy functioned as the voice of his conscience, always pointing out a nicer alternative, which had to be rejected under the circumstances–but doubts and alternatives were spoken and acknowledged. But Sandy is more than just his conscience, there is a sense that he and Gallagher have formed a psychic bond of sorts. Gallagher’s comment—“I’ve gone about as far as I can with your rules . . .” He points to the bombers and with a spiritual look on his face, “They have a team of 9 to 10 men—they’re a team—our rules are different.” “Sir!” says one of the Commandos. One of the planes is coming in, low and fast, a DC-3. Gallagher snaps orders; he releases (rather than kills) the fraulein, and thus cuts himself free from the Commandos and their methods of operation.

Gallagher hauls Komansky to his feet. Surrounded by Commandos, Gallagher, clutching Komansky to his side, runs to the plane, where they physically and emotionally both belong.

“A Distant Cry”

Writer: Jack Curtis

Director: Robert Douglas

After four episodes–each one of which has Gallagher and Komansky (and Stovall in all but one)  on foot in respectively Normandy, Russia, Italy, and then Germany– this episode heads home to England: and,  as “I Am the Enemy” did in Season II,  switches away from Gallagher as a primary or strong focus to consider two other pilots. Gallagher, rather than the warrior-shepherd he has proven to be–climaxed when he risks his life to save his sergeant–moves into a position of adviser.

This is one of the best titles of the series: in three words, it describes the general story of two very different men: Cpt. Pridie and Lt. Eagle who respectively portray a mythical and philosophical and artistic dichotomy: Apollo and Dionysius. Apollo, the radiant, Olympic god of poetry and philosophy represents balance, heavenly inspiration, restraint. Dionysius, also known as Bacchus, is the earth-bound demi-god who taught man how to cultivate wine, and represents emotion, creativity out of the gut rather than the mind; wildness; primitive urges. Apollonian means ordered abstract creation from the inspired mind; Dionysian means wrestling with nature within and without to live, love, create, and has certain feminine qualities. The Apollo god is masculine in his abode of heaven (re the “sky god”) and orderly sense of things; the Dionysian demi-god is more feminine in his abode of earth (re the “earth goddess”) and his cultivating not only of the earth but of fierce emotions. This description can go on and on, and the interested reader will have to read and sort through Nietzche’s Birth of Tragedy (1871) as well as Ruth Benedict’s Patterns of Culture in order gain a deeper understanding of this ideology of the polarities of human belief, behavior, and source of creativity and how creativity leads your thoughts and actions.

Let us nimbly leap from this heavy stuff to the characters of Lt. Johnny Eagle and Captain Pridie, who embody both sides: Eagle, a small, dark Native American whose very name brings the sky and wild, savage birds of prey into play: he is casual, joking, fearless with his emotions, and, tellingly “bad with instruments,” prefers to fly with gut instincts but is honest enough to admit that he is bad with machinery. . .  Pridie, tall, blonde, and Greek god-like, is described as a brain, a genius, and is testing the pilots on their instrument abilities—in other words, to fly intellectually with machinery, rather than with the eyes, heart, and gut. As he—and Eagle–will learn, both ways are good; both ways are needed to balance life, thinking, survival. This is one of the more “foiled” character relationships I have encountered on the series, which follows in the way of the “foiled relationship” between Gallagher and Komansky—Joe, the West Point-educated son of a privileged military family of long-standing vividly contrasts with Sandy, the high school dropout, and the orphaned son of unfortunate immigrants;  their differences illuminate the other one, much how Pridie and Eagle illuminate the failings and the strengths of the other—and how, in the end, neither one’s character—neither Apollo nor Dionysius—is proven better.

In retrospect of previous episodes, this one reminds me of “Which Way the Wind Blows,” and “Back to the Drawing Board,” as highly trained technicians bring their skills to the 918^th to help them deal with the most natural of things—the weather. As Pat Bates and Dr. Rink in both of these episodes get a taste of war—which they don’t like (and flee to the Star and Bottle for solace)–so does Pridie, who is able to change his clipboard to a yoke of a combat plane and winds up drunk at the Star and Bottle. Also, “I Am the Enemy,” is recalled; as previously mentioned, that was the first episode of Season II to move away from Gallagher to focus on the agonies of the German-born Captain Kurt Brown, who learns to accept fear as a necessary ingredient of living and loving—himself, and others, which recalls some of Pridie’s problems–to accept and deal with fear. Similarly, “A Distant Cry” moves off Gallagher to focus on Pridie and Eagle, and Pridie must learn to cope with the raw terror of fear that his intellectual abilities have not prepared him for. Gallagher in both episodes strongly portrays his character of good shepherd; evocatively, at the climax, he guides Pridie home, both physically and emotionally.

-“that hot shot aeronautical professor . . .”

Teaser—on the ground in Archbury, and into the Officer’s Club with a group of five pilots just returned from a mission, cold, tired and complaining—“too many fighters,” and then “first it was the fighters, then the weather . . .” Pilots were left behind too; as they warm up at the fire and order beer from the white-jacketed bartender, they speak of one of their own pilots as “heading for the emergency strip at Caen 3”—But, assures Lt. Fredricks, ”he’s got plenty of altitude and he’s a good boy.” Their anxious chat is interrupted by orders: “Hey, listen to this!—that hot shot aeronautical professor—there’s an instrument check tonight!” They are aghast at the idea. Suddenly comes the sound of a nasal, primitive chant—as the bartender grins, a feather rises above the bar, attached to a non-regulation hat, underneath which is a grinning face—“Hey you guys!—the chief’s back in the tipi!”—interestingly, our first sight of Lt. Eagle is of him rising from the ground; later, when drunk, he slumps on the ground. Also, 12OCH portrays a “minority figure”—or in modern-day speech, an ethnic character—and reveals how labels are not really fair, to the labelled, or to the labeler. Duffin and Mathes’ described Robert Blake’s “Johnny Eagle,” the Native American, as clichéd, and I partly agree with that assessment, though I consider it more a knee jerk response. I wonder how Native Americans would regard this character—as an insult or as a character sympathetic to their race and their history. The character also opens a not-overlooked feature in war stories; Native American soldiers were not unknown in movies or television series, although their portrayals always focused on their native identity for whatever reason. Blake’s character did not  hint at the contributions of Native Americans to the war effort, ranging from the Navajo “Code Talkers” to Apache Marines, some of whom accomplished war dances on their troop carriers prior to taking the beaches—and many others including Ira Hayes who figured in the famous picture of flag-raising on Mt. Suribachi.  In my hometown of Phoenix, the name “Squaw Peak” (which many thought was insulting, has been renamed to “Piestewa Peak” in honor of the Native American woman officer who died in Iraq.  Certain stereotyped qualities notwithstanding, I prefer to consider Lt. Eagle in terms of the Apollo-Dionysian contrast, as well as “foiling” with Pridie.

The other pilots are delighted to see him and they kid him back: “Welcome back to the Reservation,” they say. Short and dark, he perches on the bar and drinks a beer. He has just recently arrived, just as the pilots were coming in. Recovering from a hand injury, he has been in Scotland, a kind of British “reservation” for the Scots, and his words are typically boisterous: “Ever see a Scotch chick do a highland fling?” he asks, referring to a traditional native dance. “That was some other kind of dancing!—she puts swords on the ground and starts hippy-hopping. . .” As for his hand, as soon as the stitches are gone, “I’ll be playing the fiddle again”—and unlikely image for this breezy guy. He then learns about a “new guy here,” a “new instructor on TDY—a real foul ball,” which are words Komansky used to describe Captain Powell in “Decoy.” The fellow is on base to do instructor checks, and “if I were Gallagher,” says Fredricks, “I’d have thrown him across the base”—his name, P. J. Pridie.

-“hey . . . this is the Chief”

Eagle is glad—“A blond guy with a moustache?—I know him!—you guys got him all wrong! I went to flight school with him.” To their reactions of him being a “blowhard” Eagle warmly defends him—“you got to understand a guy like that—he’s got a brain like a genius, a human gyroscope, you know?” It is never explained how Eagle and Pridie became buddies at flight school; they must have because Eagle warmly recalls him. it is also never explained why Pridie has changed so much.

The human gyroscope enters—T.J. Pridie, tall, blond, Greek-god handsome—Apollo—comes in. “There’s my boy!” Eagle exclaims. “I didn’t know you were here!” Pridie remains calm and restrained. If he is happy to see Eagle he does not let on. “How are you, Lieutenant?” Refusing to engage in one iota of feeling, he tells the tired pilots that “the required overcast is coming in an half-hour early,” and “to set your watches”—and thus portrays his character and finely tunes the episode’s motif of instruments, watches, time, and precision . . . The five men, lined up at the bar, don’t like this. Eagle tries to humor him. “Hey . . .this is the Chief.” Chief has a watch as well which becomes an extension of his character too.

Pridie is not as cold as he seems but he explains himself: it’s the nature of his work, and “I don’t play favorites” but ends with “It’s good to see you .  . . I hope you understand me.” Eagle more or less agrees to this and learns that because he is returning to duty, he will go first—“Can you be at Hardstand Two in half an hour?”—numbers mean a lot to this guy. He leaves and Johnny Eagle removes his hat bedecked with his talismanic feather, his face clenched. The six bongs strike over the face of a man who will both lock horns with and yet forgive his opponent, and whose terrible violent death—torn apart as the women followers of Bacchus tore apart their male victims—will redeem him.

-“you let your brains go to your head?”

Act I takes up with a B-17 flying through overcast–not a very convincing picture but I doubt if there was film taken of such a (non)sight! On the flightdeck, Pridie reels off a list of orders to test Eagle on instruments. Doing as requested, Eagle tensely remarks, “There’s something wrong with #2 engine”—he is sensing the problem from how the plane feels. “You’re just nervous,” Pridie tells him. “Go ahead and make the turn—what’s your primary bank indicator?” Eagle’s answer gets a “negative” and the correct answer. Eagle attempts to lighten the situation and perhaps distract Pridie by saying, “Hey Paul, what happened to you in the last couple of years? You let your brains go to your head?” “Center your needle and watch your time” is his response. A moment later, “How’m I doin’ White Eyes?”  He gets a list of criticisms. Pridie then offers to fly her in, and contacts Archbury tower, radioing as “Orchid 1”—naming a flower whose capacity for mutation is incredible and asserts a strange hold on the people who fall under its spell—read The Orchid Thief for a fun disquisition on the topic—although I don’t know if it has real meaning here, though it does differ from Gallagher’s more tough designation of “Ramrod Leader.” Eagle’s feeling about #2 engine prove right. With the overcast a complicating factor, they are advised to land at Caen 1, in Normandy, a nice measuring of time to indicate that the Allied armies are well inland now, and the coast is free for Allied use. Eagle makes a fine landing, which Pridie does not acknowledge.

-“I can fly them back in an hour”

A Jeep drives out to meet them; rather oddly neither man seems to have noticed the burning B-17 in the field until its pilot points it out to them—and not until Johnny gladly greets him: “Pete Morton!—I figured I meet you here!” Morton has no time for talk—he points to his plane but identifies the real issue—two of his crew are dead and two are hurt—“I’ve got to them to a hospital!” Cut to an aid station tent, where a tidy-looking doctor gives his grimly optimistic prognoses—both men will live with proper attention, but he can do little at his basic facility. The doctor’s concern for the four and five hours it would take to get the men to better facilities is waylaid by Pridie who announces “I can fly them back in an hour.” Johnny protests about flying conditions—but Pridie is not, announcing “I can fly them in and land the plane on instruments.” For the first time, the importance of Pridie’s skills and his insistence of other men having such skills is made clear—in this case, he will save two lives . . . is it ever made clear that #2 engine functions properly in this hop? Also, interesting to note that this rescue by air reflects the under-recognized work of air evacuation of the wounded, which operated strongly and regularly, with courageous flight nurses and courageous pilots flying soldiers from the frontlines, thereby saving thousands of lives.

-“wouldn’t it be awful if the sun came out”

Pridie and Eagle return to England, with Pridie commanding from the left seat; Eagle has retired from this seat to check on and encourage the wounded men in the waist, and returns. In the meantime, an interesting angle on Pridie has been taken; the camera has angled steeply to reveal Pridie’s face over the yoke, with the radio device, attached to the ceiling of the flight deck visible over his head; this emphasizes his trusting of and identifying with machinery. The plane approaches Archbury; and another interesting scene reveals a trenchcoated Stovall at the tower, with the base looking wrapped in fog—either the weather cooperated at Chino that day, or, the fog was created by smoke or dry ice being released—anyway, it is effective and endangering to the B-17 approaching, despite Stovall’s admonition—“do not attempt to land here.” Pridie, steady on, again requests permission; Stovall once more protests, and then Eagle cuts through the fog, both on the ground and in Pridie’s single track mind—“We have wounded from Pete Morton’s ship and they need a hospital,” he radios. Stovall immediately gives permission and waits tensely on the tower in the fog-shrouded field. . . Pridie makes his approach in such a confident, machine-like way that Eagle comments “wouldn’t it be awful if the sun came out.” Pridie, you get a feeling, doesn’t hear this or doesn’t get it. But his skills have safely brought the wounded home in time for their survival.

-“Captain . . .have you ever dropped a bomb?”

The viewers are spared the landing, but we know all is going to be okay with this machine like pilot at the controls. . . and a “domestic” scene of the 918^th is cut to, with soldiers getting their bicycles . . .and a knock on Gallagher’s door brings in Pridie, calm, collected, and looking magnificently god-like in his tight leather jacket. Gallagher greets his salute and tells him he is writing a letter of commendation for his record, which causes Pridie to remark, without any particular pride or embarrassment, “that it was a routine instrument landing, sir.” “You saved two lives.” “Yes sir.” Gallagher gives up on this, but immediately refers to his pilot efficiency reports; it sounds as if Pridie brought the plane in, then, with clockwork heartlessness, rounded up the other pilots and subjected them to their tests—Gallagher tells him the report is “addressed to the Wing Commander.” “Yes sir.” “Well, I have to sign and send it to the Wing Commander.” “Yes sir.”

Gallagher’s own calm finally cracks. “It’s about the worst report I’ve read and it may get Eagle hauled before a pilot proficiency board.” “Lt. Eagle’s instrument technique is about the worst I’ve seen,” responds Pridie. Galllager then points out what is missing: the report doesn’t even mention that Eagle was his co-pilot on their mission of mercy from Caen. Pridie doesn’t grow a bit concerned. “He’s adequate in the right seat. Maybe that’s where he should be flying.” “Coffee?” Joe asks, perhaps to warm this guy up. He politely refuses. “I understand that you’re old friends.” “I’d prefer to leave that out,” Pridie says.

Gallagher takes a  different tact. “Captain . . . have you ever dropped a bomb?” Pridie calmly—but perhaps with a touch of disappointment—says he volunteered for submarine patrols but that he obeyed orders to teach and assess. Gallagher points out that Eagle has dropped bombs—which is an interesting glimpse into the Dionysian character; loud, explosive, angry . . . while Pride taught in the academy. Eagle, Gallagher continues, has flown sixteen missions and he is thinking of giving him his own squadron. If Pridie persists in his views, then he will have to re-evaluate. Pridie doesn’t want to hurt anybody—and Eagle “may know how to fly by the seat of his pants” (and he does; his body felt the problem with engine #2 before it happened)– ”but he couldn’t pass an instrument check.” Although it is not indicated, Gallagher must have to agree with him—and flying on instruments is a critical skill now and in a future strategy.

-“but I’m still the best Indian on the base”

Cut to—Eagle, typically, engaged in a physical contest—arm wrestling with one of the pilots we met earlier, who actually bests the powerful if short man. “Whoa, Sitting Bull, that’s two out of three,” he says, cheerfully referring to the Sioux warrior chief who bested Custer—Custer, also blonde and handsome. “But I’m still the best Indian on the base,” he says. “Right Major?” he asks Stovall. Harvey agrees, but adds “Mission tomorrow, boys.” Johnny then respectfully asks Harvey about his orders for the next day—he kindly points out that bad weather is expected. “Instruments all the way then,” Eagle says, his face indicating how things have changed for him—he has dealt with the natural element of weather by his gut instincts and his courage, but now he knows that these Dionysian qualities are not enough–and thus turns to booze.

-“Yeah, big nose Indian, can’t read a compass—but we beat Custer, didn’t we?”

Eagle comes into his quarters, semi-drunk (Dionysius is the god of wine after all) and finds Pridie. For all his aloofness, Pridie has been affected by Gallagher’s words and wants to offer an apology, but even this is done coolly. Eagle prefers to joke: “Well, another Injun bites the dust.” Pridie, however, is bent over, looking at the floor as they speak—assuming some Dionysian characteristics that will balance his character and save his life?– “I forgot to thank you for helping me with those wounded men,” he says, remembering Gallagher’s words. Eagle takes off his jacket and asks Pridie if he remembers his Ma back in Sioux Falls. Pridie met her at the graduation ceremonies—and Eagle hauls out a watch his mother gave him at the awards—and a time piece is a very iconic image of our times and industrialized nations which cut and dice time into increasingly smaller bits that we live in step with, witness its passing, celebrate landmark moments in it. Indeed, the title of the show (referring to the clock face by which pilots and crew oriented themselves in the sky) and the clock face created by the six bongs  acknowledge how we use time to conduct western vision of things—and notably, in “Show Me A Hero,” Sandy tells Susan Nesbit that “time is not the answer” for their problems (wrong place, wrong time, wrong motivations) but she gifts him with her watch as a sign of love for him and her faith to  find an answer for them both.

Eagle inventories the time piece’s elaborate qualities and functions. “Now’s there’s an instrument even I can understand,” and wonders which “gypsy” sold it to her and boozily reminds him of “old Ma working her fingers to the bone to teach her dumb Indian son how to tell time.” “Do you hear from her?” Pridie asks,  to this barrage of words and images. “Yeah, and she’s still fighting the bureau for food and water and the old hunting grounds—and all that jazz,” Eagle says with a grim smile, dimissing these important qualities by describing them in terms of jazz, called wild “jungle music” and which  shocked many people in the early twentieth century. “I know you’re proud of her,” Pridie says. Eagle chews down, anything to get this Greek god to show something. “Yeah, big-nosed Indian, can’t even read a compass—but we beat Custer, didn’t we?” “Yeah,” Pridie admits. Eagle finally grows angry, demanding of him why did he go behind his back to the “little white father,” Joe Gallagher. Pridie realizes he should go, but this enrages Eagle even more—and if anything happens to him, he’s to get the watch—“it does everything—it even plays music—but it don’t keep time, but it has no guts, like you, it don’t have guts!” he says, and finally, satisfyingly, decks this machine of a man. With his watch chain spilling out of shirt like an umbilical cord, Eagle leaves, and Pridie, in a strong image, does not fight back, but rather stays on the floor…where we first saw Johnny Eagle.

-“go to tipi—make fierce Indian magic”

Early the next morning, a trench-coated Pridie is walking across the already active base, and hears the sound of a chant—not authentic, but something resembling the “primitive” singing of Native Americans, and sounding strange in the damp morning on the American base in Cambridgeshire, England. As Pridie searches the noise out, the chant becomes a giggle. The sharply neat Pridie kneels down next to Eagle, seated on the ground, garbed in a non-regulation hat with his eagle feather sprouting from it, his raincoat worn backwards on his body; he is playing with his timepiece. Apparently not angry from Eagle’s hitting him—the man is always calm, always rational—he speaks, of course,  of time: “Johnny, it’s 4:15.” Eagle makes a war cry. “You’re due in the briefing hut,” Pridie merely replies. “Go to tipi—make fierce Indian magic,” is Eagle’s raw, mocking reply. Pridie hauls him to his feet and Johnny’s whining chant suddenly becomes a rational statement: “shall I give you a liberal interpretation of my song?—it’s something about a man who flew a plane back from France—pardon me, it wasn’t an airplane—it was an instrument panel—you see, he don’t care about wounded men—he don’t care about his friends—he don’t even care about the plane—he’s in love with instrument panel!” He points to Pridie’s heart–“And over here he ain’t no man—he’s an instrument panel”—and slides off to his mocking chant. Pridie does not react; he simply says, “Let’s go”—but Eagle topples in his grasp, his hand tangled up with the chain of the watch.

-“take off in 65 minutes”

From a Dionysian changeling and an Apollonian if frustrated god intertwined with each other, we cut into the briefing hut, where men listen to Gallagher, telling them about technique and time: that if the mission for the day succeeds, they will penetrate deep into Germany—using the new ‘bad weather’ technique to get all the way to Eisenhafen—“if you’ve been wondering why you have been checked out on instruments, this is it.” Bad weather is being turned into a kind of weapon. As he says this, Pridie comes in, and hears Gallagher describe a pathfinder’s work. (This image, which comes from a lead plane signaling the target blends the Dionysian and the Apollonian—somebody, in the wilderness, carving a path of direction and access for those who follow.) The pathfinder helps them minimize the opposition, and then Joe tells the men that this new technique as “maximum opportunity so let’s make the most of it.” He checks his watch: “take off in 65 minutes.” The pilots file out, passing, on their way, Pridie, who typically goes in the opposite direction—to speak with Gallagher. Pete Morgan, bringing up the rear, remarks “I heard they’re trying to ground Johnny Eagle,” and they affirm him.

-“I hope that knot inside unloosens slowly”

Pridie, without fanfare, offers to take Eagle’s place: “He’s ill,” he explains. “Ill? What’s wrong?” Gallagher demands. “Well, he just can’t make it, sir,” Pridie says—his words have two meanings, as do his actions—is is trying to cover for Eagle, or is he trying to take his place? Gallagher says he has stand-by pilots, and “besides, you’ve never been in combat.” Pridie finally shows some emotion—if Gallagher is implying any doubts about his abilities in combat—in this case courage—“I’d like a transfer out, right now.” “What’s wrong with Eagle?” Joe suddenly asks. Pridie is honest and rational: “I gave him an unsatisfactory rating, you took away his flight leadership, and he thinks I’ve knifed him in the back. He’s drunk in bed, sir.” “Well, you come to the point, don’t you?” says Joe. “You wanted an answer.” Gallagher alerts him of what he is about to get into—it’s just not the Luftwaffe and flak. He’s handed out a lot of low efficiency ratings and set a lot of pilots back—“and of you take Eagle’s place, you wouldn’t have one friend on board that airplane . . .or the whole sky.” Pridie is direct and logical again—he wants to be in combat—he’s sick of flying a clipboard—and “it’s an instrument flight and I’m good at that.”

Gallagher can’t deny his logic and grants permission—perhaps deciding that he can’t reason with this so very reasonable man. When Harvey, who has been listening to this, joins him, Gallagher calls on a familiar image: “do you think I’m making a bad gamble?”—and gambling is a Dionysian game—it’s all chance, and the quality of chance appeals to our basic primitive instincts. Stovall says no—meaning, he sees it as a good gamble. “Pridie has some of the best command potential I’ve ever seen.” Joe knows this man better: “I hope that knot inside unloosens slowly”—which suggests a watch’s mainspring winding down; but rather than a mechanical spring in this man’s brain, Joe knows that there is an emotional knot in the man’s heart and gut.

-“we were magnificent all the way . . .”

The mission has gone well and the next scene takes up with planes returning, with a particularly lyrical shot of a lone B-17 coming in, while a squadron above flies in these “friendly skies.” Lt. Fredricks is first out of his the plane, followed by Pridie, who reviews the mission with his less than enthusiastic co-pilot: “Pretty good one today—do you realize we were on instruments for four hours?” “We were magnificent all the way,” Fredricks says, and walks off. Cut to Joe at briefing again, in front of the map—“800 miles,” he says to the pilots, and this time the sober Johnny Eagle is present. “We’ll depend on the weather to keep the Luftwaffe down.” He outlines the mission and finishes by saying that White Squadron will led by Captain Pridie.  This gains irked glances from the pilots he has been testing and reviewing. Lt. Eagle nods slightly; Pridie actually experiences a moment of discomfort. Perhaps typically, a “proud” moment first provokes his emotions; at other moments when the pilots have sneered at him; Eagle denounces him; Gallagher questions him—he was ruthlessly machine like. But his knot is loosening, and it will continue to loosen, slowly, and then finally violently in a violent confrontation with the awful realities of combat flying.

-“Hey, White Eyes—I’m beginning to realize I’m the worst instrument flyer ever” ‘

Cut to B-17s flying supposedly in overcast, which is created by laying a cloudy scene over a flying scene—once more provoking my wish for CGI. —and Eagle, with him back in the left seat, is experiencing a problem; Fredricks looks out the left window and says “Johnny, watch your position!”—as he comes close to crabbing into another plane. He corrects, but he knows there is still a problem—him. “Hey White Eyes,” he radios Pridie, “I’m beginning to realize I’m the worst instrument flyer ever.” In his own pilot’s seat, “White Leader”’s loosened knot allows him a smile—not of triumph, but of gladness, knowing that Johnny finally has admitted a hard truth to himself—he could be a better pilot.  He too will soon admit a hard truth about himself as a pilot—combat terrifies him, and he doesn’t know what to do about these feelings.

-“forget it—drink a little booze—relax”

Johnny does . . . in the Star and Bottle, this Dionysius figure laughs and drinks beer with a pretty WAC sergeant, Sheila, who grins as he listens to him laugh about being a Native American—whenever somebody finds out he’s an Indian, people say,  “You know, I got a little Indian blood in me, too!—They’re just trying to make me feel comfortable—and I’m a strong, fierce, comfortable Indian—and you, you’re just about as Irish as Paddy’s pig.” “And my grandmother was a Kickapoo Irish squaw,” she returns, identifying them both as members of minorities with colorful history, cliched identities, but fiercely proud of their culture. She gives him a quick kiss on the lips.

Pridie comes in, sits and orders a beer—an unexpected request; he looks like the martini and white wine type—and Johnny invites him to sit with him. His anger is over, and he carries him to the table to introduce them: “White Eyes, Sheila.” “Captain Pridie, Sergeant,” he acknowledges. “Is there an off-duty name?” she demands. Johnny wisely separates them and asks her to wait for him; Pridie attempts to escape but Eagle orders two scotches for them and makes him sit—“bury the hatchet,” is his somewhat violent image, whereas Pridie might say “discuss our differences.” In these scene the two men are in striking contrast; Eagle short, dark, intense and grabbing at women and drink and laughs as he can, and understanding why; Pridie, unbelievably handsome, blonde and blue-eyed, is attempting to understand emotions that his life as a combat pilot is denting into his brain–and changing his own personal tune and professional beliefs. Pridie tells him that he wants Eagle to have his promotion—and a “lousy instrument rating doesn’t mean anything.” Eagle urges him to “forget it, drink a little booze, relax.”

Pridie cannot and he doesn’t know why can’t. “I’m suddenly feeling like a minority of one”—and suddenly confesses “that flying combat is a new thing for me”—unsaid is that he never has encountered such fear before. The plane has always been a machine to him; now the machine flies him into terror and possibly death. When he tries to confess his fear, Johnny Eagle understands—“you’re scared to fly in combat—you have been for months—that’s what the hard-nosed teacher bit has been about, right?” –Eagle’s comment about how he has been “scared for months” is interesting; how long does this story play out?–many episodes on the series involve a few days, even hours (“Day of Reckoning,” for example) but there are long passages of time in this story that are not dramatized. Eagle inventories Pridie’s fear, because he knows it, and acknowledges it, and does something about it. “You’re scared you’re gonna get shot up—scream your guts out and cry and act ridiculous—and you probably will. So you hide behind the instrument panel—and I hide behind my feather”—an interesting example of the two talismans of the opposing figures: the Dionysian feather of a bird of prey—and the Apollo figure’s soulless, rational machinery. Eagle talks about the other guys and what they do—“they sing, play red-dog poker and chase after women—they’re not as good a pilot as you—but there’s one thing—they admit they’re afraid.” And he, Johnny says, “he’s afraid he’s going to be to shot at . . . so live it up, Blood Brother. Drink some booze and kiss a girl.” “Thanks for telling me I’m not alone,” Pridie acknowledges—still calm and courteous. Johnny then takes the situation in hand and finds Sheila—and asks her to sit with his friend. She agrees but asks, “Will you be back?” “You know it,” he answers her—but his face winces; perhaps he hears his future–which is very brief.

-“do your best, babies, here they come . . .”

Another day, another mission . . .and Eagle counsels Fredricks who tells him “I saw Pridie out with your girl.” Eagle tells his fellow pilot to cut him some room;  “he isn’t a bad man.” The “not a bad man” radios the pilots that the weather isn’t protecting them today but have no fear. In the Piccadilly Lily, Gallagher, with the always welcomed sight of Bob Fowler back in left seat, sees fighters approaching and says that things are going to become bad—after the fighters, the flak. Eagle, without turning a hair, radios his crew—“do your best, babies.” They are his last words. The first real aerial fight of  Season III erupts and sadness is the result—Eagle isn’t keeping up as he should, and he lags behind, and the other pilots report that the Luftwaffe is swarming on him. Fredricks dies in the attack. Then Pridie sees Eagle’s plane burst into flame and he flies into the debris field—which includes his friend’s body, He passes through this horrific baptism of shredded bodies, shredded machinery. He is never the same.

-“I did lose one unit  . . .”

Act III opens as always, after the “turning point” of the narrative—Eagle has been killed, sending Pridie on a new trajectory—fouling up and then redeeming himself by overcoming his intellectual qualities by emotion and brute willpower to survive. The scene opens with Gallagher on the phone, and a tense Komansky watching as Gallagher says calmly, “I did lose one unit,” and “no sir, it exploded in mid-air,” in the usual concern of a plane falling into enemy hands. “Tomorrow? Yes sir. Very good, General.” He tells Sandy that Eisenhafen is on for tomorrow, and he needs him to check S-2 for Pridie’s report. Sandy’s growing empathy for others is shown in his tense face, because he has bad news to report—“all the reports are there—Pridie didn’t show up for interrogation.” To Gallagher’s retort, Sandy reports that Pridie has left the field.

-“the kind of guy . . .you don’t get too fond of”

Like many combat-violated service people, Pridie has fled to the Star and Bottle (Pat Bates, Dr. Rink in their intellectual pursuits mirror him) and seems to have taken Sheila along with him. Giving into Dionysian ideals, he is sitting and drinking at the same table Johnny called him over to the night before. Pridie, like the Apollonian character he is, admits to never drinking much—it always made him sick, in contrast to the Dionysian who takes strength and joy from food and liquor. Sheila says “Stop it, sir . . . I shouldn’t even be here. . . .We were all fond of Johnny Eagle . . . and he’s the kind of guy you just don’t get too fond of.” Pridie is struck by her restraint and her delicate juggling of emotion—which does not mirror his sickened grief. “Knock it off Sergeant—back to duty. I thought I’d tell it to some who’d care—I believe I’ve made a mistake.” He topples his hat over his beer and takes off, not being able to understand how people deal with their emotions–apparently he never has. He pauses behind the railings and looks down on her—he is still so imprisoned by his intellect that he is only puzzled by her, rather than sorry for her grief which she is “handling.”

-“I had one friend . . . and he came through my propellers”

This is one of the show’s most lyrically written and disturbing scenes. Back at Operations, Pridie listens carelessly to Gallagher who angrily tells him “don’t you realize you were AWOL?—I sent out an order to bring you in—if you deserve anything for coming back voluntarily it’ll be wiped out by the condition you’re in!” “Colonel . . . I didn’t have the nerve to come to you . . .so I had to get stewed . . . to tell you that I’m through—four missions, and I’m a washout.” (Four missions contrasts with the “months” that Johnny referred to.) “Why? Because you lost a friend?” “I only had one. You gotta lotta of ‘em. I know what I haven’t got. Colonel, for a while I had one friend . . . and he came though my propellers.”

Sickened, Gallagher grimaces at the image. Pridie muses . . . but still remains the intellectual. “No more of him. No more Johnny Eagle . . .except I got him up here in my head . . . and I’m gonna live with him there.” Gallagher tries to snap him to; tells him to sleep it off—“I’m through,” Pridie says. “You’re an officer, you’re through on Air Corps terms!” “You can’t make me fly combat.” “No, but I can send you to Leavenworth and don’t you forget it,” Gallagher retorts; he can no longer reason with this man; he can now only threaten him– and sends him off.

-“he died fighting like an eagle . . .”

At some later time, Harvey, leaving his desk, knocks at Joe’s door to tell him about a letter he is reading—he has to spot-censor the officer’s mail, a job he probably doesn’t like, and has found that Pridie has made another report—this time to Johnny’s mother. “I feel like a peeping tom, but I read this one three times.” As Joe reads, for the first time that I can recall, a “voice over” is heard, and it lends dignity and grace to Pridie’s heartfelt words, which Gallagher then reads to Pridie, shirt unbuttoned, reclining on his bunk and staring at nothing. As Gallagher reads, the camera pans from him, over Johnny’s non-regulation feather-bedecked hat, over a table with his effects, to Gallagher’s gentle face and voice reading  . . .“I can offer no hope that he survived but he died fighting like an eagle . . . “ The Apollo who wrote this poetry from his heart and gut, stares at the ceiling, and then intellectually denies them: “Words,” he says. “Why’d you write them, Paul?” Gallaher asks.  Pridie’s words then come  from the heart: “God knows the hope she had when she finally got him off that bare dirt reservation—and she had no other children.” Joe continues: “And the cost of such a decision—over who is right—must be paid.” Pridie lurches up, shirt unbuttoned, and says he will send the effects to her. Gallagher reaches out to him, asking if he could post this letter on the bulletin board. “No,” Pridie says—is he trying to deny the emotions the letter reveals him to have? Or with the words spoken, does he no longer care? Gallagher becomes his CO again, saying that they’re headed back to Eisenhafen, and the briefing is at 0430. “I’m under arrest, and I’m terrified.” Gallagher, as he frequently does, reaches into the man, and exposes his problem—but he was a near screw-up himself once and came back—and his view from that precipice has made him wise in years and experience and this informs his words to Pridie. “I want the man who wrote that letter to be at the briefing . . . Captain, we all get to that point where we eventually face ourselves.” He then says “I want you to face your blood brother and his mother and yourself.”

He leaves and Pridie clutches Johnny’s timepiece, symbolic of the tidy world he once inhabited, and in contrast to the wilderness of fear and horror he has looked upon, and is trying to flee both by drink and by words.

–“I fought and faced”

At 0430 briefing, Gallagher winds up, telling the pilots that he is going fly point with his Mustang, although he does not say why . . . and asks the pilot to tell gunners “be careful who they’re shooting at.” The pilots chuckle. I am not if Joe really explains why he is in his P-51; however, Joe does some of his best “good shepherd” work in his plane, as when he helped bring the Lt. Jaydee Jones home (“The Jones Boys”), and oversaw his group’s work in “The Slaughter Pen.” Today, Joe as “good shepherd” is particularly strongly revealed today, as is Pridie as the lost sheep that the shepherd must seek out and bring back to the fold. First, Pridie brings himself back into the fold as he tells Gallagher “I fought and faced,” and Gallagher reminds him that there is more at stake than just him—“I’m putting nine kids in your hands.”

-“I couldn’t spit if my shirt were on fire”

The mission to Eisenhafen is underway (as in many other episodes when an airman is “facing and fighting” the exact objective is not known; why Eisenhafen is being targeted is never identified). In the Piccadilly Lily (?) Bob Fowler is flying left seat, with Komansky at his side. Gallagher, in his lone perch, watches the bombing and praises and instructs his men: “right on target—keep together when you rally.” In his plane, Pridie is holding together and is even able to speak of the dead and joke a bit. Pete Morton, his co-pilot, remarks “Lots of flak today,” to which Pridie, the man of science, says, somewhat unexpectedly, “Strong Indian medicine—Johnny Eagle used to say a ‘brave man can spit even when being fired at’—I couldn’t spit if my shirt were on fire.” “It if makes you feel any better, I’m as scared as you are,” Pete says as the plane rides out the flak. Pridie takes out Johnny’s timepiece—he honored his friend’s drunken wish that he have it. Flak breaks the window and strikes Morton in the face; he is flung on to Pridie’s yoke. “Let go!” Pridie yells as more flak spews in, striking him as well. From the Lily, Komansky observes this, communicating that they took a hit in the nose. Gallagher, observing this too, calls “pull up, pull up,” and veers his P-51 to assist.

-“Pridie, take it . . . “

Act IV: and what a gripping act it is!—akin to the terrified Sandy bringing in Piccadilly Lily in “Show Me”—and surely this landing has parallels in real life. Back in Archbury, Stovall once more waits at the tower, observing a B-17 landing. Komansky and Fowler come out of the Lily, take over a Jeep that has come out to meet them, and they drive to the tower—they both dash up the stairs to witness what may be a triumph or a tragedy. They ask if he has any news from Gallagher—Stovall tells him that Gallagher came in, refueled, and flew out again “to help Pridie.” Komansky gives him the details—about the nine kids Gallagher placed in his hands that morning: the bombardier and navigator didn’t know what hit them—but she’s still flying. What follows is a rapid series of cuts as Gallagher flanks the crippled ship and communicates with the frantic Pridie, whose Greek god looks have been smeared with blood and pain; his tightly closed eyes blind him. Morton, next to him, whom he helped several weeks before with wounded men, has stayed with him as long as he can—“Pridie, take it,” he says, and dies. Thus starts an over-top-melodramatic sequence, but dear God, is it gripping!—you can’t look away as this man, who has figuratively blind, and now is literally blind, must land a plane. Pridie has been reduced to a helpless creature, and must rely on his senses, not his brain, and not instruments, to get through this.

-“if you’ll help me, I’ll land this thing”

He tells Gallagher that Morton is dead; Gallagher tells him “Pridie, take control of that airplane—tell the two gunners to bail out—we’re only ten minutes from the runway.” Pridie can’t—as in his cool “mission of mercy” several weeks earlier, he has two men in the plane, and one is wounded. And then he confesses “I cannot see—if you’ll help me, I’ll try to land this thing.” For the second time he is asking for help; he asked Johnny to help him deal with his fear, and how he is asking help for himself and others to survive. Gallagher feeds him data—wings level, speed—“you’ve got plenty of time to do everything. Hit your switches.” “I’m alone in here! I cannot see the switches!” “Take your time,” Gallagher advises the man who was time-conscious at one time. Pridie reaches for the switches and finds them.

At the tower, Komansky, Fowler, and Stovall watch. “Where am I now?” Pride asks–this from a man who seemed to know where he was. Gallagher barks orders; the plane dips low and causes the three men on the tower to instinctively duck. In his P-51, Joe cranks his canopy back and puts on his goggles; it’s as if he can no longer be confined. Once more he replays instructions, saying “You can make it this time!—you can make by the seat of your pants,” an apt reference, recalling Eagle’s techniques, and how this Apollo must fully give into his Dionysian side in order to descend from the sky and get on the ground. “3  . . . 2 . . . 1” he counts and his wheels touch the runway. “Made it,” Fowler says. “Great,” Komansky adds. Up in the air, an exultant Joe grins—he has brought a lost sheep home in more ways than one—and his plane soars high into the air. In the grounded  plane, as Pridie recovers, his takes out Eagle’s timepiece—symbolic of the numbers and precision that once ruled his life. He can’t see  the watch but his hand grips it.

-“Me sir?—I’ve got a date in town”

The epilogue begins with a “twinned scene”—a knock at Gallagher’s door once more admits Pridie, who salutes the Colonel, once more making coffee—and this time, he accepts a cup. His face is masked by sunglasses, but he takes them off and declares that his eyes are 20/40. The pleased Gallagher offers him to fly C-flight in his squadron. Pridie demurs—in contrast to his forgetting to mention Eagle in his earlier report about the rescue flight from Caen, he points out that Pete Morton died, so he couldn’t report—“I froze the day I got hit—he flew the plane back. I just…” “You just landed it, right?”—which is the most dangerous part of flying. Gallagher admits “There may be true as far as it goes…but you landed it”—and asks him to join the maximum effort in the morning. Pridie agrees, comfortable with himself, and comfortable with his fear. Gallagher is openly pleased and signs his orders—“he can report to Hardstand 2.” “Now?”—this from a man who was once devoted to timekeeping. “Yes, now.” “What for?”—and he learns his efficiency has to be checked out. “Me sir?—I’ve got a date in town.” –Probably with Sgt. Sheila who has learned his off-duty name and perhaps has made contact with his off-duty body; for a man who has long been “in love with an instrumental panel,” this is good. “Sorry, Hardstand 2.” “Yes sir,” Pridie says, shaking Gallagher’s hand, which seems more fitting than the salute—Pridie is not only a better officer, but he’s a better man as wisdom has blended with “mere intelligence,” his Apollonian sky world has blended with the Dionysian earth world, and a human being, not merely a brain, leaves to submit himself to another’s assessment.

“Practice to Deceive”

Writer: William D. Gordon

Director: Robert Douglas

“Practice to Deceive” has a number of interesting qualities, some very good, some verging on weak. Good: it’s a quickly moving story which holds you in suspense, first with mystery, then with a web of deception, and finally a desperate escape.  William D. Gordon, the producer, created the script, which was directed by the solid and steady (and occasionally very inventive) Robert Douglas. Another strength: another date though it is not identified—that of July 20, when the assassination attempt was made on Hitler. Weak: The story smacks a bit of recycling as once more Gallagher finds himself on foot in Nazi Europe, a situation which figured in “Underground,” and most recently “Fortress Weisbaden”—As in “Underground,” the captured Gallagher’s fame and being the son of General Maxwell Gallagher is alluded to as well as an escape engineered by a nurse and an ambulance; and as in “Fortress” in which he became a Commando, Gallagher is no mere passive guest/prisoner/escapee but a participant…in a plot to offer unconditional surrender of Germany to the Allies.

Good: 120CH trying to be more historically accurate than Season I—and telling an intriguing story which also, under examination seems fairly improbable . . . although the plot is based on the assassination attempt. Major Paul Strasser, the one-armed, one-eyed German officer in this episode strongly resembles Count Von Stauffenberg who led the attempt which almost miraculously failed, and he paid for it with his life. Also, Stauffenberg was a devout Catholic, recalled when the priest speaks final words over Strasser’s fresh corpse, still seated in a chair. A little weak: going over familiar ground first explored in “Decoy,” in which Gallagher is forced to bail over the North Sea and while Stovall and Sandy worry about his fate, he has an encounter with another German naval officer . .. Interestingly enough, Gallagher has also a POW experience–though it is very different from Savage’s and it is likely that Gallagher would fly again, because his escape is by air, rather than through a Underground route. But all that is rather superficial: Overall, the richest quality that emanates from this episode is the enormous price that holding to one’s convictions can exact . . . Joe pays for it in physical suffering, but his saviors pay a greater one: the sight of the dedicated Heidi quietly, heroically, going to her presumed death to protect her equally dedicated and wounded father is devastating—and their heroism cannot bring Hitler down.

It would be all in vain except, at least, Heidi has saved other prisoners, and together these two people help Gallagher escape imprisonment and death, regain the skies and get back to England. It’s the only satisfaction the viewer can take; Joe will have none of it as he sadly peers out of the window of Operations, lost in the losses of the present, and not thinking of the future. “Practice to Deceive” is of course the first line of the old saying “When we practice to deceive, oh, what a tangled web we weave”—a saying that I understand the truth of more and more the older I get. Everybody except ironically the German Colonel von Datz is practicing deception of some kind; including Gallagher, first passively, then heroically. Gallagher, it’s interesting to note, despite the terrible situation he is in, moves off-center in this story; the first focus on him as a “POW” is quickly shifted to Admiral von Kreuter who is a brave then a tragic figure as his daughter sacrifices herself.  . . so let us plunge into the web of deception the goal of which was to carry through surrender offers  in the assassination plot of the master deceiver, Adolph Hitler.

–air battle over Germany

For once, I can’t start the teaser with my traditional scrap of dialogue—because I can’t translate German!—that is the only language we hear as the story tears open, with the sight of a lone P-51 streaking along, with the goggled Gallagher at the controls. We know nothing of why he is aloft, and alone, over Nazi land . . . and a group of Messerschmidts, with a cool young pilot as their “fuehrer,” spotting him and making quick work of the lone P-51—Gallagher calmly cranks back his canopy and bails to the ground—which is increasingly the arena of 12OCH, as lack of color film footage choked off those resounding missions and air battles. To make the point of this being a ground-bound episode—about Germans–and in contrast to this airborne mayhem, a group of picnickers, three older women and a young soldier, witness Gallagher’s descent. There is a particularly exciting scene when Gallagher struggles as his parachute carries him forward, but expertly jerks on it, and at last steady on his feet, does not take off like a scared rabbit but rather takes documents out of his jacket and sets them afire—documents that we really never know about; these are a kind of early “magoffin” that burn up in a figurative fire of greater events. Gallagher is swiftly overtaken by civilians; the soldier, who has a bandaged head (previewing a view of Gallagher later on) stamps out the fire and gathers the documents—and as Gallagher is being hustled away to his fate, the young man, whose name we never learn, and is seen again, peers up and away—his face is fairly neutral, it holds no hatred, nor even curiosity—perhaps he has seen too much as it is, and he may actually feel sorry for the American pilot being taken away to God knows what; a wise German citizen knew the danger of the Gestapo. It is over his face that the “six bongs” are laid—rather than on Gallagher’s face. But this story is really less about Gallagher—who becomes rather expeditious in the plot—the story is really about the courage of certain German people, both military and civilians, coming to grips with evil and trying to get rid of it–by assassinating Hitler.

-“Colonel Gallagher is a prisoner of war”

Act I begins hundreds of miles away from this scene at Operations; Stovall is on the phone, and Sandy is working as duty sergeant; and all seems well—even when a colonel walks in, taking off his hat, and introducing himself as “Colonel Gibbon”—Stovall gets up to greet him; Sandy stands in presence of an officer, and the greeting is friendly. Stovall says he met him at Pinetree—but Stovall senses something is wrong. Perhaps to gather his courage—the bad news has to be delivered by him because the men at Operations have not been informed–Gibbons looks at “J.A. Gallagher/Commanding Officer” on the door to his office—which here suggests a gravestone–and admits “I guess I’m here to take command of the 918^th.”

Stovall’s face remains set; Sandy’s face becomes alarmed as they learn from Gibbons that their CO was not in Scotland on leave; rather he was actually in Russia on top security business, thus explaining the papers he attempted to burn. Gibbons compassionately tells him that the news came from the Luftwaffe—“it’s kind of a boast”—he was shot down over Germany and now “Colonel Gallagher is a prisoner of war.” Unlike Savage, Gallagher does not go to a POW camp; rather he is treated as a special prisoner and then fortunately passes into the hands of friends…and does go home via the Underground, which Savage did–and which should have spelled the end of Savage’s flying missions.

-“Sir, I ask again . . . leave him to me”

Gallagher’s status is underscored by the next scene—some kind of compound with guards, vehicles, and a somber air; within, Colonel von Datz fingers the documents which, though salvaged, are unreadable, which kind of excuses this particular “magoffin”—and the real interest of the story is swiftly taken up with the camera focusing on Major Paul Strasser—whose bandaged eye and missing arm does not seem to interfere with a sense of Nazi smugness—and implies that he is the fictional stand-in for Von Stauffenberg, who had the same injuries. Colonel von Datz addresses a groggy Gallagher whose bleary eyes, jerky movements, but unblemished face (including no beard!) suggests that he has been treated roughly–but leniently. His “torture” has been being forced to stay awake; probably not being allowed to sit, pushed, being denied food and perhaps water, and constant questioning. Immediately, the deceptions begin—though commenced by Colonel von Datz, an army officer who seems to be about the only German in this story who ironically, is not being deceptive—and  who survives over the bodies of the deceivers. Strasser seems to be perfectly in tune with Colonel von Datz who in charge of “the compound.”  To Gallagher’s head-rolling refusal to talk causes him to remark “I believe you will never cooperate,” prompting the idea that Gallagher needs to be disposed of—or placed in his hands. “Sir,” he addresses the Colonel, “leave him to me.” The Colonel tries once more with Gallagher: he’s “famous,” and “perhaps you let yourself be shot down in Germany” [suggesting that Gallagher is being deceptive too] and “you can save yourself by admitting you were in contact with legitimate Soviet authorities.” Gallagher, despite his exhaustion, is blunt: “For three days, you’ve been trying the spy routine—it isn’t going to work.” Von Datz says, “Very well Major, I withdraw,” and gives him over to Strasser’s responsibility.

-“Sir, he tried to attack me!”

With him gone, the deceptions thicken. A guard points a gun at him and demands “what were you doing in Soviet Russia, Colonel?” Gallagher is so woozy he hardly cares; maybe death would be a welcomed release at this point. “Major,” he says tiredly, “name, rank, and serial number is all you’re going to get.” His response does not warrant his punishment; two blows on both sides of his head knock him off his chair. He sprawls on the floor, bringing von Datz in. He kneels with concern over his famous prisoner and looks up at Strasser. “Sir, he tried to attack me!” he declares. Von Datz is a smart man, and perhaps has real suspicions of a complex web being woven around him surface. However, he is not deceptive enough to hide his concerns and rather demands to know how a man who had been deprived of sleep and food for three days would have the strength to provoke such an attack from these two men. Strasser only turns to getting a doctor. “I expected you to use some judgment,” says von Datz. “He was not as weak as we thought,” he says, blaming Gallagher.  The German colonel won’t have it—the American pilot had critical information “and if he dies, you will be held accountable.” As it turns out, the blows were actually light ones, but administered effectively—Gallagher is uninjured.

-“It’s time to wake up Colonel. . .”

Strasser apparently gets events to move quickly; an ambulance, with Gallagher already aboard, is ready to take him to a hospital. However, three people—a nurse, a driver, and a doctor pause secretively—another level of deception is being plumbed. “The drug is working, he sleeps,” she says, indicating that Gallagher is not still unconscious from the blows. The doctor gives them passes and the nurse says to the driver—“check your watch”—what they are doing demands perfect timing—and what are they doing? (I would think in a compound that large they would have medical facilities, but maybe Strasser demands a greater level of care.) A German army vehicle precedes them down the road into a secluded area—and the nurse climbs out to wait—with a cautious look and a pistol in her hand. The vehicle backs up and leaves. A few moments later, the ambulance comes down the same path and stops—the driver looks out. The nurse approaches the vehicle while an armed guard hears the driver say “this is as far as we go”—the back door opens; the nurse shoots him; what happens to him is unknown but his body is probably left in the ambulance when it is sent into a crash—or perhaps it is buried. It’s an interesting question; his status of missing is never questioned.

The nurse scrambles in and administers another shot to Gallagher, who lies unconscious, a rather elaborate bandage around his head. Together, the nurse and the driver carry Gallagher’s stretcher out—and rather abruptly dump him—despite Gallagher’s haggard appearance, he has not been hurt, and the nurse helps him along by saying gently, urgently, “It’s time to wake up, Colonel,” and with scissors cuts the turban of bandages off his intact head. The driver, in the meantime, drives away, stops, comes out, and with the brakes unlocked, pushes the vehicle over a cliff, presumably. He rips his clothing. The web is becoming more tangled—Gallagher seems to be in the hands of friends now, but as the events unfold there is growing feeling that as things grow more complex, more things can go wrong.

-“I’ve helped many escape . . . “

Gallagher is awake, by means of her injection, and he sits, woozy and nauseated—although his lack of pain and alertness suggest that his early bleary state may have been a matter of drugs too, given to help him not crack him.

“You must be hungry my friend,” the nurse says, knowing he is sick from the injections. She is fumbling with clothing while holding a pistol on him. “If I’m your friend, why are you waving that pistol at me?” “How else would you trust me?” she answers—a cockeyed answer that makes some sense in the insanity of war. She’s  “anti-Nazi,” but knows that he can’t trust her not after going through what he has suffered. “You managed to fool the doctor,” Joe says, indicating he had some sense of what was going on with him. “The doctor is one of us. I’ve helped many escape,” and gives him clothing to change into—“Now go,” she says. Joe apparently, politely, changes behind a tree, which seems a little ridiculous under the circumstances…and she changes clothes too. Actually, they should be behind the trees from the beginning; they are shockingly exposed to all eyes in the field. The scene cuts to a sentry point, presumably near the buildings Joe was held in, and civilians, and bicyclists and soldiers come and go, in an example of how even small scenes in 120CH were handled with verve and style. In a scene reminiscent of “Underground,” Joe and the nurse, with their arms around each other, walk quietly up to the guard, expose their passes to him as if this were an old story, but the sentry stops them—and the driver suddenly rushes up to demand help—“I’ve had an accident,” he tells the diverted sentry, who hands him the phone and grins at his thanks.

-“Colonel, this is not the plot you think it is”

Gallagher and the woman calmly enter a door and walk down a curving stairway; Gallagher finds himself, incongruously, in a rathskellar of sorts; the nurse sits down and indicates he is to buy beer–perhaps that is to keep appearances normal; a woman might never buy beer herself if escorted by a man. Gallagher, with a set pinched face, does so, moving by two conversing soldiers, nodding at the German emitted by the woman at the bar . . . and turns around to find the one-eyed one-armed Major Strasser behind a screen of railings, which both hide and expose him—interesting image that.

He stands up immediately, saying, “Colonel, this is not the plot you think it is,” speaking to a man who is being restrained, not only by the two soldiers but by the woman, and by the nurse. It’s as if Gallagher is trapped in a spiderweb and is being wrapped by silken threads for later devouring. Almost smiling, Strasser says “Follow me, please,” and Gallagher can do nothing else as he hustled into a backroom. In the bar area, a corporal, one of them, watches this, and apparently guards the stairs against comers. Underground, in close quarters, the starving and thirsty Gallagher, made alert by drugs, eats bread and drinks from a stein of beer.

“Are you feeling better now?” an attentive Strasser asks—who still appears as the complete Nazi creep, down to a cigarette being held up by thumb and forefinger. As Gallagher regards him, he motions to a suit of clothes—“I think they will fit you”—and tells him a bath, though a bit primitive, is available. (Season III seem to have a thing for Gallagher in bathtubs!—though we don’t see him taking his ablutions in this episode.) “Wait a minute,” Gallagher says, reviving with food and drink. “You sweat me for three days and you beat me senseless—what is this?” Strasser is coolly apologetic. “I regret treating you as I did,” but Gallagher doesn’t buy it; he is not simply helping him to escape. Noise distracts them, as the nurse’s shapely legs come down the stairs . . . the nurse accompanies an elderly, handsomely dressed man—who, with his daughter, more or less takes the story away from Gallagher.

-“drinking fine Rhine wine with your mother and father . . . “

Strasser is pleased to introduce the American pilot to “the Admiral.” “Be at ease,” he tells Gallagher and he means it. Gallagher is puzzled—“An admiral?”—which brings up an interesting point that Hitler came to trust naval officers against the Wermacht officers- to several of his associate’ surprise, before he committed suicide, he appointed Admiral Karl Doenitz as his successor. “You do not remember?” Gallagher’s face undergoes a variety of emotions as he struggles with drugs and exhaustion to remember this man—“Admiral Von Kreuter?” “To be sure,” he says, as he kisses the hand of the nurse. He smiles at Gallagher. “This is the second time I fight against your country—yet I have good memories of drinking fine Rhine wine with your mother and father—and you were twelve, thirteen years of age.”

“Yes,” Gallagher whispers, with a near smile—how good it would be in this situation to recognize a face, a smiling one, recalling a good memory. “You remember . . . there was a little girl?” and though he recalls a “baby” Gallagher learns that the nurse is also an old acquaintance, who has grown up to be not only beautiful, but brave and loyal. Gallagher now feels truly safe to demand “What is this about?” Von Kreuter’s words finally provide a way for Joe not to escape the spiderweb but to understand that he is in one and he is being called upon to help Germany get out of its own horrible web. Kreuter tells Joe that he learned he had been shot down he moved as quickly as possible—and “Strasser is one of his associates”—which earns a slight smile from Strasser, whose damaged face suddenly draws our sympathy. “And I have assured them that the son of General Maxwell Gallagher can be trusted.”

Gallagher must be astounded at what he is hearing—he is being trusted by the enemy—and for what? “I’m a prisoner of war,” he announces. “And I think you should forget that our families were once friendly.” “We need your help,” Kreuter tells him—and they are conducting a plan which Gallagher can—“no, must—make a vital contribution—it is a plan that will end the war.” Cut to Colonel von Datz who will make steadfast efforts to cut through all the deception—he takes a phone call (probably from the Corporal keeping watch in the beer cellar) and then coolly tells his new prisoner—the doctor—that his patient Gallagher did escape in the ambulance—and has recovered very well from his concussion and coma.

-“Is this the man?”

Act II commences as the teaser: no or few words as the web of deception grows more elaborate and taut. A limping soldier casually patrols the street, lights a cigarette, and observes two elderly, extremely well dressed gentlemen who are looking at a magazine and news kiosk. They see him, and walk past him, look at each other quickly before entering a door way. The limping soldier then comes to an elaborate iron gate which leads to a spiral staircase (This looks familiar–this re-dressed Archbury Street is recognizable; that was the vestibule where Sarah Blodgett clobbers the forward lieutenant in “The Survivor”—and the rathskellar is a re-dressed “Denby’s Lion Pub”). The soldier moves the gate, and immediately a slender priest comes down the stairs—which beckons a consideration of the survival of the Catholic church in Nazi Germany. Though the Reich wished to take on the church’s power, it never did, fearful of people’s anger, as well agreeing that the Church was also against Communism. On occasion, the High Command heeded the Church’s protests. This priest has survived so far, and he quietly goes to the same door. The limping soldier walks away, but passes the two elderly gentlemen.  . . and comes to the door of the rathskellar where the blond woman hangs a “closed” sign on the door. Back inside Heidi and the corporal sit the table drinking and pretending to talk, to keep up an air of normalcy. The bar woman then goes to the register, and rings up a red tab twice; in the backroom, the lamp blinks twice—even the soulless objects of lamps and cash registers have deceptive qualities.

Strasser is pleased. “Good,” he says, “they are here.” Joe, in a suit and tie, has bathed, shaved and looks—very strange to us. (I imagine the actors enjoyed into different costumes now and then after a steady diet of uniforms!) But he is now more credible and acceptable to the people he is going to meet. Joe and the Admiral go into the front room, while Strasser leaves to bring the two elderly gentlemen in. These are the “they”—and who are they? Joe still does not quite know what is going on. Back in the main room, Heidi gives a key to the bar-woman, who opens a drawer and takes out a portfolio; this is handed off to her father. In the meantime, with German-like efficiency, chairs and tables are set up and the members sit down as though they are attending a board meeting—but this is no wild rabble; these are powerful but dedicated men—including Joe who looks extremely professional in his suit and tie, rather than his filthy rumpled flight suit.  Strasser returns with the two elderly gentlemen.

 “My son, you are sent by God”

The priests sits down next to Joe—“Is this the man?”

Kreuter nods and introduces the other men to, including the priest, Father Berthold Kreiter. “My son,” the priest says, “you are sent by God.” Gallagher rebuffs his spiritual greeting—and the amount of responsibility the priest’s word imply; indeed, he is being turned into a Christ-like figure which prefigures an image later on. His words are not necessarily Christ-like: “Okay, you have a plan to end the war—why don’t you people surrender?” “That in effect is what we plan to do,” says Kreuter. “We tried to forestall the invasion in May by addressing a note to your Mr. [Allen] Dulles”—one of FDR’s greatest diplomats. Kreuter says they offered a “separate peace” with the Western Allies—meaning, the war on the Eastern front would go on; making peace on the western front would allow them to swing their manpower to the eastern front—and some Nazis fondly believed that United States and Great Britain, and a freed France would join them against the Soviets. “Mr. Dulles replied that this is out of the question—unconditional surrender is a bitterness, Colonel, but this moment has come and I must be in contact with your high command . . . I want you to fly me to England.”

Gallagher’s face clenches up—he is amazed and probably scared at what he is been drawn into—his first objection comes in a question—“What about your oaths—your oaths to Hitler?” “If there were no Hitler,” the Admiral explains, indicating a clear state of affairs and an expeditious plan—if Hitler were destroyed, they would be freed from their oaths and free to offer surrender. Uneasy music underscores Joe’s growing comprehension and fear over what he has been rescued to help in—“you’re going to kill Hitler?” That question is left unanswered—rather cleverly too because this is not the Stauffenberg-led cadre—this perhaps is a satellite unit that would deal with the Western Allied command–this is a story that is well-set in larger affairs, offering a smaller but plausible melodrama in which Gallagher plays an important role–such as the real debacle at Poltava in “Massacre.” At the moment of the question, the scene shifts to the outside, where a vehicle loaded with soldiers and some SS leave the sentrypoint . . .and are seen by the limping soldier. He goes to an outside iron lamp—which is also deceptive—and fingers a knob, alerting those inside.

-“I want no part of this!”

Warned, the corporal sitting alongside this stands up with an “Achtung!” and seizes Heidi as a hostage: “Everybody in this room is under arrest!” “You!” shouts Strasser. “Why?” The corporal identifies himself as an SS security officer; he has been running a double deception as first a traitor, and he is “truly” a spy for the SS. Gallagher, the youngest and despite everything the healthiest of this group, a man who has perceived himself as a “dead man” (see “Storm at Twilight”) for quite some time makes his move on the officer—with a deception of his own: “I want no part of this!” he says, hands raised, moving in on the man. “These men tricked me! Take me, I surrender—these men drugged me, they’re traitors, you need me as witness—“

A pounding at the door startles the corporal-SS security officer enough to let Joe knock the gun away; he grabs Heidi and they fling themselves on the floor. The SS officer dies by one of the nameless soldiers, and the classic bit of German “Schnell!” from Strasser sends them to the backroom. A soldier outside machine-guns the door open and one of the bullets strikes the Admiral—determinedly picking up the portfolio, the Admiral gets away, but the aged and wounded man steadies himself against a barrel, leaving a bloody handprint—interesting example of the old adage “blood will tell.” Grasping Heidi’s hand, Gallagher tries to flee up the back stairs, but Strasser redirects them to another exit. In the rathskellar, two soldiers hold off the raiding party for a few precious moments; one is shot and the other surrenders—and remains loyal to those who have fled—to the slim, dark-haired and handsome SS officer, the surviving soldier says “I surrender—I am alone, I surrender.” “You lie,” says the SS officer—speaking the truth, the soldier is lying—which sums up the strange and terrible web of deception everyone is crawling around in, seeking the center, or seeking to escape, seeking to succeed. The guard can only offer “I surrender.” He will be taken in for questioning.

Outside on the street, curious civilians gather around to learn what has happened. The priest assists the two elderly gentlemen to leave and then he innocently, deceptively comes forward—speaks with the guard—and actually re-enters the rathskellar. Screened by the elaborate gate, the curling pattern suggesting the twists and turns of a life being led secretly, the Admiral, Gallagher, and Heidi are sent up the spiral staircase. Strasser, perfectly calm, observes the remaining people being taken away, including the brave, nameless blond woman at the bar. Cut to a shuttered house—in this episode, sets and stock shots are doing a lot of duty; the house is the one in which Gallagher and Stovall were quartered in “Massacre”—the Admiral is helped by Gallagher and Heidi in to a charming and comfortable study;  as with many scenes involving women on this show, there is a fire burning in the fireplace. He is laid on a couch, and Heidi conceals the portfolio behind a removal panel; even the walls are deceptive.

-“can they be using Gallagher . . ?” Back in the office of von Datz he coolly finishes and hands off a message to the sound of whipping and a man’s grunts. The camera pans from him, past a Nazi flag, and onto the man under questioning—and the questioner—Strasser—is he a double deceiver? No, he is carrying out his masquerade, helping a prisoner by being brutal. The soldier who surrendered—is this the ambulance driver?– finally admits to helping Gallagher escape on a barge—“he was sent down the Rhine—and another group takes over . . .” Interestingly enough, Strasser is forcing a false confession; however, the Colonel, we will see, is detecting the web of deception around him. “And the girl, Heidi Voss—did she go with Gallagher?” asks the SS officer—who also asks about the blood-stained barrel—“who else escaped?” “No one, no one,” protests the driver. Strasser demands to know who killed the corporal—he was killed by shots from the outside, says the driver. Schmidt keeps the subterfuge, referring to the self-identified SS officer by his deceptive rank. “So,” says Strasser triumphantly, “the SS is responsible!”—-which gains him a look a fear from the SS officer; yes, Strasser is a master deceiver. The Colonel gets up—for all his Nazi evil, this man, as well as the SS officer, are both “straight-shooters”—they are trying to pierce the deception enveloping them, a web created by Strasser. “You applied the word murder to the killing of Corporal Schmidt,” he begins.

Strasser is prompt with his obfuscation. “Sir, the man said he thought Corporal Schmidt was one of them . . .he must have been there as a spy.” “Excellent, Major,” says von Datz. “Corporal Schmidt was one of my security officers.” Strasser does not show a flick of concern. “I must ask you sir, why was he assigned as my personal orderly?” “Oh, Paul . . .only because Heidi was serving in your compound,” he says, putting a friendly hand on Strasser’s shoulder. Now he is becoming deceptive though he tells the truth . . . “You see, we’ve suspected an underground here for sometime . . .Gallagher’s escape brought it to a head and you see, it’s a delicate matter . .Heidi Voss is the daughter of Admiral Kreuter.” Strasser feigns surprise. “She is working for traitors? Does he know?” The colonel’s answer is evasive: “He is unimpeachable.” Strasser says “I will call on him in the morning,” earning a “Thank you, Paul,” from the Colonel. Strasser leaves, and the Colonel vents his frustrations to his SS officer: all they have received is a “false confession,” which is an oxymoron in a way. He knows the soldier lied. “I cannot help but feel there is something bigger at stake and this is simply more than an underground helping prisoners to escape.” “Well, with Schmidt’s report on Major Strasser, I’m inclined to agree.” “Well, who are they?  . . .can they be using Gallagher?” The big question: “You don’t suspect the Admiral, do you?” The Colonel doesn’t want to . . . claiming “it’s ridiculous,” trying to dismiss the truth that is emerging from the vortex of deception. But he orders Strasser to be followed . . .”it’s what he does tonight.”

-“Colonel von Datz is playing games with me”

Act III opens in a church, which is the first time a chapel has been seen since “Day of Reckoning”—and within Father Kreiter is praying and feels a hand on his shoulder—Major Strasser is behind him with disturbing news: “Colonel von Datz is playing games with me,” he tells the priests, evoking a common image in 12OCH.

An uncommon image: between the two men is a statue of a saint with the Christ Child in his arms—probably St. Anthony, a saint of many causes, and he is holding Christ, the ultimate symbol of sacrifice, and foretelling their own sacrifices to rid Germany of a madman. Strasser tells him that they know Heidi Voss was in the rathskellar with Gallagher. A reader told me that the saint holding the Christ child is St. Anthony, patron of the lost. “Corporal Schmidt?” “Exactly. He died before he could report the rest of us—von Datz knows I was there too . . .he is using me.” Thus the deceivers know they are being deceived—and under suspicion—and yet still going forward, a mark of their heroism. It seems strange that Strasser would not suspect himself as being followed—he is, because the priest and himself are soon overtaken as they seek to move the plot forward as they can. In the Kreuter home, Gallagher and Heidi tend to the Admiral and look up at a noise—the priest comes in through a window. He wastes to no time: “I’ve just had a talk with Major Strasser—how soon can you leave your father?” Heidi protests that she can’t leave him. The priest is blunt. “My child, Major Strasser must come here tomorrow—to learn if you have helped Allied prisoners . . . Strasser thinks it is a subterfuge and he is being followed . . . perhaps von Datz will realize he is on to something bigger.” Heidi, cradling her father’s head is helpless; she can do neither. “They suspect my father?” she asks. She is told that they know someone was wounded—a blood stain was found. The priest turns to Gallagher with instructions: the airfield he is fly out of is four miles away and he is to fly a Heikel P-3—“a training plane—no guns—but fast.” He tells him the marking and that “it will be ready at dawn.” Kreuter protests and Father Kreiter tells him true words—“tonight, the whole movement is in danger.”

-“May God be with you . . .”

“Don’t lead them to von Schulendorff,” Kreuter gasps, thinking about others. “We must go to London.” He sends the priest away, who exits through the window with a cautious look to see if anybody awaits for him. “May God be with you,” are his parting words—and may God be with him .  . . Joe locks the window behind him, with a growing sense of the danger that is encircling them. He then tells the Admiral that he can’t make the trip with his wound—as it turns out, he is right—“this has nothing to do with courage,” Joe says, “but if we’re attacked in the air his wound could open and he could bleed to death.” Their peril is not lost on the Admiral, who determinedly sits up and says “Why should Germans attack a German plane?” he asks, an ironic question because Germany is not only under attack by outsiders, but by insiders as well. “Tell me quickly all that has happened . . . “

An alarm startles them—he receives no information, cannot dissemble at the right moment, and Heidi goes to her fate . . .  The Admiral gets to his feet and Joe is led out by Heidi—she takes him to a closet to hide in, and while there she gets a robe; this episode of deception will be the last she plays . . . leaving Joe, she helps her father into his robe; despite his pain he adjusts it, sits in an easy chair. Heidi, with long experience of deception, puts a book in his hand, lights a cigarette for him, and then lounges back on the chair as though she and her father are enjoying an evening together. The doors open, and at the end of crescendoing strings, von Datz appears, the picture of apologetic courtesy for visiting them at such a time. Joe does not hear the tragedy unfolding . . . does he ever know what happens to Heidi whom he met, briefly, when he was an adolescent, and then, a grown man, is saved by her to fight another day? The melodramatic pinnacle of this episode is played out as von Datz says “Sir, I was told your daughter left by river barge . . . with a certain escaped American.“ The false confession is now being turned against the plotters.

-“Father, I hate Nazi Germany . . . “

Heidi dissembles. “I know exactly what you were told—Father, I can explain everything . . .” Kreiter, hustled in by guards, lets her know that this will not work. “Tell them nothing, my child,” he pleads, quietly. Gallagher, listening at the door he is behind, is suddenly taken away by the Admiral’s aide and seems to be sent down into a secret trapdoor—we don’t where it leads or how Gallagher and the Admiral rendezvous, but that would slow the story down . . . In the library, the Admiral remonstrates against orders that his house will be searched. “My house?” he asks with a hint of humorous disbelief. “You will not search.” “I am sorry sir,” von Datz says. “Your daughter—“ “Please!” she cries. “Silence!” the Admiral orders.

“I will tell them myself,” she says and a very brave woman—borrowing Gallagher’s description of Patricia Conboy in “Siren Voices”– makes a “false confession.” The ultimate and most heartbreaking deception plays out as a daughter convicts herself–and speaks the truth to once more hide the massive scale of deception that von Datz is only beginning to realize. She tells him that “her actions should make no difference—you have your loyalties—but I have been helping Allied prisoners to escape . . . today, an American colonel . . . Father, I hate Nazi Germany—but I didn’t want to hurt you because I love you—but I despise these men and all they stand for.” Von Datz looks on, without a change of expression. Her next words are horribly truthful: “I will make any sacrifice to see them brought to their knees.”

She pauses, knowing this is farewell to her father, and probably to her life. Her father honors her sacrifice by acting the way she wants him to: “Take her away,” he says, “out of my house.” Their wrenched faces gaze on each other one last time and Heidi quietly goes into custody. Von Datz is the last to depart, after the guards and others have been taken away. He gives a slightly jaunty “heil”—which, after the assassination attempt, German officers, who had avoided it, were ordered to give in place of the salute. He leaves a man who is now beyond devastation, with no future in this world except to complete his mission.

-“this is a training flight . . .”

Act IV takes up quickly, as 12OCH always does; it was a “thinking man’s show” but the final season and a half emphasized action, and this act charges into it as the Heinkel, bearing Gallagher and the Admiral, goes aloft—it would be interesting to know how they got on the airfield, how the Admiral held up despite his injuries; his grief at having to leave his daughter to a wretched fate, etc. but that would bog the action down. As soon as they airborne, a familiar face—the fuehrer of the patrol group seen at the beginning of the episode—spots the single plane. Inside, the Admiral easily waves at the man, who waves back. The young man, dedicated to his duty—as the Admiral is dedicated to his duty—calls to them. The admiral acknowledges them, saying “this is a training flight.” The pilot accepts their identity and warns them to fly no further than—I can’t quite get the name—because the Americans are bombing along the channel coast. “I think there’s something wrong with your radio,” the young pilot says, and satisfied, the patrol peels off.

-“but if he were only trying to hide . . .”

Rapid cut to von Datz, on the phone . . .about the plane . . .”Yes, what is its designation number?” he asks as the camera reveals Major Strasser, seated on the same chair that held Gallagher the day before, and upon which the ambulance driver made his false confession. Hanging up the phone, von Datz says to the fearless but pensive major, “he is merely running away from humiliation, but . . .” He gets a new party on the phone and sends out an alert to a Heikel P-3—“somewhere over Germany . . . course and destination unknown . . . turn it back . . .order it to land and if they refuse, shoot it down.” The last order brings up Strasser’s defiant attention. Von Datz takes his chair and straddles it, facing Strasser and, as the camera pulls back, Father Kreiter as well. “But, if he were only trying to hide . . . he wouldn’t take an American colonel along, would he Major?” He sighs, fatuously and recounts German military history: “Bismarck, Von Hindenburg, Rommel, Von Rundstedt . . . Von Reuter,” he says, while Strasser’s face clenches in contempt. “We all admire and respect them, don’t we Major? . . .What is the plot?” “What is it?” he asks again to their silence; they know they are dead men. “If Von Reuter is in it,” he remarks, “I might like to be on it. Obviously, I was deceived,” he says, summing up the theme of the episode. “He is in it,” the colonel says. “What is it . . .? What?” Strasser answers him with angry contempt: “Cancel the order to shoot them down—then ask!” Von Datz, still straddling the chair, raises his hands—and then moves in front of the priests—largely to avoid being splattered by the bullet his associate pumps into Strasser’s brain. Father Kreiter flinches at the shot and moves. “No, no, no,” von Datz says as the priest crosses himself. “Are you going to talk? Or would you like to be next?” The priest talks, but only to pronounce Latin over the dead Strasser.

-”Admiral, if I had sacrificed my daughter . . .”

Cut to the patrol circling again—they have been alerted and they are returning. Within the Heikel, the Admiral has also heard the alert. “Us?” Gallagher demands. “Do they know?” The Admiral calmly encourages him; they are five minutes from the coast, which the patrol leader indicated they should avoid . . . “the problem is not who we are but it’s where we are,” Gallagher snaps, knowing that ironically, the further they get away from Nazi air space, the more danger they are getting into as they enter Allied airspace. Immediately, the patrol leader radios them—“Turn back, land, or you will be shot down.” “What should we do now?” the Admiral asks, neither helplessly or angrily. “Admiral,” Joe shouts over the plane’s motor, “if I had sacrificed my daughter for this, I wouldn’t even ask.” In other words, Joe has learned about Heidi’s brave decision and assured death—and the Admiral letting her do it—and for her sake, is going to go ahead with the mission. The Admiral then deceives the patrol leader—the last time he will practice to deceive, saying “the radio is weak and I don’t understand”—hoping that will buy a few minutes of mercy. It doesn’t; he sees them wheeling—“they are coming to shoot us down.”

-“This is the Easter Bunny!”

With superb timing, P-51s appear; they are either flying a plane, seen in the distance off-target or on-target. “I don’t think so,” Joe says and he is right; the patrol leader, seeing the P-51s—and perhaps having to conserve fuel by not engaging in fighting, he orders the patrol off—“do not attack,” he says, they wheel off. Gallagher calmly radios the American fighters—“This is Colonel Gallagher, of the 918^th bomb group”—a jocular voice answers him “Heikel baby, this is the Easter Bunny . . .” Joe calmly, firmly radios again—“This is Colonel Gallagher. I’m going to drop my wheels. I want you to escort me in .  . . “ “Heikel,” responds the fighter pilot, This is the Easter Bunny!”—and a hail of 50 mms lance through the flimsy plane, and the Admiral is struck again.

-“Joe, we thought we’d lost you . . . “

At the 918^th (I guess Joe knows how to get there and that’s where he heads), a siren alerts the base; Sandy, standing before Stovall’s desk (as it turns out, they have both just heard momentous news) looks out the window and Harvey gets a phone call—“Nuisance raider,” he announces; both men snatch their helmets and run out into other helmeted soldiers. A gun-mounted vehicle pulls up and Sandy takes command of weapon; perhaps he is feeling very vengeful since the Krauts have taken his colonel prisoner—although he must also think that if the colonel is alive, he may be released soon for the war may be over . . . Stovall peers at the incoming plane, reeling over the neat countryside of England—how it has escaped being shot down is never made clear unless its course has been too erratic—in the cockpit, Joe is not only dealing with a damaged plane but with the Admiral, whose body slumps on the left side of the plane. Harvey observes that it’s going to come to ground on the Smythe-Beckworth preserve, a reminder that the 918^th is in the lovely countryside of Cambridgeshire, and was either cheek-by-jowl with farms or indeed temporarily taking up farming space—it’s a fact that farmers sometimes had to go through sentry-points to get to their farmlands. . .

However . . . Joe brings the plane in for a “good landing”—because he can walk away from it. However, as the American soldiers come rolling up in their truck, and nearby farmers comes rushing in, a la the capture of  Rudolph Hess with  a pitchfork, Joe is dragging himself and the Admiral away from the wreck. Joe collapses in the midst of farmers aiming pitchforks at him—in an odd vision of hell which he has just escaped from but a new hell awaits. Sandy and Harvey come up to him—recognize him–and his words indicates that he and the sergeant had kept up their slim hopes . . .”Joe, we thought we’d lost you.” “Who’s this sir?” Sandy asks.

-“obviously, you haven’t heard . . . “

Joe is gasping—from fatigue, effort, fear and near hysteria. “Von Reuter—important information—get him to a hospital—“ Stovall smiles. “Obviously, you haven’t heard the news.” “What news?” Gallagher gasps, eyes wild. “We just got in on the radio sir,” Sandy says. “Somebody planted a bomb in the Rastenburg command post—Hitler’s dead.”

Joe’s feelings are hard to read—“He’s dead . . . he’s dead,” Joe gasps—if he has the ability to think he is relieved—joyful—but these feelings are destroyed by the brave sacrifices of Heidi and her father.

-“It’s not as tragic as the sacrifice they had to make”

The epilogue is particularly, melodramatically bitter, and affords Burke one of his best scenes in the series. Gallagher, another officer, the likable Colonel Gibbons, and Sandy all listen to a hoarse voice coming over the radio—Hitler. Stovall comes in. Hitler’s words are being translated: “it is fate to continue this war and bring it to a completion . . . “ despite what has happened. “At least they admit they tried to knock him off,” says Gibbons, in an odd nod to the truth—at least for once the High Command is not dissembling or deceiving. “It’s not as tragic as the sacrifices they had to make,” Joe says. “Joe,” Harvey says to Joe’s tired, pensive face, “the Admiral died.” On the radio, the translation continues. . .”and no mercy will be shown”—words that are sure to affect Heidi, if she is still alive.

-“there’s only one time you can measure a man . .  . “

“Turn him off!” Joe snaps, getting up and looking out the window—he has peered out the window before, in sadness, fear, and despair, and this time in angry bitterness—not for the failure of the plot, but the price paid by the plotters, whose plot ultimately failed. Heidi went to her death; the Admiral died in his attempt and he must know that gentle priest and stalwart Major are dead, plus others; he alone has survived—to be left with the memories and the despair of the terrible uselessness of their actions. His eulogy grants courage to these people: “You know—I’m convinced . . . the only time you can measure a man—that it’s  in the moment when he dies or does not die for what he believes . .. and I know the Admiral died when he let them take away his daughter.” Gibbon, the compassionate officer who temporarily took over for Joe, listens to this, as does Harvey and Sandy. Joe takes a calming puff of his cigarette and stares out the window, seeming to feel the same emptiness that Von Reuter must have felt as he completed his mission . . . and joined his daughter.

‘The All-American”

Writer: Jack Hawn

Director: Joseph Pevney

Compared with the previous wrenching episode—“Practice to Deceive”—“The All-American” is more lighthearted, though not comic. Both Joe and Sandy engage in some baseball, there is a kind of “saloon fight” in the Star and Bottle, bombing targets are not specified; no Nazis in sight (at least on the ground), and Colonel Gallagher shows his fundamental decency by acknowledging the exhausted Komansky’s disappointment at being unable to pitch for an “All-American,” and holds his tongue (perhaps nearly biting it) as the callow Ted Masters botches a compass reading but declares, “Not too far off.” However, balancing this lighter side is a depressed pilot (Glen King), the shoddy aspects of the press, a “milk run” which is anything but (forty men are lost) and Gallagher, along with others, are recovering from burns at the end. And although “the kid comes through” and is being nominated for a medal at the end, it is clear that the exploitative “spinning” aspects of the press are responsible for making the All-American into a pilot–despite nearly washing out of training. In this episode the media gets another exposure/going over: in “Show Me a Hero” and “Angel Babe” they come off as parasitic irritations whose cameras and publicity-seeking impel crises in Komansky and a B-17 respectively. In “The All-American,” Major Praeger of the PRO comes off as a kind of an exploitative jerk though he and Ted Masters have a symbiotic relationship underscored by true affection—Praeger made his name off Masters and seeks to protect him (even to following him into the Army) and Masters cares for Praeger who, without him may not have gotten as far as he has and he feels an obligation to this man. However, a level-headed young woman “Shirl”keeps the press from getting a completely black eye.

Other musings—this episode to me most strongly recalls “Show Me a Hero,” in which the ego-crippled Sandy has to put up with being labelled a hero and being exploited by a voracious woman of the press. Interestingly, Sandy figures rather heavily in the climax of “The All-American”—he intently regards the oncoming bellying-in B-17 piloted by the inexperienced Masters, and then he is the one to save Masters from the burning plane and help him away—but his rescuing seems so incidental that it suggests that a side-story was reduced. If there were a side story (suggested by Sandy and Ted bumping up against each other in Joe’s doorway in a twinning gesture, and Ted already calling the sergeant “Sandy”) perhaps Sandy’s involvement with Masters was along the lines of his support of the unsympathetic Bradovich in “The Survivor,” as he understood the feelings of anger and self-doubt the surviving pilot felt when he alone came back. (Ted’s plea of “Sandy’s going” indicates the two men have been talking, perhaps comparing notes on their lives.)  The semi-orphaned Master’s experiences fairly well parallels Sandy’s own rotten experiences: sense of self-doubt fuelled by a savvy press agent’s praise; seemingly punished/protected by dealing with paper in Operations; running away; getting into a stupid fight, and his less-than skillful but heroic bringing in a crippled plane full of wounded men.

Regrets—that the baseball game is not played! Of course, 12OCH is an action-oriented war series, and in mid-sixties, which were still painfully close to WWII, the thought of spending time on a baseball game in a “serious” show of the war (McHale’s Navy, get lost!) might have been frowned on. It would be delightful to see the game as conceived—the bombers vs. the fighters. A vision: Joe Gallagher playing for the fighters, and Sandy playing for the bombers; and Gallagher comes up to bat . . . with Sandy pitching—ah, that would be a difficult situation!—wanting to play for your team but not strike out your Commanding Officer . . . Harvey Stovall, of course, is umpire. Nonetheless, it is refreshing to see baseball here playing a real role in the story, shoring and solidifying baseball’s “lurking” presence—allusions are contantly made to the sport such as Joe Gallagher trying to run the 918^th like a baseball team and a game (particularly well referenced in “The Idolater”); people being described as “foul balls,” and scenes such as ground crews pitching to each other as they await the squadrons to return.

-“he’s coming in on runway 2 . . .”

To a stirring, soulful version of the 12OCH theme (missing in the previous episode in which Joe spent most of his time on the ground and while in the air, in a German plane), the teaser begins with the Piccadilly Lily rolling in majestically—but on the flightdeck, Joe and Bob Fowler are already detaching themselves from their gear. Bob asks for confirmation about an impending disaster—“Colonel Gallagher wants confirmation that Captain King is coming in with no wheels and no radio—are you ready for him?—over—“ Captain King will prove the “hard luck kid” on tonight’s episode. “He’s coming in on runway 2,” Bob reports. (King is particularly nicely portrayed by Robert Doyle, last seen as the blinded Ray Zemler in “Back to the Drawing Board.”) A dramatic shot of an approaching B-17, backlighted by the sky—the plane comes for a belly landing with worried members of the base watching. Komansky, with Gallagher for his passenger, drives a Jeep like hell to the plane—followed, incongruously, by a staff car of sorts. They arrive at the site, with the B-17 broken in pieces and looking like a corpse. Joe and Sandy, arriving, fling themselves out of the Jeep to help with the rescue of wounded crew members. Two have already crawled out; the co-pilot is badly injured, and the pilot, in one piece, is kneeling on the ground, catching his breath and probably trying to corral what’s left of his nerves.

-“Major Praeger of Public Relations . . . anybody hurt?”

In contrast to the frantic activity, two men, an older and a younger one, plus a woman emerge from the car, which parasitically followed their Jeep. They watch as ground crews and fellow aircrew members help the wounded out; Komansky, previewing his rescuing of Masters in the climax, hauls a man out and away. The three people watch and come forward. The older man rather breezily introduces himself with a foolish question while seeing the obvious answer: “I’m Major Praeger of Public Relations . . .anybody hurt?” He speaks to the kneeling King.  A stretcher is carried away, revealing Gallagher—who, beginning with “The Hot Shot” has become increasingly savvy about dealing with the press. “No, nobody killed.” Praeger then starts introductions, first the woman, Shirl Pinkerton, a statuesque brunette who already projects a slight air of embarrassment. Gallagher, ever the gentleman, shakes her hand. Praeger then proudly gestures at his boy—a young officer who stands by humbly. “We want to take some pictures, Colonel,” he says. “The folks at home are mighty hungry for heroes”—not adding that he intends to feed them well—and a sinister preview of an image of vultures feeding on a dying calf.

At these words of heroes and the folks at home, Captain King utters “Oh, brother.” Shirl sympathizes with King’s harsh landing, King merely smirks with disgust. Praeger is already busy orchestrating the phony moment—“Push your hat off your face, let the people see your face,” he orders the young man who with some embarrassment, obeys. Below them, like an underling, a photographer crouches to record the moment on celluloid. King, still on the ground doesn’t believe what he is seeing—which sets up the emotional and thematic arc of the episode: the real vs. the fabricated. Captain Masters, a pilot, isn’t quite what his hectoring mentor has turned him into–“a media darling”—and to his credit, he tries to balance what is created with what is real, while trying to please his Commanding Officer, and protect his mentor who wants to protect him as well, for both good and bad reasons. However, Masters, despite his strong name is not well equipped to deal with the real world—though he is sorry for his mistakes and tries to reform (“Joe, uh, sir . . .”). All in all, the typically complex set of characters, a hallmark of 12OCH. Particularly complex is how King and Masters start out as foils to each other—the weary, experienced pilot vs. the fresh but terrible one; King is reasonably good looking but is no “babe” like Masters . .  but eventually they become twins as their compassion for the other grows, and they bring in wounded planes full of wounded crew members. Their “twin quality” is first seen by their strong last names—“King” and “Masters.” King has some fight left him in but not because he wants some of the glory–“What are they doing? It’s my airplane,” he protests and Gallagher adds to it—“I thought these pictures were of Captain King.” Preager easily, smugly differs: they’re getting pictures of the All-American Ted Masters—“puts him right up there, you know?”

Gallagher suddenly takes charge of the out of control situation—he knows the young man, and tries to be civil. He lightly snaps at Masters for calling him “Joe,” and while a photographer awaits, tells the young man, “Ted, there’s been some misunderstanding.” However, he knows that Ted is “no grandstander—and you wouldn’t want to take advantage of the situation.” Ted is silent and Praeger steps in—the photograph is for morale, which is cheesy rationalization for his work of glorifying Ted and then chides Gallagher—“I wish you wouldn’t embarrass him.” Gallagher is blunt: “I’ll save embarrassment for everyone—get your men out of here.” Praeger is also blunt: “Sir, do you know that I’m on orders for General Owen, personally?” “I think I just gave you an order, Major,” says this colonel, not giving a rap about this General Owen, whoever the hell he is. “You order sir?” says Praeger as the photographer snaps a picture. “That’s right—and now you have a picture of it,” Joe says. But, as always, he is compassionate, and says, “I’m sorry, Ted,” and leaves. Praeger is snottily confident—“don’t worry kid,” he says, slapping the handsome young man’s shoulders. “I’ll put him in his place. We won’t let anybody stand in our way—anything or anybody,” he says, obviously meaning Gallagher. The “six bongs” strike over these men’s faces—and sets up the comeuppance for Praeger as well as Master’s redemption. Gallagher stands in Praeger’s way as best he can, and disciplines, but to help Masters, not hinder him. He also stands by him, a characteristic by which he helped draw Komansky into the fold months earlier.

-“I suggested the play to the coach . . .” From burning wrecks on the runway, we go into the Officer’s Club for a press conference heralding the All-American’s arrival—typically, Praeger is speaking, and handing out celluloid images of the real man, whom he calls, tellingly, “Teddy”—his diminutive suggests this man is still a child, yet it also suggests his affection for him. “Here’s the first photo I took of him . . . hit a home run,” Praeger says, handing the photo off to another press officer. He and another press officer flank Ted, who, wholesomely, has a coffee mug in his hand as he stands at the mantel. Three officers at a nearby table listen, and grin at this—but these are mocking grins. “Here’s a touchdown at the Princeton game—a quarterback sneak. Very few people know this,” Praeger announces to all these people, “I suggested the play to the coach.” He smiles, pleased with himself.

Shirl Pinkerton only listens to this, her sideways glance indicates her embarrassment over both Ted and Prager, whose symbiotic relationship is becoming evident—but of the two, Ted clearly is the weaker partner. Praeger continues: “Here’s a pole vault . . . he won that—missed the world’s record by three points.” “Thirty-three points sir,” Ted says, as another camera flashes. He grins modestly—or rather honestly. Yes, we now like this boy. The discomfort at the plane earlier is real. Praeger looks a bit put off by his boy’s honesty but his next words are honest—He shows them a picture of him doing the pole vault and suggests they photograph him “vaulting into a plane . . . any ideas, let’s hear them . . .I know him like my own son.” Calling him “son” draws a troubled look from Ted; as it turns out that is the fulcrum of their relationship. “There’s nothing he can’t do well.” One of the officers to the side remarks “There’s something he can’t do well—fly.” “He’s wearing pilot wings, isn’t he?” demands another. “He’s a pelican with a belly load of fish . . . I mean it. I washed out and they turned me into a bombardier—him, they always found excuses for.” Ted is turned into a bird here and it’s no All-American eagle—it’s a water bird which carries its food in its enormous beak. “The All-American pelican,” they laugh, but quietly, not really wishing to blow the guy’s reputation.

-“a crash landing like that can knock a man apart . . .”

Cut to Operations, where Sandy announces Captain Glen King into the Joe’s office, where he is reviewing reports with Harvey. The tired looking man comes in and Joe gets down to cases, but first asking him if “that little incident bothered him?”—it may have reflected in his interrogation report. “Yours is usually tops with detail—this one today—it’s nothing.” King is snappish: “Well, what do you want to know?” Joe points out that he led the last element over the target and as “tail end charlies” Joe depends on their observation. “It’s all in there sir,” says the heartsick man and when Joe demurs, he demands “Sir, you don’t think I’d slough off a report—for any reason!” Joe grins: “That’s all I wanted to hear—and Harvey has something for you.” He leaves to let Harvey do some rather uncomfortable work but he has some of his own to do in the Officers Club—the press is probably expecting him so they can photograph his welcoming Ted Masters to the 918th. Harvey, without ceremony, hands over a three-day pass with the encouragement—“get off the base—ride a bike . . .” King reacts with immediate suspicion—“is this to get me out of the danger zone?” he demands. Harvey assures him they are standing down for two-three days. “You’re afraid I might cause an incident—louse up that hero’s phony routine—“ Harvey’s lowering eyes admit to some truth in his words and King’s word rachets it up but indicates that it’s not just about him—“You bet I’m sore—it was pretty crummy [there should be a stronger word here for realism] those guys taking pictures around a plane I just lost—if anybody thinks—“ “Come on, Glen,” Harvey gently advises. “Look, I got four guys hurt in that plane—“ “Captain!” Harvey then barks, unwillingly pulling rank. King subsides, apologizing; he must be losing his grip. Harvey assures him that “A crash landing like that can knock a man apart . . . take a rest.”

-“Teddy—don’t talk about the Colonel . . .”

Cut to the Officers Club where Shirl Pinkerton, wisely adjusts the spotlight from Ted—to the mug, the story of which she might already know: “Colonel, there must be a story that goes with the wonderful old Toby.” Gallagher acquiesces; he began learning about press relations in “The Hot Shot”—he tells how the Toby “performs”; face to the wall, there is a mission and the pilots flying it go to bed immediately. Praeger, watching this, motions to his guys that this is a good moment—“Can we have a picture of you and the lieutenant next to the mug?” “Sure,” Gallagher responds, and poses dutifully. Ted Masters, at last, speaks up on his own—and tells the reporters how his older brother played football for the Point. “I used to go to all his games—and my big hero was Joe Gallagher,” he says, lightly clapping Joe on the shoulder, which, as a subordinate, he should not do. “He was a tail back—and he used to come over to the house. . .” [which makes it sound as if Ted grew up near West Point–?]

Praeger is irked. “Teddy—don’t talk about the Colonel,” he says, which has two meanings—a lieutenant should not speak about personal matters with his CO, or, Teddy is turning his spotlight on Joe. It’s probably the latter as he assures the reporters they have Gallagher’s bio on file. “That’s all right Ted,” Joe says graciously. “This is your show, not mine.” But he gets a kind of revenge, if you can call it that—he makes Ted’s status and job on the base clear and known to everybody:  he’s being assigned as Assistant Adjutant—it sounds as if this title were invented—sounds important but duties may be undefined–though heaven knows Harvey needs help, despite Komansky’s contribution. Joe does not linger. “Excuse me,” he says and leaves, reminding me of how Britt on occasion uses his rank to issue ugly orders and then get the hell out of there—such as in “Back to the Drawing Board.” Ted goes after him, but it’s a mere gesture. “Adjutant,” he then murmurs. Praeger wisely directs the reporters to ask about Ted’s future—the present sure stinks—A reporter asks if he plans to play professional football after the war and for once Ted rebels—“I’m not talking about any future plans—I like being on a team and I feel like I am on a great big one right now,” drawing Praeger’s concern and Shirl’s increasing embarrassment for them both. He plunges on, awkwardly : “I just want to do everything I can to help win this war . . .” Ted is also in an awkward place—trying to please his mentor, trying to please the other guys, and trying to make himself heard as well. “I came here to fly, that’s all.” –The last remark is probably no swipe at Gallagher–but he thinks he can fly, he has been trained to fly, so therefore he will fly . . . The table of officers, who have heard this, get up, leave, with one clap of applause. “I mean it, you guys,” he says, burying himself further in their opinion.

-“to see the vulture eat the dying calf . . .”

Shirl comes to his rescue—she wishes to shut him up because she cares about him. Preager leads his boy out, saying they have a date in town with the British press. Ted, hat in hand like a scared little boy, dutifully follows him.  Shirl stays and after a moment goes up to Glen King, slumped on a chair. “Why don’t you leave with your friends?” she asked. “I haven’t finished my beer,” he says wearily, obstinately. She asks about his crew—“they’ll live,” he says. “But they won’t make any headlines . . . Miss Pinkerton, your story just left.” She is firm. “That is Major Praeger’s story—I was told to cover it,” she retorts, evenly and makes an interesting comment that makes her sound like she’s the school marm right off the stagecoach in a wild west town—“I’m new out here.” He tries to apologize—he’s a temporary victim of battle fatigue—“but I had the compulsion to see the vulture [first Ted is a pelican, now he’s a vulture, both big and rather ugly birds] eat the dying calf—or maybe to kill him—doesn’t matter, the determining factor is that he’s already dead.” It’s a disturbing and curious comment, suggesting that Ted is not really alive—and he is akin to a ventriloquist’s dummy, or a marionette on strings. She speaks gently to this hurt and hurting man. “I get the impression that you’re the real article,” this suggesting that Ted is the not-real article. “Buy me a beer sometime?” She leaves, pressing her hand on his shoulder. The hurt subsides a bit to reveal that he appreciates her invitation.

-“What about a baseball game, Major?”

Another flash of light opens the next scene, in the Star and Bottle. Seated at a table, Ted has to put up with the British press members’ rather vapid questions about his athletic skills, including, does he know about cricket? Praeger, showing his ventriloquism skills, immediately chimes in, “Well, baseball is a different game—the way that football is different from soccer. But, as Lt. Masters says,” he finishes, putting his hand on his shoulder, “he’s not here to play games.” “If he understood the game, he might be invited to play in some RAF matches,” says one reporter. An American reporter chimes in: “what about a baseball game, Major?” Shirl Pinkerton has a wince in her eye when she hears his thinking: “a bomber squadron vs. a fighter squadron—something like that—“ Praeger grows excited—so excited about the possibilities that he allows Ted to escape. As Praeger burbles on—“all the GIs play baseball—what are we fighting for if not for hot dogs and baseball?” Free of his leash, Ted finds his own voice, though he misdirects it. With Shirl’s help, he finds a private telephone in the Star and Bottle and actually has the nerve—or the innocence—to call a general no less in SHAEF. As always, he is polite—“Sir–? I’m sorry to call at a time like this—yes sir, Ted Masters—well, I want to ask you about putting me on flying status at the 918^th—I want to fly.” He sounds like a little boy asking for a balloon.

-“if we’re gonna play, we’re gonna win . . .”

This scene is one of most different and delightful scenes in the entire series: Joe and Sandy play baseball!—sort of. Komansky, stripped down to his t-shirt—better revealing a very nice set of shoulders usually hidden by a flight suit and jacket—skillfully catches a ball and equally skillfully throws it back. He and a bunch of other guys are swinging bats and having a degree of fun, on the ground, under a bright blue sky rather than flying through it, preparing to play a baseball game. Komansky catches the ball in his mitt, instructing “Your stride’s too short—“ “Sandy,” Joe suddenly interrupts; reflexively Sandy yells “Hold it!” and stands up and they hold a conversation so unusual it borders on comic. “You think you got a team?” Gallagher asks his coach seriously, but there is a hint of exasperation in his voice. Sandy gives him a report: “Well, Lew Minsk pitched Class C at Visalia—first base and center field are pretty fair—of course, we’ve got the star of all time,” he finishes. Joe looks around to see Ted, wearing his flying jacket with a green bill cap on his head. Team owner Joe issues orders to Coach Sandy: “If we’re gonna play, we’re gonna win . . . so you gotta make ‘em a ball team,” he says, ever so slightly sarcastically . . . but he was a sports player himself once, and he is used to winning. “Sir, by orders of General Owen himself it will be a ball team . . .” Sandy promises a little sarcastically and squats: “Hey Lew, let’s work on your curves.”

Joe walks over to Masters, to work on him—without meaning to, he threw Gallagher a curve, if not a spit ball. Joe is plain though still kind to the new kid. Joe spoke to General Owen last night—and although Owen gave the go-ahead for the game, “he was pretty bothered about getting caught up in your publicity campaign. As a matter of fact, he was pretty angry a second lieutenant phoned him.” Ted’s next words reveal how, though he wants to be a regular guy, he has no idea how protected he’s been, and he has been, with his mentor joining the army to protect him—here he resembles the hapless M/Sgt. Trask in “Between the Lines,” who was stuck in a uniform and without training sent to Washington to work for a general, a family friend. “You made me an assistant adjutant—I don’t know what an assistant does. I’ve never been any good at book work—I’ve got to fly.” Joe becomes very blunt: “You’re assigned to the 918^th and that makes me your reporting officer—you and the major seem to think we’ve staged the war for you two.” He warns him—if either of them ever attempt to go over his head again – Appropriately, Sandy shouts “Heads up!” and Joe easily, with a single hand, catches a ball headed their way. Perhaps this more than anything catches Ted’s attention—his old hero is still capable, and is in charge around here, even down to the baseballs. He gently but bluntly tosses the ball at Ted, who fumbles the catch. “I can shoot you down,” he warns this boy “who has got to fly,” and leaves.

-“if you can wake up the duty sergeant—“

Night at the 918^th, and Joe and Harvey come out of the inner office, with Joe irritably claiming “If we don’t replacement parts by 0700 I’ll be on the phone with Captain Burnham.” They pass by Komansky at the duty desk; he seems bent over in typically serious fashion. . . Gallagher makes use of Masters who, at the Adjutant’s desk, comes to awkward attention—“You’re on duty till midnight? . . . Well, it’s late enough now that the only thing you’ll have to worry about  is the phone—and if something crucial does come up, you can ask the duty sergeant . . .” and seeing that Sandy’s head is bowed in sleep, adds “That is, if you can wake up the duty sergeant,” slamming his hand on the desk. Sandy fumbles awake, and abashed, fumbles his pen over unfinished work. But after all, not only does he carry on three duties—Gallagher’s flight engineer, his aide when required, and frequently duty sergeant—he also has been called on to coach a baseball team into existence; the guy is tired! …The phone rings and he defers to Masters—“Wing Operations sir,” Ted announces, arresting Joe in departure, hopefully to nice pursuits. What Gallagher hears puts those plans on hold—“Tomorrow?—we’re standing down till Wednesday—half my aircraft are stripped for maintenance!”

Sandy listens knowingly and goes into Joe’s office, without a word. Joe hands the phone off to Stovall to get data about the target, and heads back into his office where Sandy is readying the coffeepot—this slightly harks to “Fortress Weisbaden” when Sandy anticipates the need for coffee and delivers two mugs for Joe and for the arriving General Britt. I consider this scene one of those “grace notes” when the two men acknowledge their partnership. Sandy tentatively asks about—baseball. “Ah, sir? Do Lew Minsk and I have to fly tomorrow?” “You bet you will,” says the exasperated colonel; once more taking for granted Sandy’s steady presence. “That’s the pitcher and catcher –you’re busting up a beautiful team.” “Well, the duty roster comes first,” he says and then softens when he senses Komansky’s disappointment and sees the pot being readied for a long night in Operations. He smiles a bit. “No, a fresh pot of coffee does.” Sandy smiles a bit at Joe’s acknowledgement of his work and desires, the latter of which he rarely enunciates. “Yes sir.” On his way out the door, he somewhat collides with Masters; for a moment the two men, who are so similar, are face to face. Masters, still not quite getting protocol and rank, and that he should be behaving like an adult, says “Joe, I want to fly with you.” Joe tells him his duty is to work with Stovall, tonight—which won’t be an easy task to assemble and alert crews and get stripped planes ready; it recalls Stovall’s faintly poignant remark, “No sleep, tonight, huh?” uttered in “Then Came the Mighty Hunter.” Joe then adds, perhaps unnecessarily, but this young man cannot get the idea of orders—“Besides, you’ve got a baseball game tomorrow.”

-“the hero image is important—and you certainly are one . . .” “Well, Komansky—he’s going.” Gallagher tries nicely to bring him around—or maybe he too does not quite understand Ted’s desperation, as childish as it is. “Oh, don’t worry—you’ll have enough guys for a team from this group.” “Well, I am in this group—“ “Technically,” Joe tells him, a bit more pointedly, “you really belong to PRO.” “No, I don’t—“ He hesitates. “I don’t want to.” He pleads with Joe to understand. The guys he played football on the gridiron—in what is essentially a game—“they’re fighting everyday—and I’m sitting on the sidelines.” Joe falters a bit at his heartfelt plea. “You’re doing a job. I can’t say I agree with Praeger’s methods—but the hero image is important and you certainly are one.” Masters pulls back with a slight pout on his face but the sincerity of his request gains Joe’s sympathy. “Look, I don’t like my duties either, right now—I’ve got to get this group ready for a mission in the morning”—does Ted get the idea of how much he help with this?—Stovall enters with details; a raid on the coast; “a milk run they say.” “Good,” Joe says. “Joe, I’m a qualified pilot—“ “That will be all, Lieutenant,” Joe says, once more hauling rank. Masters leaves, immature enough to slam the door. “What’s the deal?” Harvey asks. “Won’t they allow him to fly?” This is Joe’s decision and he gives reasons he didn’t want to give directly to Masters: “I don’t want him to fly.” Joe relates that he has, with typical Gallagher compassion, studied his training record and it confirms what he could see in the boy from the age of eight (I guess when Joe first met him)–“brawn, muscle, great physical coordination—but he never cracked a book. Ten to one, he’s that kind of pilot. I bet he can’t even read a compass.” “We’ve had that kind before.” “Yes, and we’ve lost that kind”—perhaps he remembers the unfortunate Captain Henderson who “fouled up the heading” and devastated on what was described as a milk run (“Storm at Twilight”).

-“hey, Ted, get your stuff—“

Cut to the next morning, with B-17s ascending—with the crews probably envying the boy on the ground watching them ascend, with a look of a kid seeing the last of the circus wagons pulling out of town. Holding his bat and clothing, he watches while others get ready for the ballgame. Behind him, Praeger is getting the show on the road, rounding up the players and finally shouts “Hey Ted, get your stuff.” Ted half-heartedly waves his bat—and then, a bit like Sandy escaping in “Show Me,” he takes command of a Jeep and runs away, leaving his stuff behind. Praeger calls out “Teddy? Teddy, where are you going?”—and finds his bat and clothing, left behind like rubbish.

-“looks like the fighters are leaving” . . . “here comes the flak”

Over the coast, the “milk run” turns sour—Komansky alerts the crew that fighters are “coming in at ten o’clock high” and Gallagher, in a tense voice, tells the bombardier “to make it good.” Komansky once again reports: “Looks like the fighters are leaving,” and Bob Fowler, a moment later, tells them “here comes the flak.”

-“I do apologize . . . “

A little too obviously perhaps, the next scene is a quick cut to a sign “Have you done your part?”—and to the strains of Glenn Miller’s jaunty “American Parade,” we see that King, who is still on his three-day pass, has taken Shirl up on her invitation to “buy her a beer” at the Star and Bottle. Masters comes in and orders a scotch. King and Shirl chat; he complains about the limitations of a three-day pass—it’s only enough time to “sleep, loaf . . .and buy you dinner.” The reporter then interrupts, pointing out the American Praeger has been looking for. They haul him over and the reporter goes to report his presence to Praeger. Ted, as always, is charming—and self-mocking. “I’m not really ready to meet the press,” and admits that he has been in all the bars—the last place that Praeger would look for him. He doesn’t drink in training, and he’s in training all the time—“you fellows drink. You combat pilots drink.” King has calmed down a great deal since the incident. “Well, I don’t want to get into an argument about cause and effect.” Masters goes on to ask him if he remembers that day when they photographed him at his plane. “Yeah, I remember,” says King.

“Captain . . .I do apologize,” Masters says, the booze and Praeger’s absence finally letting him speak freely. King glances at him. “Y’understand?” “Yes I do.” Masters is unsure. “I have been in dress parade until I am half-sick of this uniform.” Shirl takes him in hand, reminding him that he ran out on a baseball game. “I’ve got that all figured out,” he said, mocking Praeger’s media-spinning. “Hitler heard I was coming to bat and offered to surrender . . . but if the war is over—Major Praeger wouldn’t have a hero—but what would he do?” King listens to this; a compassionate man himself he begins to realize how trussed up and helpless Ted is, also perhaps hearing that he truly cares about his mentor and exploiter. Ted’s idyll of self-pity, self-mockery and confession is broken up as a man asks for his autograph—and that the reporter has called his Major Praeger. “No, don’t call the Major,” he says, standing up, taking Shirl’s shoulder to plead with her and shakes her in desperation. Some Tommies don’t like this—British soldiers were already understandably peeved at American officers who came in and stole—and frequently married—their women and his actions tip off a small earthquake—and a sudden swing turns the Star and Bottle pub into an old West saloon. A fight breaks out over the lady roughly handled. As Glen King restrains his friends—probably to keep them out of trouble and not to escalate the fight–Ted Masters gives as good as he gets; bodies go tumbling over the tables, upper-right crosses to the British stiff upper lip; and finally a bottle comes down over the head of Ted Masters. This scene somewhat previews how the Star and Bottle really gets banged up in “The Hunters and the Killers.” Handily, but not unexpectedly, a member of the press is there with his camera, and a shot immortalizes in celluloid, Ted Masters, literally the “face on the barroom floor.”

-“I don’t understand why he would do this . . .to me!”

After a bad day in the sky, Joe has a bad night in his office with Praeger, Pinkerton, and King—they have swiftly developed the picture taken of Ted on the floor of the Star and Bottle. Praeger is typically tiresome—“I don’t understand why he would do this . . .to me!” The question seems selfish but his following word reveal his hold on Ted as well as his devotion for him—though at this time his devotion seems like a vulture feeding on a dying calf. “I found this kid in high school—for eight years I worked with him like a father—“ This earns some wry glances, but there is truth in the man’s words. “I kept him out of trouble—got him scholarships—I don’t even have to be here!—I could have kept out of the service—to do a thing like this . . .”

Gallagher intervenes in the man’s complaints. “It’s not as bad as it seems—Miss Pinkerton, are you sure you killed the story?” She explains how they are in such hasty possession of the photograph—she bought the camera. “But I’m not sure of the story—it may get printed.” “Did they see how drunk he was?” Praeger demands. King comes to his defense: “He wasn’t that drunk.” Preager unwisely turns on the man best able to help him and Ted. “You did this,” he tells Gallagher but his words reveal he has not been blind to Ted’s experiences. “Your men ridiculed us—laughing at him.” This earns Joe’s rightful anger—though he probably hears some truth in it as well. “You’re holding me responsible?—Major, let me tell you I’ve lost four planes today and forty men—they all died fighting—if they were laughing then you tell me what to blame them for!” (Forty men strikes me a little excessive; it could have been ten men and the point be made.) Shirl intercedes—she defends Ted whom she has gotten to know. “He’s not just cardboard—which may be a little hard to see through the fog.” King once more says he was not drunk—“He wasn’t sober enough to lie to us either. We found out—“

“You found out his gung-ho blarney is real,” Joe snaps, and his next words enunciates Ted’s whole tortuous relationship with his mentor and Ted’s lack of self-identity and his child-like fumbling to be what he is projected to be and what he could be: “He’s trying to prove that he’s the kind of man this man is trying to make him out to be.“ Again, Ted’s life here parallels Komansky’s seeking of self-identity in “Show Me a Hero,” a search wretchedly complicated by Susan Nesbit defining him as a hero and Sandy trying to please her by trying to accept this definition while being terrified of it. Still angry—at Praeger, at the stupid situation, and perhaps at himself as well, Joe tells King to go to Ted’s quarters and when he’s cleaned up, “send him to me—now this group is on alert and I’m busy!—now go—all of you.” They do, with Praeger casting a worried and wistful look at the aggravated colonel.

-“easy now—she’ll fly when she’s ready”

Act III–the next day, a single B-17 is ready to take off—with Gallagher in right and Ted in left seat. Far from keelhauling him, Gallagher instead is giving him a chance to fly. Ted’s “tantrum” if you can call it that drew both unwanted and wanted attention to his plight and as Gallagher gave some special attention to Komansky’s idiotically desperate behavior in “Show Me,” here he gives Ted similar special attention. Typically, the young man sincerely appreciates this but, as always, will misread it–as being given permission to fly combat. “Easy now,” Joe cautions the young man as the B-17 rolls—“she’ll fly when she’s ready”—good advice that, which Ted should heed for the plane and for himself. In the air, Ted comes out of a stall maneuver sloppily, “but at least you recovered . . .and now let’s fly straight and level for a while,” Joe says. Ted apologizes for being “rusty” and Joe, not hammering him, asks “what’s your course, approximately?” “Uh . . . 320,” he finally says. Joe tells him to check it. “Uh, I was a little off,” he admits. The look in Joe’s eyes of “Oh, brother,” is priceless. Ted is proving to be everything that Joe suspected about his flying.

He then asks, “Ted, do you think you can find the field?” He looks around. “Gosh, I think so,” he says, showing how terribly young and protected he has been. They turn and start for home and Ted asks, openly, “Why did you decide to do this, Joe?” Kindly, Joe says, “Look, I don’t want to break a childhood habit [good choice of words!] but do you think you can call me sir till the end of the war?” Joe is not insisting on military protocol as much as he trying to protect this young man from being considered the Colonel’s pet. Ted grins: “Yes Joe, I mean, sir.” Joe explains his actions and they are a mix of kindness and pragmatism—he doesn’t want Ted—or his family, or the 918^th to take the rap for what happened—“and if it does get into print, a few combat missions should erase it.” “I don’t know how to thank you, sir.” “Just grow up—I know there’s a good man in there,” Joe says, which also recalls his handling of Komansky—he recognized that there were good things behind the walls Sandy had built around himself—but Komansky still did not have a forceful ventriloquist to deal with, whose efforts to protect Ted have weakened him, and his love for Ted emotionally blackmails him. “Quit letting Praeger speak and think for you,” Joe instructs.

But his student already knows this which makes this one of the more complex relationships explored on this series. He’s not blind to Praeger who, in a way, is both the knight on horseback and the dragon. Ted speaks feelingly of the man, who knew his father, and saw him play before his father died—“he was alone,” Ted says, “He thought I needed him to take Dad’s place—and that I’ve done it all for him—I’ve all he’s got—what would it do to him if I shut him up?” The expression on Joe’s face is poignant and puzzled—he knows that Ted has greater understanding about himself and his situation that he thought possible– and perhaps he thinks of his own occasionally strained relationship with his own dad, the charming but forceful Maxwell Gallagher.

-“he’s a little rusty . . . but he’ll make it”

Back at the 918^th’s Officer Club—perhaps Ted has started to “shut him up” because a subdued Praeger speaks with combat personnel, which includes King. “He checks out . . .he’s a little rusty . . . but he’ll make it. The Colonel took him up today . . . he’s rough.” Harvey passes by them, en route to the Toby Mug. This gets Praeger’s worried attention—a mission, on which his boy will fly. “Big one for the morning boys,” Harvey says, and leaves. King and the two guys finish their drinks and leaves, leaving Praeger alone—this is underscored by his viewing of the Toby, with its faced turned from him. “The kid always comes through,” he says to himself.

-“it’ll be easy today   . . . I may really need you today . . .”

The next morning, the men arrive in Jeeps and other vehicles and start sorting into their planes. King authoritatively signs off on the crew chief’s documents, and looks up at Ted arrives. “I thought you were on a three day pass.” “This puts me closer to rotation,” King gives in excuse—”besides, it’ll be easy today.” These last words prove very wrong, and his next words prove very right: “You have a special assignment—I may really need you today.” King may have volunteered to take Ted along because, after a glimpse into the guy’s true nature, he wants to see the him succeed on his own abilities, not just Praeger’s word-spin.. Too late for Ted to escape, Praeger comes up with two photographers—as it turns out, his motives are not what they seem. He gets his photos as Ted prepares to “vault” into a B-17—“Come on, out of the shadows,” he says and Ted, embarrassed, turns around and flashes his grin. “Get it, get it,” says Praeger. Ted goes to the flightdeck—and finds the co-pilot already in the right seat—which means, he did not read the bulletin board–typical–just assumed . . . King shows him to his station—“it’s going to be a long mission and you’re on as alternative to the co-pilot.” “Alternative?!”—that’s as bad as “assistant adjutant.” Ted is also detailed to assist with—what else in this episode about the media?—photographing the bombed targets, the responsibility of tail-end charlies. “Unless I call you forward you stay here and supervise—make sure the guy is doing it right.” Ted, for all his progress—what else?—he bolts, as he bolted the baseball game.

-“I’m not getting on that plane—“ The next scene mirrors all the contrary qualities of war, duty, love, hate, courage, obligations—doing what’s right. “Another publicity stunt is it?” Ted  demands of Praeger as he at last tries to sever the strings his mentor has him on. “Work up a little combat time for the kid, huh?” King has followed him, almost becoming like Praeger—he warns him that if he refuses an assignment, they will have him up on charges. He yanks on him and Ted lashes out—knocking down the first friend he has on the base. He immediately kneels, apologizing. “Forget it, All-American,” King snaps as photographers move in on this, like sharks to blood. Praeger also moves in, telling his boy “to get on that plane.” Ted decides to become his own man at the worst possible moment—“No—it was always for you and that lousy hero campaign—I’m beginning to see that now—I’m not getting on that plane—“ Praeger decides to become honest about Ted’s limitations—“Didn’t you hear what he said?—he said you weren’t good enough!”—to open Ted’s eyes and make him accept his assignment as disappointing as it is. “He checked me out himself!” Ted protests–he’s been so good so long at what he is good at—that it did not occur to him that his lousy flying would not be good enough. Praeger has never been dishonest, just pushy and meddling—but now his honesty comes forth in anger and fear: “That’s why he made you an alternate—you didn’t measure up!—don’t you know, kid, they’re really shooting at you up there? This may be the last time I see you!”

Finally, Ted, despite the fact that he has been honest and clearsighted about many things in his life—and though he disliked how he was packaged as a hero by Preager, he never acknowledged all the information that was telling him he is not good enough. In shock, he stares at Praeger who is pleading him with him to go—to know who he is—and to believe what he says—“You think I’m gonna make a gimmick out of that—the whole reason I’m here—“ In other words, he used his press cachet to make one last visit to Ted. To make his point, Preager seizes and smashes a camera, a melodramatic gesture heaven knows, but a meaningful one (which also destroys a picture of King flat on the tarmac, made that way by Ted). With both men finally admitting to themselves what they have done—for each other—and what they must do—for themselves and for the war–Ted makes a run for the departing B-17, and gets on board, just in time, and humbly submits to orders.

-“ . . . I want good pictures”

Act IV takes up with stirring music seeming to further elevate the B-17s in their run to an undisclosed target. Joe, in his role of mission control, in his P-51, with Sandy partnering with Bob Fowler, whom he claps on the arm before getting into his turret.  In King’s plane, Ted Masters stands by in the radio room, alert and seeming accepting of his work . . . King radios his crew. “We’re on the bomb run now . . .get the camera ready, I want good pictures.” Here photography is being used for accuracy of information, not for manipulation . . .does Ted realize this? –and although the climax is exciting—and Ted redeems himself and yes, there is a great deal of redemption on his part to perform as well as a great proving himself to be a member of the team—there is a formulaic feel to this ending, and it also recalls Joe’s airborne assistance to Captain Pridie in “A Distant Cry,” two episodes earlier. However, 12OCH always demands a dramatic climax and this is certainly dramatic. Gallagher arrives in his snappy P-51 for mission control and Sandy sends out the alert—“Here comes Gallagher, 1:00 high—“ Gallagher, observing the beautifully arranged formation below, then sees fighters approaching and announces, “little brothers . . .go get ‘em.” The formation flies on, bedeviled by Nazi fighters; the target is approached and Joe observes a fighter heading right for King’s tail-end plane, a vulnerable position. Of course . . .all hell breaks loose; the radio room is lanced with fire, knocking out the operator and the camera-operator. Ted, startled as hell, hangs on—but his face is shocked, as he probably recalls Praeger’s words—“they’re really shooting at you up there!” However, he responds to King’s demand for report. Things grow worse—Gallagher creates a weakness as he is “right behind the fighter”—the waist gunners hold their fire and they are taken out as well. King, after bombs away, orders Ted to “get those pictures”—then they head into the flak; one burst takes out the co-pilot in a hail of plexiglass. Ted, on task, tells King “level off—I can’t get those pictures.” Then, the bombardier is struck too; and King, with a startled expression, pulls his hand to see it covered with blood.

-“863—I’ll stay with you until you get in”

With Ted’s report that he got the pictures, King finally gives into his pain and slumps; the pain begins to lose control and Ted hustles up to the flightdeck—without a moment’s hesitation, he puts on the headset and intercepts Joe’s orders to “get your nose up”—after Ted takes care of this Ted learns who this pilot is and fear crosses his face—but firmly radios “Roger 863—I’ll stay with you until you get in.” Tense bursts of music bring in the plane, with Shirl and Praeger watching from the ground; Bob and Harvey watch from the tower and Sandy, alone, observes with fear on his face. Considering the punishment the plane has taken from both flak and fighters, the landing is further complicated by inoperative wheels. Ted tries to land and then must pull up; his plane circles the field again and Masters has to bring the plane in for a bellylanding, a horrible task even for experienced pilots; Joe’s face is mangled with effort when he belly lands in “Between the Lines.” The episode ends largely as it begins, with a burning corpse of a plane, and the unwounded desperately helping the helpless. Ted, still in the flightdeck seems frozen, but he comes to with the sound of a siren and being a team-member, he starts helping with the wounded, bringing them out to Praeger and Gallagher; one man is on fire as he Masters gets him out, yelling, “Help me!” Gallagher then helps with King. . . and Masters goes back in one more time . . . for the camera. He pitches it out and now it’s Komansky’s turn to help, and he drags the burned man out—and they fling themselves on the ground just as the riddled plane completes its death throes. It may kind of emblematic scene—Ted has escaped this death as he is finally beginning to escape another kind of death sentence of publicity and media-spin; both Ted Masters—the manufactured and the real will live, though he has to literally “pass through the fire” to do it.

-“I don’t know which is which”

The Epilogue, unsurprisingly, takes place in the base hospital—where a nurse escorts the injured Joe and Praeger into a room where two bandaged up men lie in bed flanking a door: King and Masters. Now “twins” rather than foils, they provoke Gallagher’s comment, “I don’t know which is which.” “Ted?” Praeger asks. A hand raises—“I confess”—but cautions them that King is still asleep. Ted looks a little too neatly bandaged; the best parts of his face are still intact—oh well . . . we learn that Ted has third-degree burns and that he will be all right in a week or two—and that Joe, along the lines of Cpl. Steve Corbett in “Then Came the Mighty Hunter,” is submitting him for the highest possible decoration. Ted doesn’t seem to care, instead considers Joe’s own wound—“Third degree burns, right Joe?” “I thought you were going to call me sir,” Joe reminds him, but kindly. Joe is not being ungrateful; he is treating Masters like a soldier as Masters wants to be. “Is it over for me sir?” Ted asks and acknowledges that “I’m a lousy pilot.” “Well, that landing of yours was kind of mediocre,” Joe says, “and we have many pilots who could have done better—but we don’t have too many All-Americans.” Ted, of course, takes some hope from this—“If you mean I’m not out of it, Joe, sir—“ “No, you’re still Assistant Adjutant,” Joe says, firmly. Like Steve Corbett, he still has no place in battle. He softens his words by reminding him of who he is—he is truly an All-American, there’s no denying that—“when that right hand heals, I want to get your autograph.”

“The Pariah”

Writer: Robert C. Dennis

Director: Joseph Leytes

The title evokes a theme in many 12OCH episodes—loneliness, singularity, isolation—“Loneliest Place in the World,” “I Am the Enemy,” “Sole Survivor,” “The Outsider,” and “A Distant Cry.” In this case, our young pariah is not merely lonely, he is an outcast—from his own country, family, and heritage and in the last hours of his life, an outcast from the crew of the Piccadilly Lily. Like some outcasts, who are exiled to cleanse the community, our pariah does indeed seek to cleanse his country, and his family, and his own contested name . . . by his knowledge which he gives to the Allies and finally by his death. In the rich tapestry of 12OCH, this character and the episode emerges and merges with other episodes and themes. Of course, redemption is a strong theme as Heinrich seeks to redeem his and his father’s disgrace. Most notably, of course, “Sgt. Heinrich Schultz”/ Heinz Reiniger,” played by Robert Walker Jr. In this role he recalls his earlier creation of Kurt Weigand, in “Underground,” who was a dedicated a young man and a dual identity as well; however, Kurt was two-faced whereas young Reiniger, despite two identities, is resolutely loyal to the Allies, though not for “patriotic” reasons. He is a patriot in his own way—driven by logic, as opposed to facts which charts their course to Stettin, and charts his own course to death. Other episodes recalled: in “Siren Voices,” we view German Army officers as honorable individuals who seek to maintain their humanity as well as their duty. “Between the Lines” is recalled as the Piccadilly Lily is forced down in a warzone, this time on the German side, rapidly being pushed back. Of course, there is “I Am the Enemy,” in their portraits of Germans who escape the Reich to crusade against it, and seem to pay for their escape by unhappiness and loneliness.

Entertainingly, Sandy Komansky regresses; he and Gallagher’s last really snappish time together was in “Between the Lines”—in “Fortress Weisbaden” Sandy’s frequent objections  enunciate Gallagher’s own pricks of conscience as they deal with the moral relativity of Commando thought and logic. In this episode Sandy’s early unfortunate clash with Reiniger gets him into some of the old hot water he has been largely swimming clear of. This feature of the continuing story of 12OCH clarifies a sticky situation for episodic television—keeping abrasive characters interesting while maintaining audience sympathy. Komansky was created as a character who was to grow and change under Gallagher’s mentoring, and he does . . . but at times at the expense of what made his character interesting to begin with!—yet, if he did not grow, he would become static and stereotyped. This same issue can be seen in two successful examples: Margaret Houlihan in MASH, and Ted Baxter the anchorman in “Mary Tyler Moore.” They also grew without losing their characters completely. We see this process playing out in Sandy’s unfortunate first meeting with Reiniger; his rejected attempts to apologize, his fear-fueled suspicions of him in the German emplacement, and his sorrow-clenched face over his grave at the end.

-“hey, meathead, if you want to get killed, join the war!”

Teaser begins fast—a siren alerts the Cambridge countryside to a marauding German plane, and startles the driver of a Jeep to stop along the country lane. Sandy climbs out to look. His date looks out, and her first line is an interesting one—“do you see him, Sandy?”—seeming to preview Sandy’s and others’ refusals and attempts to “see” Sgt. Schultz in the correct light, in the correct way—yet Reiniger is not faultless in how others regard him; he is in disguise. Her words take on a new degree of meaning after Sandy flippantly dismisses the plane as “some weather scout, thinking he’s over Norway.” As the plane goes on its way, Sandy gets back into the Jeep, his date—did he refer to this girl in “Massacre”? (“we all had dates . . .) deliberately reclaims his attention. Young, pretty and blond, she is refreshingly uncomplicated unlike Sandy’s difficult encounters with the opposite sex (Helene Conboy, the Danzig Lady. and Susan Nesbit), and they’re enamored with each other enough to engage in a smooch while Sandy is driving—but he’s smart and lucky enough to keep his eyes almost on the road– as they are about to run down a figure in the road—a young soldier who evocatively has his back to the oncoming Jeep.

Sandy violently brakes, and the young man, without turning a hair, faces them. Startled, Sandy shouts at this rigid face: “Hey, meathead, if you want to get killed, join the war!” He does not take offense. “I am trying to find the 918^th bomb group  . . . direct me please.” His accent is noticeable, his rigid manner suspicious, and the plane has just gone overhead  . . . Sandy’s nameless date is still startled and she recoils in her seat, but they have the right to be fearful—the guy must have some kind of death wish, walking alone on a dark road with an undisguised accent. “A German,” she says. Sandy pats her leg in comfort and climbs out. In a friendly voice, he offers to take the young man to the 918^th.  The young man says “That will not be required”—which we later realize is his pariah status directing his words and actions. He is coldly logical—and seems to lack imagination which Sandy has. He distracts the young man’s attention by remarking he has a flat tire–“it was feeling mushy”—and then punches the young man (the first punch he has thrown since “Between the Lines.”) The young man is knocked down and sprawls on the ground . . .Sandy, for all his intelligence, has been foolish, and had jumped to conclusions…he should have realized that Reiniger’s accent indicated he had nothing to hide….

-“their best job of camouflage . . .”

Cut to Operations, where Sandy pulls up, minus one date, and now plus one POW . . . in his office, Joe confers with his lead pilots about their target on the map: “Stettin.” It’s a long trip there (apparently, flying there and back would have consumed over twelve hours) and so far east “matter of fact . . .you’d think it would be a Russian target . . .now this is going to be the third American try”—again the Reiniger Engine Works which the Germans have saved by “their best job of camouflage.” Hm—dark lanes, turned backs, camouflage—it all leads into a story of disguised identities, and the wrenching effects of losing your identity. Reiniger—“Sgt. Schultz”—has lost his, gained another, then must reclaim his original for the sake of others—but is finally truly identified by Gallagher in the closing moments as an “American airman.” Gallagher is confident about their mission: “We have something very special going for us this time,” just as a knock comes on the frequently knocked upon door to his office.

Sandy comes in and before the scene is over his identity of an alert young sergeant has changed to one of his recurring identities—“the hapless soul” which he will repeat in “To Seek and Destroy,” and in spades in “Long Time Dead.” To Gallagher’s somewhat snappish demand, Sandy reports that “he thinks” that the Jerry raider parachuted a saboteur—“I found him on the road—I got him outside.” Escorted by an MP, the young man, with uniform rumpled and with downcast eyes comes in, looking as though he is accepting his lot. Sandy, probably pretty pleased with himself, says that he has a GI uniform on, but “wait till you hear his southern drawl—sound off, Jerry,” one of many epithets he directs to the young man. The young man steps forward like a Prussian: “Sir—Sgt. Heinrich Schultz reporting for duty.”

–“you are to tell me who you really are . . .”

Gallagher’s face is surprised—but he turns away . . . “MP, you’re dismissed,” he directs and then gets down to cases. “Gentlemen, that something special I just mentioned . . . Sgt. Schultz—G2. Sgt. Schultz knows the Reiniger Engine Works. He’s volunteered to go with us and pick out the target . . . untie him, Sergeant.” Joe and Sandy’s relationship gets a little strained in this episode, and is indicated by Joe frequently calling him by rank, rather than the more familiar first name. Sandy does his bidding as the officers leave. “Sergeant . . . you’re dismissed until later,” Joe says. Sandy’s face reveals that he’s back in hot water again—“Yes sir,” he whispers, resignedly, and leaves, but you figure that Joe Gallagher is fair and compassionate enough to chide Sandy about his actions, but he could not fault his attention to security–but would such a humiliating introduction to his new CO and others ruin his cooperation?  Also, Sandy, as “crew coordinator” he needs to know about this most remarkable addition to Piccadilly Lilly. Joe takes the measure of the situation, and reads Schultz’s orders. “You are to tell me who you really are,” he tells him, the words reinforcing the episode’s theme of finding or refinding identity. “Yes sir,” he says, nailing Joe’s questioning eyes with his own. “Sergeant Schultz.” Then he announces “Heinz Reiniger.” The “six bongs” come over his face, concealing it, seeming to underscore his helpless and defiant concealing and claiming his identity—the scion of the works he is helping to destroy.

-“Skipper, is it true that Komansky is going to transfer out?”

Act I is a tense, suspenseful quarter hour which takes place almost entirely in the sky, featuring one of the best-edited aerial sequences in the series as the 918^th undertakes a lengthy journey to Stettin—from which it nearly does not make it back. The act starts off with the planes formed and ready for their journey, with Gallagher advising them to “keep it closed up and maintain radio silence.” With affairs finally underway, on the flightdeck, Joe and his co-pilot Bob Fowler are in charge with Sandy in between.

Bob Fowler then twinkles a bit. “Skipper . . .is it true that Komansky is going to transfer out?” Sandy reacts to this teasing, though not as he once would have. “I don’t know—I heard something that he’s going to join Counter-Intelligence,” says Joe. Komansky looks at the two officers; Bob has the slightest of smile on his lips. Sandy’s not only learned to have a sense of humor about himself, he’s also learned to fight back in other ways, and he does now–requesting the colonel’s permission “for the gunners to clear their guns.” “Granted, Sergeant,” Joe says, probably knowingly, and Sandy announces “This is your aerial engineer, friends. . . clear your throats.” They do;  the resulting blast seems to be Sandy’s version of the old Bronx cheer.

“Sirs,” he says, and leaves. Joe and Bob grin at each other; Joe probably takes some pleasure in his mentee being able to withstand some teasing, and reply in kind. Joe and Sandy’s  friendship will be tested in the next twenty four hours, which always forms an involving counterpart with the “action story.” The gun-clearing allows us to meet the rest of the crew: the waist-gunners, the bombardier, the navigator—and their eleventh member, Sgt. Schultz, fully dedicated to his work. They duly report in but Bob demands—“Co-pilot to nose—anybody on interphone down there?” “Wake up down there!” Joe demands. The bombardier comes on, saying that the navigator is in a huddle with Sgt. Schultz, and “they’re not plugged in.” Joe doesn’t like this and sends Komansky down.

-“He’s a member of this team . . .”

Sandy arrives in the nose; and he gets a noseful from Schultz. Sandy is apologetically polite, saying “you don’t seem to be plugged in.” “The station is out of order,” Schultz responds. “I’ll fix it for you,” Sandy offers; “I’ll fix it sergeant,” he says patiently, with a trace of irritation. Sandy gets down to a plain old apology. “Look, I’m sorry things started out so bad,” which Schultz refuses to accept, or at least does not acknowledge; maybe apologies don’t fit into his intensely logical world—however, considering the pain that we eventually learn that this young man has passed through, perhaps logic alone has saved him from suicide or soul-destroying grief to pragmatically offer his services and his family history to the “enemy.”

Sandy leaves in a huff—and with hurt feelings, which his voice just betrays: “The Kaiser says he’ll fix it himself,” he announces to Joe and Bob. He turns, and Joe barks him back: “Whose interphone station?” “I said, the ‘Kaiser,’” Sandy admits. “Don’t carry the kidding too far,” Joe warns, telling him he is considering Sandy’s words as just that. “Sir, I’m not sure if I’m kidding,” Sandy tells him. “He’s a member of this team—he has a better reason than most of us for being here—besides, Sergeant, I depend on you to keep this team coordinated—any questions?” “No sir,” Sandy comes close to snapping.

-“To many Germans . . . logic is more dependable than facts.”

As the mission continues (there are some particularly lovely film clips in this sequence), the waist gunners keep an eye on the skies; in the nose, Schultz fixes the interphone and reports. He then efficiently corrects the navigator’s course, and when he protests, Schultz says, as befits the officer he once was, “you will do it sir. Or else at Muhlendorf you will encounter heavy flak.” “That just a guess, sergeant?” asks the navigator. This guy is swiftly making himself even more unpopular, but that popularity is not part of his logic. On the ground, German army personnel observe the planes and alert authorities. Flak spews up and Bob remarks “Now we know there is a flak field at Muhlendorf.” In the plane, the navigator and bombardier tells Schultz that he has flown them into a trap, there’s never been flak here. Schultz points out flak emplacements have been moved here—“It is not logical to let us pass again.” “So . . . it was a guess then?” “To many Germans . . .logic is more dependable than facts.”

In the waist, the gunners are pleased—“Just like cruising down a river,” remarks Bellingham. “No flak, no fighters.” The left waist gunner, Hornig, is less sanguine. “Sixteen missions—I’ve never been on one in which something doesn’t happen.” The two men, who don’t seem to be the brightest of bulbs, trade ideas over who Schultz is—apt talk for this episode–and try to figure him out–“Maybe this Schultz is a lucky charm.” “I figure he knows too much.” “Or he’s a genius.” They can’t agree if he has flown them out of a trap or into a trap—it soon seems to be the latter, though flak is the origin of their forced landing behind German lines. “Yeah. . .you know what would happen to me if I showed up in Germany in a German uniform?” Hornig demands. “Blooey—right between the eyes.” “If you ain’t a pessimist! Think he’s a spy? Why would he be one?” “That’s your trouble, Bellingham—you don’t understand the Kraut mentality. I tell you buddy—this is weird. I’ve got a premonition.” Hornig is thus in contrast to Schultz, whose logic is laid against Hornig’s premonition. Turns out, they’re both right.

-“the problem is . . . we’re alone”

He’s right, or seems to be—on the ground, fighters ascend—and on the flightdeck of Piccadilly Lily, Bob points out their target. Joe radios the men “to look alive—five minutes from the target—things are going to get hot—“ Schultz calmly responds to Joe’s warning. As Joe has predicted, things grow hot, and the fighters jump the 918^th.  In the nose, Schultz remains determined, and spots a small cluster of houses—“aim at the houses.” “Are you sure?” demands the navigator, not wanting civilian blood on his hands. “Do as I say!” The flak spews up again, drawing the fighters away. Thirty seconds before the drop, flak strikes the Piccadilly Lily; #2 engine (it always seems to be that one!) is struck but it turns out to be fuel tank. Joe maintains his calm and tells the crew to hold on—“it’s going to be a lot hotter down there in about 15 seconds.” “She’s runnin’ smooth,” Bob reports. “It’s got to be just the tank,” reports Sandy. With “bombs away,” Joe takes the plane down, asking his flight engineer about its status—a ruptured fuel line, Sandy confirms. To Joe’s optimistic report on the plane, Sandy responds “That’s fine sir—but the problem is . . . we’re alone.” The Piccadilly Lily has now also assumed the role of a pariah . . . as isolated as Schultz. Joe makes his report to the crew, noting that they are six hours from England—and have only three hours worth of fuel—their best chance is to land in some friendly cornfield—“Navigator, steer us to the Russian front.” Schultz recommends they fly to Sweden—“it is closer.” “That’s neutral,” observes Sandy—which means that if they were to land, they would be detained—although detention would be brutal because Sweden was neutral because the Nazis ordered/allowed it to be so. “It’s better than a POW camp,” says Schultz. “Or the Bolsheviks”—his German accent would make him a target to them as well; the Russians had enormous score to settle with any German, American flight jacket or no. All they need, Joe points out, is to plug up the line and get some fuel—and orders they navigate to the Russian front.

-“it does not matter sir—they’re German”

Then begins a tense, well-edited if not beautiful sequence as they continue their flight for three more hours and finally the navigator notes they “are just east of Ostra” and finally, spotting an airstrip, notes “there’s activity down there”—they need to find Russian forces for help. “That can’t be part of Russian lines,” says Bob, who then adds they have about three minutes of fuel left. “Okay, this is where we place our bet,” Joe says, evoking the old theme of gambling. Sandy gets the crew into crash position. Their descent is observed by three men—and by a line of Russian soldiers and an officer; fire is held. Then comes a nail-biting descent as Joe and Bob both baby and demand Piccadilly Lily get them to the ground safely . . . and they bring their lady to a rough landing. The crew deplanes quickly and they see a vehicle approaching them—“Speak Russian?” Joe asks Schultz. “It does not matter sir,” Schultz says crisply. “They’re German.” Joe snaps at the bombardier to destroy the Norden bombsite. The man scrambles into the plane just as the German soldiers arrive. Four gunshots, delivered by Lawson, destroys the device—and one well aimed shot through the nose, destroys Lawson. His murder rouses Joe into a rare show of rage—which he is ordered to control and he, and all his men are ordered to put their hands behind their heads by a SS officer, on whom Joe will have a kind of revenge.

-“it shouldn’t be hard to bust out” . . . “that would be foolish”

Act II, in vivid contrast with Act I takes place largely within dingy, dirty confines, with the sound of ground artillery all about. It reminds me of a play, with action confined to cramped sets, and with the muddle of feelings rising and twisting providing emotional rather than physical action—consider the famous play, “12 Angry Men” in a general comparison. As the act opens, the German encampment, not far from the Russian line, is under bombardment and weary soldiers, on their way to the rear, trek through; a dirty Nazi flag hangs limply on the battered buildings. Out in the field, two soldiers detailed to guard Piccadilly Lily, suddenly fling themselves to the ground as an artillery shell bursts near. She waits like a patient mother bird.

Two guards stand gingerly before a wooden door in a wooden building; within, a reclining Bellingham, who is rolling a cigarette, asks “what’s that SS officer’s name?” “Bruner,” Sandy responds, accepting the cigarette—then notably not lighting it!—this is his second brush with cigarettes; the first was in “We’re Not Coming Back,” when he offers Yellich his cigarettes and gifts him with his Zippo lighter; his last is in the last episode, where he and Seaman Sorenson have some “funny business” with the lighting of each other’s cigarettes. However, he never smokes—it seems that Joe is smoking less in Season III as well; in “Face of a Shadow” he does not light up once; same thing in this episode.)

“That’s one name I won’t forget,” Bellingham says; suggesting he and Sandy have been interrogated by the man already. Despite being imprisoned, the men seem fine; they are apprehensive but not hurt. Joe, Bob Fowler (who has his largest role to date in 12OCH) and Sandy are trying to determine their situation—which is in their favor: with the Russians moving toward them, “they may be too busy to be worried about us.” To the left, away from the other men, Schultz sits isolated on a crate. “Colonel, it shouldn’t prove hard to bust out of this shed,” Sandy observes—and he’s right, the wooden structure is at best flimsy. “I assure you, that would be foolish,” Schultz observes, as ever precise and curt. “And I assure you, I don’t want your chicken opinion,” Komansky retorts.

“Be quiet Sandy,” Gallagher tells him in way of a warning shot. “Look, I’m just trying to –“ “Knock it off, Sandy!” Gallagher shouts, trying to close Komansky’s mouth, which he has closed a great deal in recent months. Like everybody else, Gallagher’s nerves are taut and despite his efforts to keep his men’s heads cool, he too contributes to the in-fighting. Into this brew of emotions come two German guards who, in contrast, politely request “Gallagher—Oberst Gallagher?” Gallagher gets up determinedly and puts a hand on Schultz’s shoulder. “Name, rank, and serial number—that’s all you have to say.” He leaves, his crewmembers peering after him. With Gallagher gone, Bob Fowler may feel more free to speak his concerns. He looks at the young German, whose face is quiet but clenched. “Sergeant—this Schultz is just a cover story, isn’t it?” Joining his gaze is three other crewmembers’. “I am an American soldier—that is a fact.” Yes, it is a fact—and he will defend it as a fact in the time to come. “Don’t they like logic better than facts?” Hornig asks.

“That accent,” Sandy says. “That’s a fact.” He is pointing this out, not accusingly. “They’ll sure peg you for a German—will your cover story hold up?” In answer, Reiniger pulls out a fact—his dog tags which will figure later on in the story. “My name is Schultz. I was born in St. Louey.” Sandy knows the man is in trouble. “Hey Bellingham—you’re from St. Louis.” “’St. Louis,’ Sarge,” Bellingham says. The other gunner ramps up the tension. “They find out he’s a Kraut—they’ll probably take it out on all of us.” Schultz looks down at this statement, probably hearing both fact and logic in his statement.

-“the Colonel is not required to answer . . .”

The base camp’s dingy office, a Wermacht officer, a Colonel Gerlach, administers business calmly and looks up at Major Bruner, his arm definitely marked with a swastika, brings Gallagher in and introduces him. Bruner is well played by Albert Salmi, an excellent character actor who, because of his disturbing face and bulk, frequently played heavies. Gallagher, who at least knows that time in on side, is courteous as well, and politely refuses Gerlach’s offer to sit down. Gerlach seems a little eager to make it known that Bruner is serving under him, but expeditiously—“he’s an intelligence officer, not on my staff, but we were thrown together here.” Bruner cuts in—they received a message from our Danzig Air Defense Command—American B-17s bombed Stettin—were you one of them?” Gallagher’s answer harks back to issues defending Lt. Col. Christie in “Grant Me No Favor”—he will say “what is right and true.” His answer is both right and true—just not complete. “I was just trying to reach the Russian lines.” “A few more miles and you might have made it.” Artillery fire brings Joe’s eyes up—“or perhaps another hour.” When Bruner demands to know about Stettin,” Joe merely says, “Read the morning papers.”

Bruner knows the score and lays down some facts: after two unsuccessful strikes at the Reiniger Engine Works, “how did you succeed?”

Gallagher simply looks away.

“HOW, COLONEL?”

“Thank you Major,” says Gerlach. “The Colonel is not required to answer.” He sends Bruner on his way who apes a “Heil Hitler” salute to the Wermacht officer—perhaps reminding him that German officers, after the attempted assassination of Hitler at Rastenburg (referred to  in “Practice to Deceive”). were barred from saluting. With Bruner gone, Gallagher, recognizing that Gerlach has good qualities, makes some requests—he wants a guarantee from Gerlach—because “this is not the usual POW situation—and I don’t trust your SS Major,” earning an unsurprised glance from Gerlach. As I have read, SS and Wermacht officers were almost traditional enemies as they saw each other infringing on their powers—and many Wermacht officers were appalled at the SS actions and even dared to protest–though perhaps not as much as they claimed to, after the war, to whitewash their reputations.  “You seem to be trying to reverse our positions,” observes Gerlach. Joe is truly honest: “No, I’m worried about my men, is all”—though he does not enunciate a particular source of his worry. Gerlach observes that he is aware of the Geneva Convention, etc.—which defined the rights of POWs, which the German to a degree, did follow. “I certainly have the right to ask,” Joe points out. “I have no bargaining position, I know that.” Gerlach then offers him one—not out of cruelty, but out of an understandable desire to shore up his own position. He is interested in their strike on Reiniger because it “would be of personal and professional interest to know how you penetrated the camouflage. If I could report your answers to certain high officials—you may be soon greeting your Russian friends.” Gallagher draws back, knowing that he is in powerful position now—and Gerlach would probably keep his word because the last thing he needs right now as the German lines pull back are a bunch of American flyboys—who could be either released or killed and he prefers to release them. One man can save their necks, but Joe demurs, first with logic. “You couldn’t take that chance, could you colonel?-If you gave that information they’d know you had us, and let us go.” Gerlach cleverly turns their rights Genevan rights as POWs to his good—“the duty of a prisoner is to escape”—Yes, that could be managed and “maybe there could be an unguarded moment.” Joe’s face is ambivalent, but wary. They could be shot trying to escape, which is in the captor’s jurisdiction.

-“ . . .that’s all you’re gonna git”

The shed door opens again, a guard enters and gestures to the annoyed Bellingham—“Man, oh man,” says the easygoing good ol’ boy—and grins to Sandy’s words that “hang in there–they’re not so tough.” He jauntily heads for the door, reciting his serial number—“and that’s all you’re gonna git.” As he leaves, the left waist gunner returns. “No sweat,” he tells the crewmembers. “Just keep your mouth shut.” “Have you seen the Colonel? He hasn’t come back,” demands Komansky. Hornig assures Sandy that he was there, in the next room; and when they ask about what he was questioned over, he is smug—“the bombing over eastern Poland. I think we clobbered your factory, Fritz,” he tells Schultz, still isolated in his corner. He does not know how true the words “your factory” are. Fowler reacts to this, but Hornig protests, not particularly logically though his words have truth in them—“You just gotta understand how their minds work Captain. You gotta read between the lines—I’ll tell you what the SS guy is scared of the most—the Russkies.” This is both logical and imaginative and right. Gallagher returns and demands they all sit down to hear him out. “Okay, how many men has he questioned?” “Bellingham is in there now,” Sandy tells him, and Gallagher turns his attention to Schultz. Sandy speaks forcefully, but sympathetically. “Sir, none of us thinks he’s from St. Louis. He’s got the story down but his mouth gives him away. They’ll peg him like that.”

-“if I were you, I might have done the same thing”

In the shed, tension is arising as the act charges toward the turning point of the narrative. “Yeah, I’m afraid you’re right,” Joe acknowledges, nervously rubbing his cheek. “We’ve got to stall—they’re keeping us here—“ He has a conundrum; saving all his crew vs. saving a single man. He must do both. “For how long?” Sandy demands. “Until the Russians get here.” Gallagher tells them the deal. “Gerlach wants something we have—and he’s willing to horsetrade. Now he can leave us here for one thing—or he can look the other way while we escape.”

Schultz forces his way in. “May I be included in this discussion? May I ask what he demanded?” “Nothing definite,” Gallagher hedges. “He’s a German officer,” Schultz tells him, with experience underlining his words. “He meant something definite.” “What is he talking about?” Sandy demands, rising. “You see what I am talking about,” Schultz tells him. “Hold it, hold it,” Gallagher says, knowing that Schultz has called his bluff. “You’re right—they want you—but I’m not going to—“ Bruner suddenly enters—from Bellingham, or from the process of deduction, he finally secured an interesting person. He tells Schultz he is to come with them. Schultz, with Prussian discipline, and thinking logically—Gallagher has sacrificed him to save his men– rises and then tells Gallagher—“If I were you, I might have done the same thing.” “You’re wrong,” retorts Sandy, earning Joe’s reprimand. He turns to leave and Sandy still gets in the last word. “You’re wrong,” he repeats. Bruner speaks. “I too can say ‘I understand.’”

Gallagher looks at him, baffled, but turns immediately to his crew, now angry over many things. “Knock it off,” he orders and tells them what they’ve been doing to Schultz. “Sir, I tried to apologize,” Sandy points out, and Joe acknowledges this, but “you were still hostile—and you fed off his hostility—all of you.” Sandy lays it on the line to his colonel. “Sir, he’s begging for it—he accused you of selling him out.” Gallagher has to think a moment about this. He thanks Sandy “for his attitude”—but, “let me tell you something, all of you—that SS major just read all that hostility and he’ll kill any chance I had to make a bargain—and if he finds out who Schultz really is, we’ve had it.” Sandy is as logical as Joe—“Sir, he was with G2—he must have something to save his skin—“ An artillery blast whistles as he speaks, effectively halting further talks as a grim reminder that they are on a battle front. Sandy then comes together with Joe at a slit created by badly set boards; they both peer out.

Joe has backed off his scolding if that’s what you can call it and rather tries to bring his men together, starting with Sandy: “You know, if it were Poland we were fighting, it might be a Komansky they were after.” “Yes sir,” Sandy agrees. “But . . . I’m not Schultz.” “How much difference is there?” Joe asks–actually, there is a lot.  “Anyway, we came together—he’s one of us.” And “the one of us” is now in the hands of his captors, who were once his countrymen.

-“We’re liable to find ourselves in the middle of a war . . .”

In Act III, tension mounts as the action continues to shift, particularly after the fundamentally decent Gerlach dies. Inside the shed, Joe and Sandy observe a group of soldiers setting up a gun emplacement—for defense but it will later be nearly turned on them. “They’re putting a strongpoint right outside,” Joe reports. “If they’re trading shots with the Russkies, we’re liable to find ourselves in the middle of a war,” Sandy remarks. The remark is both foolish and insightful; there are many wars going on beyond the front within yards of their bailiwick. To Joe’s question, Sandy tells him that Schultz has been questioned for forty minutes. Without pausing, Gallagher demands a guard’s attention and when he gets it, demands to see Gerlach—“Gerlach,” he says loudly. The guard is reasonably polite, saying the man is busy—“busy,” he repeats. Gallagher then demands to see Major Bruner—the guards take him away, and into the presence of both Bruner, astride a chair, questioning/accusing a stone-faced Schultz. Bruner is telling him that he is lying—and he will suffer along with the others. “I am an American,” Schultz repeats, without pride, without emotion. “In your country, speak German,” says Bruner.

“My rank is Master Sergeant,” he begins, earning a slap from Bruner. When he attempts to repeat the information, Bruner prepares to repeat his strike but he is interrupted by a guard announcing Gallagher. “What does he want?” Bruner asks disgustedly, illogically. Gallagher says he has the right to inquire about the welfare of his men. Bruner rejects his request, and then reneges, realizing he can use him as weapon or for leverage—he wonders why Gallagher displays “a special interest” in this man. “I don’t understand,” Gallagher gracefully hedges, pointing out that the other men were questioned ten minutes; “he’s been here for almost an hour.” “They didn’t speak German.” “A lot of Americans do.” “A German name—“ “A lot of Americans have German names—ever hear of Eisenhower?”

Bruner, not surprisingly, won’t be put off. As he stands amidst the stripped, semi-destroyed field HQ—apt image of Germany—he turns to fact: B-17 crews have a crew of ten—they had eleven—and a Master Sergeant does not fly in a crew: “Why was he there? Advise him to confess Colonel, or you will all suffer.” Gallagher advises him—“Name, rank and serial number.” Schultz does not look at him; his feelings are difficult to divine at this time. Outside, Gerlach comes in, dusty, busy, calm, and hears Bruner’s strident voice, declaring “You’re assuming he’s—“and Gallagher’s voice matching his—“I’m not going back without this man—“ Gerlach suddenly enters and he and Gallagher stand shoulder to shoulder. “Major, must we shout?” he asks, rhetorically.

-“he will be judged—but not by you”

Bruner won’t be stopped by such a courteous strategy. “This one,” he says, pointing to Schultz, “helped to lead the raid over Stettin.” This accusation causes Gerlach to step forward and take a good look at Schultz—and then looks away: “Reiniger,” he says. (He does not say how he recognizes the young man; perhaps he resembled his father—which is very much how Robert Walker Jr. resembled his own father.) Schultz stands upright, provoking Joe into grabbing his jacket in warning. What Schultz/Reiniger thinks at this moment is unknown; he identifies himself: “Werner Reiniger was my father.” Bruner, the complete Nazi-SS villain-creep, exclaims “He has confessed!” Even Gerlach has a sense of satisfaction on his face, but it does not last. Bruner brands him a traitor—“You’re guilty of treason—traitor to the Reich!” “He’s an American soldier,” Joe points out—a fact, which does not suit Bruner’s logic. He declares that he will be shot and reaches for his gun; Joe repeats that he is an American soldier and is knocked aside—this brings Gerlach’s aide into the room. Gerlach proves the coolest head because he elects to deal with facts—he looks Bruner in the eye, reminding him that he is in command, and that Bruner will behave like an officer: “POWs in my command are not to be provoked or brutalized.” Bruner points out that he guided bombers to destroy his own property.

Gerlach sticks to the facts. “Six years ago he was stripped of his rank. He then deserted the Reich. He is now an American soldier. The nature of his crime will be judged—but not by you.” He orders Reiniger be returned to the shed—and tends to Gallagher, saying he exhibited conduct unbecoming to an officer—and “I should have let him shoot you with impunity.” Gallagher is ordered back as well, He then adds that he had served under Heinrich’s father and “he would know I would recognize him—and we all know that he was not a—“ Without finishing, he leaves—and with wonderfully melodramatic timing an artillery shells hits the building. Gallagher is unharmed and as he stands up he goes, curiously, shoulder to shoulder with Bruner—and look upon the body of the decent and human Gerlach, his and his men’s best hope.

-“he worried about you!”

Act IV—and a swift return to the shed where fear and emotion keeps rising and twisting ever more tightly. The Russian artillery grows closer, and the situation is so bad that the guards at the Piccadilly Lily are picked up and driven away. The lovely lady is unprotected but she waits patiently for her men to return . . . Back at the field base, Gallagher is herded back to the shed, but a shell fragment from the increasingly close Russian line blows him and his escort apart, and Gallagher, now fuelled by anger, seizes the man’s rifle, clubs him, and darts into a shed . . .the firing increases. In the shed, the crew is obeying orders to stay put—but they must feel like sitting ducks in their flimsy shed with whistling shells flying overhead and all around. Reiniger sits by himself, stiffly—blankly—what must he be thinking? He must have been feeling half-dead for years as his family was destroyed, he was stripped of rank, and he fled overseas. His face has been that of a dead man—perhaps an angry demand, but not once has his face expressed gladness, relief—only endurance, fear, and a sense of betrayal . . . Komansky and Hornig peer through the crack in the wall. ”Why would they hold the skipper?” Hornig asks. “I don’t understand.” Komansky peers at Reiniger: “I can think of one reason.” Without anger or a threat, Komansky says to him—“I don’t know—sometimes—(I can’t get what he says here) and ends with “You came back, he didn’t—“ He then grabs him, to make him respond. “Did you make some kind of deal?” Fowler reveals why he is Joe’s co-pilot—he’s cut out of the same kind of cloth. “Lay off,” he warns. “What kind of deal could he make?” asks the navigator. “He made one for him,” Sandy snaps, not knowing that Gerlach had intervened with Reiniger’s fate. “Lay off,” Fowler warns again, and Sandy obeys, flicking his hand away from the stiff Reiniger.

Perhaps Sandy’s honest concern with Gallagher finally gets to Reiniger—he gets up and moves toward Sandy. “Stay away from him Schultz,” Fowler warns him. “I said there would be no trouble.” Reiniger–disobeys and gently confronts Sandy, whose hooded eyes reveal his fears. Two very similar men now speak together, honestly. “Suspicion I can understand. In 1938, my father was suspected . . . and was shot.” “The Colonel didn’t suspect you,” Sandy tells him. “But you do,” Reiniger says. “He worried about you,” Sandy barks at him—telling him that Reiniger has been touched by something that also broke down Sandy’s suspicions toward Gallagher, and the world. Perhaps Reiniger is touched by this; he becomes truthful. “Komansky, I’m Heinz Reiniger. My family built the engine works that we destroyed. Colonel Gallagher knew this.” “He knew this?” Sandy demands. He tells Sandy that he has not learned to trust, like an American—this to a man who has only recently learned how to trust–which can be a painful and disorienting as it makes new demands on you.

He admits to his fears—that he was afraid that Gallagher had told some of you—“and that you would tell or he would tell—it seemed logical. Instead . . . he took a foolish chance to save me.” Sandy knows about such things; recently, in Weisbaden, Gallagher took a deadly chance to save him. “I’ve tried to understand you,” Sandy says, to which Reiniger says, “I guess I’m not Herman Schultz, American.” German to American to—what? He is a man without a country.

-“Reiniger—and all the men—be shot”

As the camp begins to disintegrate under shelling, so does Bruner. He is gathering documents and tying them up, and then ties up other loose things: he orders the “’Reiniger—and all the men—be shot—and destroy their airplane.” The haplessly obedient soldiers leave, some must be killed by a shell fragment in the outer office. In his shed, Gallagher is similarly knocked about by a shell. Cut to—guards opening the door and the nine men of the crew—including Reiniger—troop out, and sense their time is up. Komansky, in lead, is stopped and told to face the wall. Sandy sees and hears, over his shoulder, the strong point set up earlier now being prepared. The man in charge of all this—a suitably brutal faced man—demands that Reiniger “face me.” “Stand still,” Sandy tells him. As crew coordinator, Sandy finally extends this courtesy to Reiniger, who wants to obey—but crumbles when he is warned that if he does not identify himself, the others will be shot. “Son of a gun probably means it too,” remarks Hornig to Fowler. “Halt,” says Reiniger and turns around. “Let the others go.” The trap described earlier has been sprung—though he has given himself up, the crew will die—which is interrupted by Joe, observing this, fires out of the shed. All hell breaks loose as they swarm on their attackers, and go for heads, guns, and throats—and their lives, suddenly spared.

Gallagher knows his best partner: “Sandy! SANDY!” he shouts again as Sandy, stunned, takes a moment to realize he is alive and free and rolls away from a dead man, seizing his rifle. Without question he follows his colonel who has a very special mission to accomplish—the anger in his voice as he shouted for Sandy is rare but always deadly.

-“Right!—and I’ll remember him—frightened!”

In his crumbling office, SS officer Major Bruner frantically drags the swastika off his arm. He seizes two piles of documents—and reacts with a jerk when a guard who attempts to warn him is shot. Gallagher enters, with Sandy protecting his back—in a highly dramatic scene, he tells Bruner to back out of the office slowly—and they go right into the advancing Russian line. In the meantime, the crew moves Reiniger to the side; he has been shot, along with it seems two other of the crew. The crew is alert, shouting that a tank is coming; Gallagher shouts “hold your fire—it’s the Russians.” Bruner reveals his terror, twice saying “You will not give me to the Bolsheviki!” Gallagher takes harsh pleasure in his words—“I don’t care what happens to you Major—you ordered my men shot.” He clubs him with his rifle and tells him to run . . . “You let him go,” Komansky remarks. “Right!—and I’ll remember him—frightened!” Joe turns away immediately but Sandy stares after the man, so frightened he is dropping his documents . . .and his fate is unknown.

-“Am I now a yankee?”

A highly melodramatic dying scene comes next—one of the 12OCH’s best in its brevity and impact. Reiniger looks at Gallagher as he inspects his terrible chest wound. “I told Komansky,” he begins. “Come on pal, you can make it,” Sandy says—his first words to the man were “Hey, meathead!”—now he addresses him with a term of affection that he may rarely use himself in a friendless life. “Pal?” he asks Sandy. “Am I now a yankee?” “From St. Louis,” Sandy confirms. “Good,” says the dying man, gladly accepting his new and final identities—as Yankee and a dead man. He is finally part of a group, part of a community. A great deal of his pain is now over. He coughs and dies—and they move off to tend to the living.

-“he probably played there when a child . . .”

The Epilogue is a heart-twister, beginning with the sight of four wistful crosses planted in the grassy earth. A symbol of death and resurrection, the cross is particularly potent here as an image of Herman/Heinrich’s life . . . but as Komansky assured him that he was part of a community, he is now a member of another community, interred with the other dead crewmembers. A Russian guard stands by as the seven remaining crewmen line up and on Gallagher’s order, salute and hold their salutes to the dead. They lower their arms and Gallagher dismisses them. Five of them move off; Gallagher pauses by Sandy who has no fears of speaking honestly with his colonel. In the last several terrible hours, Sandy proved to have the biggest mouth—and the highest need to repent. His words are sadly reflective of both his and Heinrich’s lives—the pain of losing parents, the pain of being stripped of what you know and having to find the grit to make something of yourself out of an overwhelming sense of desolation. Komansky’s fate is far happier than Heinrich’s–there is a sense that if young Reiniger had lived, he would have forever been disoriented, grieving at having destroyed his family’s factory even though it served a cause which had destroyed him and his father. Sandy’s words and thoughts are fragmented: “Funny . . . when we clobbered his factory—he probably played there when a child.”

Joe is curt but sympathetic: “I don’t believe he thought he was destroying anything worthwhile.” That idea recalls the young man’s suicidal walk to the 918^th; alone, at night, not even fearful of the nuisance raider—his life had ceased to mean anything to him. Sandy’s final words recall Heinrich’s loneliness and his lack of identity: “I hate just to leave him there sir. The dogtags say Schultz.” “One thing for sure Sandy,” Joe says. “They’ll know he was an American airman—and that’s enough.” They exchange brief but significant looks and trek off to the waiting Piccadilly Lily . . .

“The Fighter Pilot”

Writer: E. B. Anderson

Director: Robert Douglas

The story of “The Fighter Pilot” is an interweaving of several stories that have gone before in Season II—of course, recalled are riveting tales of fighter pilots in “The Hot Shot,” “The Outsider,” and the two“fighter jockeys” in “The Hollow Man”; the three fighter pilots’ fantastically ballsy running askance of orders (or their lack) recalls Everett Stone’s even more desperate actions in “Cross Hairs on Death;” the arrival of one Gallagher’s “childhood” army friends (whose father is Maxwell Gallagher’s aide) recalls “The Idolater” and Josh McGraw whose father had been Maxwell Gallagher’s adjutant–which all makes me wonder a bit about Quinn Martin decisions about Season III. Ratings weren’t fantastic but they were respectable; the real problem with continuing the series lay in the sponsors, who withdrew. I wonder if Martin had really tried he could have found sponsors to at least complete Season III, but he and others may have reflected upon how stories were becoming notably recycled and with other problems arising from a lack of color clips and growing anti-war sentiment, decided to call it a day . . . plans for transferring the action to the Pacific notwithstanding. (Thank goodness they didn’t go there….) However, this is not to say that “The Fighter Pilot” is nothing more than a retread—it featured the interesting situation of three fighter pilots seemingly bound to one another—so tightly that their dependence and commitment to one another becomes deadly, as symbiosis has turned into parasitism, with DeJon as the chief leech. Questioning DeJon’s beliefs becomes near treachery; and when one goes down, the other two follow—though thankfully Captain Clinton breaks from his nosedive in time to survive, learn, and begins to redeem himself. Also, Joe Gallagher is now wise to Army friendships; he doesn’t brook Margo Demarast’s plans to hitch up with an old friend—him. Margo Demarest, the first major woman character in several episodes, is playing a bit of a stereotype—the spoiled flirtatious baggage who finally gets her comeuppance—yet her character proves stronger than at least two of the three fighter pilots as she assumes responsibility for her own transgressions. (But she’s no Heidi Voss!—“Practice to Deceive”)

Also,  the war in the Pacific is referred to—perhaps for the first time since Gallagher noted in “The Loneliest Place in the World” that his brother Jeff died at Bataan—and we learn some of the differences between the two theatres of combat. Also, Joe Gallagher, though still strong, is beginning to give in a bit to the demands of his job—in “Gauntlet of Fire” he tells Britt he does not keep a bottle in his desk; in this episode, he has stored a bottle, from which he gives Margo a steadying, sympathetic libation. It is interesting to note how Komansky shifts roles—his angry, questioning personae of “The Pariah” has given over to quiet efficiency much like he did in “The Idolater”– he knows when Gallagher does not need one more piece of trouble from anybody. And . . . Margo Demarest brings up a missing aspect of 12OCH stories—Joe’s romantic life, which notably slacked off midway through Season II; Sandy took up the slack in Season III, though his romantic life is fairly superficial; they are more flirtations than flames; maybe he never really got over Susan Nesbit or the Danzig Lady. For thoughts on Gallagher’s “unseen love life” see Addendum, at the conclusion of this entry. So we launch into a riff on the story of “The Three Musqueteers”—three bad-boy but great pilots have stupidly fouled themselves, seek self-centered legal-wise redemption in the skies of Germany, but run afoul of Gallagher who not only seeks to discipline them but seeks to save them—and one man survives to take advantage of the second chance extended to him by a wise and compassionate man. Gallagher realizes the conundrum of teaching men to be violent to wage war—and how this violence can get out of control and hurt others as well as themselves.

-“Wow, Major–!”

The teaser begins beautifully—a particularly lovely version of the 12OCH anthem is played as a formation of B-17s pass over the 918th, and one lands, observed by Major Stovall and another officer at the tower—these planes are for once not returning from combat; he calls Operations and tells Sandy “that the replacement aircraft are here—and what arrangements are being made for meeting the pilots?” At the other end, Joe, smartly uniformed in his Dress A shirt, directs the officers to the briefing hut and the enlisted men to the mess hall—and answers Sandy’s question—”there are nine replacement aircraft and ninety greenhorn kids.” As it turns out, this is Joe’s last calm moment for a while; attending the 90 greenhorns are four balls of trouble, male and female, officer and enlisted. At the tower, some jaunty music underscores Stovall and Lt. Brubaker‘s observation of the new men: “Wow, Major!” he says, as three young women, dressed in flight fatigues and Mae Wests are helped out of a B-17 by the more than willing crew. Very sure of themselves, they demand a passing driver give them a ride to the tower—“have someone pick up our luggage,” the lead WAC tells a groundcrew member, who does not like this—and to his question the bemused pilot who ferried them down to the 918^th identifies them—“replacements like the rest of us—headed for Wing Headquarters.”

-“if they make one more pass, I’ll order them shot down”

At the moment they are headed for the tower—the three WACs scramble out of the Jeep and watch—and wave—as three P-51s rake down over the fields—startling the hell out of Gallagher who nearly tumbles from his chair. At the tower, the jaunty young WAC skips up the steps to come to Stovall who is on the tower’s mike, demanding to know who they are—“Major, I know,” says the WAC, demanding to speak with Joe Gallagher. A P-51 roars down and by, and climbs into a beautifully cloudy sky—sleek, arrogant, and seemingly determined to head into trouble—we later find out this is the final chapter of trouble for three guys on the run. Phone in hand, the WAC yells “Joe?—this is Margo Demarest!” Joe, with perhaps a groan confirms “Margo Demarest?” Sandy, another phone in hand, is keeping an eye on the melee in the sky, and perhaps reading Gallagher’s thoughts, says “Cancel that, get me Air Defense,” which underscores Joe’s threat—“If they make one more pass, I’ll order them shot down.” The six bongs strike over Joe’s face as he “flies his chair” at Operations. Tonight’s episode’s “enemies” don’t wear swastikas; they have American flags emblazoned on their jackets, and they don’t serve the flag as much they serve themselves—and Joe Gallagher as well as events stop them in their tracks.

-“Sgt. Demarest reporting as ordered . . . surprised?”

Act I begins with Sandy, as in “The Idolater” being an extremely dutiful duty sergeant, coming in to tell Gallagher that a Sgt. Demarest is here to see him. Gallagher, all business, lays down his paper work to give Sandy the “poop” on this new arrival, as yet one more family-connected person crosses his path—like him, she’s an “army brat” but who has lived up to all the negative qualities of the term, and her father, like Josh McGraw’s father, is connected with Max Gallagher—his aide, as a matter of fact. He tells Sandy to usher her in and he wisely lights a calming cigarette—he’s going to need it. She breezes in, announcing “Sgt. Demarest reporting as ordered,” her hand going up in a salute and then falls for her to  blow a kiss at him—“surprised?” She straightens up, showing that her womanly body is not concealed by her flight suit. “Well, Margo,” Joe says in a slightly testy voice, “I see you’ve been growing up”—and his words refer to her body, not her brain or her emotions. Oblivious to anything but Joe’s remembered charm, she drapes herself over his desk to emphasize her womanly body and beauty and to flirt shamelessly. “Now, what are you doing here?” She doesn’t get it; rather than trying to ameliorate his irritation she increases it by saying “Britt had requested her for Wing,” (probably granting her father a favor). And “waiting around Prestwick which was such a bore—“

Oohhhh, she’s a delightfully snotty little bitch who has to get her comeuppance and she  finally does prove to have the “right stuff” in her, including the ability to realize her stupidities but only after being trampled on by a man who used her. At the moment, she tells him she “hitched a ride with the bombers coming down–Resourceful, huh?” Joe’s threat is carefully crafted, making her think of familial consequences as well as immediate professional consequences. “I wonder what your father would think if I broke you down to private before reporting to duty?”

Her shining face dims a bit—he’s serious. “I thought you’d be glad to see me,” she counters. “I am, but I know you—how much did you have to do with those fighter jockeys buzzing the field?”   “Oh, Joe, they’re wonderful boys,” she grins. “Answer my question, sergeant.” She finally really gets it but answers with a question: “What happened to you?” “The question is what could have happened out there,” He knows those “wonderful boys” were showing off for her; he may have done the same thing once in his younger, more heedless days and is old enough to know that such stunts are not only stupid but dangerous. “You know them, right?” She finally becomes straightforward: she identifies them as pilots ferrying P-51s down from Prestwick; Joe immediately gets on the line with Major John Davidson “next door at the 511^th,” for the names of the pilots. Returning to behaving like an old friend, she demands to know what Joe is going to do to them—he demurs, reminding her that she needs to report and “I’ll see you get a ride.” They leave, with her going out the door first, an inversion of military protocol—this scene will be repeated at the end of the episode, with her waiting for the officer—and the officer, the only survivor of the trio realizing what she is doing—thus indicating that they are ready to serve out their positions soberly and correctly.

-“Joseph A. Gallagher—and the ‘A’ stands for ‘angry’”

Matching their exit, the new pilots, including the “unholy three” enter into their new quarters, joking about the décor, and merrily-sarcastically greet Major John Davidson, their direct CO with “Achtung!” and “Hail, brother rat!” Davidson, we will see, is a guy cut out of Gallagher’s kind of cloth—he is wise enough to knowing the mentality of fighter pilots and does not demand they stand at attention or knock off the funny business. However, his face, demeanor, and presence indicate he’s in charge and he wants to lead them, not demand they obey him. He lays down the facts for them—“they are attached to the 918^th bomb group, including this field, and the one you worked over,” provoking a proud grin from First Lt. Dominic DeJon a dark-complexioned guy whose eyes are never friendly, only calculating. His name says a lot—Dominic—which suggests dominating. He is flanked by a Captain Clinton—with a nicer, open face—but who, despite his superior rank, lounges next to DeJon, sycophantically. Their third is First Lt. Franz Rausch. Their one-for-all attitude is more in line of them being three “good ol’ boys” who think they can take on the world—and their experiences and records so far prove they can. Davidson continues, naming their nemesis: “This base is under the command of Joseph A. Gallager—and the A stands for ‘angry.’”  “Awww,” says DeJon. “Maybe we ought to write him a note and send him some flowers,” earning a clap of approval from Rausch, and a grin from Clinton. Another lieutenant who seems to have been assigned to them warns them about Gallagher—Ramrod is no one to fool with, “when he gets his back up.” With this, Davidson says he is to take them to see Gallagher. “What can he do to us, we’re transient,” points out DeJon, and moves in for some deal-making. Davidson listens—DeJon makes sense: Gallagher needs fighter pilots—why doesn’t he request their transfer—and in that way “if Gallagher wants blood—we belong to you—what do you say?” Davidson wavers, probably having a good sense of what and who DeJon is, but yes, they need fighter pilots. DeJon makes an emotional pitch—they have been together since the beginning—and “between the three of them they have 31 kills.”

-”Well, I expected to see three beardless southmores” Cut to—Gallagher’s office door; the name announces who is in charge. Inside, Davidson, though not eagerly, defends the three men to Gallagher—and they have an awesome record: they have completed a tour of duty in the Pacific—and are requesting—volunteering—for another tour of duty. He admits they “blew off some steam” when ferrying the P-51s from Prestwick, “but every one of them’s an ace” and “I need that kind of spirit in my outfit.” Joe clearly knows he is asking for trouble, but Davidson’s words are right. He asks for the men to be sent in, and they come into a group—DeJon first, Rausch second and Clinton last—they salute in a way that suggests chorines kicking their legs one after another.

Joe regards them and remarks, “well, I expected to see three beardless southmores”—leveling them into one group—neither freshmen nor seniors either—in other words, “wise fools,” which is what “sophomore” means. As it turns out, Rausch and DeJon are living in a fool’s paradise. “We shaved before we left Prestwick, sir,” says DeJon; Joe peers at his at his tone and attitude. “Which two of you buzzed my field?” he asks. Their loyalty causes them all to take the blame—it is never established, but it must be Clinton who did not buzz the field, because he proves to be the wisest of these three fools. Joe lets the blame-taking go—no point in pursuing that. He tells them he is impressed with their records, “but it’s a different war out here.” Davidson wants them, but pending the outcome of that request, they are being assigned TDY at the 511^th—“and until permanent orders come through, you belong to me.” “We gotta learn about bombers?” Rausch asks, in disbelief and contempt. “No, you’ve got to learn about discipline . . . and if you don’t, you won’t survive.” Shades of Troper, who refused to knuckle under, and didn’t survive, at least in his men’s support, and he quickly faded from the 511^th.  DeJon does not like this—he has been in charge for quite some time now. And, when told they are confined to base, DeJon’s “yes sir,” is anything but compliant. He does not know that Joe has dealt with “fighter jockeys” before and has the final say in one way or another, though the pilots will bring their defeat upon themselves.

-“baby, you don’t know how AWOL I am”

Evening at the Star and Bottle—and Margo perches on a stool, anxiously checking her appearance with her compact—perhaps she thinks she wasn’t pretty enough to lure Gallagher earlier. DeJon has contacted her and when he comes in, still in fatigues, she motions him over—“Are you in trouble?” she asks. “Oh, some character called Gallagher,” he says. “Oh yes,” she says, and to his question, says she has known him since she was four years old—one gets a glimpse of an utterly charming child, indulged by her parents, and taking one look at the adolescent or teenage Joe Gallagher and saying, “I’m gonna marry him”—but kept wrecking her chances and never learned from her wrecks. DeJon, the eternal wiseguy, is probably figuring how he can make that angle work for him, and draws her to the inevitable table. “I thought you were confined to base,” she then says, curious about his presence. “Oh yeah, I’m learning discipline,” he tells her—yeah, this guy is one cool customer, accustomed to having his way, and no goddamned colonel will tell him what to do—though he needs Gallagher far more than he could probably ever understand.

“You’re AWOL?” she asks. “Baby, you don’t know how AWOL I am,” he tells her and gives her a folded sheet, an outrageous request, and a load of shit. He confides to her that he and his two buddies “aren’t even supposed to be here”—when they were transferred from the Pacific, they were to go to some kind of training command—“but they tried to split us up—you understand.” She wants some facts. “How did you get here?” “We went AWOL—we faked it—we lied—we bummed a ride to England.” At least he’s being honest, but not completely. Margo is stunned by this audacity, pointing out that eventually they’re going to be caught up with. “But by that time we’ll have combat records here, see?” He presses her to type up orders like the ones on the page he is giving her, and insert the names. She is smart enough to shake her head at this display of balls, and he assures her “nobody will know you’ve done this—I’ll protect you, I swear—I don’t want to split up the three of us,” he says, one of those honest phrases that this “prince of deceit” says on occasion. When she still wavers, he seduces her—“More than that, I don’t want to lose you, now that I’ve found you.” Margo is so young, so protected, so honest you might say—after all, she openly admitted to Joe how she got down from Prestwick and admitted to the boys buzzing the field to impress her—she buys into his intense face and his words of “I love you” particularly after Joe parried her come-hither act in his office. Not surprisingly, a close-up of their kiss shows his eyes going askance, probably with some disgust—with her, and her stupidity.

-“she bought it!”

His two buddies, waiting for their leader to return, argue over girls in a magazine, while DeJon, fresh from a real girl—did they stop somewhere and he bed her?—says to their demand for news, “What I won’t go through for you guys,” and “she bought it—I had to tell her I loved her,” to their grins and claps of delight–euwwww… The lieutenant comes in and perhaps with some sarcasm, tells them they have drawn a “plum assignment”—teaching bomber pilots on fighter methods. “Us lecturing bomber pilots,” DeJon says with disgust. “Okay.”

-“I just killed your pilot!”

In this scene, that ubiquitous model B-17—that plays a certain role in the series from simulating the crash of 918^th morale, to being an arrow of sorts in Sgt. Willet’s heart—has been turned into a play toy. In the briefing hut, to bomber pilots who range from laughing to showing a degree of disgust, DeJon and Rausch “lecture” the pilots—with DeJon flying the B-17 down the aisle of the hut, put-putting like a child—and in many ways he is—while Rausch, swinging his arms, pretends to attack—“I just killed your pilot!” he says, and DeJon, still maneuvering the toy declares “And the B-17 pilot flies on, and on, and on . . .” Interestingly, Captain Clinton is somewhat separate from all this. Though laughing at the antics of his buddies, he stands on the podium, trying to teach, and he does tell the bomber pilots that to evade, they need “to slip and yaw a little.” The helpful lieutenant has been standing watch and warns that Stovall is on the way, and like a naughty classroom, they become orderly and come to attention when Stovall enters. To Stovall’s inquiries, Clinton declares, neutrally, “he’s pretty much said it all,” the Major gives them instructions. They are going upstairs, with an instructor, to practice formation building. “They are to look out for bad weather spots, simulated fighter attacks and yes, real German scouts.

-”I’ve handled better men than Gallagher with my eyes closed”

At this point, the trio is beginning to break up. As the pilots depart, DeJon and Rausch stand together in conference on the floor of the hut, while Clinton, apart from them and elevated, listens. DeJon and Rausch plot deviltry—“who can better simulate fighter attacks than we can? I’ve handled better men than Gallagher with my eyes closed,” DeJon says. “Let’s go get some fighters and bounce some B-17s.” Clinton says, coming off the podium to their level–but he will protest to  DeJon about taking out Gallagher reveals he is moving away and upwards: “Hold it Dej,” he says. “We’ve got troubles enough.” Cut to—Gallagher taking a call from Davidson who tells them that the three hot shots are requesting simulated attack duties—“and the original guys,” he adds, “are interested in seeing what they can do.” “I see,” Gallagher says, and he does—and he knows what he can—and should—and needs to do.

-“if any of them wants to play games, I’ll be waiting”

Act II reveals Gallagher as not only a disciplinarian but a wise man who knows his audience—he has three aces  but jerks to deal with and he gives them a good swift kick in the rear, knowing this is the only way to get their attention—and their respect, though DeJon refuses to give it and his hatred grows like a canker. As the scene opens, the trio—together—climb out of their jeep to get into their planes and the lieutenant tells them to “get in the air, get to 5000 feet—I’ll follow and watch.”  DeJon merely tells him to “watch out for the B-17s—we’ll be there.” Rausch suddenly alerts them to an oncoming Mustang—striking right towards them out of a moody, cloudy sky. It seemingly mockingly swings over them and then gains altitude. The trio is brought up short—even DeJon becomes wary. Up in the air, a confident Gallagher, who has slipped “the surly bonds of earth” radios—“take a message to those new pilots—I’ll be up here for ten minutes—if any of them wants to play games, I’ll be waiting”—as always, the game metaphor and these three guys are heavy gamblers. DeJon doesn’t keep him waiting—within minutes he is airborne and aloft—and reveals his incredible arrogance by asking “Ramrod, what’s your altitude?” Gallagher is crisp though not contemptuous: Germans don’t broadcast their altitude. “Come and find me,” he beckons. He is playing games with these game-players—and the game’s afoot as he easily finds DeJon and comes up from behind—there are some magnificent shots of a Mustang slipping back and forth over a field of clouds—and without realizing it, DeJon has been tailed by Gallagher—who comes up next to him with a jaunty “Hi pal”—and tells him what he did wrong, which is hard to hear—I don’t quite get it—but, as always gracious, says “Better try again.”

DeJon doesn’t want to play anymore and heads for the ground—and his buddies watch, surprised. Joe heads his plane down for a fly-by, perhaps mocking their actions of the previous day—and he flips a wave. DeJon, on the ground –or on the mat—angrily cranks open his canopy and climbs down—he has been bested by a man who hardly broke stride. Rausch demands to know what happened—“did you get him?” “No, I didn’t,” says DeJon, rattled but defiant. “But I will!”

-“yes sir—the colonel is just excellent—sir”

Cut to—the trio in Joe’s office, looking a bit like caught truants. While Joe pours himself a mug of coffee, he tells DeJon—“tell your friends how good I am in a fighter.”

He’s not being a shithead here—he’s behaving like a gentleman because he has called these three into his office rather than reading them out on the flightline. But he knows well enough that he can’t reason with them until he has not merely asked for their respect—but has demonstrated why they should respect him, and then will further demonstrate it. “Yes sir—the colonel is just excellent—sir,” says DeJon. “You were swell,” Rausch says.

“No, you’re wrong,” he says. “I wouldn’t stand a chance against an experienced German fighter.”

“You beat DeJon,” says Clinton, seemingly pleased that somebody brought the guy up short—maybe he’s been wanting to do it for a while now. “No, my airplane did,” Joe admits. He explains how his plane, used for mission control, is a special ship, 400 pounds lighter, which gives him greater horsepower. Rausch grins with relief—“I knew it was something—“ he starts and then, ever faithful, reminds Joe that DeJon “got sixteen kills.” Joe explains the difference between Pacific and European air combat—“Japanese fighters explode when they’re hit—German fighters don’t—also, you can’t be a loner over here . . . and you’d better be on a team—if you’re alone, you won’t stand a chance”—seemingly ironic words to this tight-knit trio who we have learned and will learn, resort to violence and chicanery to stay together—yet Joe has read them right: DeJon is like a powerful planet who drew two weaker planets into his orbit—and won’t let them go. Like Troper, the original Hot Shot, he turned his men into acolytes rather than his allies, and they finally desert him—one by death, by the other one finally growing up. Joe dismisses them—DeJon and Rausch leave, but Clinton, once again revealing his efforts to escape DeJon—to look into the future rather than dwelling on the present–stays and asks “Where do go from here?” “I’ll let you know,” Joe says and then forgets them as Harvey enters with word that they are on standby alert.

-“not me, I’m a pilot—fly in those garbage trucks  . . .”

That evening, Joe, Harvey and Major Davidson come into the Officers Club where the trio is huddled over drinks and conversation. Joe orders brandies for two men—which Harvey declines in order to “give the word”—and goes to the mantel to turn the Toby Mug around.  Again, Clinton breaks away from the trio to ask about the mission—“we’d like to go,” he asks Davidson, being not only polite, but also taking care of what DeJon says they must do—get combat time to protect themselves when they are finally tracked down. DeJon is too disgusted with himself and with Joe to see to his friends’ needs . . . Davidson declines him—he has no orders yet on them and they still belong to Colonel Gallagher. Gallagher goes to the table, and DeJon mockingly greets him—and they invite him in. Gallagher declines them but takes a chance—and invites them to learn about the values of teamwork—“if they can come to briefing at 0630, they can ride in some of his bombers,” and bids them “good night, gentlemen,” finishing his brandy and his cigarette. The lieutenant encourages them—“why not? Fighter cover all the way.” The trio is left alone as the other pilots and crewmembers clear out. “Fly in those bombers,” DeJon says. “Not me, I’m a pilot—fly in those garbage trucks—we can do better.” Clinton sits between the Rausch and DeJon, trying to mediate, trying to remind DeJon about what is best for all three—they’re still AWOL and they’re gonna find out we have a bad name in the states, too.” Rausch protests, but his words reveal he is living in a fool’s paradise—“they don’t even know they were in the states, they think we flew here straight—“ Clinton sets the record straight—a lot of people knew they were in the states!– and pleads with his two buddies—“Let’s cooperate, let’s build a combat record!” “All right, all right, I’ll cooperate, but not in a bomber,” DeJon says, revealing that even his two buddies are not worth any real effort on his part. “But not in a bomber.” His next words reveal that he is now on his own—“And someday I’ll put that Gallagher down, but good.” The gloves are off.

-“Can’t you take evasive action?!”

Cut to—the mission to an unknown target is underway and the flak comes surging upwards. The trio has been broken up which seems to be DeJon’s chief fear; Clinton is in the Piccadilly Lily, and Rausch in another plane. DeJon, true to his claim, is not flying. Clinton, alert, and nervous, changes his co-pilot seat with Bob Fowler. In another B-17, Rausch, calmer than Clinton but still wary, observes from between the two pilots. The IP is approaching and Gallagher, with encouragement that they are looking good, says, “Now let’s keep it nice and tight.” In Piccadilly Lily, Clinton asks if the flak is always so bad. Joe tells him, “not to be corny, but I’ve seen it worse.” Knowing he is talking to a discreet gentleman—and without his buddies around to hear him–Clinton admits that “I didn’t see that much of it in the Pacific.”

In Rausch’s plane, the flak is beginning to get to him—he demands “Can’t you take evasive action?!” His pilot tells him that they’ve just got to stay up here and take it. And they take it—a burst of flak takes out the co-pilot and injures the pilot. Rausch removes the co-pilot and gets his hands on the yoke—and what happens next is his fault, because the plane is not damaged—from his turret, Komansky tells the asking Gallagher that “all the fans are turning.” Rausch, still in a fool’s paradise, takes evasive action—takes it out of formation—with the helpless Brubaker pleading with him to get back into formation. Gallagher’s warning—“you’re going to get picked off”—is made true when a fighter, with one blast, knocks both Rausch and Brubaker aside. The plane goes down . . .and then there were two . . . Turning point—and now DeJon will be out for not mere revenge, but for blood.

-“they stuck and they got back safe”

Act III takes up with DeJon on his bunk rubbing his forehead, muttering threats of revenge against Gallagher—“I’ll get him—Gallagher—I’ll get him.” However, is he mourning Rausch as much as he is mourning the loss of his power and acquisitions?—one of his acolytes is gone. “I’ll scare him out of the sky,” he says, a juvenile threat, but one that is fitting for his “arrested development.” He sits up, revealing Clinton who stands in back of him. He has now been on a B-17, in a bombing mission and his growing knowledge is further dissolving DeJon’s hold on him. DeJon hears Clinton’s growing revolt as he tells him “Knock that off Dej—a German fighter shot him down  . . . Look, I was up there—I saw and I heard—that plane went out of formation under one guy’s control—four others were hit—they stuck and they got back safe.” Ironically, Clinton describes the coda that have bound these three guys—to stick together. But they never apparently stuck to each other in order to help each other—it was more like to bask in reflected glory. DeJon didn’t bother to hear the dynamics. “Keep it simple,” he snaps at Clinton, who, though a captain, obeys this first lieutenant: “Something . . .went . . .wrong. Rausch . . . and ten other guys.” Clinton is now thinking of others and not just the other two in his orbit. “Now you listen to me—Rausch was our buddy—he was my wingmate—are you blaming him?”

Clinton continues in his rebellion, saying “don’t blame Gallagher”—which provoke DeJon into his grabbing his shirt—“Are you blaming Rausch?” Clinton does not back down, but warns him—“You’ve got one assault rap chasing you already,” he says, revealing more of the mystery of these three guys, and letting him know that DeJon is the one in trouble, not him. “You take your hands off me or I’ll knock you on your can.” (Ah, censorship!) DeJon actually apologizes to his friend but has not heard him. “The truth is he shouldn’t have been sent up.” “The last words the pilot said was for Rausch to get back in formation and that’s the truth—and you’d better take a good hard look at that because that’s how you’re gonna go out—the same way Rausch did.” DeJon throws him off; listening to his buddy’s words of reason might cool his blood lust. “I don’t believe he was flying that airplane—and if he was—“ If that is a threat he doesn’t complete because that ever present ever helpful lieutenant comes in, saying he is sorry about Rausch—and then adds some fuel to fire when he says a Margo Demarest has called him. Clinton tries to deflect him from any further stupid actions, but Clinton, forever calculating, suddenly finds a path . . .”Wait a minute—she knows Gallagher!”—and leaves, leaving behind two concerned men. He never returns.

-“a tracer came in from the states today . . . “

A rather wary looking Margo comes into the Star and Bottle and finds Dej waiting for her at a table—with the railings behind them, suggesting prison bars. When she sits down, his words to her are contemptuous—“Of course, I’m irresistible and I’m bright . . . up in wing, you know when a group is going out, right?”—and would she know a day ahead when the 918^th is going up? She says yes, her eyes curious—and “the whole 4^th wing is going up tomorrow.” “What about Joe Gallagher?” Now she’s a little wary—“I think he’s leading—why? Why?” she asks again, when he is silent. “Nothing—I just want to wish him luck is all,” is his weak answer as he makes ready to leave.

She takes control. “Dej—I called you here, remember?” “Oh, well, yeah—make it fast, I’m AWOL again.” She takes out a document and tells “a tracer came in from the states today”—about them—“now you said you bummed a ride here, straight from the Pacific.” “Gotta be a mistake . . .“ AWOL, Corey Field, three weeks ago, she tells him. “We came through the States but we never stopped . . .” She calls him on it; they are wanted by the police. “Honey, it doesn’t mean a thing . . .” She keeps on reading—the document asks about the whereabouts of Dominic DeJon, wanted by the police. “All right—it’s a civil rap.” As always, he shifts responsibility . . . he looks at her. “But—I—didn’t—forge—government—orders. And you’d better keep quiet about this. . . or you’re going to be in worse trouble than I am.” She’s brought up short—and appeals to his pity—“But Dej, I lied and cheated for you”—which she thinks is an expression of love and faith. He shuts her up—to his credit he is scared too, and they both glance away from other in fear of detection. Maybe the events of the last few days—the last few weeks have finally routed out a moment of sympathy in him because he actually apologizes—“We used you Margo and I’m sorry . . . but,” he says, as he twists his averted face to hers, maybe ashamed of his moment of weakness, “There’s only thing we do right . . . we fly. . . and that’s all that counts, baby”—apt description of his calculating nature. He leaves her. As she sits alone, her face goes from shock to fear to grief—perhaps this is the first time in her life she really feels trapped. Her body, her prettiness, her flirtatiousness is not getting her what she wants; rather, they have betrayed her.

-“that’s me—but this—rat”

Wisely, perhaps the wisest thing she has ever done, Margo goes to Joe Gallagher, who, as the scene opens, is pouring a drink from the bottle he now keeps in his desk. At the moment he is no longer a senior officer; he is an older brother and a dutch uncle to whom she confesses to, both old and current folly: “I fell in love with you—then your brother—and with some clarinet player—that’s me—but this—rat.” From a wonderful guy, he’s become vermin. “Oh, Joe, what am I going to do?—does Dad have to know?”

Joe, sympathetically listening, tells her “Of course he does—and from you—also, you should tell General Britt—Margo, it’s going to be a lot easier telling him”—as opposed to him finding out. Joe knows something about withholding information from senior officers, even though his lapses are nothing like this. Rather than agreeing, she accuses herself again—“I thought they were such heroes—going to save the world—volunteering for combat—fighting for a chance to fight”—her speech touches on a recurring theme of the series—what is a hero? As Sandy knew in “Show Me” doing something heroic does not mean you feel like one and he refuses to “play the hero.”  After Joe had a disastrous return to England in “The Hot Shot,” he questions Saxon’s description of him being one. Lt Harley Wilson in “The Outsider” joyfully accepted the definition and it seemed to destroy him. Here the three guys may have been acting heroically, but their motivations are far from pure—yet does it mean that they can’t accept some kind of definition as heroes?—as always, it’s a tough one, which is why Joe actually defends them: they could have gone into hiding, he points out, rather than volunteering for combat . . . “Did DeJon say why he’s wanted in the states?” he asks. She assures him it wouldn’t be hard to find out. He tells her that she needs to report to General Britt: “Oh, Joe, do I have to?” He is not unsympathetic, nor is he a hollow reed—when he grabbed Komansky by the lapels months earlier and flirted with a court martial, he reported himself and tells her to do the same: “Now’s the time to start behaving like a soldier.” Without a word, she leaves and Joe stays behind—the look in his eyes indicates he is not sure what she will do.

-“too much war, too much to drink . . .”

Joe immediately follows up on Margo’s information; he and Davidson are talking with Clinton, alone now as Rausch has died and DeJon has not returned. No fireworks or confrontations; Clinton calmly informs him and seems relieved in doing so: “After a tour of duty, we went to the states—too much war, too much to drink, pretty sore about being separated . . .” Ironic words as Clinton has increasingly chafed under DeJon’s domination. “We tore up a couple of night clubs. DeJon got sore at a taxi driver—took his cab out and wrecked it.” But when they came here . . . “It was a way of balancing the scales,” a legal image which is ambivalent–are they altruistically making up for what they did, or was it just a way to use combat to lighten the charges? Joe is thoughtful, not condemning—and points out that their record in the Pacific could have helped them in court—“there were 31 kills.” (In the topsy-turvy arena of war, here killing would have defended them, not damned them–and previews Joe’s comments about what war demands and then society disapproves of.) Clinton is now so far out from under DeJon’s influence he is honest even to his detriment. He says that DeJon only claimed 16, though he might have gotten 25—and he had saved his buddies’ lives a half-dozen times—“but the main reason for coming here was sticking together.” His last words are poignant in their own way and hint at legitimate qualities of heroism: “Besides, the war’s still on—why quit now?” Joe remains nonjudgmental—he has heard the good in Clinton’s words. Also, to show that Joe does not have a revenge streak in him, as does DeJon, he says he will talk to Wing about their situation—but tells Davidson to get his MPs out for DeJon, who has apparently vanished. When he left the hut hours before he was stewing revenge for Gallagher and then he learned that the cops have caught up with them—and maybe is a little ashamed of himself for doing what he did to Margo. He has fled . . . Clinton volunteers to help find him, but Davidson refuses—“Where would you run to this time? Africa?” Clinton does not dissemble—“DeJon’s pretty sore at Gallagher.” Davidson is blunt—he is confined to quarters and “Gallagher’s pretty sore at DeJon.”

-“He’s a fighter’s fighter—“

Back in Operations, Joe actually tries to intercede for DeJon—he knows that DeJon and his boys were overwrought by war and drink—and that breaking up some nightclubs and crashing a taxi are bad things, but given the situation and the state of the world . . . Joe is sore, but more sore at the general he is speaking to who won’t budge on these men, particularly DeJon facing punishment. Joe pleads for a chance to “knock DeJon into shape—he’s a fighter’s fighter—yes sir. Yes sir,” and cradles the phone in defeat. He gives way to frustration which covers several levels—“You teach these kids to be violent—and you find one who is—and they’re shocked! They want them to be civilized—whatever that is!” Joe speaks from experience; a few weeks earlier, Joe dealt with his enemy, who proved to be a civilized and humane Wermacht colonel who protected him from an SS major—yet this Wermacht colonel was also carrying out orders for Adolph Hitler. He turns to business, the only thing he can do. Stovall has got him flying mission control from his Mustang for the mission; he approves and with a tired look in his eyes, says he’s going to get a nap, one he well deserves.

The next morning, the mission is on, and a hopefully rested Gallagher issues orders from his Mustang: Fowler, left seat pilot on the Lily is told to get the formation set before the fighter cover comes. As Mustangs take off, one by one, DeJon, fully suited for the mission, comes out from under a huddle of tarps and boxes, looking somewhat like a rat . . . Desperate from grief, stupid from long practice, and perhaps suicidal–but highly capable–he manages to find a Mustang not yet in the air, coolly climbs in, and goes on the attack.

-“Tally-ho!” Act IV is riveting in the air battles not only between the 918^th  and the Luftwaffe, but between Gallagher and DeJon—it is melodramatic, highly improbable—yet it perfectly portrays DeJon’s crazed and cracked personality as he switches between cheap revenge on and selfless assistance to Gallagher. Davidson’s jaunty “Tally-ho!” as the 511^th swings into their work turns his men into riders and the Luftwaffe into the fox; the same goes for DeJon and Gallagher—it is bloodsport not war, and the only blood DeJon desires is the Colonel’s—this guy, though worth saving, cannot be saved, and though he takes out five Germans, his end is savagely stupid, rather than heroic. As the act opens, the target has been reached and the bombs are already dropping; Gallagher, in his Mustang, compliments them, saying “A beautiful strike!—keep your formations tight now.” It all adds up to a showcase of training, good shepherding, and coordination and cooperation. Of course—here comes the Luftwaffe, resembling mosquitoes. Joe sends out his warning and then radioing Davidson to “release his fighters—go get ‘em.” Davidson, also in completely coordination, releases his fighters—“you little brothers”–to take on the Luftwaffe at 9:00 and 4:00—“Tally ho!” he cries. On the Piccadilly Lily, which seems to be flying rear, releases its bombs, and Bob is pleased—“Right on the money.”

Elsewhere, DeJon flies alone and hears Joe telling the formation that “the little brothers are back there with the Luftwaffe—keep your formation; you’re home free.” Joe is not as DeJon comes up behind him and then flies parallel with Gallagher—“Well, here you are all by yourself”—which has nasty sexual connotations but DeJon is bent on ravishing Gallagher—from his position, from his plane, from the sky. “After all you said about teamwork, here I find you all by yourself,” he taunts, recalling Joe’s wave and words of “Hi Pal” to him. “You’re all alone pal . . .how’s your ammunition pal?” Gallagher stays calm—that’s the only thing he can do. “DeJon, you’re only hurting yourself,” he radios. In the Piccadilly Lily the transmission is picked up by Bob and Sandy—revealing their dedication to staying on task and in formation—they can only listen and worry when DeJon declares “I won’t give up until you holler ‘uncle.’” Gallagher stays on task: “I told you to get that plane back into normal position.” “Negative—let’s go on with our little game.” (It would be interesting to know exactly many times the word ‘game’ occurs in 12OCH.) “I want to chase you home scared—I want you to say you’ll never fly a fighter again.”

-“If we stick together, the Germans won’t jump on us”

“Get off the air—the Germans monitor us.” “All right,” DeJon says—“but you stay right there . . .you dive and climb when I say—and don’t try to outrun me—make one move I don’t like and I’ll open fire.” Until now, DeJon has seemed to only want to “teach Joe a lesson”—now he is issued a death threat–and Joe is being targeted as a victim of murder, a situation that occurs with both Savage and Komansky. Bob and Sandy hear this and Bob can only radio—“don’t take any chances with that character—he’s insane.” Joe, if he could, would probably disagree with the insanity, but doesn’t take any chances—instead, he encourages DeJon to do what DeJon wishes to do, but with his buddies—to stay with him. “If we stick together, the Germans won’t jump on us.” DeJon tells Joe that he doesn’t belong on his wing—“That’s where Rausch flew.” As if to underscore Joe’s hated position, he veers off—of course, German fighters approach, and Joe, rather than being relieved he has moved off, calls for him to return—“they’re after you,” he tells him. DeJon must feel that the whole world is after him by now and decides to take matters into his own hands.

Though his fall is magnificent—he’ll take down five enemy fighters to the credit of his record–he is too stupid and too uncaring to be a tragic hero—a tragic hero must have sympathetic qualities to make us regret his fall and death; DeJon has long since cut off any cords to our concern. He’s the best, he’s going to prove it—and in that way once more reveals that his two buddies were nothing more than his followers, or reflectors of his glory; taking down fighters was to increase his glory, not shorten the war. Yet, wonderfully, he seeks to help others in the last few minutes; his saving of his buddies had been a selfless gesture. He suddenly alerts Gallagher to a fighter—“Right behind you! Break!” and Gallagher veers off; DeJon takes them down—and reminds Joe who’s king. He takes out two more—“How’s that Ramrod? Four!” Joe also takes a fighter down. Though injured, and possibly dying, he is still fighting, and mocks Gallagher: “Beginner’s luck.” He then becomes Gallagher’s ally again—“Watch your belly! Watch your belly!”—and takes out one more. By now, the little brothers have finished their work and are coming to his help—“Here comes the cavalry!” announces Davidson, once more connecting the tough Mustangs with real “horsepower”—fox hunts and the horse-mounted patrols of the American west. DeJon roars at Davidson to stay out of this—and with a bleeding face, takes out another fighter threatening Gallagher. The colonel now comes parallel with him—asking if he’s all right. Like it or not, he must owe his life to this man who proved himself, even while trying to act in the exact opposite fashion, that he could be a team player. He planned to scare and then murder Gallagher—and ended up saving his life . . . war is insane. DeJon boasts of his five hits. “Yeah, that was a quite a show,” Gallagher says, in way of thanks. “Now stick with me—let Davidson handle the fight.”

-“let’s go home . . .”

Typically, sadly, DeJon is still boasting—“You know where you’d be without me, pal?—dead, pal, dead!” Joe tries to soothe him. “All right. Let’s go home.” DeJon knows he has no home left now, and can only defy Gallagher—he tells him to rejoin the bombers “and let us fighter jockeys alone.” Yet, one more time, he proves there’s something more to him—he does thank Gallagher for knocking the fritz off his tail; “he might have had me.” A hail of German bullets—but from where?—finally takes him out. Gallagher also destroys the fighter and can only watch as DeJon literally and figuratively falls to earth; Gallagher views his burning airplane and we don’t know how he feels . . .but if Valhalla were real, would DeJon enter it as a warrior and a hero?—or would be denied as a show-off and a troublemaker?

-“the kind of guy born playing king of the mountain”

In the Epilogue, the story comes full circle as Joe, once more in Operations . . . lights a pensive cigarette and considers two contrite soldiers: Captain Clinton and Sgt. Demarest, to whom he has just told the tale of Lt. Dominic DeJon’s final flight. “Sir,” says Margo, finally following military protocol, “do you think he wanted to die?” “No, he wanted to live forever,” Joe says. “He was the kind of guy born playing king of the mountain.” King of course brings in the Arthurian allusions of the story . . . And it must be said that Joe did not necessarily prove to be a stronger king—but he stayed close to his throne, stayed close to his duties and and took care of his attendant knights, while DeJon used his kingly status for admiration, trouble, and destruction. “Yeah,” Clinton says, finally released from domination, but even so he tries to defend the man. “He wasn’t happy unless he was stirring things up.” His nervous smile and weak but truthful memorialization prompts Gallagher to ask—“Captain, why did you go along with him?” Clinton knows—“It was like being in a corner with a champ,” he says, smiling nervously. “Oh, I know there were things not right, but . . .”

He doesn’t finish which is appropriate—there is no way of fully plumbing or explaining a character like that and how someone can follow, both admiring and disapproving. Joe turns to more manageable issues, asking Margo if she reported to General Britt. “Yes sir, and I told my father.” Her tone is clear and her face is set. She’s going to make it, after all . . . “Did you blame DeJon?” “No sir. Only myself.” He then tells the compliant Clinton that he’s confined to base pending the decision of the JAG . “Well,” he concludes, finding some good in all this, “I hope it’s a new beginning for both of you.” Clinton has been released from DeJon, and Margo has been released from herself—her old self. They salute, Joe returns it, elegantly and seriously, and they both start for the door. Clinton, used to doing things DeJon’s way, almost opens the door for her—he then pauses, looks at her, and then goes out first as per military protocol.  She follows, casting a quick look back at Gallagher—“Thanks Joe,” she says, giving him her personal respect. He smiles back –and, as frequently happens, he goes to his office window to look out—and instead picks up a model P-51. He does not regard it with pride—rather with ambivalence, maybe a touch of fear too. Perhaps DeJon left his mark on him. But Joe also might be thinking that DeJon had turned the Mustang into his plaything– not a weapon, and he ultimately paid for his misperceptions with his life.

ADDENDUM One last consideration of Margo Demarest: Joe’s absolute refusal to succumb to her charms is not surprising—Gallagher knew who she was from the get-go and is gentlemanly enough not to take advantage of her obvious willingness to be bedded by the man. But  this brings up a question—who is Gallagher “seeing” these days? The last time he was seen in any kind of romantic light with a woman was “The Outsider,” when he escorts Phyllis Vincent . . . and then he seems to leave the women behind for duty—demanding Lt. Zavanoff get the hell out of the bathroom (“Massacre”) seems to indicate the female sex is no longer an interest of his. Notably “romantic chores” were largely given over to Sandy (“Siren Voices”; “Massacre”—“we all had dates,” he snaps– “The Pariah,”  “Long Time Dead,” and “The Hunters and the Killers”). Perhaps the producers decided that Gallagher was beginning to emerge as a womanizer and dropped the theme—or at least the visible aspects. Also, leaving him without steady female company would allow him to show interest in the opposite sex without the viewer seeing him as unfaithful. The truly adult viewer realize that Gallagher’s affairs were personal and did not need to be shown, along the lines of Matt Dillon and Kitty Russell, whose love affair endured for twenty years, with only a single kiss shown—and a few dinners in Kitty’s bedroom. (Notably, Matt had a convenient case of amnesia when he bedded a widow, by whom he had a daughter.)

What kind of “personal life” would Joe Gallagher have? Margot Demarest is the antithesis of the woman that Joe Gallagher wants. And the lack of “Joe’s Girls” in Season Three is simple . . . Joe’s married . . . and it happened in the run up to D-Day. And just who is the woman who captured Joseph Anson Gallagher’s heart and soul?  Someone unconventional who could meet him measure for measure: intelligent, witty, independent, passionate, classy, comely, warm, courageous under fire, secure in herself, of equal lineage and pedigree as the Gallagher family, and shared Joe’s love of the sky. She would be his wife, his lover, his best friend, the same soul in different skin. And he meets her on a runway in Archbury. The truth of it is that Joe Gallagher is not a warrior at heart. He’d much rather wage peace than wage war and if he continued in the post-war WW 2 Air Force it would be to keep the Cold War from turning hot.  Joe has an interesting, intriguing and pivotal life after Archbury . . . if you enjoy these blogs, check out “Into The Wind,” which features a series of novels about the post-war lives of Joe Gallagher, Alexander Komansky, and Harvey Stovall.

 “To Seek and Destroy”

Writer: Glen A. Larson

Director: Donald McDougal

An embittered fighter pilot . . . a new weapon . . . a special and critical mission . . .Joe and “hot water” Sandy snapping at each other . . . recognizable elements, but in typical 12OCH style, something “new” is brought to the story. For one, the embittered ex-fighter pilot, Anthony Carmichael, is British—and a bitter or nasty English person is not a frequent character, at least not in the Gallagher-Komansky episodes. There are some British “bad guys,” here and there, such as the chap buying weapons from Vern Chapman (“The Jones Boys”) and British bad girls (the gin-guzzling Allison (“The Hot Shot”) and to a degree the heartsick Sarah Blodgett (“The Survivor”). For the most part the British people portrayed in this series are friendly, patient, and strong—Commando Major Mallory (“Fortress Weisbaden”) is not exactly likable, but he is certainly courageous and devoted to duty. Patricia Conboy (“Siren Voices”) first seems a traitor but then proves a brave, dauntless heroine. The victims of Wally Bolen’s psychosis are multiple, but his English girlfriend still loves him. This episode takes a look at the tensions between the British and the Americans who were acridly described as “overpaid, oversexed, and over here”—to which Americans sassed the British were “underpaid, undersexed and under Eisenhower.” The new weapon—rather than being served up by General Britt, this time the new weapon is in the hands of the Nazis—robot bombers which might just be “turning the tide” for the Germans. The special and critical mission—rather than a bombing run, it’s a flight to neutral Sweden in an unmarked C-47 to pick up parts of a V-1 rocket; the data the parts give will lead to conventional bombing missions. Joe and Sandy at loggerheads—but the unusual angle is that Sandy lies “like a cavalry trooper” to Gallagher—which he has done before, but to protect the vulnerable Steve Corbett in “Then Came the Mighty Hunter”—this time he lies for a similar reason but also to protect himself—but he did step into a wasps’ nest after being somewhat shoved in by the wasp. Gallagher then protects him from General Doud’s anger by taking him into “custody.” Sandy, who is apparently carrying on the sexual/romantic element that once seemed to belong to Gallagher, has a new girlfriend—again!—but maybe the war going on and on is spurring in him a “today we live” mentality as he bounces from girl to girl, and indeed, “tonight’s relationship” probably collapses.

And this episode highlights how, in an effort to create more stories in an increasingly short timeline of the ETO, and overcome the lack of colored clips of aerial work, Joe and Sandy’s partnership strengthens on the ground. In “Fortress Weisbaden” and in this episode their partnership is respectively expeditious (they find each other after their B-17 goes down and join the Commandos) and then protective (Joe defers his arrest by demanding him as his flight engineer). In future episodes, their partnership becomes more deliberate as in “Duel at Mont St. Marie,” “Six Feet Under,” and “Graveyard”—this theme climaxes in the final two episodes as Joe is devastated and vengeful when Captain Dula is accused of “murdering” Komanksy (“Long Time Dead”) and Sandy’s grief over Gallagher’s injuries and future is palpable at the end of “The Hunters and the Killers.”

On to Sweden—in itself an interesting location in terms of its neutrality, which was allowed by the Nazis, so they could take advantage of it both for transport and for its iron ore. Furthermore, the Nazi elite foresaw that Germanizing Sweden would be easy . . . Sweden cooperated but it also gathered intelligence for the Allies and allowed the Allies to land there in 1944 and 1945, and helped thousands of Jews to escape into safety—the courageous Raoul Wallenberg was Swedish. As for the title–this episode Joe, Sandy and Carmichael seek to destroy—they actually don’t, they save—but their efforts of saving vital machinery in the rocket will destroy the factories producing V-1 rocket materiel. And, to gloss the title, Carmichael seems to be seeking to destroy himself—and he does, but not after a degree of redemption for his anger and anger-fueled alcoholism.

-“I thought you were gone sir” – “I did, but I came back”

A dramatic if somewhat artificial view of London under siege opens the teaser—searchlights crossing and criss-crossing, air raid sirens wailing, explosions—as London braces for a major V-1 attack—this offensive began shortly after D-Day and was to take some 20,000 British lives—and looks eerily to a future of guided missiles and drones.

Cut to Operations, into which a trench-coated Gallagher suddenly enters—“Hi Sandy,” he tells the faithful duty sergeant who remarks “I thought you were gone sir.” “I did, but I came back,” is his logical-illogical answer—and which previews Carmichael’s arc of redemption—he “crawfishes but sticks it out” twice and his final sticking it out saves the mission for Joe and Sandy. Also, Joe’s deferred date compares and contrasts with Sandy’s own disastrous date the next evening. Joe is irritated and the reason is made clear with Sandy’s question—and launches the exposition: “I thought you had a date in London?”—which the Germans fouled up when “they launched a rocket bomb attack, lasted six hours.” Inside his office, he shakes the coffee pot. “They’re launching those things in day time sir?” “And night—make me some fresh coffee, will you?” Sandy takes the pot, remarking “they must be making those things by the hundreds.” “And we don’t know where—it’s a pretty close kept secret.” Sandy reports on some scuttle-butt—“A V-1 went wild—went into Hitler’s quarters—he got out all right but—“ Joe dismisses the story as he trades his Dress-A jacket for his leather one—and back to business he forgets his obstructed date to think about the war: “There’s been a lot of jokes about Hitler’s secret weapons—this one is deadly—and their accuracy is increasing . . . in short, Sandy, they haven’t lost this war yet.”—Joe’s remarks about the “jokes about Hitler’s secret weapons”—points to a reality that the Nazi elite kept brainwashing the population with—that despite Allied lands and victories, “secret weapons” were going to turn the tide—the rocket bombs did to an extent, but their failures is obvious . . . the elite propounded the story of additional secret weapons until the end and I imagine a lot of Germans believed in such stories, just to believe in something as their country was being invaded and overrun. So powerful was their propaganda that the Allied armies feared the so-called “Alpine Redoubt” story–that Nazi Germany has amassed a facility there by which they could continue to fight … but this is not to sniff at Nazi advanced weaponry. It was there, some of it not completed,  and some of it surely under wraps–not successful…being the first country to fully develop and use the atomic weapon should not make Americans proud, but it was good we had it first…

-“first the launch”

Cut to . . .somewhere in Germany: a rocket bomb is seething on its pad, ready to launch and looking short, stubby, and deadly. In the nearby facility a German officer peers through a slot window. An alarm opens a secured door and three men, two German officers and a civilian are ushered in.  Dr. Kunzman, the civilian, accepts the officer’s welcome, and is described as the inventor of the “guidance system”—and he wants to see the launch more than the facility. The guidance system is more than just a “Magoffin,” this system becomes Carmichael’s prime objective in his task of “seeking and destroying.” Ironically, this man, as we will see, has lost his way . . . but finds his way at the cost of his life. Dr. Kunzman and the officer are escorted to the slot window where together, their eyes bleached with the bright light of the engines, watch it rise . . . and then go wild, as Komansky described. An alarm is sounded and the ranking officer gets on the phone to deliver the bad news—“it is headed southeast—toward Sweden.” The six bongs hit over the man’s face—who may be seeing his own career being destroyed, much like the British officer under examination in “tonight’s episode.”

-“the robot bombs are close to turning the tide”

Act I opens onto a misted-over Pinetree. Within, General Doud irritably speaks on the phone–“Gallagher just came in,” he says as Joe enters, removing his trench-coat. “General Britt sends you his greetings.” “Oh?” Joe says. “What’s up?” (Doud, as far as I can tell stood in place of Britt, while the actor Andrew Duggan undertook other acting duties. In contrast with Joe’s mentor/mentee relationship with Britt, Joe and Doud seem more equal and fraternal in contrast to Britt-Gallagher’s more paternal relationship; Joe calls him “Phil.”) Doud is brief and worried—“the robot bombs,” he admits “are close to turning the tide”—this to a man whose command was almost destroyed and he nearly destroyed himself months earlier as the Allied armies turned the tide on Nazi Germany. “They come straight in—nothing stops them—we bomb their launching sites and it’s like killing ants with a pogo stick . . .” an interesting image!—and very telling.

Doud gets up and pauses in front of a model plane which is perhaps one of the Allies’ secret weapons—“we have here a strategic bomber—designed and built to knock out factories . . .then the means of production are killed.” I for one would like to hear more about that strategic bomber . . .but the plot rolls on. Joe points out “this morning we didn’t know where the factories were—what do you have up your sleeve?”—a magical reference; General Doud is standing here for General Britt this evening, whom I have described as a kind of Merlin. “Maybe the chance of a lifetime—ever hear of Group Captain Anthony Carmichael?”—Joe has, and he learns that he is a rocketry expert now, and if they could get a rocket bomb into his hands he could figure out where the components are built –“and then we’ll know where to bomb.” Doud reports on the rocket bomb that went astray—and it landed in neutral Sweden, amazingly, intact . . . “I want it,” he demands, and takes a phone call from the man he has been speaking about.

-“will you send someone please?”

In the smoky, noisy Archbury Star and Bottle, a blond thirtyish man, not in uniform, is on the phone, and typically, everything he says indicates not just a physical sense of being lost but emotional and mental: “I believe it’s called the Star and Bottle,” he tells Doud, indicating he is not even sure where specifically he is. He’s “had the devil’s own time getting out of London,” and “I cannot find your headquarters”—though English fogs can be terrible, it all indicates one lost man. “Will you send someone please?” Doud does not mind sending a full bird colonel on this errand—which Gallagher does but does not arrive in time to prevent a bad collision between Sandy, back in “hapless” mode, and the touchy British ex-pilot. “What’s this about a uniform?” Gallagher asks, understanding the man is not in regulation gear. Doud tells him “we’re about to take a desperate gamble”—and one of the desperate parts of the gamble is the man they are dealing with . . . who, on these intriguing words, is shown again in the Star and Bottle. He seeks to find seating in the crowded pub, and perhaps, out of pride, does not point out that he has a disability and needs to sit. Instead, he uses it as a way to provoke his anger . . . when he asks for a table the barman tells him “Sorry sir, tables are all taken.” He goes to the bar, well occupied by 918^th men, and at this moment a trench-coated Sandy and his date, Katie, come in and find their friends at one of those “taken tables.”

-“if it were St. George and the Dragon—he was the dragon”

To his friends’ greetings, Sandy says “they had to come in on instruments” (in contrast to Carmichael, Sandy maintains his bearings) and goes to get drinks—and once more becomes the hapless soul, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Sandy, who was accosted by Harley Wilson (“The Outsider”) by sheer propinquity, and just happened to encounter the unlikely pedestrian of Heinz Reiniger (“The Pariah”) now bumps into/collides with the already late and irritable Carmichael—as he and Carmichael order at the exact moment. “Sorry pal,” Sandy remarks. “There’s a war on, you know.” “Yes, we’re certainly aware there’s a war on.” Sandy’s been a student of Gallagher charm and he responds with “Look, I’ll buy you a drink.”

That only sets Carmichael off more—“Indeed, and invite me to your table, I’m sure you have one.” “Now take it easy, gov,” says the barman. “He’s got a reservation.” “Reservations, my foot,” snaps Carmichael, his anger probably fueled by taking some nips from that flask which will later tip off the Nazis. “It’s Yankee dollars.” Sandy can’t hold onto his charm; Gallagher’s may have also shredded under these cheap attacks: “Look pal, if you’re looking for trouble, you’ll get it.” His friends at the table, curious about his delay, view this. The barman is on this American’s side, money or no—“Why don’t you buzz off, gov,” he says, bringing Sandy’s two drinks. “Hot dogs and mustard,” says Carmichael, taking the drinks. “Weiner schnitzel and sauerkraut.” He downs both drinks for emphasis. “Don’t make much difference, does it?” As we will learn soon, the remark makes certain sense at least to him.

Sandy’s voice is low and deadly: “All right, pal,” he begins. “I make about half your wage I suppose,” Carmichael says, digging into his pocket. “But if English money is still accepted I’d like to pay for my friend,” and tucks it into Sandy’s jacket. “Two whiskies more,” Sandy says, dropping the money on the floor—which Carmichael takes offense at but has the good sense to fold his hands and then the stupidity to leave, which he does, on his own . . . and Sandy sees his slight limp. The barman hastily serves up a new round and Sandy takes them, nonplussed, and joins his friends. The barman picks up the money—looks for the angry man—and then pockets it. He deserves it.

Sandy rejoins his curious friends; the lack of tables causes another sergeant’s WAC date to sit on his lap, and for the willing Katie to sit on his. To their questions, Sandy says “I’m not sure,” both carelessly, and warily. “He was speaking some foreign language [“England the United States are the only two countries divided by a common language”]. Katie’s question is an apt one, but her memory has stirred: “who was he, Sandy?” Sandy’s answer is wonderfully literate and touches on a sub-text I have previously identified: medieval legend. “I think—if it were St. George and the dragon, he was the dragon.” “I’ve seen him somewhere before,” Katie says. “We all have nightmares,” Sandy says, ready to leave that jerk behind. “There’s something in what he said,” she begins. “If you don’t shut up, I’m going to have to bust you one,” he says playfully, rocking her back. . . .and he spots Gallagher coming in; Sandy has developed an antennae about his CO. Guiltily—it’s as if he knows there is a connection–he taps on the table to get everybody’s attention and he scrambles up, dislodging Katie to the chair.

He watches while Gallagher makes inquiries—he is then pointed out—(hot water, gallons of it, he must be thinking) and Gallagher heads into Sandy’s bland smile and snappy “Good evening, sir!”  To Gallagher’s inquiry, “Sergeant—“ “Yes sir,” Sandy says and when Gallagher tells him “I’m looking for a friend of mine . . and the man told you and he just met . . .” “Uh, uh, yes sir,” and upon being asked “What happened?” Sandy says, “Why, he left sir—maybe the waiter can tell you where he went.” He’s not lying, but he’s obfuscating like mad and Gallagher knows it: “It’s why he left—we’ll talk about this later on,” and he leaves. As his friends look on, his look of “ohmygodwhatthehelldidIdo” is priceless—but heartwrenching because he has loused up again, without the least intention of doing so—and he also realizes that somehow he has thrown Gallagher into the hot water too.

-“what is it with this guy?”

Back at Wing, after Joe’s report, Doud is on the phone again, admitting that Carmichael wasn’t due for briefing until the morning but under the circumstances wants him found—and motions to Gallagher who has made his report. “The CIC is looking for him but the fog is slowing them up,” Doud tells his party—truthfully. Fortunately, Wing Commander McBride, a handsome British officer is present and helping with damage control. Doud rings off and darts an angry look at Joe: “Where’s that sergeant of yours?” he mutters. Joe’s look is irked. “He’s out assisting in the search,” he says. Doud mutters that he’s probably trying to help his reputation and Joe becomes irritated as his sergeant is slurred. “He didn’t know who he was talking to.” “He does now.” “Yes, he certainly does,” Joe retorts. “Well, when he reports to you send him directly to me,” Doud retorts back. Joe’s answer is non-committal and steers off Komansky—he asks if foreign agents might be involved. Doud does not think so—the time frame damps such a suspicion. Only six hours has elapsed since the rocket was discovered and only about a dozen people know about it. McBride reports on the logistics: a C-47 is being ferried down for them to fly to Sweden in—and only Tony Carmichael can help them at this point—“we can’t replace him?” Joe asks. “What is it with this guy?”

Doud then says, transferring some of the blame to Carmichael, “He wasn’t kidnapped—he stomped out of that pub.” McBride provides a report on Carmichael—with British reserve he admits that Carmichael “does harbor some resentment against Yanks, it’s true . . .he was something rather special in the air .  . . a first rate officer . . .and it was an American who shot him down—quite by accident, of course. It crippled him and ended his life as a flyer”—which is the only identity he wished to claim, something like the half-crazed DeJon in “The Fighter Pilot.” Gallagher and Doud hear this with some sympathy; Joe, in particular would empathize with Carmichael and it’s his empathy that allows him to understand Carmichael’s relentless objective to shoot himself in the foot.

-“I’m going to lie like a cavalry trooper”

Cut to Katie, brushing her hair in a mirror, an apt image for this episode which addresses the problems of a lost identity. She’s getting ready for bed after a date gone awry—as is typical in many scenes with women, there is a small fire in the room’s hearth. A knock on the door; she questions it and hears a whispered “Sandy Komansky!—open the door!”

She does and Sandy lunges in, with Carmichael’s arm slung over his shoulder and his body upheld in his grasp. Without permission, he carries him over and slings him to Katie’s turned-down bed. To her angry questions all Sandy can say is that he’s trying to help “Sir Toby Belch here”—his second literary reference, Shakespearean no less—the playful trickster from Twelfth Night—Sandy must be taking night courses somewhere! Katie is fed up; even her turning-in is getting fouled up by these two idiots. “But he’s on my bed!” she protests. “I’ll explain that later; I’ve got to make a phone call,” Sandy says, turning away and she suddenly deals him a smack in the face—to his surprise and her shock.

She apologizes but Sandy can’t take the time to take offense, not after Carmichael, drunk, groans. She asks who he is and you realize that Sandy doesn’t really know him either—he’s chasing a kind of phantom who presence is expected by big powerful generals. “You almost recognized him at the pub this evening—“ He then apologizes. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to drag you into this.” By now she has recognized him and shows him a kind of a “face of a shadow” from a newspaper. “Group Captain Tony Carmichael.” Sandy becomes more grim—the CIC is looking for him, and if they ask how they found him—contemptuously, he reports that he found Carmichael under a tree near where he parked, “sucking fumes out of this,” he finishes, pitching the “tell-tale flask” on to the drunk man. He looks at her: “I’m in hot water already because of that argument in the pub—if I get the blame–I get thirty years hard labor.” He takes a gamble himself—an unsuccessful one–saying “I’m going to phone my CO and lie like a cavalry trooper”—supposedly about finding Carmichael, but not reporting it, and allowing the man to report on his own. “Will you back me up?” She agrees, unhappily. He calls for Gallagher and looks at the drunk man—“between now and next morning I’ve got to sober him up.”

-“only the ruddy Yankees would suggest such an idea”

Pinetree, the next morning, and a beautiful clear day—and within, a finger points to a map of Sweden. The finger belongs to McBride who is informing a sober Carmichael about the mission and the trip there—they will land at “a little airstrip 16 miles away from Stockholm.” His erect bearing, deliberate voice, and mug of coffee is in contrast to Carmichael, who, though sober, is hunched over in a chair, and questioning the whole enterprise: they’re going to fly to a place crawling with Nazis—pick up a 5000 pound V-1 rocket—“only the ruddy Yankees would suggest such an idea.” A voice from beyond the green curtains screening the room alerts McBride—and he cannot control his disgust. As Doud and Joe enter, he mutters “Tony, don’t you think you carry it a bit far?” He does not know how far Tony will carry things. . .

Introductions are made and Joe chides him, cheerfully: “You gave us a bad time last night.” “Must we discuss last night?” Carmichael asks as a WAC comes in with coffee. “No need to, you’re here,” says Doud. “That’s a point that needs discussing—why am I here? This is an American project.” “It’s a joint American-British project,” Doud says quietly, perhaps beginning to understand why Komansky clashed with him the night before. Carmichael continues to protest: “What about neutral Sweden? I suppose she has rocketry experts.” “No government is formally involved,” says McBride, forcefully. “We’re dealing with the Swedish underground.” “Cooperating,” Doud redefines. “There and here.” He maintains the gambling motif with “Let’s put that card on the table.” Carmichael picks up the motif—whether in spite, or in honesty—or an attempt to run the enterprise on the rocks– it is never clear: “I think we want all the cards on the table. I believe Sgt. Komansky is waiting—can we bring him in now?”

Gallagher’s concern is roused as he calls him in. Komansky comes in, sharply salutes—probably feeling the brush of the guillotine on his neck . . . Carmichael is terse—“Sgt. Komansky told you that I met a friend of a friend of his who loaned me her flat. Circumstances I think demand the truth—he found me dead drunk—and spent the entire night getting me ready for this briefing.” Sandy flinches as his lies are exposed so brutally. “There was a young lady involved—Miss Katie Henshaw.” Doud demands if this is true. “Yes sir, I worked on him all night.” Sandy dandles his cap. “She helped.”

Carmichael hones in: “Since this is top security circumstances I suggest these two be placed under arrest.” “Arrest–?” Sandy blurts. Joe swiftly quiets him. Doud, to his credit, first directs his anger at Carmichael—“You got drunk—I have a Prime Minister, a President, three general staffs and 3000 Swedes to protect—and you got drunk—“ He swings on Komansky. “And you told lies to cover—I’ll break you both.” Joe seeks to protect and by so doing protects the mission. “Break them both, but later.” Doud can’t see “later,” this mission is over before it starts; security has been breeched. Carmichael blithely intercedes: “I sat alone in a bar and saw no one, sir”—maybe he found his way to the Denby Lion Pub. Gallagher points out they don’t have time to investigate—and they can only move with him, Carmichael–“there’s no one else—and with Komansky—he’s an engineer and one of the best . . .” The Germans must be searching for that rocket now and they have got to start moving. Doud is smart enough to hear Joe’s practical wisdom and decides that yes, they must move, now, despite security problems. He orders McBride “to watch the girl”—and that he will assume responsibility.

-“are you trying to crawfish out of this?”

Carmichael back-pedals. This is not what he wants and tries to “phone in” his work—he says he can tell them “what goes into a V-1—gyroscopes—fuel injection—“ Doud leans in. “All stamped with production codes—our intelligence can decipher these codes and tell us where the parts are made—then we can bomb the factories . . . am I making myself clear?” Carmichael continues to protest, saying that the truly critical instrument is the timer—“that’s the key to the problem—well, don’t you see,” he says to the two American officers, “the timer is the only part you need—for heaven’s sake, isn’t there some Swede who can find the timer and send it to us?” Joe points out that the Swedes don’t have a man qualified enough that they can trust—“and we can’t base an entire country’s offensive on one part.” “Carmichael,” says Doud, “are you trying to crawfish out of this?” Joe damns him with faint praise—Carmichael has a three-year flying record that exhibited great courage—yet this same man has needlessly damned Komansky and an innocent young woman, made accusations, and then seeks to get out of an enterprise that depends so much on him—yes, Joe is angry. With words to the effect that Carmichael has lost his nerve, Doud leaves and the British expert seems slightly ashamed of himself—at least enough to gird his loins and go.

–“one more remark and I’m going to bust you to private—“

The next scene is a classic Gallagher-Komansky “snap-off,” with qualities parallel to their angry encounter in “Rx for a Sick Bird.” From Pinetree, cut to a recalcitrant propeller, another apt image for Carmichael. The prop belongs to a parked and unmarked C-47, and within, Sandy—in punishment?—struggles to fix it. Joe slides into the right seat and for the first time we see Sandy in the left seat. To his question, Sandy mutters that “Engine #1 couldn’t fly a paper sack” and the “ADF is off.” Joe states he needs a radio compass. “I thought Lord Haw-Haw was supposed to be the greatest navigator in the universe,” Sandy retorts—referring to the British who broadcast propaganda for the Nazis—there were several of these, but Lord Haw Haw usually refers to a William Joyce who hosted “Germany Calling.”

Joe elects to ignore this, saying he doesn’t want to fly without a radio compass—but his voice is sharp with worry as he reminds Sandy “that I can’t fly blind because the weather is our only defense.” When Sandy only keeps his eyes angrily averted Joe snaps “And knock off that ‘Lord Haw Haw’ business.” Sandy lets loose: “He didn’t have to do that to Katie, sir! She stuck her neck out a mile for him!” “You got her into it, didn’t you?” “Yes sir, but I was partly to blame for him getting drunk, and I was trying to protect myself—but what he did to Katie—“ Joe tells him that he is excused from blowing steam off—“but one more remark about it and I’m going to bust you down to private and you’ll fly like that for the rest of the month!—Now, when will this airplane be ready?”

Sandy has gotten the message: “1900 hours sir.” “No good. 1700 hours and not a minute later.” Joe and Sandy’s eyes hook—and he know Gallagher means it—and Sandy does so for two reasons: Gallagher ordered it, plus he owes him thanks for protecting him from a threatened dragooning.

-“Sergeant, take the controls, I’m not up to this—“

Sandy has obeyed the order and the C-47 flies alone in a disturbingly cloudy sky. On the flightdeck, Gallagher and Komansky’s relationship shows signs of having mended as Joe flies left, and Sandy sits right, assisting with the navigation. Sandy asks for more details about their dubious mission—how are they going to dismantle a V-1 with the Nazis breathing down their necks? Joe replies that the Swedes are dismantling it, and they will fly back with the vital parts—“but the Nazis will be breathing down our necks,” he admits. Carmichael comes to the deck and learns that they are on the third leg of the journey. Joe is tired; he rubs his neck and asks Carmichael to take over for him while he stretches out. Carmichael agrees and sits down left seat, gingerly taking the yoke, not seeing the slight glance Komansky deals him. Engine #1, still not behaving properly bothers him—and the sudden crack of a thunderstorm rattles him. “Sergeant, take the controls, I’m not up to this,” he protests. Sandy tries to soothe him, volunteering to get the Colonel but Carmichael is frantic—“take the controls, that’s an order!” Fortunately, the storm has also disturbed Gallagher who comes forward, asking if they are still on course. Carmichael does not answer—he’s not the pilot on this mission “and I’m not going to be!” Gallagher, forgetting his weariness, takes over and Carmichael tries to apologize—“I’m afraid I’m a little too rusty for thunderstorms,” getting a quizzical look from Sandy—but the sergeant has only flown with the best, and he is rarely seen an experienced pilot act so—and if they have, then there’s a problem, such as with Colonel Wexler in “Falling Star.”

Gallagher has seen such action, and his empathy is once more provoked and allows him to understand Carmichael’s agonies—which the British pilot takes with him as he retreats to the C-47’s waist. The look on his face indicates he is barely hanging on—and to help him hang on a bit longer, he removes the flask from his jacket. A close up reveals “RAF” on its battered surface. Turning point . . . no, this man will not straighten up and fly right . . .and he will continue to endanger the mission.

-“we can’t stay up here forever”

Act III begins and stays on the ground, in a fast-moving sequence. Now in Sweden, as a prewar and very handsome sedan passes by green fields to come to an isolated building bearing the sign “Reservdel Varulager”—meaning warehouse I presume!– A well-dressed older man emerges from the sedan, is met by a working class sort of man and together they go inside the building to see the V-1 rocket being partially disassembled. Though they are speaking Swedish, the well-dressed man checking his watch indicates that the three men are expected . . . soon.

Cut to the C-47 in a particularly handsome shot—since my father flew these planes in China-Burma-India I watch with particular interest!—by now Carmichael is back in right seat but things are far from stable.  Engine #1 causes concern, and to Gallagher’s demand—“When will I get that radio compass?!” Komanksy reports “It keeps coming and going.” Carmichael now helps out as he can, which maintains some of our sorely-tried sympathy for him. “That storm has the magnetic compass spinning like a top,” he reports, “but everything indicates we’re on course.” Komansky pessimistically remarks that if they had not been on course, “they’d be scraping us off the top of a mountain.” Trusting Carmichael—no easy thing–Gallagher makes a command decision—“we can’t stay up here forever,” and drops them to 3000 feet for visibility purposes. Carmichael bets that the Stockholm airport is five minutes ahead and their field another five . . . the engine sputters again, drawing concerned looks from all . . . it can’t hold much longer. Komansky finally brings good news—he’s picked up something and tells the men to get on their receivers. They listen and Carmichael translates—which suggests he may have studied engineering in Germany prior to the war; they never really explain how, after he was shot down, he became a rocketry expert. Carmichael can understand that they are picking up signals from an incoming plane—“it must be an embassy flight,” and urges Joe to fly up and hide in the clouds.

Joe decides to follow the German plane—if they are five degrees off “they’ll miss that field by 20 miles.” He brushes off Carmichael’s protests, telling him to translate the instructions going out to the German plane and he will “find him and follow him in.” Sandy does not turn a hair at Gallagher’s audacity; despite their fighting, Sandy trusts the man above all others. With Gallagher listening, and Sandy watching for the plane and reading off the altimeter—they spot the embassy flight—and now all they must do is fly direct for another five minutes. “Carmichael, you’re a pretty good navigator,” Joe praises. He’s huffy: “I think I could have gotten you there . . .” Perhaps. The man’s own magnetic compass is spinning, unable to be calibrated, which is due largely  due to him . . . as Gallagher forcefully advises him later.

With engine #1 still not working very well the C-47 comes in for a landing, observed by the two Swedish gentlemen we have met. In separate vehicles they go out to meet them. . . Their approach is observed by Sandy who is seated, unusually (but this is a C-47) behind Joe. He pulls out his revolver. “Let’s hope they’re friendly,” Joe declares, leaving the flight deck with Komansky behind him. Left alone, Carmichael tarries, pulls out his flask and takes another swig.

-“all is in order sir”

At the Stockholm airport terminal the two Germans, following embassy rules, report to what must be passport control—though Swedish neutrality was a joke; the German here are following protocol. To the young man in charge they announce their destination is the embassy—which it is not, and the clerk probably knows it . . . as he tells them “all is in order, sir.” A large, plain-suited man comes out to meet them, and the Nazi officer greets him—“Swensen, how are you?” He quietly informs them that the Swede Underground has found the robot bomb and notified the Americans—and that explains the C-47 they saw. The race ratchets up a notch—and the odds currently tip to the Underground and their American guests: as the three men leave, the clerk dials a number on the phone . . .

-“Mr. Karlsen, where is the V-1?”

In a restaurant, the well-dressed man, whom we will soon know at Mr. Karlsen, calmly takes the message, as his trusted hostess—his wife?–watches and listens. Within moments, the three men are delivered and upon entering, greet Mr. Karlsen whose English and demeanor are calm and well-mannered as if he greeting guests for dinner. In a way he is. Somewhat incongruously, Joe, Sandy and Carmichael seat themselves on dear little green chairs at a table laid with a cloth and set for a meal—recalling Joe’s meeting with conspirators in the rathskellar in “Practice to Deceive.” Karlsen tells them that this is a rendezvous for the Underground—“if anything should go wrong”—and will it ever—“come here immediately and our friends will get you out of Sweden.” Joe becomes direct: “Mr. Karlsen, where is the V-1?” Karlsen advises him that he has just received a phone call—“did you follow a German transport into Stockholm?” Joe says, simply, “I had to—my compasses were out.” Carmichael flicks a glance at him.

Their host is disturbed but calm—they weren’t expecting such air traffic and “when the Nazis make an unexpected move, it is dangerous.” “Do you think they know about us?” Joe asks, to which Carmichael retorts, with some truth, “they ruddy well know about us.” Karlsen says he is sure that Nazis are here to find the robot bomb . . . “I see,” Joe says and wastes no time reporting they need help with an engine, and Karlsen’s companion, Lindstrom, is introduced as help for this. Joe is pleased and is ready to go but Karlsen, much more wisely, advises them to eat first, then they can clean up and dress—and only move when it is safe. The hostess then serves them plates of Swedish food—hallelujah, Sandy gets close, for the first time, to food!!—and what food . . . He accepts the plate and holds it up, quizzically, as Karlsen warns them not to talk with anybody coming in. As Gallagher, older and more sophisticated—probably accustomed to different and “exotic” foods–picks up knife and fork and prepares to eat—Karlsen observes Sandy’s  hesitation and assures him—“Don’t be afraid of it sergeant, it’s good food.” . . . and out in the surrounding fields, the three Germans, in separate cars, have been searching and rendezvous. Swensen is directed to follow a road . . .which carries him and an associate into a presumed suburb of Stockholm—where he ends up at the restaurant—either he is thirsty, or perhaps knows it as a possible Underground location, that, as a Swede with a bit of loyalty, he has not told his Nazi contacts about.

-“soon my friends will be down and they expect a great deal from me”

In some fashion, the opening scenes at the Star and Bottle are repeated as Carmichael, once more in civilian gear is proceeding to get drunk, by himself. He has a goblet of ale which he doctors from his flask—which is observed by the hostess, who then observes visitors coming in and tries to warn him about the two men coming in . . as Sandy could not quite understand the chap’s attitude at the Star and Bottle (“some kind of foreign language”), Carmichael’s firm (or tipsy) belief that the hostess speaks English causes him to become a bit bumptious as he begs for another ale–“soon my friends will be down and they expect a great deal from me.” Swensen comes to his aid, saying he speaks English—and Carmichael, as many alcoholics, can only think of getting that next drink and completely forgets or ignores Karlsen’s request for them not to speak to anybody—although, to Swensen’s introductions, he does identify himself as “Smith.” “Well, what brings you to Sweden, Mr. Smith?” Carmichael pauses before he answers—might he sell out Gallagher and Komansky for revenge?—or for another drink? . . . at this moment, Act III ends . . .

-“I make all the mistakes and it becomes an American victory . . .”

As Act IV takes up, Carmichael has lapsed into a pensive mood rather than betrayal, as Swensen, also with a glass of ale, listens to him. “War,” he rhapsodizes, “is the ugliest of jokes man plays on himself . . . perhaps I just don’t have the sense of humor for it.” Though a bit sloppy, Carmichael here seems to be accepting some blame . . . it’s his attitude that is the problem. Swensen listens in seeming sympathy, and asks, “You are not then a soldier?” “No . . . I sure am something less than a soldier.” “But you do serve your country in some capacity?” “Oh yes,” Carmichael says, as he unscrews the cap off the flask. Ale and whiskey has made him talkative and truthful in a way. “I serve her best by staying out of the way.” That is eerily in contrast and in comparison of what he will do in the climax.  He asks if he can fortify Swensen’s mug of ale, and in his stupor of drink, fear, and self-pity, displays his flask with the tell-tale “RAF”—Swensen notices this — and declines, even lidding his drink with his hands—he’s stone cold sober with what he has seen; stopping for a drink has turned out unexpectedly fortunate. Carmichael apologizes for “monopolizing the conversation –tell me about yourself.” Swensen politely refers to his business and they leave . . with the hostess probably in silent agony all this time—she accepts their money and escorts Swensen and his associate out—she then beckons to Joe and Sandy who have been observing this little spree from the concealed landing of the stairs, and they come down immediately.

Another first for Sandy—he’s in civilian clothes, as is Joe who previously has been seen in “civvies” in “Underground,” and “Practice to Deceive.” Sandy, civilian clothes and all, goes to the window, and Joe confronts Carmichael: “Who were they? What did they want?” “I thought I handled him rather cleverly—were you watching?” Joe snaps that he was to speak to no one; Carmichael boozily protests—he was “trapped.” “You were trapped because you were sitting here drinking,” Joe redefines. More than ever, he understands why Sandy ran afoul of this guy in a similar situation—rendezvous ruined by Carmichael’s alcoholism and self-pity—each feed on the other. Outside, the car drives away—but revealed is Swensen, in the foliage, waiting. Sandy reports that the car drove away but he’ll swear there was only one person in the car.

Joe snaps into decisions; he orders Sandy to retrieve their flight suits because they have to move. “I’m sure I said nothing,” Carmichael tells him. “You’re drunk—you must have given away something—they could tell you’re British—“ “Yes, yes . . . I make all the mistakes and it becomes an American victory, doesn’t it?—I wonder if the Yank who shot me down got his kill confirmed . . .” Joe’s had enough; he sits down at the table—and, as is typical for the show, he sees clearly what the man’s problem is and tells him, as he has done many times . . . however, this is one of the reasons why Joe Gallagher shot to the top as he did; he has deep instinctive sense of what goes on in a man’s heart and head, which is how he  figured out the life-damaged Sandy so clearly and so early on, and leads by compassion, rather than aggression. Joe lays it on the line—Carmichael uses his hatred of Americans as a blind for crippling terror: “You’re just trying to destroy yourself and you know why?—I’ll tell you why—you were shot down once and it scared the guts out of you [ah, censorship!]—now all the wounds are healed but it’s left you with fear—and fear is one of the tougher things to live with”—he knows, he dealt with his own fears by Savage shoving his foot up his ass—but it worked.

-“did they see that . . ?”

Carmichael is half-listening to this but he may be hearing something in this Irish Yankee’s wisdom. “Doud said I was trying to crawfish out of this—and you believed him . . .” “I wasn’t sure but I am now,” Joe says, not angrily, but intensely. “Then why did you bring me here?” “I had no choice!” Sandy comes with their suits and waits while Joe and Carmichael have their next to last confrontation—He urges Carmichael to do his job—he can—and Carmichael becomes honest: “No, I’m on the skids. . .” Joe ignores him, saying that when the men come to pick them up, he and Sandy have gone to fix the engine. “You trust me . . .alone?” “I have to!” Joe then issues orders—if they don’t get that plane running they’re dead anyway. Carmichael is to grab the essential parts of that rocket and be ready to run. He demurs. “Well, at least I won’t die trying. I’ll probably end up dead in some dirty alley”—seemingly a desired fate that Sandy brutally kept him from two days earlier.

Joe turns to his trusted man. “Sandy, let’s go,” he says in farewell and Carmichael lets them go with a smart-ass boozy question—“do you find it necessary to rush like this?” “Yes I do!” is Joe’s trite but honest reply and with that the two men try to leave, are intercepted by the steadfast hostess who conducts them to another exit. Carmichael reaches for his flask for one more nip—and has a revelation of the RAF he sees on the container. “Did they see that?” he asks himself—three times, in growing horror—which at last galvanizes him to complete his duty.

-“oh, you four . . .”

There is a rapid switching of scenes as the clock ticks: from air strip, to the restaurant, to the “varulager” building. Joe and Sandy  run up to their plane, signalling the sentry that they are friends, and then worriedly work, with Lindstrom’s help, on the crippled engine; Carmichael leaves to takes up duty but in so doing is followed by Swensen . . . and all comes to a literally explosive ending.

At the building housing the rocket bomb, Carmichael, hanging onto himself, regards the thing and demands of Karlsen, who has accompanied him, “why didn’t it explode?” Fault in the contact fuse, Karlsen reports—but the explosive charge is still in there, and moving might trip it off. Carmichael, finally in charge of himself, details the critical devices that he seeks and is shown a device that was removed—“Oh, you four,” he says, regarding it, and orders it to be put on the truck. “Find the timer, find the timer,” he then orders.

At the plane, Lindstrom is successful; Joe starts the engine, and Sandy shakes the Swedish mechanic’s hand. Engine #1 is back in business, reflecting Carmichael’s work in the warehouse. Suddenly, two vehicles come bearing down on them—one is the truck delivering the “the four” as Carmichael describes it; but the truck is being chased . . . Joe, observing this from the flightdeck, grabs his pistol and joins Sandy and Lindstrom in a firefight as the pursuers open on them—this is their third “shoot-out” in Season III (Season II had one, I recall—in “Between the Lines” and it was more a running shoot-out, with Gargas being being killed and Sandy perhaps struck) which underscores the fact that actions are increasingly ground-bound. The truck rolls toward them providing cover as the occupants of the sedan open fire . . . When all is concluded in the Allies’ favor, Lindstrom says “Nazis.” “Yeah and there a lot more when they came from.” He hands boxes to Sandy and then he and Lindstrom take off to the warehouse—leaving Sandy to stow the device, get the plane ready—and perhaps deal with the bodies of both friend and foe.

-“go fly your airplane . . .”

At the warehouse, with Karlsen checking his watch, Carmichael seeks to extract the timing devices—he resembles a mid-wife bringing forth a baby; in some ways, he is being re-born too . . . close to the warehouse, the Nazi officer and Dr. Kunzman are seeking .  . . Carmichael makes his successful delivery, pale and sweating . . . Joe and Lindstrom arrive and Joe hustles him—“I found the ruddy little thing which finds the range,” he announces, pleased with himself—he is gaining control of himself, but it ends ironically . . . of course, everything goes wrong.  The Nazis arrive—Lindstrom fixes the door for a few more minutes–they seek another exit—Carmichael fights Joe off as he seeks to get him away . . . and succeeds by pulling a gun on the Colonel. “Go fly your airplane,” he tells Joe, which is both telling him to go to hell and an exact order—the parts need to be flown out. Carmichael is stupid, defiant, but seems to be seeking some kind of redemption. “Let me do this,” he tells Joe. “I’ll get out of this somehow . . . you’ve got no choice!” he then shouts at him, echoing Joe’s own words. As always, Joe is smart—he agrees and flees out the back with the range control device.

What an ending!—deeply satisfying for those appreciate excellent melodrama in a tight narrative. The Nazis break down the door and they and Carmichael exchange shots. He is hit, but before he goes—he shoots at the exposed explosive charge—which catches fire and before anybody can flee, the rocket bomb finally completes its duty and explodes, hurling them all into eternity—whether heaven or hell greets Carmichael . . .who knows. Outside, in the fields, the fleeing men are hurled to the ground. Joe heaves himself to a sitting position and, cradling the device that Carmichael held on long enough to find—extract—and then sacrifice himself to make sure it was taken away—regards the mess. And nobody is left alive to know what Carmichael did . . .

-“General–?” – “Granted.”

From Swedish fields, the Epilogue opens back at Wing, where McBride’s calm, controlled voice describes to Joe and Doud a series of devices laid on a table—and where it was made—nicely, the last device, the real kicker—is identified as being made in Dresden—the site of fine porcelain, the site of firebombing . . . Joe asks, in way of tribute to the unfortunate man—asks, “Was Carmichael right about this?” “About the timer being the key?—Rocketry is not my specialty, but the experts were quite excited.”

Joe pauses. “General–?” “Granted,” Dowd says, without looking up. “When?” “You name it.” He leaves. McBride has been observing this exchange, akin to a tennis match. “Joe, did I miss something?” he asks. “Oh, I just asked the General if I could lead a mission on Dresden—and he said go ahead, as soon as the weather clears.” “I see.”

Joe hands the device to McBride. “And the weather is clearing,” he says and leaves—and so the episode ends with a mission beckoning. Sandy, it is assumed, is off the hook with Carmichael’s death and will be by Joe’s side as they fly yet one more mission. . . to seek and destroy.

“Burden of Guilt”

Writer: Robert Longsdorf

Director: Laslo Benedek

“Burden of Guilt”—typically a tightly told, well-directed, story-rich episode– evokes a plot for the third time: Gallagher being threatened by a take-over “engineered” by a friend: “The Idolater” and “Falling Star” both presented this story, but, typically, “tonight’s” version is made notably different from the others as this usurper, Colonel Ray Hollenbeck, is in a stronger position than the previous would-be usurpers of Lt. Josh McGraw and Colonel Hal “Pappy” Wexler whose attempts are both weak, uncoordinated, or not engaged in deliberately and maliciously. The raw Josh McGraw, seemingly unfathomable in his attempt to usurp or at least derail Joe, takes clumsy and downright stupid steps as he attempts to steal Phyllis Vincent and out-performs Joe by bombing a bridge, and pretends it was a lucky error—he atones, if he really does, with his life. Wexler, far more mature and sensible, attempts to take over the 918th, but his “attempt” is openly motivated by events (Joe is wounded and is called to help at Wing) as well as quietly or invisibly motivated by self-disappointment and testosterone as a hidden part of his brain deals with a faithless wife and partner.  In “Burden of Guilt” Hollenbeck, a West Point graduate and classmate to Gallagher and Doud, a senior officer due to his own efforts, stands in contrast to these two either weak or ill-prepared men: he is motivated by his career, a promotion due him, and his pride. Also, he is cagier in his work, using communication to delay and hinder Joe, “spins” his perceptions of the 918^th’s “laxity” and then evokes military charges of insubordination to shift the “burden of guilt”—self-guilt that he has exaggerated—to others, with Harvey Stovall taking the brunt. Driven by the sight of a general’s star, deeply embarrassed by his lack of success (on the gridiron at West Point and failing to hit the Nordesholme wolfpack) he fingerpoints—and accuses.

Colonel Gallagher, increasingly hardened by combat and command fights Hollenbeck, tactically, and even physically—and in a not-unknown step (best and recently seen in “Gauntlet of Fire”) he disobeys orders not once, but twice. Some other parallels with the previous “bump off Joe Gallagher” stories: As in “Idolater” and “Falling Star,” he is initially delighted to greet the man; Joe, touchingly, perhaps betraying an innocence that we find appealing in the man, considers them to be friends. Gallagher also tries to find excuses for the man’s behavior; gets into trouble trying to keep the lid on the situation, and finally has to take the situation in hand no matter what trouble it’s going to cause him. In all three episodes, Joe is warned that his adversary is seeking to “cut his throat”—once by Phyllis, and twice by Komansky. He is “saved” in different ways: in “The Idolater” McGraw is verbally disciplined by McGraw, and then loses him and Josh takes himself out in a heroic-stupid gesture. In “Falling Star” he verbally disciplines Wexler, but maintains his friendship, largely helped by the man realizing his illness, quitting flying and taking up desk work. Refreshingly, in this episode, despite the bitterness between them, Joe and his usurper finally join as partners and complete the mission together . . . and go out to take communion with a well-deserved drink that Joe will buy. And on a really different note–Gallagher–and Stovall too–are the ones in “hot water”—which Komansky swims clear of—though he stands by and protects his two officers and friends as best he can; indeed, his off the record reporting to Gallagher finally galvanizes the man to come out swinging.

Red Red Flares: This a long one!—the legal-like proceedings as an array of officers, and a concerned non-com try to determine the “burden of guilt” caused me to transcribe, at length, a lot of conversation—which reveals motivations, lies, rationalizations, misperceptions, clarifications . . .

“it’s definitely the Nordesholm wolfpack!”

In the teaser, an unusual but not unknown sight in this “war in the heavens” series—a submarine prowls underneath the water; a freighter, which served the cause by delivering the materiel of war–is sighted through a periscope—a hand pulls a lever, torpedoes spiral out and the ships bursts into flames. As in the beginning of “To Seek and Destroy,” the Allied armies may be pushing their way to Berlin, but the Germany military is still powerful, and its destruction calls for other means. Thus this episode is one of the last season’s more “airborne” and traditional ones as B-17s assemble in formations and take on a difficult bombing mission. Cut to—Wing, with a flourish of dignified music—which is punctuated by the angry fist belonging to Lt. General Fox. Handsome, dignified, and silver-haired, he snarls “It’s definitely the Nordesholm wolfpack!—they’ve sunk seven freighters!”—this to General Doud, who is once more taking flak from his superiors, this time, for incorrect data: “I got your report that the subpens were destroyed. Now, General, who is responsible for this misinformation?” “The Commander of this Wing,” Doud says and asks for another crack of Nordesholm—”I’ll correct this mistake with action.”

Fox won’t be bought off with Doud’s claim—he demands to know who made the mistake and didn’t let them know about it—“now you can give me the information voluntarily, or I’ll dig it out of you officially.” Doud, without backing down, reads him correctly: “you must be under a lot of political pressure, General.” Fox, called out, slumps against the table. “Well, that as you may very well know, is part of the game,” he says, contributing to the endlessly intertwining 12OCH motif of games and gambling—and reminds us of how in “To Seek and Destroy,” Doud reminds Carmichael that “he has a prime minister, a president, and three general staffs” politically barking at him. Doud retrieves information and we learn “I gave the group to my acting G-3.”

“Ray Hollenbeck,” Fox says, identifying tonight’s villain—and finally a hero of sorts. “He’s an administrator.” “Group command is administration—but not like Joe Gallagher—they don’t fly as much as he does.” Fox says the group commanders do fly combat—and “combat,” he says, identifying Hollenbeck’s understandable motivations, “is a way to hasten promotion for an ambitious colonel who is just about due.” Fox is also identifying a host of issues that connect, collide, and stare at each other in reflexive duet in many episodes: the “altruistic” goals of war being carried out by fallible human beings—the stuff of high drama.

In this case, an officer with skills and abilities and guts—but also with desires and lacking the emotional stamina to keep it all in perspective to help win the war—and one of the hallmarks of 12OCH: the profile of the individuals caught in personal, political, and military forces far greater and larger than themselves. Fox delivers all this in his next question: “Hollenbeck was a classmate of yours, wasn’t he?” Doud’s voice is angry but controlled: “General, you develop that into an accusation and you can relieve me, here and now.” Fox both soothes him—but he does bring a sense of the “old boys network”–and challenges him: “You’re pretty tough, aren’t you?” “Ray Hollenbeck is tough—he may never have been popular but I’ve never known him to be untruthful”—a description that well fits Komansky, who brushes up against Hollenbeck, has no direct dealings with him, but thwarts him by finally telling Gallagher the truth.

-“Who has authority? Gallagher or me?”

Cut to Ray Hollenbeck at his desk—hands folded and young-middle-aged face similarly folded as he takes in Doud’s news—delivered personally which is either for security or Doud’s kindly sense:  like Gallagher is instinctively courteous to his people. Hollenbeck’s office is crowded and shadowy, a bit like his mind. “Political pressure from on high?” Hollenbeck asks, revealing wisdom and experience—and some finger pointing. “Therefore, I’m relieved of command of the 52^nd group?” “In the vernacular, I’m kicking you back upstairs, Ray,” says Doud, kindly, firmly. Hollenbeck, for lack of a better word, whines a bit: “You know, when I was first playing football at the Point—little Joe Gallagher came along and bumped me—I spent my senior year on the bench—you spent yours catching most of the passes he threw.” Timewise, this suggests that Doud and Hollenbeck are two or maybe three years older than Joe. “He’s not knocking you off this time, I am,” Doud says, kindly—firmly. “They’ll get the Nordesholme assignment,” Hollenbeck points out. Doud points out a reality—”the 918^th is the only unit that can send sufficient aircraft up.” “Where’s my promotion—up in the air too?”

Doud becomes more firm than kind, telling him not to make an issue out of the promotion—but agrees, “All right, you’ve lost a combat command—but find those Nordesholme sub pens—and I don’t think you’ve lost any headway.” Doud takes a chance with him—he must feel sorry for Hollenbeck who has been a reliable trustworthy officer, hears his disappointment, and wants to uphold his belief that Hollenbeck can do the job, which makes him look like he can do his own job. He sends Hollenbeck down to the 918^th . . . the man gets on the phone, asking for the base, and without pausing asks a good but suspicious question—“who’s in charge? Gallagher or me?” “Well, as G-3 you have,” Doud says. “But don’t abuse it.”

Hollenbeck’s set face, as he turns to the phone, reveals nothing . . . and the six bongs strike over him as he sets forth on a mission that will be carried out but abused by ambition, a lurking sense of revenge, and a frantic shifting of “burden of guilt” onto other shoulders than his own—which lends particular meaning to Ray’s fearful claim that “they will crucify him”—which refers to a man who took the burden of guilt of the world when he died on the cross.

-“Soldier, do you know who I am?”

Act I takes up with a scene rife with ambiguity: at a sentry point near Operations, an alert sentry enjoys watching a game of catch, played by airmen in the bright, pleasant sunshine (football, baseball, all part of the game!). The sentry catches a fielder and throws it back, and comes to attention with a salute as a Jeep drives in.

The scene could be taken two ways—a “happy” base with men using their free time to play an innocent game of catch—or a sloppy base with men messing around with a baseball rather than attending to other better duties. Hollenbeck probably rather gleefully sees it in the second way, and his attitude is not helped when, climbing out, he nearly collides with the t-shirted Komansky, mitt and baseball in hand—“Excuse me sir!” he snaps politely and moves off—probably deciding it wouldn’t look good to salute with a baseball in one hand, a mitt on the other. Hollenbeck deals him a slightly exasperated glance—not realizing he is looking at one of the harder working men on the base—but this is a self-centered man, thinking only of his success and his need for success. Then, in a scene somewhat reminiscent of the 1949 movie, in which Savage challenges an under-experienced sentry, Hollenbeck shows his authority by immediately calling out the sentry: “Soldier, do you know who I am?” “No sir, not personally sir.” “You ever check ID on this base?” The sentry then identifies him as “Colonel Hollenbeck, from G-3 sir.” Hollenbeck, a little skunked, demands a correct salute from the man, gets it—and ominous music escorts him to Operations, where Harvey hospitably greets him. He will inflict “burden of guilt” on this friendly, efficient man . . .whom he initially greets civilly, asking him if the base has been alerted for a mission. Stovall says he has not heard anything, save for weather reports and Hollenbeck says, “Well, a mission is coming, I believe.” “Well, I’ll notify Colonel Gallagher,” Stovall says and the problems begin. . .

-“I believe I said, ‘Let’s wait’”

Hollenbeck inclines to be kind, saying he is sure Joe has a good reason not to be on base—“Let’s have a reason before we call him back.” Stovall then, to his request, graciously escorts Hollenbeck into Joe’s office, but tells the Colonel that “Gallagher will be calling me—he could fly here in an hour—or if he drives, it will take six hours.” “I believe I said, ‘Let’s wait,’” Hollenbeck says, and then to soften his words, asks where Joe is—Stovall tells him that he is in Durham—“visiting his brother for a few hours.” This has the effect of “sweetening” Joe’s absence; he’s not just on mere leave, he’s at a family reunion with his heroic brother Pres, who, for undisclosed reasons, “has flown back from the States and is rejoining his division.” Hollenbeck continues to shield himself, assuring Harvey there is nothing for Joe to get excited about—and “if he calls, advise him to stand by, if a mission develops—we’ll let him know.” Stovall agrees, but he is hearing a few alarm bells ringing …

-“You know, Colonel Hollenbeck wears eagles . . . you wear stripes”

Later the same day, Stovall enters Operations to find Sandy at the duty desk—he is probably returning from all the “running around” Komansky later describes as Hollenbeck having him do. To his questions about “Is everything quiet?” Sandy says, “Yes sir,” and then “What about the Colonel, sir?” His antennae about Gallagher is telling him that the man is in trouble. “Isn’t he in there?” Stovall asks, with a note of weariness and stress.

“Colonel Gallagher, sir,” says Sandy.

“Sandy, the mission isn’t on yet,” Stovall says, patiently.

Sandy cuts through the crap. “What’s going on around here, sir? he demands. “Why wasn’t Colonel Gallagher notified? It’s like somebody trying to muscle in.” Stovall’s aging face is creased; he is under the pressure of keeping the base running smoothly, which means he needs to follow the seeming wishes of the temporary man in command, but he hears the truth in Sandy’s words—which leads to a brief meditation on Sandy and Stovall’s relationship. Not as richly developed as his and Gallagher’s relationship, nonetheless, their connection is strong and sure, weathering Sandy’s “laid on the line” critique of his flying (“Storm at Twilight”) and strengthening during their times of waiting and worry for Gallagher (“Underground,” “Decoy” and “Practice to Deceive”); Stovall probably spent a few worried hours at Sandy’s bedside when the younger man was gravely wounded (“Day of Reckoning”). Stovall’s patience, gentleness and intelligence has probably helped Sandy smooth out some of his rougher edges; perhaps Sandy has stood in at times for Harvey’s son Mike, still MIA. Stovall is firm but kind, much like Doud is with Hollenbeck.

“You know, Colonel Hollenbeck wears eagles,” he tells Sandy. “You wear stripes.” (Marks of rank on either shoulder or arm—it sure makes a difference!) “He’s been in charge of the Nordesholme project from the beginning . . . and if he weren’t capable of carrying it out, he wouldn’t be a colonel”—which has truth in it. The phone rings, bringing the awaited word. Stovall immediately communicates this to Hollenbeck, whose swift appearance at the door suggests he has been waiting anxiously, ear to outer Operations. “Eleven-thirty,” he announces. “Five hours to briefing.” “What about Colonel Gallagher sir?” asks Sandy of Hollenbeck, not put off by Harvey’s advice. “Yes, see if you can get in touch with him now,” are his words, an invitation not to try too hard. We later learn that Sandy did, but not in time for Gallagher to fly down.

-“where the heck is the skipper . . ?”

“Nordesholme!” Hollenbeck announces, pointing out an irregular coastline on a map to his assembled pilots and crewmembers. He speaks forcefully, but obfuscates: “Two weeks ago the 52^nd bombed three of them—and now we are bombing the fourth—the real one.” He warns the pilot to “precisely follow my lead and bomb precisely when I do.” One member of the audience is not listening—Komansky, whose glancing around provokes a comment from Captain Wirth: “you’d better take a pill,” meaning, he’s too nervous to go aloft. Komansky can only mutter “Where the heck is the skipper . . .?” though he directs his attention to Hollenbeck. He knows Gallagher is coming; he talked to the man himself. Their tasks are clarified: obviously a “maximum effort,” Stovall is called out for duty; he and Wirth are piloting the planes taking the critical photos—although to Hollenbeck, they will become evidence to complete his promotion. Stovall and Wirth are to fly with Blue Squadron where they will be protected. “I definitely want photos of that strike,” he says to Wirth, who nods.

-“you giving Ray my group, General?”

In an answer to Sandy’s concern, outside, another Jeep, driven by Joe Gallagher, swings into the Operations area. Joe leaps out and up the steps to enter his office, where he is delighted, rather than surprised, to find Ray Hollenbeck on the phone—who has obviously been answering to questions about him leading the strike. “General, I did not make the decision negligently . . . the mission has a far better chance with me leading,” he says as Gallagher enters the office.

“Ray!” Joe declares and shakes hand with them. According to Gallagher, nothing is amiss; rather, he starts to energetically prepare for the mission—and then is called to the phone, over which he speaks with Doud, learning that he was alerted. Over the phone, Doud tells him—firmly but kindly—that Hollenbeck is acting as his deputy . .. “pressure from above.” “I see,” Joe says. “Well, Ray can give me the details, we’ll be taking off in 15 minutes”—to Ray’s level glance. Doud then levels with Joe—in a conversation that Hollenbeck cannot hear. We can hear that Doud is trying to save some face—keep Hollenbeck in command—and not disappoint Joe but making it clear that it is not because Joe is guilty of anything—but Joe is not to fly. “The mission does not need two leaders—you haven’t been briefed. You understand.”

Joe, like Komansky, cuts through the crap: “You giving Ray my group, General?” Doud saves face again, but his answer makes sense: “He’ll fly it today. If I lose him, I have somebody to turn to.” “I see,” Joe says again and hangs up. His self-confidence, a little battered, kicks in as he remembers the larger issue—destroy those subpens. “Well Ray, you have a lot riding on you today—I know you have a great group behind you—make it good.” “Thank you,” Ray says, leaves—pauses—looks back to say something. Joe waits. Nothing is said. He leaves. The audience has to decide for themselves what he is thinking or feeling. Joe is perplexed at him and what is going on. Like Fox, as he admitted to political pressure, Joe slumps against his desk.

-“yes, prime the guns. . .”

The dangerous and critical mission rolls. Hollenbeck and Fowler pilot one plane, with Sandy—who has kept his mouth shut apparently—as engineer. Stovall and Wirth are in another, “Blue Iris” is their call name. As the planes roll out, there are some particularly nice and perhaps “new” clips of B-17s heading off down the long runways, which gives an idea of how immense Archbury is. A blog correspondent has sent me pictures of Bassingbourne, an RAF base that Americans occupied during the war, and it was huge!—sometimes the effect on 12OCH (limitations in budget, filming locations) all give an effect of rather cozy smallness, which was reinforced by more filming accomplished on what Duffin and Mathes refer to as “makeshift sets”—they seem pretty solid for makeshifts, but they were obviously set within the 20th Century Fox backlot. The long and seemingly needless sequence of the B-17s going aloft actually emphasizes the fact that Gallagher has been left alone . . . at his desk, a site which will be contested later on. Gallagher watches through his window, craning his neck to see his group leave without him; pauses, goes to the ever-present coffee pot; pours a cup, now listening to the sound of the planes overhead.

His “impudence” flares up—he puts pot and cup aside and calls his crew chief to make sure his special P-51 is ready—it is, and he says “yes, prime the guns.” Maybe Joe is not being impudent as much as his “good shepherd” qualities have kicked in—his flock is being led by another, one who does not care about them, as much as this “one” cares about the mission outcome. Joe knows by his own beliefs that if you care about the people, the mission will take care of itself . . . and this mission’s leader cares only about himself. Joe, as well being the good shepherd, will also later transform into a knight, protecting Harvey against this man.

-“I want proof!”

Airborne in his Mustang—apt image for his maverick attitude in this episode–Joe observes the formation as it flies into flak beds. In the lead, Hollenbeck is alert, cautious—courageous—yet it is all betrayed by his repeated instructions to Wirth about his photographic tasks—“I want proof,” he orders—which transforms the bombing mission more into a court trial. In keeping with the aspect of photography, there are some striking clips of fortified coastlines, and the bombs dropping . . . Blue Iris, lower than the others to take photos, is suddenly hit with flak. Wirth is killed and Stovall struck; blood spreads on his forehead. He calls for the flight engineer who confirms that Wirth is dead—and in the midst of this, groggy from the blow he took, Harvey’s rattled eyes, perhaps sharper from the stream of adrenaline this shock has poured into his system, spot a submarine gliding on the surface. Communication, in keeping with Hollenbeck’s stratagems, breaks down, and the ultimate effect is to hurl Harvey into trouble. Harvey radios the crew to learn if they got pictures, but their system is shot.

Gallagher, in unofficial mission control, radios them, encouraging them to stay where they belong . . . an apt subtitle for this episode, by the way! Gallagher is not disturbed when Hollenbeck hears and broadcasts—“you’re in violation of orders!”—which Fowler hears but keeps his mouth shut. Stovall calls attention to the submarine—and in charge of the plane takes it down for a better view—he radios for permission—is not heard—and Sandy observes this and radios their status. Now there are two violations of orders for Hollenbeck to deal with and smugly contrast with his own obedience and drive to bomb the subpens. Stovall still tries to get out the message that they have bombed the wrong inlet—and radios helplessly they they’re going to get pictures of the right inlet and makes the risky decision to take the plane further down—of course, attracting fighters—observed by Joe in his Mustang, as he seeks to protect “Blue Iris.” Hollenbeck, privy to all this, mutters, “I need those pictures . . .” as he sees the plane with the equipment getting away . . .and in a headlong scene of rolling waves, the Blue Iris, crippled, under attack, and helpless, ditches into the water . .

-“insubordination, pure and simple”

Act II is framed by two attacks—a member of the wolfpack sites a helpless ship, torpedoes fired, destruction at the beginning and at the end. It helps to reveal the tight spot these men are in as personal ambition, selfless desires to protect, and the violation of the helpless twine all together. Interestingly, throughout this act, there are skillful groupings of three men, which can be interpreted as triangulation of military goals, personal ambition, and duty . . .and the latter quality becomes a highly relative thing. After the attack, the scene cuts to Wing, where Hollenbeck, later the same day, enunciates to General Doud who listens impassively, not commenting: “The orders I gave sir were explicit and definite—stay in the slot—I needed the pictures—at the briefing and in the air—insubordination, pure and simple—I will not close my eyes to that.” His speech—during which he protests too much—further exposes his single track mind and intolerance to anybody’s thinking but his own—and that his ambitions are driving his beliefs.

Gallagher, in his Dress-A uniform, rapidly enters, hanging up his coat—an apt image for his own situation—he’s on the hook, but good. Doud asks: “Any news?” Gallagher reports that they ditched into the North Sea. Gallagher’s concern for the crew—and certainly for Harvey—is sliced into by Hollenbeck’s summation: “With the pictures.” Doud turns to Gallagher: “You were up there in a Mustang—I distinctly said I didn’t want to risk you both.” Joe well reveals his impudence—or audacity–identified as one of his chief qualities in “Grant Me No Favor”—“General, you didn’t tell me not to go at all—my evaluation of the circumstances–” Doud interrupts—“When, Colonel, are you incapable of interpreting a direct order?—you are grounded.” When Gallagher protests, Doud repeats himself—“Grounded, period.” Doud stands up, and he and Gallagher now flank Hollenbeck—he is right between the two men that he sees robbing him of his football glory at the Point—and does not realize that these two men are in the middle of throwing, catching, and intercepting passes. Doud reiterates his point to Gallagher—that Hollenbeck knows the target, and he needs Joe as a back up. “It is resolved sir,” Hollenbeck says of the attack, probably gleeful at Joe’s dressing down—but still demands that he needs strike photos—and insubordination robbed him of them. “All right, let’s say you’re right—and I hope you are . . . we’ll know in a couple of days . . .but if the sinkings stop, what do you need those pictures for?”

Hollenbeck’s pass has been intercepted. He is silent.

-“yes, good men . . . bad discipline”

Joe quickly moves into the opening to start protecting his people. “Something must have gone wrong. Majors Wirth and Stovall are among the steadiest people in my group.” Hollenbeck intercepts this pass. “I don’t know what the word steady means to you, Joe—you run an awfully free and easy outfit.” Joe takes offense at this—his lips move to form a retort—fortunately, the phone rings, but with bad news, indicated by Doud’s “Yeah . . . all right.” He gives it: two more freighters have been sunk. He stands up again and moves off—now Joe is flanked/trapped by Dowd and Hollenbeck—on one side a senior officer shouldering political pressure and on the other a nakedly ambitious man that Doud must try to protect to save his own face. Hollenbeck passes: “I prefer charges against Major Wirth and Major Stovall,” he announces.

Joe pivots on him. “Charges?”

Hollenbeck rationalizes—but well. “Submarines sinking freighters cannot possibly be from Nordesholme. We hit that base this morning! The only reason I don’t have pictures to prove it is the insubordination of the pilots—you saw it!” he then tells Joe, and then twists the knife: “Thank heavens you were there . . .” Joe stares at him. “My men did not miss! You saw Blue Iris leaving.” Doud finally tries to intercept. “Ray, you’re talking about good men.” “Yes, good men  . . . bad discipline.”

“I’m sorry . . .  you okay?”

The camera focuses on Joe’s taut face . . .which rapidly dissolves into a large Red Cross on the back of a transport. The ambulance, on the 918^th presumably turns toward the hospital while a following Jeep drives toward Operations. . . .from which a jubilant Gallagher and Komansky emerge, greeting Stovall who climbs out of the Jeep. “I got back Joe, that’s what counts,” Harvey says, a bandage around his temples. “Four men died—Major Wirth, the bombardier, the radio operator and the belly gunner.” “I’m sorry,” Joe says gently. Escorting Harvey with his hands on his arm, Joe has to ask the weary, rattled man: “You okay?”—it’s a simple but heartfelt question to a man he both loves, respects and has grown to depend upon in the air, on the ground—and a prelude to what he must tell Harvey and what Harvey must face—the burden of guilt.

-“just some after-hours photography”

From this emotional huddle, the scene leaps to the sight of single Mustang in flight, sailing above the coastal inlets. Gallagher spies P-38s to his right, and radios them with the code names . . . “do you read me?” His look of concerns lifts when a pilot acknowledges him: “you’re a long way from home.” “Just some after-hours photography,” Joe reports, and their acknowledgement and sign off provokes a smile, and a pleased glance at the P-38s, as they fly away, accompanied by the always soulful strains of the 12OCH “anthem.” As is to celebrate the moment, the Mustang rears high in the sky . . .

-“the point is, he ignored my orders”

And the scene changes to Wing. What follows is one of the densest scenes ever played in this series: three men, two reasonably sympathetic to Harvey, and one filled with bloodlust for Gallagher’s scalp, arraign Major Harvey Stovall. His intelligent defense for his actions throws Hollenbeck’s beliefs about the mission’s success into doubt; the harder the man presses, the more he exposes himself. Harvey sits on other side of the table they have convened at, calmly facing the three men who, from top to bottom of the table are ranged by his rank. Hollenbeck is the “low man on the totem pole” and knows it—though he would deny such feelings: throughout the session he evades responsibility, accuses, becomes cheap and nasty and then denies it.

The question and answer session gets into appearance vs. reality–and fact vs. opinion—and perception and misperception–shadowy and vague areas which do not square with the military perspective and process. “There was no change in the attitude of the aircraft,” Fox begins, to Harvey. “You took control of it?” Harvey assents. Fox reports that “observers report that the aircraft held its position in the formation and then dropped out—under your control.” “And ditched,” Hollenbeck digs in. “He ditched and damaged an aircraft,” he says to Harvey’s lowered eyes. “The point is, he ignored my orders.” Harvey speaks up; he did not ignore orders; he was trying to get permission to look more closely on what he saw below. Hollenbeck sits forward. “Nobody else saw those submarines, but we all heard him calling you, again and again.” Harvey demurs, not exactly in his favor:  “What I thought I saw below sir—and my flight engineer—“ “The flight engineer is unconscious and probably will not recover from his wounds—that makes five dead,” he says cruelly, seizing on anything, including the dying and the departed to discredit the man.

Doud, once more in the middle, intercepts Hollenbeck. “Major, did it appear to be the right target?” “Yes sir, it was.” He points out, damningly, “that we did hit the designated target.” This to Hollenbeck who identified the target, led the raid—and though he successfully hit the target—it was not the right target. “Since the subs are still operating, they must have come . . .” “They must have come from another location,” Hollenbeck snaps, which is, ironically, the point that Harvey is making. “And I had pictures to prove it!”—by now, his auditors are thinking—prove what exactly—the man’s accusations are as concentrated but as scattered as flak. Stovall is wonderfully calm. Unlike Sandy, he can call upon professional experience to deal with this man. “Sir—if this were a court—I’d be telling you right about now that those pictures we took are irrelevant and immaterial.” “We’ll see about that—when we’re in court,” Hollenbeck says.

-“don’t make a mere whimsical flyboy out of me!”

Fox now intercepts—he is aware of “the incendiary nature of this whole Nordesholme affair.” Hollenbeck unwisely interrupts: “I missed the target two weeks ago due to unavoidable circumstances,” he declares, while Doud, deeply distressed by this man he placed in command, looks at the table. “Then you know why we want to avoid a court martial,” Fox says, “and the attention it would bring.” Hollenbeck blunders on. “I just don’t see how we can avoid one sir—because it is Nordesholme. We are faced with inefficiency, insubordination, and lack of discipline,” he says to Stovall’s quietly irked face. “I don’t just mean Major Stovall, but an example must be made.” Doud listens, concerned and angry as Hollenbeck simplifies the whole situation—Gallagher is at fault: “The only setback we’re bound to suffer—when sentries don’t salute—when security discipline is lax, when military courtesy is virtually ignored on the base—there is inefficiency in the air—tactical—is bound to be sub-standard.”

Stovall says he is not lying to save his hide—and—“if I did see a submarine in another inlet up there . . .” Hollenbeck now launches forward in his chair and comes to a semi-standing position—“The surveys were fine!—don’t make a mere whimsical fly-boy out of me!” Doud and Fox exchange looks over this near outburst and personal attack against Harvey’s motivations. Hollenbeck becomes a bit more logical, claiming that there are no areas within 5-50 miles of the designated area that could possibly support  the facilities for a wolfpack. “What could cause you to make errors on three earlier raids?” Harvey counters. “Couldn’t it have been camouflage?” Hollenbeck’s retort is nearly illogical: “Don’t you make that an issue!” Doud intercepts: “Colonel, I thought the wolfpack and the Major’s insubordination were the issues.” Hollenbeck resorts again to cheap personal attacks. “Yes, yes—I need to make an example of him in point of fact—but when the CO was off the base—socializing with his brother—and you know he violated orders when he took off in that Mustang—“ he does not notice Fox and Doud’s eyes suggesting they are dealing with a loose cannon . . . “the reins are too loose down there sir,” a nice little tie in with how Gallagher flouted an order with his “Mustang” and that his call name is “Ramrod.”—Hollenbeck finishes calmly. “Too much discretion permitted to individual pilots—personal loyalty of course, to his friends and commander—I have known Joe Gallagher for years . . .let me point out, this is not personal.”

Doud winces. “And I am sure the general appointed me as group commander because that was the best way to get the job done.” Doud speaks directly, calmly, with a tint of disappointment in his voice. “I appointed you because were there, Colonel.” “Gallagher wasn’t.” With unbelievable bravado or stupidity, he adds, “Believe me, I was not accusing him.” Fox has had enough. “All right, get Colonel Gallagher in here.” The WAC sergeant, taking shorthand of the proceedings, says, “I don’t believe he’s here, sir.” Fox stares at Doud: “Wasn’t he ordered to be here?” As Hollenbeck hears this latest act of insubordination, his eyes shift.

-“Well, General, it’s only 11:35—I can still make it”

Gallagher, yellow Mae West in hand, heedlessly enters his office—into the presence of Harvey Stovall and Doud, slumped against his desk. Joe pauses—goes to hang up his hat and turns when Doud mutters “You know, I ought to put you under arrest—maybe I will.” Oddly enough, he spoke similar words to Komansky a few weeks earlier in “To Seek and Destroy.” Joe is energetically defiant and a cool gambler: “Yes sir, for me to be at Wing Headquarters this morning—Well, General, it’s only 11:35—I can still make it.” Here Gallagher’s impudence is plain.

Joe’s old football colleague becomes angry and hurls an angry pass at Joe: “Listen to me, because this is rank speaking—WHERE WERE YOU?” “Looking.” “Don’t you think I know enough to look?” Joe agrees with him, saying he saw a flight of P-38s going to photograph. Doud both backs down and rears up: “All right—you understand this—I’m on a griddle—and you keep heating it up for me. Fox is half convinced I sent Hollenbeck down here to save his reputation [I think we can detect a kind of a lie here]—and my personal friendship is overriding my better judgment.”

Joe gracefully backs down himself. “I’m sorry Phil—but I went there because I believe Harvey.” He wants to pinpoint the target because he believes “that’s the best way to clear up this mess. Success does help in any situation.” Joe then has to admit to Harvey that he couldn’t find it. “So you didn’t clear Hollenbeck, either.” Joe points out that he didn’t do it to clear Hollenbeck—and if Hollenbeck keeps pressing, he won’t have a leg to stand on. Doud reminds him that he doesn’t have a leg to stand on either—and gives him a critical warning: “Apparently, my orders don’t mean anything to you—but you’re advertising it.” To keep Joe out of any more trouble, he confines him to quarters for insubordination.

-“you’re playing right into his hands”

When Harvey tries to intervene, he earns a snappish “What is it?” “I think it was obvious at my hearing that I’m not really the one Hollenbeck is after—it’s Joe and the 918^th.” Doud appreciates Harvey’s understanding—“Joe, if he’s after you, you’re playing right into his hands.” He leaves. Harvey considers Joe who, as he usually does when bothered, looks out his window at the freedom of the skies. Harvey that if Hollenbeck is smart enough to maneuver them into such a situation—“I gave him an opening.” Gallagher sees things clearly—“The only way out—is to destroy the Nordesholme wolfpack.” “Did I actually see a submarine?” Harvey says. “Is Hollenbeck right?” Harvey’s understandable doubt and concern is belied by yet another freighter coming into view, a hairy arm pulling a lever, torpedoes skirling out, and  . . .

-“All right, Joe Gallagher is insurbordinate—he was born insubordinate”

Act III takes up with night at Operations; the faithful Sandy is working at the duty desk while an unidentified captain mans the Adjutant’s Desk—which brings up the question—where is Ted Masters, who was appointed as Assistant Adjutant?-maybe he transferred out for other duty . . . Both stand up when General Doud, trailed by Hollenbeck, trailed by Stovall enter; with as “as you were,” Doud heads into Joe’s office with Hollenbeck. Stovall, with some disgust, throws his hat aside as the two men close the door—“Temporary group commander,” he says, and accepts the report from the captain.

Sandy reseats himself—thinks—and then snatches up his pen as though he were snatching up a knife. Two friends are on the chopping block–for them Sandy will stick his neck out. In Gallagher’s office, Doud gives warning to Hollenbeck, who seems to be making himself at home though not gleefully; indeed, he seems ready to work.  So that he didn’t seem put him here as a personal favor, regardless of what Fox thinks—and brings up a delicate subject, forcefully—“now, Gallagher has got the solution . . .get those Nordesholme submarines.” Hollenbeck, unpacking his briefcase repeats his excuse: “In other words, you don’t think I did.” Doud replies that “the evidence I have seen”—this must be the reports from the P-38s—“that Harvey Stovall may have been right.” Hollenbeck, typically, changes the subject: “does disobedience mean anything to you?” Doud points this out—“I’m not talking about that—I think he saw a submarine and I instruct you to act accordingly”—the use of “instruct,” rather than “order” is an interesting choice of words, which indicates what a “wordy” episode this is . . .Hollenbeck makes a personal accusation: “You believe in Stovall and Gallagher more than you do in me.” Doud has every reason to believe this accusation—but he first protests and then admits to why he sides with them and in so doing defines Gallagher’s character: “All right, Joe Gallagher is insubordinate—he was born insubordinate—he and Stovall both broke the rules—but let me tell you this—I don’t think either one of them took their eye off the ball”—another sports image–golf I believe, a game requiring a “trifecta” of mind, body, and spirit– and one that should remind Hollenbeck that his eyes are not on successful completion of the mission as much as they have been on advancement—and exoneration.

-“Sir—can we forget rank a moment, sir?”

Sandy’s unease at his desk has overcome him and has carried him to Gallagher’s quarters.

Seated inside at his desk—with the inevitable mug of coffee and cigarette—Joe calls for him to enter, and we get another brief look at Joe’s quarters, first seen in “Fortress Weisbaden”—particularly intriguing is a shelf full of books—what kind of books does he read? “Sir,” says Sandy coming in, “can we forget rank a moment, sir?”

For the first time he requests this of an officer—twice he had this request extended to him, by Major Stovall (“Storm at Twilight”) and by Captain Lewis (“The Hollow Man”) and each time Sandy granted it but warily, not trusting the circumstances. His asking it of Gallagher reveals his own maturation; an earlier Sandy may have blurted the accusation (as he did in “Falling Star”). To Joe’s granting, Sandy begins “Colonel Hollenbeck, sir—“ “Well, with that, Sergeant, we can’t forget about rank,” Joe says, easily. “But—what were you going to say?”

“General Doud just put Colonel Hollenbeck in your office, sir.” Joe’s calm is the product of his self-confessed foolishness of playing right into Hollenbeck’s hands. “Logical choice. He knows more about the Nordesholme project than anybody else.”

Sandy cuts through the crap again. “Sir, he is trying to slit your throat.”

Joe grows still at this accusation, but does not immediately order “Knock it off”—Joe too has matured swimming among the sharks of command, has reason to trust Sandy’s words—but first, reasons with him: “Now just a minute—some officers go by the book and some don’t—and I don’t—and besides, whatever troubles I’m having, it’s of my own making.”

“No, it’s not sir. You were in Durham the night before the raid—when did you leave—at midnight?” Joe assents, that’s when Sandy called him. Sandy lunges forward to plant his hands on Joe’s desk and speak—taking advantage of the apparent fact that he was not ordered by Hollenbeck to keep his mouth shut. “The base was alerted at 6:00 that evening—he had Stovall running all over and he wouldn’t let me phone you until permission came down from Wing—he waited six hours to call because he knew it would be too late for you to lead the mission.”

-“it makes me look like a sore loser, Joe”

Despite the look in Joe’s eyes—a warning flare—he wisely checks with Stovall, with Sandy standing by. Apparently in the outer office, Joe listens to Harvey—who seems to rationalize: the order was late coming down, and all were standing by pending developments. “If you had phoned by then I could have been back in an hour,” Joe says, anger seething—the weather closed in at Durham after dark and he was stuck. He demands an accounting. “Come on Harvey—why didn’t you tell me?”—about the delayed message.

Harvey’s words reveal the terrible personal and professional corner he was driven into by Hollenbeck’s clumsy machinations: “It makes me look like a sore loser, Joe.” It’s not a good excuse, but it is achingly human—as Stovall tries not to emulate Hollenbeck by pointing fingers in a tangle of pointing fingers and criss-crossing motivations and reasons. “Colonel Hollenbeck told me not to.”

-“If I do, you won’t forget it—“

This scene is the first time Joe is so furious he almost loses control since he nearly belted Sandy in “The Loneliest Place in the World”–and previews his decking of Schotten in “Duel at Mont St Marie.” In “The Hot Shot,” we see him pushing the drunk Troper down;  in “Massacre” we see him furious and roaring orders, but there is no sense in either situation that he is losing control—rather that he knows the score and knows what is required. In “Loneliest Place” and “Burden of Guilt” he has been placed in awkward/terrible positions by others’ provocation, and to a degree by himself–and this knowledge nearly overcomes him. Joe bursts into his office from the outer office—I would think they would have kept their voices lower in the previous scene, but oh, well—like Samson preparing to slay the enemy with a jawbone of an ass—apt image . . . Hollenbeck starts up—“Joe, you were confined to quarters.”

Joe advances on him, telling him he knows that Hollenbeck wouldn’t let his men call him.

“Joe, everything was up in the air because of the weather,” Hollenbeck says, amazingly quick with excuses, which only sets Joe off—he grabs Hollenbeck by the lapels, and Harvey, forever reasonable, hurries in to pull Joe away, pleading with him—“It’s not entirely his fault, the weather was down . . “ Gallagher’s response to this is physical—in an earlier scene when he gently took the wounded Harvey’s arm to escort him into Operations, he now escorts Harvey out—rapidly, almost violently–and shuts the door and turns back to his adversary. Wisely, Harvey gets the message and it would be interesting to know what he and Sandy do or think as they sweat out this confrontation beyond the door. Hollenbeck retreats, pleading, “Don’t you lay a hand on me—“ “If I do, you won’t forget it,” Joe snaps, beyond reason. “You got me just where you want me, right?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hollenbeck says, forever ducking behind an excuse, this time, ignorance. Joe tells him what he’s talking about but redefines the situation from his perspective: “Ray, I warn you—I’m in trouble from my own doing—but not Harvey! He’s an honest gentle man—and you used him and I’m just that far from belting you because of it.” Again, Joe always thinks of his people first . . . “He disobeyed my orders—“ Joe, as he did with Troper in “The Hot Shot” doesn’t strike—but he pushes (perhaps to help distinguish him from Sandy who has struck out with his fists at least four times) Hollenbeck into the desk chair. Even in his rage, he is thinking clearly—“Then tell me about the orders he did obey—did you order him not to call me at Durham?” “Being in authority here I had the discretion to do as I wanted—“

Joe’s arm draws back as his fist doubles up. Hollenbeck, scared, climbs out of the chair, retreats, tries to rationalize—maybe Harvey misunderstood—he wanted to give him as much as he could to spend with his brother—“we didn’t know what was going to happen!”

Joe spells out what did happen: by delaying him, Hollenbeck would have to lead the raid on Nordesholme. “What’s so bad about that?” demands Hollenbeck. “We’re fighting the same war, aren’t we?” Joe holds back and Hollenbeck rushes into the breach—he didn’t prevent him, that’s not the score at all—it’s not the promotion, either—”Doud sent me over here—as a favor—maybe because he had to take the 52^nd group away from me—” “Because you missed those subpens three times before!” “Political pressure—you know that as much as I do!—and blame me for another fiasco!”

Hollenbeck then deflates—he must be weary of all the lies, the rationalizations, the excuses that don’t even convince him anymore. “It’s like being benched again . . . I remember you—I sat on the bench and watched you—“ Joe turns away—embarrassment? Distaste at this naked appeal to pity? Or indeed sympathy as he hears a man air an extreme disappointment in his life that was brought on by Joe’s easy brilliance . . . Hollenbeck admits that he never wanted to be a hero—“just an officer—just a soldier—but I tell you this—you measure a man by his mistakes—you measure a man when he’s wrong!—Doud thinks I’m wrong—when I’m wrong—I admit it!”—his façade crumbles. “I admit it.” He then becomes honest—about what he must do and his need to do it—“Joe, I’ve got to knock out those subpens—I’ve got to!”

Suddenly, they are comrades again. Hollenbeck points out that he has studied the charts—Gallagher tells him that “he’s made three guesses—and Harvey saw something. Where can they be?” With that they study the maps again and Joe believes that the subpens are one of the coastal islands—it must be “Risor.” Joe admits he’s in a corner too. “But if I go up there for another look . . .” Joe’s face assumes an expression I have never seen before—quizzical, somewhat hopeless. “Phil Doud will have to break me.” (However . . . why must he do it? Couldn’t another group of P-38s do it?. . . maybe they know that Phil Doud would refuse.) “I’ll go.” Hollenbeck’s offer is at best mixed—courage? An apology for what he has done? Ominous music underscores his exit and Joe’s unsure look.

-“I need help”

Cut to—flak peppering the sky around a single Mustang. Inside, Hollenbeck observes the islands below. Fortunately, a sub surfaces . .. Despite everything, he looks pleased; there must be satisfaction in finally emerging into the daylight from the hell of his own making in Archbury. He sees the enemy coming in for him. He radios for help. In Archbury, everything is almost back to normal as Harvey rushes into the Joe’s office—with Joe at his desk—and reports that a monitoring station picked Hollenbeck’s request. Joe immediately notifies the 511^th to assist him. Alone over the North Sea, Hollenbeck continues to report—“I have important information . . . I need help,” he says, beginning to admit his past failures and his immediate need: “I need help.”

-“ . . . I want to hit it big”

Act IV optimistically begins with Hollenbeck—codenamed “Horseback”—there’s an interesting “equine” theme in this episode with Mustangs, “the reins are too loose” and finally this name—and now he is protected by P-51s which Gallagher scrambled for him. Team effort—coordination—resolve—relieved, Hollenbeck radios Archbury tower, announcing “I think I’ve found something.” At Wing, the efficient WAC sergeant delivers the message to Dowd—it’s good news. Doud picks up his phone, contacts Stovall—“I don’t know exactly yet but I’ve just got word from Colonel Hollenbeck that he’s found something . . .and I want to hit it big.” Cut to Joe Gallagher, who is smoking and staring somewhat pensively and expectantly out his office window . . . Stovall charges in, announcing that he has been released from discipline (Hurray!) and “there’s a mission tomorrow.” Joe takes a call—Hollenbeck is coming in. Joe, galvanized, tells Harvey to start preparation—he’s going to the tower—and rushes from his office.

-“I believe he has discovered something”

At Wing, Hollenbeck is jubilant, almost giddy: “I was afraid, of course—I didn’t want to get shot down—but I got all the information I need—I want to go back there and put it into action—what I saw before I was attacked.” Excitedly, he identifies the isle of Risor—“the flak was terrific—after only my single plane!” Doud, understandably wary about Hollenbeck’s assuredness, asks Joe if he agrees. Joe hedges: “Yes sir . . .I believe . . .he thinks he’s discovered something.” Hollenbeck does not hear this. “That’s why they tried so hard to knock me down! I found it and they knew it! I know I’d find it!”

-“Colonel Gallagher will be my pilot”

Cut to—briefing, with Hollenbeck, pointer in hand, conducting. We learn that 966^th is still in the game—this group has not been referred to much, possibly since “Siren Voices” the final episode of Season II. The 966^th and the 52^nd will join with the 918^th are going together—“You were spread all over the sky the last time!” Hollenbeck barks. “I want tight formations!” In the audience, Sandy deals him a wary glance. “We need obedience!” he then adds, and you know that there is still trouble ahead with this man, still harping on obedience—which is critical in military operations, but if it is the only standard by which actions are judged, then the “judge” has much to learn about the world of combat in which the goal is to win. Hollenbeck then tells the assembled men, “I will fly mission control . . .Colonel Gallagher will be my pilot.”

This earns another sharp glance from Sandy—nobody could express alarm like Chris Robinson!

As for Joe, he merely listens, impassively, but at the scene’s close, his head ducks—with a slight sniff.

-“get on that thing and tell them to hang together”

The inevitable mission which climaxes this episode is suitably dense, riddled with cross-purposes, violent, and exposes Hollenbeck—not as a coward but a man who can’t keep flexible in combat—unlike Joe, who learned from Savage and from plain brute experience, ignore your fear, live by the minute, make decisions as they seem best—you’re a dead man anyway, so keep going . . . As the scene takes up, Hollenbeck radios his group—they have left the line of departure and they are to maintain radio silence. Gallagher, in left seat, looking a bit like a chauffeur, soldiers on. . . Immediately, they are jumped by fighters; the group bristles with 50 caliber bullets pumped out top, bottom, side . . . Their plane—it is never clear if this is the Piccadilly Lily—jostles and Hollenbeck demands “Did we get hit that time?” Komansky confirms that “we’re okay”—however, the next moment they are struck; plexiglass tumbles over Hollenbeck, Joe helps him and then shouts, “Komansky, you okay?” He confirms. Hollenback panics and reveals that for everything that has happened, he has not changed: “They’re trying to break up our formations Joe!—if they do, we’ll fail again!” Here, Joe lives by the minute, seeing “what is,” while Hollenbeck looks to the future and what might happen . .. “They haven’t scattered us yet!” Joe shouts. Sandy then reports that the fighters are leaving—and here comes the flak. Almost immediately another B-17 goes down, followed by another. Reports come in, and Hollenbeck demands radio silence. Joe tells him that “radio silence is doing us in—get on that and tell them to hang together.” Hollenbeck, somewhat ironically, obeys—and broadcasts “hang together, hang together”—as Joe is hanging by him.

-“I’ll break you—for insubordination!”

Events tighten as Hollenbeck continues to disintegrate. The bombardier reports that they are on the IP—and the target is six minutes away. “We’re never going to make it!” Hollenbeck exclaims, looking at Joe, steady if alarmed. They can’t stand another six minutes of this (similar to “a long time in this skipper,” the bombardier reported to Bill Christy in “Grant Me No Favor”). He pleads for Joe to return and re-group. By now, Joe is probably willing to go through anything to get this thing done—and get Hollenbeck, Doud, and everybody else off his neck–not to mention, bomb the subpens. A pilot radios “That we’re out of airplanes back here—permission to drop in with yours.” Hollenbeck can’t speak and Joe automatically takes over, radioing that 966 stragglers are coming in—“Okay, Ramrod to Dandelion, make it fast!” Hollenbeck, distressingly, is not up to old tricks—but up to his old ways.

He orders Joe to abort.

“I didn’t hear you,” Joe retorts, up to his old ways too—impudence, and daring to take control when he knows better, can see the desperation of the situation and step up to it in rapid fire exchange: “Abort and let me re-organize!” “We’re already here, Ray!” “We’re going to have nothing left!” “We’ll have bombs left if we get there!” “They’ll crucify me!” “They’ll do worse than that if you lose one third of the group and don’t drop a single bomb!” “All right, I missed the target before but not with losses like these! I won’t take the blame this time! I won’t!” He concludes with his favorite threat: “I’ll break you—for insubordination!”

Joe concludes with an audacious summing up of the situation and a threatening invitation to go all the way—to death, if needs be: “If we miss this target we’re both finished—if you think you’re right then order the rest of the planes back—but this plane is going all the way.” Hollenbeck concedes—he either faces his demons and/or gives into them. Under Joe’s mission control, the remaining planes make it, drop their payloads, and destruction of the subpens is the denouement . . .

-“I start beating the wind . . .”

Though it takes until the epilogue, Hollenbeck finally gains our sympathy as he redeems himself, at the price of his longed-for stars. As the scene opens, Hollenbeck and Gallagher are suffering army and civilian photographers—typically, Joe is impassive, while Hollenbeck looks disturbed. Fox is there, pleased . . . “All right, Ray, any further statements you’d like to make?” For once, the man is terse and gracious: he is glad that Nordesholme is over—“and thanks to the men who followed us.” Joe turns at this acknowledgement, probably more pleased that Hollenbeck is thinking of others, not just himself. Fox leads the photographers away, and Joe says simply, with a handshake, “Ray, congratulations.” Joe is not envious; he had an earlier chance at a star and turned it down until he felt ready . . . which Hollenbeck is–no longer. Joe retreats to stand by Harvey, in the background. In an interesting framing, Dowd and Hollenbeck frame Joe and Harvey—who in turn frame an American flag. Doud offers Ray his acceptance papers . . .which will “put some stars on you .. .you’re a general.” “What if I don’t accept this?” Hollenbeck asks. Doud demurs, perhaps pleased. “You’re a hard man to figure if you don’t.” Hollenbeck has figured himself out—and it has probably been damned hard to admit to it, but he does: “Upstairs, when the chips are down [gambling image!] and the shooting starts, I get confused”—perhaps why the first three missions failed? “I start beating the wind . . . I guess each one of us has a capacity for failure. I always thought I’d be great in the air—I don’t believe I am.” Ironically, admitting his failure he is finally achieving success—as a human being, a quality Joe has never left behind in his own climb up the ladder. With these words he hands back the papers and leaves, perhaps forever losing the chance to make general.

“What do you think of that Joe?” Doud asks—interesting final lines for an episode that almost wallows in questions, half-truths, misperceptions, redefinitions, emotions . . . that fly as fast and as furiously as the fighters and the flak. Joe, typically, has a good answer: “I’d call it honesty. Let’s catch up with him . . . I want to buy that man a drink.” And with an image of communion, “Burden of Guilt” has been taken on by Hollenbeck and successfully dealt with as he admits his failings . . . and, to bring in the sports images, Hollenbeck finally catches the pass.

“The Ace”

Writer: Oscar Willard

Director: Robert Douglas

“The Ace”—typical for its terseness, its evocation of a pilot, and its multiple meanings—such as in “The Fighter Pilot,” and “The Hot Shot,” and “The Survivor”—all have meanings beyond the surface.  Ace—the the highest card in any suite of a deck of cards; the best, the highest; an outstanding fighter pilot—and also “an unreturnable service in tennis.” There is greatness in the term—height–and also a sense of nowhere else to go—but down. As always, 12OCH does not fear melodrama, and this is a drama right out of the thirties movies when aviation provided the daredevils that a good testosterone-oriented movie needed–and this one recalls such stuff, in spades. Check out  Only Angels Have Wings, in which pilots come face to face with their failures in life, and in the air. In this episode, the label of ace is examined, in all its glory and in all its troubles including keeping up appearances when your nerves and skills are shredded, but the lure of the mission drives you on.

The Ace, Harry Connelly, is truly the “right stuff”: there seems to be no shadows in his past; he does not find fame and medals to be a drug that he demands more and more of; if anything, his problem is an inevitable one—age, which is defined well in James Whitmore’s one of a craggy kind face and gravelly voice. Connelly seems to find fame easier to let go than a strong sense of duty—the excitement of  the challenge—which both drive him to stepping up to Joe’s admiration and belief in him though he knows he is not well. As for Joe Gallagher, this is an interesting story in which we see a weakness get the better of him—hero worship. This is no flimsy adoration; Joe was taught by the man and owes much of his skill to him and Connelly is up for deserved a Congressional Medal of Honor for his previous work. However, Joe is seeing the man through rose-colored glasses which perhaps refracts what he might see if he were dealing with a subordinate—hesitation, exhaustion—however, when Connelly sniffs the challenge and the excitement, senses Joe’s pride in him, he too hides his exhaustion and when it is horribly revealed in a terrible error, he strikes out at his former student. This episode, in this regard, and in a few other scenes, recalls other times when Joe is caught up in awe with a superior—notably in “Big Brother,” and in “Falling Star.” In each episode, Joe must deal with his superior’s lapses, whether physical or mental. In this episode, Joe literally comes to grief as he weeps over a respected mentor going to pieces.

This episode silently brings up the theme with Joe and Sandy—Sandy highly regards Joe as is obvious in such episodes as “The Outsider,” when he says sincerely to Harley Wilson“in this whole rotten war, Colonel Gallagher’s the greatest, you know?” and in “Between the Lines” when he defines how Joe’s heroic sense of duty rises ironically out of fear—of not putting his weight. Sandy protects Gallagher as he can, and worries about him when he is in trouble. But the only real sign of hero worship he gives off is his gleeful response to a PRO officer’s amazement of how he flew the crippled Angel Babe home—“that’s Colonel Gallagher, that’s how!” Sandy nearly crows. But in “Falling Star,” his reply to Gallagher’s question—“Sandy, is this some kind of loyalty to me?” is bluntly dismissive—his loyalty in this case is “To me, sir!”– which reveals a sense of his sound respect for his CO—he won’t lie to him. Well, that deserves a drink!—and the episode closes on an unusual note—Connelly is absent, but Sandy comes in with the news that he has been rescued—and the messenger of good news is invited to have a drink “with the big boys.”

-“I’ve lost him, sir . . .”

“The Ace” begins suddenly, somewhat furtively, as Britt hurries downstairs in Wing, hoping “this is contact I’ve been waiting for.” As Britt, a distinguished British officer whom he calls Ted, and a sergeant huddle around a radio, the camera pulls back to reveal a General Ken Chandler, whose boyishly rugged but aged face is smiling as he chats with Joe Gallagher on the phone—in way of expedition, they are excitedly, happily speaking about a man who seems to be his own man—“no, he didn’t want his picture taken—he may have broken the camera . . . it just says Colonel Harry Connelly nominated for a Congressional Medal of Honor and a story about Italy . . .yeah, he’s somewhere in London . . .he hates publicity.“

Britt calls Ken over . . . and the scene changes to a barn, where, in the hayloft, an unnamed agent is sending a message; he eats the rice paper, takes out his gun—all the while tapping away. Into the barn come a Gestapo agent and a soldier—a gunfight erupts as a brave agent is killed and tumbles melodramatically onto the hay covering the floor of the barn. The radio monitor listens with a strained face—“I’ve lost him, sir.” He didn’t sign off– “They cut him off,” observes Ted, a fate of their other agent, the day before. Britt doesn’t waste any sympathy; the stakes are too high and the time too short, but gives the man his due: “At least he was able to pinpoint the target”—the first in many phrases describing absolutely accurate bombing.  To Ken’s question, “what is this all about?” Britt sits his associate down and his words expedite the critical issue—what knowledge does Ken have of atomic research? Ken says he has read about it—“but it’s a little over my head.”

-“Murder . . .yes”

“It’s hanging over all our heads right now,” Britt says, further relating that intelligence has indicated that the Germans are close to harnessing the energy of the atom—and suddenly recalled are previous episodes of “Runway in the Dark,” and “Grant Me No Favor,” in which the terrible, unanswered question of Nazis armed with atomic power is considered amidst a tangle of emotional and professional issues of the people involved—in its eradication from Nazi hands. In other words, a superbomb. “Capable of leveling London,” Ted puts in. Britt says that the agents have been able to target where the scientific brainwork is going on. He has been ordered to “take care of this” and to do so “will take the best man he can find.” Somewhat refreshingly, he does not say “Get me Gallagher!”—rather he takes a darker road—whoever this “best man” is, “he’ll be accused of murder”—which provokes Ken’s curiosity and Ted’s knowing look—“killing helpless allies and friends. . . murder . . .yes.” So, with “tonight’s episode’s” mission, people, objectives, and emotional and physical complications defined, the six bongs strike over Britt’s face—familiarly set as he powers through a horrid, sure to be deadly affair.

-“by the right quick-march chaps”

In contrast to the promise of death coming from Britt’s mouth, Act I opens up on a pan of a lovely, untouched village in Germany, Adelburg . . . a group of four men in civilian clothes are escorted into a tidy building, against which the flag of the Third Reich flaps. Close behind them are some men in British uniforms—entering from the left, one man saucily peers at the door through which the men disappeared and gets a noseful of German . . . “I think he means by right quick march chaps,” he says cheerfully, rejoins his fellow POW officers and they are marched off, prisoners, over a walk edged with green grass, but sliced off with barbed wire. Inside, the four men quietly divest themselves of their jackets, put on their lab coats, and sit down at quaint drawing boards on which are traced the paths of imminent destruction.

-“I could contain the destruction within 20 acres” At Wing, Joe Gallagher is quietly confident about the mission to bomb the specific target—“I’ll bomb and trail—“and he has four navigators who are capable of precise bombing.” A dour Britt asks him how much of the surrounding construction would be destroyed. Gallagher studies the photograph of Adelburg, which Ted, nearby, admits that was taken in 1920–of all they have, this is the one with the most detail: “The last thing anyone thought was that a sleepy little hamlet like Adelburg would be of any military significance—Jerry figured that out.”

Ted points out where new buildings have been added—and that his people are creating a model of Adelberg—“for what it’s worth.” Joe is still confident—if they could do as well here as they did at Marienburg (“Siren Voices”)–“I could contain the destruction to 20 acres.”

“Twenty acres,” Ted says somewhat morosely—“what’s wrong with that?” Joe asks. Britt requests Ted to get his people working on the model, leaving Britt and Joe alone—and Joe senses the new round of tension. Sitting down at Britt’s invitation, Joe jokes mildly, “Well, when the boss invites you for a little talk . . .” Britt, somewhat nervously, lights a cigarette—he moves as if to tap it, then veers off, and then lights it. He then calls upon his discretion to warn Joe about the bitter issues involved with this affair—“I can’t send you without letting you know what you are going to do.” In a situation recalling Geissen (“Storm at Twilight”) Joe learns that the Germans have quartered POWs all around the brain center—and not just any POWs, but “officers of the highest rank and the most important personal and military connections they can find”—and further tightens the situation by making sure Soviet, British and American are all included.

Calling a strike confined with 20 acres “a miracle,” Britt lays down some blunt truths about Joe’s future and the power of Nazi propaganda—“They will call you a butcher—and you’ll have 20 acres of bodies to prove it.” Britt says that he “will order Joe to go—and the responsibility is mine”—and “I suggest you file a formal protest in defense of possible future accusations.” This is critical for setting up what Joe—or any man—will have to deal with, and increases Joe’s fallibility in blithely assuming that Connelly can do it. To his credit, Joe seeks an alternative—“a sabotage team,” recalling the work he and Sandy were drawn into in “Fortress Weisbaden.” “There’s no time,” Britt says. “They’ve killed two agents already and they know we’re on to them.”

-“the perfect man for the job—Con”

Joe’s concern suddenly lifts as do the corners of his mouth: “General, there’s the perfect man for the job—Con. Colonel Connelly.” Britt seems wary, leading Joe to remind him that he is up for a Congressional Medal of Honor for doing such work in Italy and in the Pacific—“General, he can drop a 1-ton bomb into a thimble”—the first of many images of pinpoint bombing, using familiar things for a sense of incredible—and nearly unattainable—accuracy. “I know this man. He used to be my instructor—he taught me everything—he is your man.”

-“I have a target—and I need you”

Cut to—a rather ambiguous scene, in a pub. It is suggested that Joe and Ken were to meet Con in this London establishment. Though probably trying to get a quiet drink and meet his former students, Con has been recognized by the press, and as the scene opens, is dealing with questions and a sudden pop of a flashbulb mounts his wrath—“You take one more picture and I’m gonna wrap that—“ he begins and the journalist waves the man off—and then they are interrupted by the bartender telling Connelly he has a phone call—“good, good, good,” the man says, suggesting he wants to escape the press, but perhaps also suggesting he loves being called on. You can see a hint of the “fire horse”—when the bell rings, he’s off– He takes his drink and takes the call—“Connelly,” he barks. On the other end Joe identifies himself and apologizes for not being there—“but something came up.”

Connelly says he will come to Joe—“I’ve got to get away from these newspaper characters,” he says. “Listen Colonel,” Joe says, in deference to his teacher—“I have a target—and I need you.” On his end, Connelly is silent, his face flexing. Joe rushes into the breach. “Well, how about it?” Connelly is not thrilled—but agrees, for reasons that seem vague—the call of duty? Let me get the hell out of this publicity garbage? The thrill of being called upon to do incredible work? “I’ll get a taxi,” he says and hangs up. He starts to finish his drink–and does not, slamming it on the bar as he leaves—excited? Or does he realize that booze can’t help anymore?—or who needs booze when another, stronger drug is calling?  He leaves in such a way that the patrons and the bartender are aware of his exit.

-“and maybe the only American with two Medals of Honor . . .”

At Wing, the camera pans over the delightfully tidy and colorful model of Adelburg, a kind of prop that has not been seen before in any of the episodes of Seasons II and III. The camera pulls up to reveal, then Ted, then Ken all looking intently at Con, who is absorbed in the model. The objective of the strike is renewed, with apologies that the model is not complete, “but the essentials are there”—including the buildings that have to be left untouched. “Like skip-bombing that Japanese bunker,” Ken says. Joe chimes in eagerly about an article he has read, about Con: “he bombed that radar station in Italy without putting a scratch on that church”—a subject that will be addressed in the upcoming “Duel at Mont St. Marie” and was a dreadful reality of Monte Cassino—historic and historical monuments and buildings being destroyed, and gleefully propagandized by the Axis—may we remind them of Coventry? “You know I got shot down in Italy too,” Con points out—leaving a question, did he get shot down and escaped?—did he get shot down but managed to get his plane to Allied lines?—I don’t think that is ever really clarified. Joe passes this off with a smile and swanning confidence: “Make this work and you may be the only American with two Medals of Honor.” Con, to his credit, brings up some facts: “I’m not supposed to fly combat here, Joe. I’m involved with this transition training”—yet his pride takes over. “But hitting it—that’s a breeze.”

-“they prefer a living image to your sainted memory”

“Breeze?” demands Britt, arriving. Both men are glad to see each other, and Con assures the general that the bombing will be no problem. Britt provides the larger picture as this operations rolls: the weather at Adelburg is bad (and BTC, “Back to the Drawing Board” is not an option for precise bombing, obviously) which gives them a chance for training in the morning. Con is to teach his skip-bombing techniques to the two best pilots available. Con’s reaction is mixed—he looks slightly aggrieved at being put into a teaching position, but then seems to accept it with some relief: “Yes sir.”

Joe puts his foot in it, an action which eventually leads to Con’s cruelly deliberate “sucker punch” delivered in Act III. “Teach?” he demands of Britt. “It’s his technique. And he’s the best . . . I don’t think we should go for second best as long as we’ve got the best.” “Joe,” Con says warningly, seeking an out . . .or maybe not . . . “Maybe they think I can’t do it.”

Britt points out “that they prefer your living image to your sainted memory.” “Wise guys, huh?” Con perhaps riles at the idea of any more image-making, preferring to take on bombing. “Look, you give me a B-25 and I’ll lay that egg in their water glass.”

-“stay with it until it is done”

At Base Operations, Sandy assures Con that a B-25 could be converted to his needs, which includes the bomb bay being converted for 50 pound practice bombs, and then a crew on standby to reconvert the bomb bay for a thousand pounder: “We can’t do it here, but it can be done.” Joe hustles Harvey and Sandy into a whirl of nocturnal work—Sandy is to escort a Major Martin (who does not seem to appear) to the workplace and “stay with it until it is done.” “Yes sir,” Sandy says, a slight edge in his voice. Connelly then reveals his age and his weariness—no time for drinks, instead he wants to hit the hay—and somewhat ironic phrase considering the brave agent who was shot and literally hit the hay in the teaser. Joe tells him that he will bunk in his quarters, bidding good night to Harvey and Sandy. However, his request to sleep, rather than go out and drink and trade stories indicates his dedication to duty, as well as his age and exhaustion.

Sandy and Harvey are left to conclude the scene—which reveals that Harvey has a degree of hero worship too, while Sandy slightly demurs: “He’s quite a guy Sandy, he’s quite a guy.” Sandy has rolled the paper into the typewriter and starting his task. “I understand he was on fire when he hit that radar facility in Italy.” Harvey relates the incredible act: after he missed, he caught fire, bailed the crew—swung it around, and bombed it himself. “Wonder how he made it back.” “Guts, I guess—I didn’t hear the details.” An incredible act, but one that also suggests that the Ace is perhaps already making mistakes—but there is no questioning his courage and the incredible results. –At this point, the DVD recording I was watching cuts off so quickly that I wonder if there is missing material which would clarify Con’s words of being “shot down”–yet “making it back.”

-“look, when I need insurance, I’ll buy it!”

The next scene is disturbing, not only for the Ace’s physical abilities slackening but for a sense of the Ace letting pride and a sense of having to demonstrate his courage one more time–to conceal his exhaustion and fled youth. His grouchy refusal to deal with PR—which Ken and Joe seem to have laughed over–indicates a “nasty frame of mind,” which is how Doc Kaiser warns Sandy about how his anger might be interpreted in “Falling Star.” Con’s snappish answers to Joe reveal his exhaustion, and his evasions suggest he is scared that this will be seen. The scene opens on a flaring match, held between two fingers of a downturned palm—a crude but effective vision test which Con fails, with scorched fingers. He then stretches out his arms, closes his eyes, and tries to bring his fingers together—and misses—his face reveals that he is disgusted with himself—but not so disgusted that he will own up to the truth–which prefigures Cal Dula in “Long Time Dead” who won’t admit to knowing he has black out problems.

Joe breezes in. “Yeah,” he says with false energy to Joe who tells him that his practice target is ready. “Well, keep all the traffic out of the air,” he adds with a certain swaggering grin. “I go wild at times.” Joe delays, and asks . . .”Let’s talk about the possibility of me going with you.” When Con demands “why?” Joe has a quick answer—“Well, insurance for one thing.” He seems to be suggesting that if things don’t go write, they can share the blame. Con reveals his exhaustion: “Look, kid, when I need insurance, I’ll buy it; I’ve done this thing fourteen times—“ “I didn’t have any doubts,” Joe assures him, slightly alarmed. Con grins. “Of course not,” he says and heads out of Operations—alone. Joe is left alone too, a concerned look on his face as some doubts come to mind. However, like Con, he too grins, deciding to push the alarming bit of evidence aside.

-“Okay pal, see me through this . . . one more time”

Cut to an unusual sight in this show—a B-25, whose pugnacious squared off nose and two powerful propellers contrast with the B-17’s four motors and rounded nose . . . On the flightdeck, Con starts the motors and flexes a stiff hand. Then, tellingly, he prays—he bluffly and resolutely to a God that he has made into his friend and co-pilot: “Okay, pal, see me through this,” he intones loudly, to be heard above the motors, while his eyes search up . . . as he always “had the faith,” or has his terrible experiences turned him to God? . . . as we have seen, he does not rely on liquor for his courage and success . . . “one more time,” he asks. This scene makes you like Connelly—and keeps him sympathetic when he turns on Joe.

On the ground, a weary looking Sandy comes out of a hangar with a ground crew—“Who’s in the plane?” one of the crew asks. “Harry Connelly.” “The Medal of Honor guy?—on a secret mission?” “Uh, no,” Sandy says, keeping the Colonel’s confidence in him. “He’s just putting on a little show to entertain our overseas troops . . . you watch this guy, he’s great”—or at least he has been told.

Also on the ground, Joe brings his Jeep up short, takes field glasses and observes, as does Harvey and Ken from another post. What they observe is worrisome. Con takes two swings at the target, his eyes and hands not coordinating to make a correct strike. In the flightdeck, Con grows angry—“Come on, Connelly, you bum!” he berates himself as his age and exhaustion overcome him. “Come on!” The third try is successful . . . bringing up a grin of relief on Con’s craggy face and on Joe’s handsome one . . . his faith in his teacher is still intact.

-“this can’t go like clockwork . . .”

At Wing, Joe is jubilant over Con’s work which improved after the first phase: “right on the button!—and four more after that!” he tells Ken, electing to ignore his two failed strikes, which the audience knows is a matter of Con’s failing abilities . . . yet he came back, and he hit them. Ted comes in, handing them a more current photo of Adelburg—one which was taken by an unknowing tourist “in happier days”—and one which shows the target building. Con takes up and studies it—“you can paste it up in the cockpit,” Joe tells him. Ken, in contrast with Joe, is concerned, asking Con, whose set faces perks up a bit at his question about flying alone—“what about a navigator?” Joe provides the strategy—Con will follow them—they will provide diversion—“he will stay with us at 10,000 feet until Adelburg is sited.”

Con’s face is ambivalent, questioning Joe’s confidence. “Yeah,” he says, and describes how he will bomb at a mere 330 feet. He studies the model, whose cartoon-bright colors and miniature houses are rather grimly comic. Ken still remains unsure, forcing Gallagher to agree that there is a deeply human element involved here—“this can’t go like clockwork”—but he defers to the “solid gold factor”—Colonel Connolly. “Please, no speeches,” he says, and by now we know this is no phony baloney modesty—yet it once more hints at his “nasty frame of mind” and perhaps fear that the halo Joe has installed over his head will slip, badly. He turns to the model, pronouncing, “It’s simple—I can line up on the pond”—and with another colorful image, promises “I’ll drop that egg right after I pass this building . . . that’s all . . .I’ll put that iron potato right in that doorway”—interesting images; water glasses; eggs, iron potatoes . . ones coming up include a pregnant whale, confetti .  . .

Cut to . . . the very doorway into which he is going to toss that potato—once more being opened for the team of scientists, trooping like sheep to their work. The air raid sirens suddenly blast, stopping a group of Russian officers who enter the scene from the right (one has a feeling these were the four British officers seen earlier, just redressed.) However, the human element has been inserted—and, like clockwork, the B-17s approach . . .

-“the pond!—where’s the pond!”

In the Piccadilly Lily, already long in flight, Sandy announces that outside the flak-bed the fighters are lurking. “They must think Adelburg is safe or they’d be hitting us harder,” Harvey observes. “That’s the general idea,” Joe tells him, and asks the crew to keep an eye for Con, making sure the fighters don’t gang up on him. The gaily colored model on the tabletop at Wing becomes grayly real as the planes approach . . . Connelly, alone in his B-25, intent, ready, and as the tidy roofs begin to sail beneath him, he demands “The pond! Where’s the pond!”—the pond at the end of the street that he is lining up on.

In the Lily, Joe sees that the flak has stopped—call in the fighters; Harvey radios to the “little brothers to come on in!” As the fighters come in, Joe radios Con—“are you all right?” “I’m all right, I’m all right!—Get off my back! Get off my back!”—scared of what he can’t find? The virtuoso demanding solitude for his work? He goes down into a hail of groundfire—his thumb pushes the button, and the bomb is devastatingly accurate, blowing apart a single building . . . in a film clip that looks very real.

-“I could have spit in the gutter!”

Act III—as nearly always, Act III follows closely on the “turning point” of the narrative—the first two acts built up the action to a kind of climax which is also the turning point—here, the successful bombing of the building–that turns out out to be the wrong building and a second strike must be made—hard and without regard for human life. From fire and destruction in Adelburg, Act III opens up on a jubilant Joe, Harvey, and Con, drinks in hand (probably poured from that bottle Joe now keeps in his desk); it is good to see Joe’s face lighted up with a grin; because many episodes pass by with his face pulled back with worry, alert with attentive concern, or sad with grief or compassion. Con, with one more victory, is enjoying his drink and rattling on—“330—just where I wanted to be—but she wouldn’t stop—it was like I was in an air pocket—and she sank like a pregnant whale–I thought I was going to pancake right into that building!” Harvey asks him if he were now at what–? “250 feet?” “I could have spit in the gutter! . . . then the pompoms came up like confetti—“ “I counted 16 holes,” Harvey puts in. “Yes sir—but we got the job done.” “Right,” Joe says, and they toast. There is an irony in this scene—they are celebrating a target hit—with a lack of destruction.

-“ . . . they sent a great hero to butcher these men  . . .” A tap on the door emits Sandy—serious, though not quite grim—asking if he could see the Colonel alone—“It’s very important sir,” he adds. Joe jovially excuses himself, leaving Stovall to remark presciently to Con: “if you could make the truth of this known, it would make ‘the shot heard round the world’ a popgun.” The evocation of the American Revolution in Emerson’s “Concord Hymn” is piercingly ironic to the broadcast . . .

Joe walks into a litany of names being read by the mocking voice of Axis Sally, naming a senator’s son, another from Joplin, Missouri. “What’s this?” Joe demands, still on his cloud. “Axis Sally,” Sandy informs as she continues to read names, “it’s the roster of the guys they claim were killed at Adelburg this morning.” Joe is stubbornly optimistic: “Forget it,” he tells Sandy, clapping him on the arm, which may be the first physical sign of affection he has given Sandy since they were in Magadar with his brother Pres—and this episode has certain parallels as Joe looks up to his hero, who is holding on by his fingernails. Before Sandy has a moment to react to Joe’s words (but you can see he is not quite buying them) the phone rings. As the names continue, Joe happily answers the phone—and as the message from the other end sinks in, Joe’s beaming face dims . . . and Axis Sally delivers the piece de resistance—“Captain William Prince . . .and the pity is, he was a man of God.” “Yes sir,” Joe says into the phone. Sally continues  . . . “Adelburg is no more a military target than are the pyramids of Egypt. And the irony is . . . they sent a great hero to butcher these men . . .Colonel Harry Connelly.” The reference to the pyramids is an interesting one, as Hitler fancied himself an connoisseur of architecture—and looked to the ruins of ancient civilizations for inspiration—the Greek temples still intact, and the pyramids at Giza—they were markers and placemarkers of great eras and Hitler envisioned rebuilding and re-orienting Germany with such buildings in mind—see Jochen Thies’ Hitler’s Plans for Global Domination—the cover of which shows Hitler and the gang – and a map of New York . . . the land of the tallest buildings in the world, and some of the mightiest bridges in the world.

Sally’s voice is shut off by Connelly himself, who just grins. Joe’s grim “Yes sir,” Sandy’s concerned face, and Harvey’s set one has upended the joy at the scene’s beginning. “That was General Britt,” Joe says when he hangs up. “You hear what that crazy dame called me?” Con demands. Joe’s next words are interesting: “We hit the wrong building, Con”—not “you hit,” but “we hit.” Joe then says, “General Britt wants to see you.”

-“whose idea was it to send him alone?”

In this scene, the absent Joe is spared the sight of his hero being put on the rack by an enraged Britt who once more shows his moxie—the bombing was a disaster, he’s facing angry superiors, and he must demand answers from subordinates—and make an ugly, deadly decision. With a grim flourish of trumpets, from Operations we go to Wing. Britt, flanked by Ken, digs into Connelly: “They’re demanding explanations from me—I’m demanding the facts to formulate some answers—but primarily—“ Ken intercedes. “The model wasn’t accurate.” “We knew that from the start! Where are the inaccuracies?” The camera shifts to Con, studying the model . . . “The pond wasn’t there,” he says. “The pond?” Britt asks. “Sir . . ?” “I’m asking you to tell me what’s wrong with this model!” Con seems to regress, like a kid—but he’s on a carpet for a horrible foul-up, and he finds fault. “The pond wasn’t there.” Ken pipes up—the pond can be found in reconnaissance photos. Britt barks that perhaps they camouflaged it—“what else?” Con rationalizes—an arch wasn’t there—a building—a windmill—“the whole model stinks!”

Britt then tells him that his report squares up with the post-recon report—Con did see a lot, quite accurately. “It might get you off the hook.” “What hook?” Con is in strange waters here; he has usually only dealt with success, congratulations, celebration, which he basked in in Joe’s office. “Three hundred feet—two hundred feet—“ Britt tallies up what went wrong—“Whose idea was to send him in alone?” Ken speaks up again. “Gallagher said it, and I approved it.” “Wait a minute,” Con says, regaining some of himself. “It was my idea.” “Then give me a tactical reason, Colonel,” Britt goads.

-“you’re talking with Harry Connelly!”

Connelly explodes with excuses, but solid ones—you go up there—time!—you’ve got not time to argue—now I’ve knocked down 43—43 of these things and I’ve done it alone—you can’t go up with anybody. “You can’t be twice as wrong and twice as right—“ He recalls his recent fracas in Italy—he took a crew to Italy to take out that radar station—“and for what? So they could roast alive in an airplane!” Britt backs down a hair. “I know that must have been particularly rough—“ “I know –you know—I went back and hit it by myself—you’re talking to Harry Connelly,” he finishes, illogically, getting an uneasy look from Ken. Britt is now calmer—and asks Con to review the attack—and asks some difficult questions. When he turned and went back—if he lined up on the wrong street?—and hit the wrong house?–the model indicates two streets running parallel with each other. “One mistake in forty-four,” Britt says to Con’s faltering face. And he’s got to go back there . . . Con explodes in personal attacks and accusations as the reality of his error sinks in—“did you hear what she called me? What did you do, advertise it? Course, we all know how we got into this mess, don’t we? Loudmouth Joe Gallagher sounding off from the rooftops, right?” Britt pauses, pondering his words—and dismisses Con, who stares at him. “Thank you General,” Con says, saluting viciously, and then turns and throws aside the green drapes closing off the room. After he leaves, Britt asks where he is staying—at the 918^th, bunking with Joe—he has Ken call the base surgeon—he has a case of combat fatigue.

As Ken starts the call, Britt calls Gallagher– they should have sent somebody after Con.

-“ . . . and live with a dirty name”

A gentle cut to Gallagher—alone in his office, he seems to be studying the photo of Adelburg—he then takes a call from Britt, and Britt’s message is ironically optimistic: The Germans, by that broadcast, made a mistake—“they could have made us believe that we got their atomic brain trust.” Joe isn’t in line with Britt’s thinking—“I just can’t believe Con missed that building.” His sorrow a little ambiguous—is he sorry because of the men who have died or is he sorry for Con’s error?—probably both. Britt tells him—“that’s not your problem, anymore. I think he’s suffering from combat fatigue.” Joe’s heart is still in control—he won’t accept it. Britt, as befits a general gives Joe two blunt messages—the base surgeon is to look after Connelly—and then he—Joe—“is to strike Adelburg with the greatest possible force.” “With the prisoners still there? With twenty acres of bodies?” “If that’s the cost—think of what you’re saving and live with a dirty name. Survival is not a factor Joe—neither the prisoners, nor yours—get that building—GET IT.”

Both men at either end of the line are sickened but go on. Britt tells Ken, “better make sure he does”—meaning Ken is a vital factor in “getting that building”—and Joe grimly shoulders duty.

-“sick—you bet I’m sick!”

Cut to a quick set up of one of the most melodramatic but striking scenes in the series, twisting up from war, emotions, decisions gone wrong, heroism cancelled—skills evaporating to be called a butcher—Joe is standing up at his desk, and Connelly, who was unwisely left on his own, comes smiling in.

With concern, Joe comes up to him and asks “Con, what happened?”

Con knocks him to the floor. Joe heaves up, his chin bloody, his face shocked and sorry. Con fiercely describes what he did and how he did it—“walk up to an old friend . . . and pow, the sucker punch.” Joe shouts “No!” as Harvey comes in. Con swings on him—“don’t you forget it Harvey or I’ll do the same to you as he did to me!” Joe frantically reasons with him—“Con, I know what’s wrong—you’re out of gas.” “He’s sick,” Harvey more bluntly responds. “Sick—you bet I’m sick. I’m sick—chicken liver here got me to take on his dirty work—old pal—my gold-plated hero—and then pow!”—obviously forgetting Joe’s request to go along with him—as insurance. “Con,” Joe pleads, rising from the floor, “you need a rest.” “Who takes the blame? Whose reputation flies out the window? I—poured—out everything I knew to you—just like you were my brother—“

Joe gets to his feet, his face raddled with tears that he must have held back for months, shaking his head at Con’s accusations . . . “you got me into this dirty mess,” he says, his hands reaching out for Joe. Harvey intercepts him and in his exhaustion Con can’t put up much of a fight. Joe takes over for Harvey, gently holding Con’s left arm behind his back, while Harvey seeks help. As Con wilts, Joe’s hands helplessly caress the man’s arms and shoulders, reminding me of the scene at Magadar when Joe cries out like a child when his brother Pres finally collapses. Con is so tired it even takes him a long time to falter . . . “I’m  . . . so . . .tired,” he says and slumps forward. Joe hangs onto him, devastated as yet one more of his heroes finally give in to being human.

-“we’ll just have to live with a dirty name—“

Britt, with a sweater on, is led down the stairs by an aide; he finds Joe and Ken waiting for him; Joe, in leather jacket and uniform shirt, rather than Dress-As, remarks, a little ironically in the face of Britt’s non-GI sweater, “excuse the uniform” – and declares “We think we’ve come up with a pretty good plan.” Britt, for the moment, only sees the bandage on Joe’s chin. “What happened to you?” Ken: “Con belted him one.” Joe’s most kingly characteristic shines forth: forgiveness. “Oh, he just blew his top—he’s fine now—Doc Kaiser gave him a sedative—let’s forget it.” “What’s the plan?” Britt responds. It’s simple, audacious, and quite possibly deadly: Joe will fly the B-25 five minutes ahead of the group—“using Con’s techniques. If I miss,” explains Joe, “I can radio Ken who will then saturate the area.” Ken listens to this with a worried face; clearly, both men feel responsible for Con’s error, and are willing to go out on a limb . . . “and we’ll just have to live with a dirty name,” Joe finishes. When Britt asks whose idea it was, Joe looks askance. “Actually, it was Connelly’s”—a fib to salvage the man’s reputation? After all, he’s up for a Congressional Medal of Honor. “Oh, is he thinking again?” asks Britt, testily. But he takes the idea into consideration—if they succeed, they will save a lot of lives—“But Jerry will be ready for you. He’s been amply warned.” “Yes, sir, I’m aware of that,” Joe says calmly—his words reflect the philosophy, if you can call it that, he told the new pilots on “Storm at Twilight”—think of yourself as a dead man. “It’s a good plan,” Britt says. “I approve.”

-“it’s all ready for tomorrow, sir”

Back at the base, Joe lets himself into his quarters—this is the third time we have glimpsed his quarters—the odd, ugly lamp (“Fortress Weisbaden”) is still there, shedding light on the Con’s sleeping body. Joe comes up to him—“Con?—Con?” he asks. Why does Joe speak to a sedated man? Does he want to apologize? Does he want to beg for tips on what he is to do? . . . He sits down. Con’s blinking eyes reveal he is playing possum—why? Does he enjoy seeing Joe sweat? Is he plotting? .  . . The answer comes in the next scene when Con, alert—showing that brio that has kept him flying despite too many missions, too little rest—comes into Operation.

For a moment, the viewer could be puzzled at Komansky’s attitude—leg up on the desk, reading a magazine—but when Con requests “orders for Adelburg”—we see that duty sergeant is for once not Komansky (though it looks like him at first glance!)—of course, being on the mission, he would be sleeping, and besides, Komansky probably would have been privy to Con’s breakdown. The unknowing sergeant responds “Yes sir,” and “it’s already for tomorrow, sir.” As easy as that.

-“no, Con, not you—I know you too well . . .”

The next morning, a hooded Jeep pulls onto greensward, where are parked B-17s—and a nice use of a clip first seen in “Face of a Shadow.” The wary Ken climbs into the flightdeck where Komansky is already at work; he crisply returns Ken’s worried “good morning,” and then he greets Harvey. Ken wisely asks for a full check—“I don’t do this often enough and I don’t want to take anything for granted.” In the B-25, Joe comes onto the flightdeck, not surprised to find Con dozing; the sedative could be fought off for a while but even Con has to succumb. Con greets him as if all is well, and that he too has forgiven Joe, or at least realized how unfair his accusations were. “Show you how far gone I was—cooled me off a little—but I couldn’t sleep . . . “ He then drops the act. “You knew where I was, huh?” “Yeah. When I woke up and found you gone.” (Hm–I should think he would be in the base hospital.) “I could have been anywhere.” “No, Con, not you—I know you too well.” “Joe, let me take her . . .” “Sorry Con, I can’t.”

Con seems to shrug and then lashes out with his fists again. Joe easily parries this second sucker punch and strikes him back—his faces creases with sorrow, but there’s no time for pity.

-“a P-51—is that our fighter cover?”

The mission quickly takes up. As it unfolds, there is a scene of Joe alone on the flightdeck; this is overlaid by an unusual version of the 12OCH anthem. Nervous, he calls to Ken and Harvey and confirms he is five minutes ahead—figuratively and nearly literally, the good shepherd, leading the flock. Sandy then observes a P-51 streaking past—“is that our fighter cover?” Harvey says they are expecting P-38s.

-“this is sucker punch—“

The run begins. Joe silently, alertly, begins the approach. Down below, the team of nameless scientists—who seem dedicated sorts, innocent in their own way—are packing under the sound of sirens. Elsewhere, fighters are scrambling. Joe suddenly hears the unidentified P-51 identify itself: “Ramrod, this is sucker punch!” Con, with apparently feeling he has little to lose—he does not care for publicity, the Medal of Honor does not seem to mean that much to him—has commandeered—grabbed?—a P-51 and, like an old fire horse, is racing to the conflagration—“You ready for a battle plan?” he radios Joe. As it turns out, somewhere, sometime, in his more relaxed brain, he has realized—accepted–his error and has reformulated a plan.

“I’m doing it just the way you planned,” Joe responds.

“Do not do it,” Con says, twice. “They’ll have the approach so full of flak today you’ll never make it.”

Joe protests that he has to do this—it’s no heroic gesture, it’s just Joe doing his duty. Con then confesses to him—yesterday’s mess was his fault—not the model, in other words. “One too many and I knew it”—an interesting phrase which likens the audacious missions Con has flown to liquor; indeed, Con is no boozehound; he even left most of his drink behind in the pub, as his blood was  more stirred by the lure of another hard mission—yes, it’s like a drug and he overdosed. “My timing was off. I got confused.” Joe stays steady even though he is out of time and he’s got to do this. Connelly tells him he can do this—“you’ve still got your edge, I’ve lost mine.”

-“we’re not staging this war to win medals for you”

They both start down the last 45 seconds—less than a minute, but incredible things can happen in a minute—with Connelly telling Joe what to do—“Turn right, and approach from the west—follow me in Joe,” he says, and Joe watches the P-51 veer off. Ken and Harvey have caught on to this audacious unofficial act—and Ken misunderstands and radios Con “to cut himself out of the pattern—we’re not staging this war to win medals for you.” Connelly remains firm, flying ahead to draw off the flak—“I’ll argue with you, later,” he radios. Con is as good as his word—swooping low, he carries Joe in safety, whose B-25 is a mere 300 feet from the ground. Unfazed, he radios a nervous Joe to “let it go when I call it.” And, working together, teacher and student send another iron potato—this time through the right door. The scientists, whose work was going toward destruction, are destroyed in a wall of fire . . .

-“I’ve got four beautiful targets back there . . .”

“Pretty good bank shot,” Con compliments Joe, to Joe’s grin—and their joy is ended when the scrambled fighters come in to play. “Joe, pour the coal on that crate—they’re after you.” When Joe tries to locate him, the jubilant Con—now a teacher of an Ace rather than “just an Ace”—decides to become a fighter pilot—he’s got the moxie and the balls for it, and calls to Joe “I’ve got four beautiful targets back there.” A suicidal gesture? A flourish of triumphant joy that tells him he will never die—which is what drives on a warrior, an ace? “Negative, Con,” Joe radios. “Outrun them—you have the speed.” Con doesn’t or won’t listen—either he wants to die—perhaps protect Joe from three sucker punches—he just wants to scrap it up—and he takes off into the truly wild blue yonder . . .  “Con, where are you?” are Joe’s desperate words as the scene closes.

-“he was covering a B-25 sir—for that I’m grateful”

In the Epilogue, there is a nice grouping of Joe, Ken, and Harvey—at Wing, gazing at the off-screen Britt. Though giving their reports—and we learn what happened after we left Joe searching for Con–this scene is a eulogy . . .with a surprise ending. It reminds me slightly of the three Marys at the tomb who are told by an angel that their “Lord is not here.”

This is no celebration of destruction; this is a quiet scene for the honor of one man who “is not here” . . . Ken breaks from the group to walk to Britt—who says, “Well, he surely wanted to go out shooting.” “Eight fighters after him—he wasn’t a fighter pilot.” “You had not business leading those planes down to cover a p-51,” Britt says. “Yeah, it was quite a reversal of form,” Ken admits. “He was covering a B-25 sir,” Joe says. “For that, I’m grateful.” “I’m thankful too,” Britt says, suggesting his great fondness for Joe, the colonel he handpicked to carry on after Savage and who “does right” by Britt’s trust again and again. “Off the record, he had no business doing it. In any case, Connelly’s name is an asset more than his achievements. That’s important in war,” Britt concludes, always sensitive to all the angles of conducting combat. “He went in ahead of me and drew off the flak.” Joe shakes his head, in sorrow and in acknowledgement. “It was a really Harry Connelly show—his techniques—and his guts.” “I think he would say,” Britt concludes, “Please, no speeches.”

-“Sergeant—would you like a drink?”

The closing moments are magical, with a card—probably the Ace of Diamonds– coming out of somebody’s sleeve, both for Harry, and for Sandy, who suddenly appears, with a salute and wonderful news—“Sir, Air Sea Rescue has pulled Colonel Connelly from the channel—and they’re bringing him in, sir.” Joe is too stunned to say a word—and Britt, incredibly happy after pronouncing his eulogy—celebrates, but commences in an interesting way—“Sergeant . . .would you like a drink?”—talk about “loving the messenger”!

Sandy looks as if somebody has rapped him with a two by four: “Why, uh, yes sir.” Britt pulls out a bottle, and himself fetches water glasses for the toast . . . “Oh, an incidentally, Joe,” he says, “congratulations.” Joe simply sits down, pleased . . . about many, many things.  

“Six Feet Under”

Writer: James Doherty

Director: Murray Golden

This title, as in the last five titles of 12OCH (Fall 1964-January 1967), presciently addresses this series’ death in the competitive atmosphere of series television: “Six Feet Under,” “Duel at Mont St. Marie,” “Graveyard,” “Long Time Dead,” and “The Hunters and the Killers.” This row of titles stand in some contrast with the series’ lyrical ones such as “The Loneliest Place in the World,” “Which Way the Wind Blows,” “Siren Voices,” “Face of a Shadow,” and with the terse titles that speak of  isolation: “The Outsider,” “The Pariah,” “The Fighter Pilot,” and even “The Ace.” I’m sure these line-up of “mortal” titles is just a coincidence–and I tackle these last five titles with a sad sigh, because I know at the end of them, despite Britt’s words and Sandy’s lack of visible injuries, that Joe Gallagher is seriously injured, and his faithful sergeant is on the verge of a long-overdue breakdown. Meaningfully, only General Britt is left standing, savoring the view of a single B-17 flying overhead, as if paying tribute to the fallen . . . though I don’t fancy either of them dead!—Joe and Sandy, superior and subordinate, unlikely partners, and deeply devoted comrades, have an interesting life ahead of them, so, stay tuned.

This episode is notable for being the fourth Gallagher-Komansky episode in which children are involved—“Runway in the Dark” features the sad but brave Christian sacrificing his father to the Norwegian people; “Target 802”’s central ugliness is Claudette’s son being seriously wounded and his grieving mother murderous over the unavoidable accident; and in “Which Way the Wind Blows,” Joe’s rescue of an English lad endangered by a nuisance raider helps to convince Pat Bates to keep going and help clean up the skies made ugly by war. Behind all these stories is the spectre of the child and then adolescent Sandy Komansky, part of himself forever “a little frightened orphan boy” (“Show Me a Hero”) whose rough childhood is mirrored by the war—however, he has come a long way and has a wonderful future projected for him by Joe Gallagher’s interest and support, and certainly by the GI Bill by which he will develop his intelligence and abilities with education. Joe is similarly interested and supportive of the orphaned Emile and Jacques at episode’s end; his telling Doud to send any decoration he might receive to Emile is only a gesture and he knows it, and the tired, sorrowing Colonel walks away from a treasure trove of information he helped to secure at the expense of the boys’ village. If there is ever a feeling that Joe is a good shepherd as opposed to the “warrior” Savage, this episode displays it well.

This time the good shepherd has an additional worry that builds a nice theme in the episode—do the costs outweigh the benefits?—first evoked by the phrase “gold mine,” referred to again by “an embarrassment of riches,” Joe twice referring to “costs,” and last evoked by Stovall’s words in the epilogue: “what price . . ?” And of course—this is a ground-bound episode; Joe and Sandy don’t even get near a plane, though the 918^th participates by two sorties led by both Stovall and by Doud. Ironically, Joe and Sandy suffer a bombing attack from their own guys . . . I also wonder if this episode were built around a wonderful collection of film clips of ground warfare in Europe; it is rare when this series, at this late date of its run, presents so many clips so far unseen. The episode, in its dealing with the enemy on the ground recalls “Big Brother,” in which the Gallagher brothers work together in North Africa—and in the skies over North Africa—to destroy a German frontal attack on Pres’s backwash army somewhere in Tunisia, 1943. In some contrast, Joe and Sandy in Belgium, are in the “belly of the beast,” as they join up with a mechanized division which foolishly if unintentionally penetrated ten miles past the lines and hold out in an isolated pocket—which has a gold mine of information–as the German army threatens to swallow them up as they frantically work and then are forced to retreat, six feet under, the classic level of burial—which always its equal and opposite reaction of rebirth. I wish I knew more about that castle-like structure that has its part in the episode—it looks too solid to be just a set built for the purposes of the episodes—perhaps it was leftover set from another movie and pressed into service although some war footage indicates that there was really a structure like castle hill figuring in the background of a real battle.

And finally, this episode has some serious lapses in logic—most of which are accounted for, though not particularly well!—I hope I don’t sound too peevish, but there are some strange moments. However, in the end, the theme of the episode—what price liberation, as Stovall enunciates in the epilogue—is what should be recalled, it’s far more powerful than the fast-moving but at times somewhat wobbly story. The logic lapses will be duly pointed out along with rationalizations . . . and also I will counterpoint another writer’s “accusations” of lapses in logic.

-“have a nice day”

The fast-moving teaser begins with long white road . . . which sweeps the viewer into the remains of a castle-like building—a bit of Europe’s war-ridden medieval past finding its way into the “modern war” of blitzkrieg and airpower. Complete with a tower, and a crenelated wall—and later identified as “castle hill”–the building is occupied by German soldiers who are in the midst of a guard change. One good and dutiful soldier, whom we meet later—and hate as well as feel sorry for—gives his report to the oncoming men that a dust cloud he sees is a “Panzer patrol is returning”—actually American tanks—and bids an ironic “have a nice day” to the fresh men as they hunker down to their strong point. He heads for breakfast—his day will change, very soon. The Panzers arrive—firing—these are American tanks. One soldier leaps up the stairs of the tower to descend into the keep by a ladder. The single-star marked vehicles stop—soldiers leap out in pursuit and one follows the German to peer down into the keep—avails himself of a grenade, pitches it down, with the expected results. Still firing, the gun-mounted vehicle heads down the hill. The camera pulls away revealing farmhouses, over which flaps a Nazi flag and a German soldier, observing what has taken place.

He dashes into the open doorway and into a large basement where his CO, in the midst of breakfast, disgustedly asks “What’s all the firing about?” “The Americans are coming,” reports the soldier. “What are you talking about?” the officer demands, continuing with breakfast, which he will not finish. The hapless soldier repeats his message, getting in return “Don’t be ridiculous—the Americans are ten miles away”—and clearly expected to stay there because the officer should be readying his post for destruction or transfer; the Americans are obviously coming, sooner or later. The squeal of a transport’s brakes sounding from above finally convinces the officer something is afoot; he throws his napkin down and follows the soldier to the stairway, which is atmospherically lighted—foolishly exposing themselves; they are both killed, with the officer getting off a single shot.

-“a gold mine . . .”

Distorted shadows—seemingly an image of the whorl of good intent, restraint, expeditious decisions, helplessness of civilians caught in war and having to take what is left—slide down the wall flanking the steps. These belong to an American officer and his sergeant, whom we will soon know as the likable Major Tony Dimscek and equally likable Sgt. Nick Battalana. The sergeant immediately checks the radio in the underground facility—a lot of the action of this story is played underground—“It just might work,” he says, which perhaps helps explain why this unit is so far into enemy territory; their communication had broken down (although ten miles seems a little incredible). The major, at the moment, is not interested; as a teacher in civilian life, he immediately seeks out documents in filing cabinets. “Any idea where we are, Major?” asks the sergeant, seeking physical orientation. The Major, more abstractly, says “No, I don’t—but we’ve discovered a gold mine.” Somewhat startlingly, after this image of the precious ore frequently dug out from beneath the ground, in dark caverns, at the expense of lives–the six bongs strike over Tony’s face. The bright blue sky of the opening will stand in counterpoint to tonight’s episode, a lot of it played “six feet under.” *First lapse in logic—and it’s a big one. It seems these are Luftwaffe records, so why are they being stored, even if temporarily—it’s never made clear–in this army fortification?—it is identified as being possibly the forward HQ of Sixth Area Defense. However, these records had to go somewhere but it seems awfully sloppy of the Nazis to leave such a treasure trove, particularly with the Americans advancing and again, why does the army have them?

-“poked a hole in the German lines and kept right on going”

Act I—the always serene Wing HQ at Pinetree is again in contrast with the dusty basement in Belgium—General Phil Doud, Major Stovall, and a Major Rand provide the exposition, beginning with Doud folding out a map which the location of the small village, the site of the developing situation—and do we know how much time has elapsed? It can only be assumed that this is the same day; after all, the action took up in the early morning as indicated by the guard going for his breakfast; the American soldiers found a working radio to broadcast from. (That armored unit must have gotten up at dawn and rolled out shortly thereafter to have covered ten miles while breakfast is still being served in the German fortification.) From Harvey we learn that the division sent out a recon probe—and “poked a hole in the German lines and kept right on going”—under the command of Major Dimscek, who seems to have made the mistake due to faulty radio equipment, rather than to his intelligence—though he wryly describes himself as a “lousy battalion commander.”

*Maybe not exactly a lapse—Dimscek more or less admits that he’s not that good, and that their radio seems to be in disrepair, but ten miles in?—on a broad, visible road? How did that happen?

Harvey continues: In their penetration they have managed to capture a cellarful of Luftwaffe documents—“and they think it’s the forward HQ of the Sixth Area Air Defense,” Harvey adds for the benefit of Rand, that the “52^nd has been ordered to exploit the breakthrough or at least hold on.” Doud sets the plan—Stovall is to round up a CI team, whom he is to fly in—the team will include Rand, whom we never really get to know. We also finally learn where the “two boys” are—Gallagher, aided by Komansky, is in nearby France preparing forward bases, and he has been ordered to the Belgian village—“but he’s going to need help,” Doud says. (Joe and Sandy kind of resemble the “two boys” we are going to meet and worry about—Emile and Jacques.)

*I think it would have been better all around if Gallagher and Komansky had started the story at  the isolated forward base they were preparing in France and the story played out there—it could have been a former Luftwaffe base that needs repair; and they could have discovered a false wall which hides he records—then this base comes under attack by a ground unit sent in to take the records  back. We might have lost the characters of Dimscek and Battalana but the boys could have been incorporated well, because they are the emotional heart of the story.

-“there’s a cellar under the house, sir”

A distant shot of the helpless Belgian village sets the scene—unfortunately, not terribly convincing as it is set in the California countryside . . .however, three soldiers, waiting by the old keep, advance to greet a Jeep zooming up the broad road . . .

*Another lapse . . . although Gallagher indicates that Sandy’s superior driving skills got them through the contested area that the second battalion has trouble slugging through (Joe admits they drove through them) these two driving up on that same broad, visible road is a little incredible. Again, if they had stayed at the forward base and discovered the documents on their own, it would have made more sense.

Colonel Gallagher, almost unrecognizable in ground fatigues and a helmet, climbs out of the Jeep, greets the soldier and asks for details—now here is where the physical location of the story seems to get a bit murky—apparently, as I understand it, the old keep is just a lookout; down below the hill, in the farmhouse-typed  building, there is a cellar—“a tunnel goes down under there.” It is never clear to me if the keep and the farmhouse cellar are or are not connected; however, it seems that the farmhouse was once built over a site surely connected with the keep—well, perhaps I overanalyze but the two underground chambers that this episode’s personnel keep coming and going into and out of finally becomes a bit confusing—yet the situation in itself is confusing; they destroy the village to save the information; the cellars are both a stronghold and a trap; the friendlies seem about as bad the enemies . . .

-“who built that door?”

Komansky, similarly fatigued and helmeted follows Gallagher to the keep—and they come under immediate attack from a German plane which releases a small but effective payload—though it misses its primary target . . . The three men eat the dirt and then get to their feet to see the other two soldiers have died in the attack. “I’m losing men, Colonel,” says Sgt. Battalana, thus starting and ramping up the ticking clock quality of the episode—their presence is known, the German ground forces will follow the planes, the documents must be identified and taken out . . .  Sandy goes down first into the keep, followed by Gallagher and then Sgt. Battalana. As the noise intensifies outside the keep, Joe and Sandy glance around and then enter a second chamber by a doorway half the size of a conventional door—they clamber into a room full of German supplies, all seemingly guarded over by an oversized figure of a woman, holding a lamp of some sort. “Who built that door?” Sandy asks, coming through. “A race of giants?” “A method of defense,” Joe says, his West Point education shining through. “One man could hold off a whole army that way.” Sgt. Battalana explains the strategy—“one man could stand there and then lop the heads off of anyone coming through.”

Different war, different era, but the same dirty business . . . A sound puts the men on their guard. The ground sergeant goes first, knocking over some crates and flushing out a scared adolescent and his younger brother. The sergeant can’t be polite—“What are you doing here?—go, allez, vite!—go on, scoot!” The scared boys fly up the steps to the left. “Kids. Ain’t that something, sir? We thought all the Frenchies left the town already—but they are Belgians,” he corrects himself. He then escorts Joe and Sandy up the same steps . . . and the camera pulls back, revealing the same dutiful sergeant of the morning scene. Injured, he has crawled back among a fortress of packing boxes to hide.

-“it’s dead–”

Outside, in a corner formed by two buildings, the dead are stretchered out by the left door. At the right door, the two boys pause, and then fearfully run . . .though they have no real place to run to. In the cellar room with the radio, Major Dimscek, played so nicely by never-give-a-bad-performance Martin Milner, anxiously waits as one of his men deals with the German radio—they have success, and he takes the mike. “Sam, this is Tony,” he says and relays the growing viciousness of the situation—they are calling on a German radio—his own has been shot out. Behind him comes two soldiers, to whom he pays no mind. “Where is the 2^nd Battalion?” he asks. Sam tells him—“We’re on our way—you must hold out until Ramrod comes.” Unbeknownst to him, Ramrod glances at him; he is already tending to the documents. Tony radios back that he can’t hold out much longer—he needs relief and support.

These last words cause Gallagher’s head to turn—“Tell him Ramrod is here,” he says tersely. Sam’s final words to Tony—that they are heading in for rescue—are broken and ended with static. Tony pleads for Sam to send again but it is to no avail. “It’s dead,” Tony says, in some ways summarizing the situation and deepening the meaning of the episode’s title. Efficiently, he turns to Joe. “Tony Dimscek, Colonel,” he says. Joe, ever the gentleman, shakes his hand, and introduces Sgt. Komansky. “Do you know why I’m here?” “To analyze these documents,” Dimscek replies, briefly. “What’s the situation?” Major Dimscek is blunt, and a little abashed. They took this town by mechanized recon patrol—by surprise—and now they’re cut off by a counteroffensive. “I came through your division,” Joe assures him. “The 2^nd Battalion is coming to your aid.” “They’re not getting through—how’d you make it?”

Gallagher gestures to Komansky, who never fails him—“He learned to drive in New York City.”

*This not exactly a lapse in logic but as previously identified,  creates a serious inconsistency–when was Sgt. Alexander Komansky ever in New York City?—the three times he speaks of growing up (“We’re Not Coming Back,” “Between the Lines,” and “The Hollow Man”) he was in Oakland, most likely in California, where there is a large Eastern European population. And he probably didn’t drive much—an orphan kid growing up in the Depression?—and how he got to New York, considering that he joined the army underage (“Then Came the Mighty Hunter”) and most likely trained in Texas, is beyond me. I can only chalk it up to it to Joe making a joke—or just a case of sheer forgetfulness about the few details provided for Sandy’s younger life. I wonder if everybody was too tired or too depressed about show’s looming failure that even Chris Robinson did not say, “Hey!—that don’t jive!”

–“embarrassment of riches here—“

Confusion notwithstanding, Tony gives orders and then gets a report from his own never-failing sergeant—“a whole division seems to be closing in,” and he is told to get a Jeep and take a look. Joe asks him if he has anybody who reads German—“I had,” he says, putting on his helmet. “They’re both dead”—must have been those hapless men who were killed at castle hill–a little too expeditious for me, but, oh well … “Embarrassment of riches here,” says Joe. “I don’t know where to begin.” Tony is blunt. “Pray for a miracle.” “If our own CI team gets here on time, that’s miracle enough,” Sandy says grimly, underscored by the sound of heavy gunfire. Joe says he needs the radio to be working and asks Sandy to give the operator a hand. This has been going on underground. On the ground, a neatly uniformed German officer observes, through field glasses, the approach of the 2^nd Battalion. On his orders, a crew fires, and a tank is disabled. Above ground, high above, German planes fly through clouds and over a neat countryside. More bombs are dropped, pouring dirt down on the three men huddled about the radio below ground. Tony returns, telling them they’ve just about had it. Joe bucks him up, saying that the counteroffensive is not really warranted by a village of this size . . . “If they don’t cut us off, they’ll starve us out,” Sandy remarks about the siege they are beginning to suffer. Joe ignores him—“There’s something in those boxes they really don’t want us to find.”

Farther back  an unsteady hand grips among other boxes—and finds a box of “Hand Grenaten.” Struggling against pain, he manages to open the box, secure a grenade and then passes out . . . a few more minutes gained for the unknowing good guys. Above ground, bombs come down on the village. An explosion finds its victims and a lone Emile frantically seeks over. Below ground again, the radio operator manages to open a channel again and Tony gets a message out to a Stein, telling him that a Panzer unit is forming—“get ammo—keep the North Road open—it’s our only way out of here.”

-“I can’t let all this is costing us go down the drain . . .”

Joe asks/orders the Major to give them another hour. “What good would an hour do?” the man demands—rightfully; without an interpreter, what’s the point?

*A lapse in logic—? as was pointed out by another commentator–no, not really; the commentator, either Duffin or Mathes. The question was posed, how come they were sent when neither of them reads German? The person pointing this out forgot that Joe and Sandy were sent to secure the documents,  and that a CI team was coming; and it would have a person who could read German for this mission.

“I’ve experts coming in,” Joe says. “. . .they’re not gonna make it.” “I can’t let all this is costing us go down the drain,” Joe protests, rightfully too—which reminds me of how Joe hung on during the peak of the Nordesholme raid, pushing aside Hollenbeck’s orders to turn around—with all they had suffered, they could not not release their bombs—without paying a hefty bill in reputation and the trust of their superiors if they returned with the mission unaccomplished.

Then the price immediately becomes higher. Poor Emile, finally in a safe place, comes tumbling down the steps, speaking in German—and realizing who he is speaking with, switches to English; his brother is hurt. Tony, despite his worry, takes pity on the scared boy and takes off with him to help his brother. Joe sends Sandy off after him; without a word, Sandy obeys. Joe stays behind helplessly, but at least something good happens—the radio operator has discovered the problem and re-establishes a radio connection. Above ground, amidst dust and debris of the ravaged village, Emile leads Tony and Sandy to his brother. Sandy frees Jacques from the debris fallen on him, picks up and they all flee back to the cellar.

-“I need some help to translate German documents . . .”

Below ground, a radio connection is made and a relieved Joe goes in search of his sergeant and the kids. Sandy and Joe help take Jacques down into the adjoining cellar, and fashions a bed for the injured boy out of sacks on top of a crate. A rather strange scene ensues, in which a round-robin of help is asked for, refused, and then finally threatened . . . Nearby, the soldier, wounded first, stirs at the sound of the voices—which include Joe demanding to know where the major is, and that he has gone to fetch the battalion doctor. The doctor, his helmet sporting the Red Cross insignia, arrives with merciful swiftness. While he carries out his examination of Jacques, Joe turns to Emile, whose young dark eyes are full of fear and grief. Joe can’t sympathize much; there is too much at stake, too much danger, and too little time—which recalls how he “leaned” on Christian Borg (“Runway in the Dark”) to seek his help in a desperate situation.

“I need some help to translate German documents,” he tells Emile, in a firm but kind voice. “Will you help me?” “You help Jacques?” the boy demands. “Why was he hurt?—you came—our grandfather died—“ which probably explains why the two boys fled to the cellar rather than leaving the village; in their fear they cling to what they know; it reminds of children who hide in the closet when a fire breaks out in their house . . . .  Emile does not refuse Joe as much as he chokes on his confusion and fear, but his help seems out of the question. The German soldier now takes temporary command of the situation. Revealing himself, and holding a grenade as a threat—another situation which reveals the idiocy of war—he orders the doctor, who is leaving to get a medic to splint Jacques’ leg, to stay. “I need your help,” he both orders and begs, holding onto the grenade . . .

  -“my men are holding on for nothing. . .”

Above-ground: From the close up on the German’s soldier pained, frantic face, Act II opens up with a nimble leap into the air—into a single B-17, with Stovall steadily at the controls (for the first time flying right seat since his near-disastrous experiences in “Storm at Twilight” but he has since flown left-seat with Joe and his confidence and abilities have been regained). Calm and authoritative, Stovall checks on his fighter escort which reports, and a disembodied voice tells “we’re with you all the way . . .” Stovall contacts the plane’s radioman and speaks with Captain Rand; they are about 20 minutes from the drop. Rand responds; begins to unhook himself and gather his parachute. Back at the flightdeck, Stovall tells his unnamed co-pilot to keep his eyes open for the village—“it’s going to be hard to find.”

On-ground: Anti-aircraft cannons fire, heavy artillery fires back, and tanks roll over trees and shrubbery . . .

Below-ground: Tony, radio mike in hand, gives the grim report, as his sergeant listens—the enemy has advanced 1000 feet on the east and are coming on from the south—“that’s two divisions, I’m sustaining heavy casualties here.” His contact, high on a tank, speaking into a field telephone asks, bluntly, “Does Gallagher have the material he came for?” Dimscek is also blunt: “Sir, my interpreters are dead, I don’t see how Gallagher can possibly do the job . . . my men are holding on for nothing.” He too is counting up the costs and can see no profit. His superior gauges Tony’s word, the time, his own advancing tanks, orders from high command and says, “We’re pushing through to you . . .you must hold on till that CIC team gets here . .. or,” Tony hears him finish, “until Gallagher releases you.” Tony is not balking, but pointing out what may happen: “They’ll never make a drop here . . . their parachutes will be ripped to shreds before they hit the ground—where’s Gallagher?” he demands of his sergeant.

-“come on, German, give up!”

Below ground, in the other chamber: Gallagher, Emile, Sandy, and the doctor are confronting the injured, helpless and defiant German soldier—who pleads to the medic, who has applied some bandages to his chest, “you must give me something for the pain!” He’s an interesting character in that he first appears as civilized and conscientious but as his once comfortable situation vanishes he becomes ugly, barbaric and somewhat stereotypical of the horrible German—yet this somewhat reflects the whole situation of the once peaceful village; it is shattered and will never be the same. Into this comes Battalana—“Live grenade,” Joe barks at him. The soldier orders Battalana to put the rifle down in front of him and wisely, he does so. He renews his demand for something for the pain—“I have nothing,” the doctor tells him, bluntly. “You’re lying!” the German barks—his life and his empire’s life are ebbing, and his struggle to get something for the pain—which would sedate him and make him helpless—is as foolish as the Nazis fighting, fighting, fighting . . . even though when many knew they were licked—yet what else could they do?

“Come on, German, give up!” Joe barks, cutting through the crap. “Nobody wants to die!” “Silence!” demands/begs the injured man. Emile, protecting his brother, winces. “I like to hear you beg,” he then says, idiotically; Joe is not begging, he is ordering . . . the soldier of the Reich rises, telling them to stand back and then contradicts himself by saying “do not plead with me—you know it would do no good.” He moves over to the low door. His pain is fouling his thinking and his planning—“you think you are here now—you will stay—no! Belgium belongs to the Reich! Europe belongs to the Reich!” “You’re kidding yourself, German,” Joe warns. “You are kidding yourself becau

se you are the one who is going to die,” he responds, going on his knees to escape through the door. He repeats his threat, then a third time, then a fourth time—and in his final foolish act, makes the grenade live, and tosses it into the room awkwardly as he makes his escape through the low door, resembling the rabbit disappearing down the hole in “Alice in Wonderland”—very apt; the world of war can be at times about as illogical as Alice’s underground world . . .

-“you sure move fast in a clutch”

Sandy, silent and watchful, springs to life in defense of everyone—he snatches the badly-thrown grenade, hurls it through the low door and huddles on the floor as it does its work . . . and creates another ironic situation—their would-be murderer is dead from the weapon he made live to kill his enemies; but an entryway is now blocked, further sealing them into an underground world and will later block Emile’s escape for help. Sandy crawls to his feet and stares: “That got the Kraut, sir,” he says, so shocked at what he has done he can come up with nothing more than the obvious.  As he has recently seen, killing close up is different from bombing at high altitudes . . . . Joe hastens to support him with some joshing and optimistic words: “You sure move fast in a clutch,” he tells Sandy, putting a hand on his shoulder. “When we get back—remind me—I owe you a three day pass.”

Sandy just looks at him.

Above ground: Stovall, still piloting the B-17, is calling for Ramrod, then calls for Gallagher, and finally says, “I think it’s down there,” and flies on, hoping for the best. Then, his fighter escort is matched by Luftwaffe fighters . . . “you got company,” says the voice of the fighter pilot. Stovall looks around, grimaces, but hangs on. Below ground: Gallagher and Komansky have further fortified the plugged entrance; “Yes sir,” Sandy says to Joe’s “It’ll take a long time to clear that away.” The doctor then informs the colonel that he is leaving, and Joe compassionately tells Sandy to stay with the boys . . . perhaps Joe would be remembering his own big brother, Pres, who did what he could to keep the airstrip at Magadar open for his little brother when he was coming in with short tanks in 1943 (“Big Brother”)  . . .”he’s going to be all right son,” he tells Emile, and asks Battalana to rustle up some food for them.

-“you placed yourself in danger for us . . .”

Finally, there is a turning point in this down twisting vortex of mistakes, valuable finds, a figurative time clock ticking away, wounded children, self-immolation, advancing enemy, and sure-doom for a parachuting CI team . . . Emile realizes that their lives have been saved, not passively, but actively—“You have saved our lives.” “You can thank Sgt. Komansky for that,” Joe says. “. . . you placed your lives in danger for us.” Joe doesn’t want thanks from Emile; he tells him they will get food, and he will come back to check on Jacques. Emile permits himself a slight, apologetic smile. “Sir,” he says, bringing the departing Joe around, “I translate the German documents for you.” Joe’s grin is like the sun coming up. “Good,” he says, and then turns as Tony comes down, telling him they have his men on the radio.

-“that’s right, go home”

Above ground: “Kicker to Ramrod, do you read me?” Harvey asks from above, and the scene switches to below ground as Joe and Tony hustle down the steps . . . Joe seizes the mike and tells Harvey “do a 180, repeat, do a 180”—as Sandy saved their skins moments before, Joe seeks to save the lives of those doomed to die if they parachute in. “Go home?” Stovall demands. “That’s right, go home . . . they’ll kill your passengers before they hit the ground,” he says, eyes twitching with his sense of purpose—which is to save and then to destroy. After Stovall acknowledges–“Roger, 180 and home” Joe gives his second order—“We can’t muster sufficient firepower to fight off the Germans—this village must be struck with maximum effort.” The order is needed to prevent the documents from possibly falling back into German hands and to save the brigade in the village, but it will cause Joe grief. Harvey rogers his orders and will send it in immediately but “what do I say about you and your mission?” “Tell them I’ve just got an interpreter, Ramrod out,” Joe says, cutting the communication off and dooming the village, which he realizes, now, not just later. “Go get the boys,” he orders the radio operator, and then turns away to his work.

-“I don’t think either one of us belongs here”

Tony Dimscek, witness to this, observes Gallagher with some puzzlement and then provides some solid advice: “That boy could be a Nazi sympathizer—and holding us here until we get wiped out.” “No Major,” Joe says steadily. “He loves his brother—and we helped him.” “Kids have big imaginations, Colonel,” he says. “Marvelous—but sometimes it gets in the way.”

This observation might apply to the colonel as well—a flyboy, dropping bombs on the air to the targets thousands of feet below, he has not had to grapple much with the ugly realities of war on the ground, though he has seen enough (particularly with his connections with Christian Borg) to respond understandingly to the Dimscek’s concerns. “That boy seems old enough to know who he is—to know who we are—and what this is all about”—and perhaps Joe means that the boy, who seems in his early mid-teens, is wise and old enough to understand that war is war—it is not particularly logical, it’s rock-bottom ugly, and ultimately there are no real winners—but you do what you can to survive and maybe help others survive, as Joe and Sandy have done for him.

Tony listens but shrugs a bit: “I guess I’m used to the younger ones.” “You have kids?” “I’m a schoolteacher,” says this brigade commander with pride, who personifies Steven Ambrose’s ideal of the “citizen soldier.” At this time he must be thinking about a life that to him must have happened to another person, in another world. Yet it is interesting that he identifies himself as a teacher in the present tense—not “I was a schoolteacher,” but “I am a schoolteacher”—who, before the war, taught 4^th and 5^th graders out in Pennsylvania . . . “geography and social studies . . . how the world is filled with human beings,” he says, both jovially and wistfully. “I’m a lousy battalion commander,” he then finishes. Joe won’t have it. “I think you’re a good battalion commander . . . the best thing you did in this battle is running out when that boy was hurt.” Tony’s answer is almost a non-sequiter, but between these two men, so much alike, it still follows: “I don’t think either one of us belong here.”

-“someday, Joe Gallagher is going to get what George Armstrong Custer got”

On the ground, in England: Doud takes the still-airborne Harvey’s report and asks why he didn’t complete the CI drop. Stovall tells him that Gallagher called it off and “that he requests a maximum strike . . . he’ll designate the target.” Doud is grim as he signs off: “All right, Stovall.” He clicks off, practically throws the mike aside, and makes one of the most striking, wrong but right statements about the daring, compassionate, thoughtful, absolutely remarkable Irish Yankee—“Someday, Joe Gallagher is going to get what George Armstrong Custer got”—which was a sudden, intense, fairly unintentional confrontation with an enemy that all the daring and courage and balls in the world could not deliver him and his men from—a confrontation that was partly of his own making—hubris afoot here!—but partly the circumstances being woven by the fates; disaster and Custer forever associated with courage and stupidity. Does Doud describe Joe thus in disgust, in worry—and in admiration? Probably all three.

He orders an aide to order all units without assignments, with half HE, half fragmentation . . . and be ready in forty minutes—call General Britt.” It’s a helluvan order and he must realize it because Doud suddenly says, “I’ll lead it myself.”

-“ . . . I can save what’s left of my battalion”

Below ground: Act III takes up on an optimistic note, which quickly turns grim.  Komansky swiftly descends the steps to retrieve more crates, the contents of which are being reviewed by Emile, and accepted by Joe. He stands by while Emile, focused and calm, identifies the contents of the documents—records of British and American bombings, etc. –“Good, I’ll take that,” Joe says twice and then takes the opportunity to ask Sandy about Jacques; and then orders the never failing Sandy to take another box up for removal. There is more relatively good news: Battalana, on the radio, pleads “hang on as long as you can,” and then reports to Dimscek that the north road is open—but the Germans are getting  near the aid station and the wounded have to be taken out. “Get over there with anything that can move,” Dimscek orders—once more revealing that he and Gallagher are very much alike; the mission is paramount but they don’t forget the personnel involved.

He is blunt with Gallagher: “Now, if you can pack up and move what’s left out of here, I can save what’s left of my battalion.” “Let’s hope I have enough to make it worth the price,” Joe says—turns out his desire to justify the price of the 2^nd Battalion giving their all enforces his staying behind . . . He tells Dimscek to start moving what they can and he tells the radio operator that they are moving out behind castle hill—tell the CO.” “Sir?” Emile asks. “ . . .have I done my duty?” “Yes, Emile, you have,” Joe tells him, laying his hand on the boy’s still slight shoulders. “Thank you.” Emile politely asks a favor—can he and his brother move out with them. “You get to the tunnel and stay with him,” Joe tells him in answer. Emile’s joy is difficult to watch—“I want to tell you,” he begins . . . “Go on, go on,” Joe urges him knowing the boy’s thanks, as poignant as it is, should not be given, not with what both the Americans and the Germans are doing to his village, and to his family.

–“if they’ve got top secrets, it’s in there”

Joe too seizes a crate and mounts the step, passing Sandy who returns to grab two more—and sees the gold mine opening to another gold mine—a locked safe.

Joe drops everything to test its locked door—“If they’ve got top secrets, it’s in there.” Perhaps to Joe he can see the benefits beginning to outweigh the price being paid. Sandy, thinking like an engineer, suggests using a grenade on the lock and is sent off by Joe to fetch some grenades from the adjacent cellar. Emile follows him. Sandy tells the attending medic to clear out and he does. Emile peers at his brother, limp on the makeshift bed. Sandy speaks to him with gentle firmness: “They gave him something to make him sleep—we’ll come by for you.” They nearly don’t keep Sandy’s promise; but their good luck is going to get very bad, very quickly, and leads them to nearly forget about these two innocent victims of war. Sandy takes a box of grenades, hustles them to the other cellar where Gallagher is already preparing wire for the assault. As they frantically if calmly prepare to blow the safe, artillery fire and shells rock the cellar. This is the salvo which indicates their temporary fortunate state is about to change and drop like an out of control elevator . . .

Aboveground: a helmeted Dimscek and his men move out toward castle hill in a Jeep—and their withdrawal is promptly ended by a shell. Battalana runs to check on the damage and then dashes back to the cellar—“The major’s dead,” he reports—Joe and Sandy can only stare at him and all he can do is leave . . . They probably feel more than ever driven to blow that safe; now they must also justify the death of a good and decent school teacher. On the ground . . . in England. B-17s are rolling for take off. On the flightdeck of the lead, Doud, in flight suit and crush cap, occupies left seat while Harvey is in the right seat. Soon they are airborne, among the clouds, with Doud looking as threatening as a thunderstorm.

-“We get out . . .”

On the ground: men flee, kneel and shoot, artillery fires as a battle rages over a once inconsequential village.

Below ground: The barrage knocks the building around and dirt and debris pour into the cellar, trapping Emile. He struggles around a suit of armor—symbolic of another era of war, which had its own stupidities and futilities and ruined the lives of civilians—to find an escape. There is none and he shouts for help—to no purpose. He runs to the sealed entrance of the ancient strategic doorway . . .

On the ground: the battle continues with both Germans and Americans running shooting, aiming; two German officers observe. Below ground: Emile frantically pulls at the stones of the entrance—knows it is hopeless and starts running around like a mouse in a barrel—no way out. Finally, to find his own courage, he huddles over his unconscious brother, promising, “We get out.” On the ground: here is an intriguing feature of “tonight’s episode,” as war footage is clipped into the filmed footage—these are real soldiers approaching real towns—and I think in of them is the real “castle hill” that is re-created for the episode. There are scenes of real destruction—brutal, butt ugly ruin—and I will hazard that this footage shows Italy; the yellow hills and sparse trees do not resemble the northwestern regions of Europe. Then a filmed scene—a GI is retreating to the village; he is shot by German soldiers who one by one advance.

-“this is Ramrod . . . I’m going to execute orders to withdraw”

Below ground: still intent on their duty they have extended due to the safe, Sandy prepares to blow it apart. With a “finished sir,” Joe then tells the radio operator to leave, Joe piles some crates against the blast, sends Sandy upstairs, and pulls the device. . . and it is unsuccessful. Joe foolishly tests the safe’s hot handle and searches for something to wrap it in, Sandy considers the failure, and they both hear “Tony, this is Sam . . .” Joe takes the mike: “Sam, this is Ramrod. Tony’s out of action—and I’m in command. I’m going to execute orders to withdraw.” Sam, not that far away, with field glasses to his eyes, hears this—and responds that they can see castle hill—“have you finished your mission?” “We’re doing our best,” is Joe’s honest reply. He then tells Sam that castle hill needs to be held to cover their retreat. “Second battalion, moving forward,” is Sam’s reply. Joe snaps off the mike and snaps at Sandy: “What do you think?” “I can’t concentrate the explosion,” Sandy answers, tiredly, disgustedly. They both look as the radio operator descends the steps, saying the last Jeep is here. Joe has to call it quits over the safe; at least for now, it is never clear if after the Allied bombing if the safe is finally secured so we assume it is saved. Joe, using a field phone, gives orders for the company to fall back . . . “we’re leaving now.”

-“Sandy, the kids . . .”

He and Sandy depart, with Joe dealing one last glance at the safe and with a sound of disgust—probably over a lot of things–leaves. Sandy is already seated in the Jeep when Joe arrives—he starts to climb in and stops: “Sandy, the kids . . .” Unquestioningly, Sandy climbs out and follows Joe; the doctor observes this and shouts “Colonel!—let’s go!” They pay no attention as Emile’s frantic cries perhaps reach them; Joe motions the Jeep on as they reconnoiter. “What do we do sir?” Sandy asks, in a clipped anxious voice. “I don’t know—the tunnel is blocked by the grenade you threw . . .well, we’re not gonna leave those kids behind, that’s for sure,” Joe says. As if in answer, a shell burst causes them both to dive to the ground, a place that they were not trained to fight on . . .

-“ready sir . . ?” Act IV continues to constrict their actions; they usually have the entire sky to fly in, and they are the ones releasing the bombs; this time, the situation is reversed as they retreat, below ground to wait out a bombing. Act IV opens up high above, with the B-17s approaching, fast, and Stovall is having trouble reaching Gallagher.

Below ground: Joe and Sandy retrace their steps; they find the cellar entryway blocked after throwing aside empty filing cabinets and cartons. Joe shouts for Emile who shouts back; Joe cannot hear him. “I wonder how thick the wall is,” Sandy says, thinking like an engineer and once more they resort to grenades which have been used as a threat, detonators, and now a life-saving device. . . which becomes somewhat symbolic of the battle for the little town. As Sandy prepares another blast, this time to liberate children, Gallagher rushes the other way hoping he can hear Emile. On the ground—shells burst, soldiers advance, retreating GIs, trying to get to castle hill flee—one is shot down; a GI kills the German, and then picks up and runs.

Below ground: Sandy plants the grenades; on the other side of the wall, Emile finally hears Joe shouting to him—he is to get away from the wall, they are blasting through. Emile shouts back and protects his brother who is mercifully sleeping through all this. Joe returns and when Sandy tells him to “take a look,” all Joe can squeeze off is “that’s fine”—ironic words in a way. Above ground: The Germans are advancing closer to the buildings they are in; one soldier lobs a grenade—this one for destruction rather than opening a plugged entrance—and they advance, house by house . . .

Below ground: “Ready sir?” Sandy asks. “Go,” Joe says. Sandy snaps the device—they head upstairs—a great deal of the action of this episode is heading up and down stairs!—the blast takes effect. Joe, as he was to the safe, is the first to arrive through smoke and debris and crawls  through the opening.

-“Nazis—!” Emile, with a grin coming on his face like a rising sun, darts toward Joe who tries to put a hand on his shoulder. Emile instead invades his bosom and hugs him, which startles Joe—he puts his arms around Emile to comfort him, but he does not tightly hug the boy—perhaps his growing shame at what is going in this boy’s life and village causes him to restrain himself as if he does not deserve the return the boy’s fervent embrace and thanks. He quickly sends Emile out the opening—just in time to see another shadow and he quickly withdraws—“Nazis!” he tells Joe. Suddenly, Stovall’s voice comes over the radio, distracting the soldiers. Joe pulls back Emile and without hesitating—the clock is ticking—kneels at the opening and shoots the two soldiers. He has the element of surprise; his gun is ready, and with a moment’s edge, dispatches them. He darts to the radio, over which he hears Doud’s voice, ordering the group to do a 360 orbit until they can make contact with the ground.

-“ . . . he’s calling the strike down on his own head”

Joe snatches up the mike—“do you read?” “Loud and clear,” says Doud.  As the music rachets up the ticking clock tension to the climax, Joe asks Doud if he sees the village. When Doud affirms, Joe tensely instructs them to bomb away from the castle hill where American troops have fallen—as the German troops move through and retake the town –“so bomb the town.” Doud quickly affirms—and asks where he is. Joe tells him they are in two small buildings on the edge of town—which still hold a wealth of information—and “and two people I don’t want to get hurt—miss these people if you can—but bomb the town. If you do, you’ll wipe out the German counteroffensive.” A big request, a very long shot—and Doud’s face and heavy voice and final banal words show his terrible doubt as he affirms Joe’s orders: “You heard him. Finish this orbit. Bomb and trail by squadron. Wipe out that town, boys—level it.”

Joe returns to Sandy and “two people”—knowing what’s coming.

Above ground: Harvey says, “He’s calling the strike down on his head.” “I hope we don’t hit those buildings, Harvey,” Doud says—a banal statement, but what else can be said or wished for?

-“war’s a sad thing, kid”

At last . . .they are six feet under, though Joe will call attention to the measurement’s safe quality, not the measurement’s more grim quality. Having a group of people stuck underground in small quarters is great for drama; a similar situation happened in Season I— when Savage found himself immured with the inevitable group of strange people, including that pregnant lady. “Sir,” Emile says, as the bombs come down, “You are a colonel—important—but you stay.” Joe is simple but logical: “Well, if we ran now, we’d be killed.” “But you could have gone before.”

Joe changes the conversation, saying that bombs will be dropping soon—he doesn’t want him to be scared—“and let’s remember we’re in a room about six feet underground.”

Emile persists, trying to find the answer to the riddle of heroism—sacrifice—doing one’s duty. “But they might kill you—your own bombs.”

“If I thought they’d kill us, I wouldn’t let you stay here.” He then hands his helmet to Emile. Sandy watches, neither amused nor grim; but he knows that he is seeing the miracle of Joe’s charm work itself on this boy, under bombs dropping to destroy his town—on Joe’s orders. Emile grins and puts it on; “No, the other way,” Joe grins back.

Above ground: Harvey looks around as the plane rebounds; “bombs away,” he says. Doud gets on the com: “It’s all yours,” he tells the squadron. “Make it good.” From above the bombs come down; from below, they look up, hear and listen. As the bombs release, so does Emile. “I wanted to hate you at first,” he says. A quick cut to Sandy shows him listening, perhaps remembering how he only wanted to hate Gallagher when they first met. “It was quiet here,” Emile continues, probably recalling the town as it was at tense peace under German occupation. “But it was sad.”

“War’s a sad thing, kid,” Sandy says gently. “But you like it—“

“What?” Joe demands, recalling his weary words—“It is, huh?” to Dr. Rink’s jubilation of over his device’s destructive powers in “Back to the Drawing Board.” “I mean—you think what you do is good.” “Yes.” “You kill . . .but you save,” Emile says, summing up the idiocy, brutality and “needfulness” of war. “You risk everything for those papers in the cellar—and then you risk everything you have left—your lives, for my brother and me.” Joe glances at Sandy; his gaze flies around, not knowing how to answer this—there is no way to answer this. “I want to hate you—but I cannot. What if you die?” “Emile, the sergeant and I came here prepared to die . . .but kids like you and your brother . . .” Joe does not finish his reasoning and instead pledges himself: “But kids like you and your brother—I’ll get you out of here, believe me.”

-“back to the village!”

Above ground: the battle wages on . . . at castle hill, three soldiers standing on the hill, under the protection of the wall, see a wonderful sight—“Second battalion!” cries one . . . and orders his men “back to the village!” His men, hunkered down on their stomach, obey him and charge down the hill, surprising the German defenders. Their efforts are backed up by artillery and tanks—real clips, exciting one of artillery firing from a distant hill in explosions of black . . .but I must pause amidst all this excitement and chuckle over the sight of a row of tanks, firing one by one—I chuckle because I am sure this is footage from Patton’s training exercises, which were staged at Chiriaco Summit, in the Mohave desert—I recognize those eroded hills and desert floor; I see them when I drive between Phoenix and Los Angeles!—interesting stand-in for the Belgium countryside. Oh, well . . .and the battle climaxes as the 2^nd Battalion finally rolls into the destroyed village . . .

-“what price liberation, is that the question?”

The epilogue, in keeping with a question that Joe posed twice during all the frantic action—is what they are doing—what they must do—what they must suffer– worth the price?—is answered affirmatively, but not resoundingly, and also somewhat bitterly as Joe sits in Wing listening—perhaps not—to Doud excitedly inventorying what Gallagher and Komansky were able to salvage—including the safe. “A beautiful breakdown of all the damage in the low countries—for more effective than I thought it was . . . here’s the whole scoop on fighter strength—and from the safe, Codes A to Z—and here,” he says, flourishing a notebook, “is the table of organization!—it’s worth fifty million bucks!”

Doud then picks up Joe’s distraction and lightens up—“I’m sorry I can’t deliver you the fifty million bucks,” he jokes, but says he should get a decoration. “Thanks, Phil, I’m glad it worked out.” Joe is not being modest; he is tired and disturbed at the wreckage he left behind . . . which included two young boys probably without family. He gets up and takes his coat. “Joe,” Doud says, almost threateningly, “where you going?” “I’m sorry sir. I was thinking of something else.” “About a couple of kids?” Stovall says, who has heard the story and, as a father of an MIA son, is empathetic to Joe’s concern. “Yeah. We wiped out their town.” “Joe, we had to do it,” Doud says—neither fiercely, nor rationalizingly. “We had to save the division—the documents . . .who knows,” he then says calculating the cost vs the loss, “how much it shortened the war.”

“I guess that’s it,” Joe says, conceding to his answer—but he has another question. “Was it right to leave them there? But it’s their home.” “What price liberation, is that the question?” Harvey says, gently. “Yeah, I’m afraid that’s the question. Unfortunately, we have to answer it,” he ends, knowing there is no answer. Joe then acknowledges the possible decoration, which, if it were offered, should include Sandy. He asks Doud if the decoration  could go to that kid—“just Emile. I never knew his last name.”

Joe leaves, with a sadly abashed look on his face. As he leaves, the camera pulls back; a woman staffer takes care of something; people come down the stairs, Doud and Stovall must turn to their duties . . . and the war goes on, despite Joe’s sorrow, a destroyed village, an offered medal that perhaps means very little . . . and we are left with the hope that yes, this terrible war will be shortened. That is the only compensation for all the losses. Again, this episode—if considering the story—is a bit dodgy, with incredible situations barely rationalized, too much ducking in and out of two cellars, and unfortunately too much action tending to interfere with the themes—including a possible one of Sandy extending himself to the kids, as their own experiences remind him of his own life, and how Gallagher helped him at crucial times.

If the themes are regarded though, this episode is as rich and as satisfying as the episodes with more “likely” stories . . . the moments of humanity the war can evoke; the awful price that must be paid, the grim compensation of time being saved . . . and children, for whom you can only pray that they will be resilient by the kindness and efforts of four soldiers.

Duel at Mont St. Marie

Writer: R. Wright Campbell

Director: Josef Leytes

In this episode, for the first time since “Day of Reckoning,” issues of faith and religion in wartime are explored, focusing on the heart, mind, and spirit of a seeming leader of faith. Religion and faith play a role in “Practice to Deceive,” but there is no doubt in Father Kreiter and Major Strasser.  In “Day of Reckoning,” Chaplain Ethan Archer’s self-doubts are canvassed, and in “Duel,” Mother Martha’s “use” of her sincere faith to seal herself off from the outside world are revealed. Neither figure comes up wanting as their faith, damaged but renewed by the circumstances of war, ultimately carries them through, and they, in the best tradition of 12OCH, learn something about themselves and carry on, though dealing with destruction: Archer lost a young woman he loved, and Sister Martha’s beloved convent is seriously damaged. Its damage evokes one of the great issues of the Italian campaign, the bombing and destruction of Monte Cassino, which is duly referred to in this episode. In terms of previous episodes, the air-ground ratio of “Duel” favors the ground, and in several echoes “Six Feet Under,” as once more a below-ground facility becomes a place of both destruction, possible death, and yet salvation.

It is also interesting that this episode, in portraying a strong—though human—Mother Abbess—we finally emerge from  a string of episodes in which there have few or no noteworthy female figures. Prior to “Duel,” the last time a notable woman appeared in the story was back in “To Seek and Destroy”: the young Englishwoman Katie is innocently victimized by Sandy’s inadvertent clash with Tony Carmichael (she helps him sober up and then is placed under observation at Carmichael’s nasty request), and the woman server at the restaurant in Sweden is reasonably instrumental in helping Joe, Sandy, and Carmichael complete their mission. As long as we are on the subject—Season III episodes feature a number of women characterized by their strength, not their weakness, though one, a young American woman, flaunts scapegrace qualities. Lt. Ivina Zavanoff in “Massacre” protects the man she loves, then tries to kill him, and then reports on her failure to her commanding officer; in “Face of a Shadow,” the Baroness, “Carla,” who won over Colonel Arnold Yates’ embittered heart, plays a desperate and dangerous game with both Axis and Allies and unfairly pays for it; “Shirl” Pinkerton, a sympathetic PRO officer in “The All American,” helps the shaken up Captain Glen King to recover; and of course, the brave Heidi Voss in “Practice to Deceive,” whose calm walking into captivity—and presumed death—is heartbreaking to behold. There is also the friendly young woman sergeant in “A Distant Cry,” who helps Johnny Eagle celebrate living the night before he dies, and later has a date with Captain Pridie who has come to accept his “feminine” side. There is the nameless local girl that Sandy smooches with—dangerously and somewhat comically—causing him to nearly run down Sgt. Schultz/Reiniger in the teaser of “Pariah.” There are two “bad” girls: one German and one American:  Frieda Von Huertzel (she may have assumed the name) in “Fortress Weisbaden” is evil but you have to admit also strong and patriotic as she waylays the British Commando team; the American “bad girl” is Sgt. Margo Demarest whose giddy assumption of duties at Wing due to Britt’s request is made sober when she is duped into forging documents by Lt. DeJon in “The Fighter Pilot”; her confession to Joe and his sympathetic but firm handling of his old friend gets her on the right path. Well on the right path is the final female, Cpl. Terry Cahill, in “The Hunters and the Killers”–a woman viewer, such as myself, appreciates how she helps the flyboy and the sailor to be excused from the fight at the Star and Bottle, and is wise enough to dump them both, ending a rivalry over her which she enjoyed, but did not necessarily encourage . .. .

Somewhat along the lines of “Angel Babe,” Mother Martha transcends them all as she brokers a stand-off between German and American officers and refuses to leave her abbey–but, like Angel Babe, has her weaknesses exposed—Angel Babe refuses to give up her warrior queen identity and kills herself, and Mother Martha is terrified of the world outside her convent—fortunately, she overcomes her fears, leaves but is able to return, stronger for the experience. Also, in terms of the show’s history, particularly Joe’s development from a near wash-out pilot, development into a strong, steady officer, elevation into a committed but compassionate CO, we see another phase of development which has always been there in my viewing of Joe as “good shepherd,” as opposed to Savage’s warrior identity. In this episode Joe moves into the final full identity of the shepherd as savior—who, in Christ-like fashion comes close to sacrificing his rank as he firmly resists Doud’s threatening requests to bomb the abbey and sacrificing his life as he undertakes the dangerous mission—a face to face confrontation with the enemy in the midst of his men and under the threat of getting caught in the bombing raid he strategized. Sandy, interestingly enough, also assumes a Christ-like identity . . .duly pointed out later. Joe and Sandy’s partnership also transcends conventional boundaries as was well seen in “Fortress Weisbaden”—as Sandy’s questioning and doubts constantly reveal Joe’s own doubts about the Commandos and their methods–Sandy and Joe embody different qualities of resilience: Joe remains logically and emotionally resilient in the face of the nun’s refusals to leave and Schotten’s double-dealing, while Sandy remains physically resilient though in pain and danger. Suitably, Joe is forever emotionally wounded by the event; he picks up a small pebble in memoriam so as to “not forget”; Sandy’s wound is “merely” physical and he will fully recover. Curiously, their portrayal of the “spiritual” and the physical mirrors the “mystery” of Christ—who was both human and divine.

The site of isolation, safety, and prayer, Mont St. Marie is now a stumbling block in the path of the American infantry and a sniping post for the German forces, and from which are launched shells and bullets. Something must be done—thus spurring the titular “duel”—defined as a “combat between two persons.” Usually affairs of honor—or so they are romanticized to be—have a reputation as settling a dispute over a woman– and here is it the same case, only this woman is middle aged, married to Christ, and wishes to refuse both men appealing to her—an American officer and a German officer, both gentlemen, and both in their own way wishing the best for her and her endangered convent, which reverently guards a miracle that occurred in a war six hundred years earlier. Several miracles or near-miracles will happen in “tonight’s episode,” announced as “The Duel at Mont Sainte Marie”—in which Sandy faithfully once more follows his colonel into an extraordinary situation on European ground and survives; Joe, less by charm and more by intelligence—and finally his fists–protects the innocent; and thankfully, the threat of shedding the blood of woman and children is reduced to mere structural damage—and the shrine comes through . . . –

“it would be better to stay out of sight . . . “

The teaser begins with 12OCH’s usual fast-moving layering of images and narrative—high mountains are seen over which comes the roar of a P-51; this is heard by a tall handsome immaculate Wermacht officer who walks along the base of high ancient walls. Wary, he hugs the wall until he reaches a corner between the wall and the entryway, thick wooden and iron doors. He pauses while he watches the P-51 streak overhead, and then rings the bell—the camera rises to reveal, underlain by a strain of music, the words “Mont Sainte Marie” on the arched door way. “Mount of St. Mary”—and a figure who is evoked visibly in the statue in the cellar shrine, and glimpsed in Mother Martha as she struggles with her sense of the divine and her human qualities as she seeks to deliver her convent from evil—a horribly necessary evil which will endanger lives while saving others. On the other side of the door, a short-skirted novice unbars it. The fully professed nun behind her checks and then allows in Colonel Gerht Schotten who is correct and elegant in his uniform, jackboots, hat, and gloves—which will be in contrast to Joe’s more casual if practical attire of a cap, GI sweater and combat boots. As the novice re-bars the door, Major Schotten curiously, though respectfully, salutes the reverend mother—perhaps this is an old gallant Prussian custom, and in any case, the officer is disobeying the order that only “heils” were to be given; the honor of the salute had been withdrawn in wake of the July 20 assassination attempt.

They exchange good afternoons, and as they do, the P-51 roars overhead. Schotten regards it— wonderfully, the plane, as viewed from below, is cross-shaped. “It would be better if I stayed out of sight,” says Schotten and offers Mother Martha a box of English tea—a gift, or a bribe?—one is never sure with Schotten. The two nuns seek safety from the plane while Schotten once more looks up . . . . . .while above, in the P-51, Gallagher looks down . . . thus the meeting of the duelists have been established—reminding me of the duel that began in “Day of Reckoning,” when Gallagher’s group passes by the German formation, on its way to bomb Archbury. Unlike that duel, this duel is conducted by words, reasoning, argument—though it finally culminates in Gallagher unleashing his fists, which he has held back time and again . . .

-“yes, we can bomb it, no problem . . .”

In the air, Gallagher, who is scouting the situation of American forces being stalled by artillery on Mont St. Marie, radios the ground; as a GI, shading his eyes, sees him, and goes into a nearby tent to report. “Ramrod to Rocket I,” Gallagher radios; in the tent, obviously waiting for him, is a middle-aged infantry officer with a receding hairline and tired and wild eyes; he takes the mike: “reading you loud and clear,” he answers as another officer enters the tent. Gallagher reports that he has scouted Mont St. Marie “pretty well and I see no activity.” The infantry officer, Colonel Farnum, is furiously blunt to Joe’s report: “Look, I’m in a trap down here [at the base of Mt. Sainte Marie] and I’m beating my brains out—I don’t know where the guns are but they’ve got to be up there—I need your help!”—a bit like a prayer, and indeed, it is being addressed to a sky deity. This plea is heard by the other officer; his early middle-aged face is silent but concerned beneath his helmet. Joe answers blithely: “Yes, we can bomb it, no problem—I’ll fly back to the base and make preparations.” Both officers in the ground tent are still tense—Colonel Farnum radios that he will forward information, including timetables–“anything else?” “No, just some good bombing weather,” Joe says, neither breezily nor coldly—just matter of factly. Patrol accomplished and an apparently straightforward mission to be readied, he flies off through the bright blue sky, which stands in contrast to the dark tent below, and the dark, if not evil intentions of the infantry officer, who moves to the tent flaps and then returns, passing by the other officer—“they’ve got observers all over that hill, pinpointing every move we make,” he says, defiantly. “But Colonel,” says the officer, removing his helmet, “there are women and children up there—now does this—Colonel Gallagher know that?” “No, he does not,” snaps Colonel Farnum. “You can’t do that, not without telling him,” he says. The accused colonel turns around, exhausted and defiant. “I can’t argue, Father,” he says, identifying the soldier as a priest who is trying to carve out the moral dimensions of his order and Gallagher’s “no problem.” “While we argue my men die,” he says, making clear his own problem, of protecting his men, but then choosing a wretched path: “I’ll tell him—after it’s done—the important thing is that he BOMBS.” The clock has been set in motion. With the camera trained on his taut face and wild eyes, the six bongs strike, and we observe a man in an untenable position—saving his men at the price of others, including women and children.

-“my chief concern is for you”

Act I (all the acts, even the teaser and the epilogue, begin by focusing on the doors of either the wall or the chapel) begins with a plaintive sight that exemplifies Father Roman’s concern: a nun calling to children seated on the steps of Mont St. Marie’s chapel, and being carried into the “sanctuary” which is the concern of two mighty armies. In the chapel, Major Schotten and Mother Martha, who is still holding his gift of tea, hears the faraway sound of artillery. As they walk to the doors, they pass by Stations of the Cross; Jesus’s preparation for and submission to crucifixion. “The Americans are firing,” she says; “Yes, searching for my batteries,” he replies, but without recrimination of the enemy. “I pray no one in the village will be hurt,” she says, and he assures her that the village has been evacuated  . . .”But my chief concern is for you.” “We are safe,” she assures him with a smile—that covers up a life that has been too long led within the walls of the abbey. “Yes, I know, I gave you my promise,” says Major Schotten. “Please stay inside—if one of the American shells . . .” “Word has been sent to the Americans,” she says, confidently. As Schotten gently protests, she tells him, “still, they know this mount is sacred.”

Is this woman strong in her faith or is she living in a fool’s paradise?—actually, it is both. “Of course,” he agrees, forever the gentleman—but is he leading her down a kind of religious primrose path for the sake of his emplacement, or does he truly respect her and the abbey?—it seems to be both. She thanks him for the tea and escorts him out; he has brought up issues that she does not wish to deal with. He asks if he can visit with her tomorrow?—at her assent, he clicks his heels and leaves. She turns, and the camera lingers on her face to reveal that she has doubts . . .

-“no go, Joe, it’s a problem with logistics” Cut to the welcomed sight of the “Chino” Operations building–within, Joe’s index finger points at a site on a map. “Right here—look,” he says, and then points to a high-altitude photograph of the site, explaining to Harvey how the infantry is stuck in the valley. “Their guns are dug in here—it would take weeks to find them and dig them out.” “The guns are being directed by observation posts below,” says Stovall. “It’s got to be deadly.” A tap on the door emits the “third musqueteer,” Sandy, who will once more, as in “Six Feet Under” behave with exemplary obedience which is in keeping with the episode’s themes. He announces Doud, who strides in, his eyes hidden by sunglasses, an odd sight in the rather grayish world of England. He greets Joe with a hand on his shoulder; clearly, he is still grateful for the cache of information he and Komansky protected and brought in from Belgium; he has probably forgiven the sergeant for the fracas he didn’t mean to cause with Carmichael (“To Seek and Destroy”).

We learn that Joe has returned from his scouting mission all of 25 minutes ago. Joe then reveals that despite his abilities and record, he is not privy to all information; he innocently declares “it’s an easy target—no trouble at all,” and begins his plans with Doud stopping him. “No go, Joe, it’s a problem with logistics.” Defining it as a “tactical mission with the heavies,” and saying “this baby’s yours,” Joe responds, after a moment of worry with “Okay . . .” “There’s more,” Doud says. “We heard from the French . . . in the retreat there’s a community of nuns, with people from the village.” “Nuns?” Joe repeats. “How is it that nobody was sent up there?” “We tried,” says Doud. “Well, let’s send somebody up there again,” Joe says. Doud then brings in all the complicating facts that Joe has not heard of: Mont St. Marie is not merely an abbey, it’s a local historical shrine—and “they refuse to leave.” “It’d be Monte Cassino all over again,” Joe says, referring to the terrible destruction of Monte Cassino, which in February 1944 roused anger all over the world, became a gleeful source of Nazi propaganda (which of course made no mention of the wholesale looting of art that was going on by Hitler and his own sticky-fingered toadies and generals), and actually created greater problems for the ground forces. (Duffin and Mathes duly points this out in Logbook, but curiously note that “Duel” is clearly taking place “after February 1944” because of this reference—they seem to forget that D-Day June 6 was duly portrayed in “Gauntlet of Fire”—were they assuming that 12OCH kind of roams around in time? A watching of the episodes in order reveals the Allied armies gaining footholds (forward bases are established in Caen in “A Distant Cry,” and “Six Feet Under” reveals them  steadily pressing into France and the lower countries.)

-“NO!”

“Either way, you’ve got to bomb—bomb before Goebbels tells the world about it,” Doud says—which suggests that the plan is to bomb it, and then somehow cover up what their bombing will destroy; how is that possible?–but it suggests that they are trying evade the outcry that would be set up if the plan was to leak before the operation.

Gallagher sets the ethical and moral strictures: “Oh? And then what? Pretend we didn’t know?”

Doud becomes deadly firm:  “Listen to me and good—Mont St. Marie has held down the 22^nd corps for three days now. The flank has stopped and won’t move until the 22^nd does and it’s affecting the entire invasion—the 108^th combat team is ready to attack as soon as you bomb.” His statement addresses one of the objectives of ground warfare–no trenching and holding, which is holding up affairs, and harks back to the ugly tangle of “no-man’s land” in WWI.

Joe peers at Doud, his entire face clenching with refusal. “When?” “Tomorrow.”

Joe shakes his head without a moment’s hesitation. “No.”

“Joe—“ “Not tomorrow Phil.” “I have given you an order I can’t refuse . . . and I pass it on to you.”

Joe relents; he has to; Doud is not only his superior, but a friend. “What do they know about the nuns?” Doud tells him that all they know—his voice rises as he confronts Joe’s set face—is that the army needs the hill—and “you know it too! . . . by the way . . .Colonel Farnum set up a flag of truce—it’s still there, halfway”—but the Germans killed the man who planted it there. Even with this, Joe repeats himself: “NO! . . . word from the French isn’t enough for me . . . I’ll try.” “You?” Doud demands. “What the devil are you talking about?” Joe says he wants 24 hours—somehow, he will get up there—while Harvey looks on, face set. Joe declares that Harvey can set the mission for “day after tomorrow.” While Doud silently demurs on this Joe pleads, “Well, let’s try!—let me make a stupid, irrational effort . . . it’s a lot better than us being a bunch of executioners.” Like Christ, who offered “the way” to people, Joe too is offering a “way out”—to both the women and children, and for the Allied High Command. Strong words, but they finally pierce Doud’s sense of duty to his superiors—killing goes on in war, but an executioner is a professional “killer” sanctioned by the state to put to actual death a victim which is bound up, tied down, strapped down, held in harness . . . not one man in the room, and not even the frantic Farnum below the abbey wants to take on the identity.

Doud seizes the moment and seizes the telephone—he calls General Owen in London and secures another 24 hours. Joe here assumes another Christ-like identity as he leaves the safety and security of “where he belongs” to undertake a hard mission among those who need to be warned of the wrath that is to come.

-“Yes sir”

Paul Burke’s performance in the next few moments in particularly good as a variety of emotions barely appear on his face, particularly during one of the “grace notes” of the Gallagher-Komansky partnership. With Doud’s go-ahead he looks, for a moment, uncertain—and then it evaporates–and he asks Harvey to prepare a B-17 with a fighter escort. “Will you go alone?” asks Harvey. Joe lays his hand on Harvey’s shoulder, goes around him to toggle the intercom and says “Sergeant? . . . come here a minute.” He asks Harvey to prepare for a strike at 0700 on the planned day and Sandy comes in to face him— quiet, efficient, and might I say, looking darned handsome.

He requests Sandy to prepare a radio pack and a parachute for him . . .”tomorrow morning I’m going to make a jump into southern France.” “Yes sir.” “And Sandy . . . I’m going to have to have a radio liaison man go with me.” “Yes sir,” Sandy says, understanding completely and leaving.

Joe turns with just the slightest hint of pleasure on his face—the stray if not black sheep he hauled into the fold months earlier has proven to be a true aide, his service a matter of belief in the man, not fear. In this Sandy assumes a Christ-like identity—complete obedience to the will of his cum-father.

-“what are you, Mr. Do Good?”

Cut to a B-17 in flight; flying right seat is Stovall who looks down to a see a marker for his human cargo—a marker that looks, suitably,like  a cross. Two GIs below watch to confirm the drop. At the bomb bay doors, suitably standing in temporarily for the bombs they want to hold off for 24 hours, the goggled Joe and Sandy tensely wait; at Stovall’s word, they jump and within minutes are on the ground . . .and soon Joe is in the presence of Colonel Farnum, whose rumpled dirty fatigues reflect his mind and his nerves.

“You want to hold for 24 hours?—just sit and watch my men get knocked off?”

As he and Joe speak—or square off—Father Roman is sitting on a cot, listening to their exchange, his mouth on his hands, folded as if in prayer. “Just tell your men you don’t want to share the blame for a bloodbath.” “You don’t think we want to avoid that?” Farnum demands, indicating his frustration leads him into doing things he does not wish to do. “Father Roman sent up a three-page letter!” “Why didn’t he take it up himself?” Joe asks, pointedly, perhaps naively. Roman looks up at this question. Farnum tells him “too many funerals down here, colonel—don’t attack him—Kraut snipers would have taken his head off.” “Then how did the letter get there?” Joe asks. “Who says it got there?” asks Farnum—thus setting up a mini-drama  which climaxes at the end of Act I. “Don’t you know? How can you say you tried if you don’t know that?” “All right!” Farnum pokes his head out the tent, demands a Jameson to come in. Outside, the two GIs seen earlier, with Sandy sitting with them, look up.

Jameson obediently comes in, looking like a truant. “Tell him about the Frenchman,” Farnum says. “Tell him what?” Jameson demands. Joe manages to get some answers out of him and then decides to go up himself. “Out of uniform?” Still seated, mouth on hands, Roman listens, readying his own decision. Joe asks for a GI sweater, a cap, and combat boots—a kind of a mixed message; a soldier, but not a warrior. He also says “Get me a Frenchman who can get up there.” While Roman continues to look on and listen, Farnum agrees—“What are you, Mr. Do-Good?” he then demands, making Joe into a kind of allegorical figure right out of Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress.

In response, Joe asks “How about a combat patrol to protect my liaison man?” “Sure, sure, that’s apple pie a la mode,” says Farnum sarcastically, but offering a cigarette, which is a kind of peace offering. He then lights Joe’s. Roman makes a decision. He stands up. “Colonel,” he says to Farnum, “maybe I should have gone before.” He looks to Joe. “I want you to take me with you.”

-“it’s me, Francois the farmer”

A single peasant-like figure walks up the hill road, and coolly says to summons from a German sentry at an outpost, “it’s me, Francois the farmer.” The sentry orders him to put his hands in the air and to go into a culvert area on the other side of the road. The man descends into an outpost of Germans beneath a small bridge. He is calm, joking slightly with members of the patrol; don’t they trust anybody? . . . and that he is delivering another letter from the American colonel. He proffers the sheets to a soldier who reads it. Bored and trusting of Francois, these men let him move behind them; he moves away as if wanting to light a cigarette—cut to several armed men, in olive drab, coming up a side trail –Francois suddenly makes live a grenade and tosses it into the culvert. It is assumed these men have not bothered sending the letter up and with them out of the way . . . although the Reverend Mother will admit she did received the letter but did not respond–has her stubbornness led to these men’s deaths?–that’s a cloudy point.

When the smoke and debris clears, the column of men quickly come into the culvert: besides Joe and Sandy, there are Roman and Jameson. Sandy drags off his cap and listens to orders from Gallagher: “keep the radio hot, keep the walkie-talkie close to your ear—under no conditions call me—wait for me—I’ll call you if I need you.” “Yes sir.” Joe, Roman and Jameson head out and up. Sandy goes after them, pauses and looks at the figures, which includes his Colonel, sort of a “knight without armor” in his sweater and cloth cap. Then his head tilts up as the sound of a bell rings down.

-“hail, Mary, full of grace . . .”

The bell Sandy hears is being rung by a postulant, who energetically jumps off a step to haul the bell rope. Another postulant gathers up children poignantly waiting on the steps of the chapel—they go in and the door shuts, as if trying to shut out the world and the danger and the “reason” that is steadily heading their way—well portrayed by the four men pushing open shutters of a side-entry to quietly enter the courtyard, in contrast Major Schotten’s coming to the main doors. Guns at ready, they advance to the chapel.

Within, the nuns and villagers are at prayers; Mother Martha intones “Hail Mary, full of grace, God with thee . . .” as, to their backs, the armed men quietly appear. Francois takes holy water as does Father Roman who kneels briefly—Joe does not, which brings up the question—discussed briefly here—what does Joe Gallagher believe in? What is his faith—his creed? Being Irish does not immediately make you Catholic. In my fictional spinning of the characters, I have assumed that Sandy—because he is not Jewish as many Poles were prior to the Third Reich’s policies—is Catholic, and perhaps was raised in a Catholic boys’ home. Joe’s faith seems to be something of the spirit from which arises his belief in people and belief in himself.

Children, not particularly interested in the prayers, turn to see them. Mother Martha hears and senses the disruption of the prayers—arising, she comes toward them; Joe and Jameson remove their caps. “By what right do you invade?” she demands. Her words are right, people with guns in their hands, even if not being flourished, are not just visiting. Roman, not surprisingly, speaks first: “It was unavoidable. I’m a priest.” “Reverend Mother, are there any Germans here?” Joe asks. “We want to talk—“ “About what?” “About getting these people out of here—I sent a letter explaining the situation. The Germans intercepted it.” Mother Martha asks if he is Father Roman–? “I received your letter . . .and I have no intention of being driven from my retreat!”

We learn now that she is not a hapless victim of events, without a voice–but she has made a sin of commission—she has refused to acknowledge the letters that have been placed in her hands. Joe’s and Father Roman’s faces reveal their surprise at the line she has drawn in the sand.

-“I gave no vow to Germany!”

Act II takes up with the same image as Act I—the steps to the chapel’s doors, out of which slips a postulant who speeds down the stairs and through a set of carved doors . . .while inside, Joe and Father Roman speak to Mother Martha, who has her back turned to them: “Reverend Mother, we do respect the sanctity of this place—that’s why we’re here,” Joe says. The camera pulls back to reveal Roman, patiently listening. “I vowed I would never leave this place.” “As a priest, I can permit you to suspend your vow,” offers Roman, even though he may hear this as a personal vow, rather than a vow to the church or to God. He then grows tougher: “And would your order expect you to keep people here with a battle going on?” raising her fear and she rises to face them—“You’d bring a battle here?” she demands. “Sir,” Francoise says—and it is hard to catch his words—but they lead to Joe demanding “What?”

Mother Martha pauses, her ice-blue eyes fearful. “Reverend Mother is a German,” explains Jameson, adding a new complication into the already complicated situation. She is nervous but honest: “I was born in Germany”—and to “satisfy their curiosity” she admits to having two brothers in the Wermacht. “But I gave no vow to Germany!” she says, as Jameson turns away. “My sympathies are with mankind—we will not leave—now go the way you came.”

She turns away again and Roman again exposes her thinking or her plans—she has no right, he says, as a spiritual leader of even a community this small, to hold the power of life and death. “We’ve never been threatened with death up till now,” she reprimands Roman and them all: “No German has ever carried a weapon into my compound.” “Then it’s true?” Joe asks. “German soldiers come here often?” “This is a place of worship; I turn away no man of good will.” –This is a bit ironic because she has been trying to expel four men of good will—including a priest. Joe digs in, asking if their commanding officer is a Christian—to her assent, he asks a brave question—“Will you send for him? Tell him to meet me here, I want to talk with him.” –Talk about “good will”! Perhaps feeling hoist on her own petard, Mother Martha grants this but it is not carried out because Gottschen suddenly appears at the doors with soldiers. Their presence is explained by the scampering postulant who runs through them and flings herself into the Reverend Mother’s arms. “Stop, stop!” she cries as the atmosphere understandably grows explosive. Two gentlemen–Gallagher and Gottschen—both names starting with G—give up their weapons while introducing themselves to each other, and saluting each other. Gottschen then immediately cultivates Mother Martha’s sympathies by proactively apologizing for “bursting in with weapons . . . but Sister Anne here,” gesturing to the postulant, “was so frightened.” He gallantly hands over his pistol.

-“let’s talk about why I came up here”

The nuns retreat and the two officers confront each other; they make an interesting contrast with Joe in his olive drab GI sweater and Gottschen tailored and handsome in his Wermacht uniform. “How did you get up here?” Gottschen asks. Joe does not answer, leaving him to figure out that the outpost was taken out—and Gottschen seems to respect the rules of the truce in that he does not order his men to go down and take it back. Gallagher takes control of the situation: “Colonel, let’s talk about why I came up here. . . I was asking the Reverend Mother to send for you.” Behind them, with Roman’s help, the arms are gathered. She tells them to withdraw to the courtyard; the arms will be returned when they leave, and she will take Roman to the fountain cellar, “where I shall put them away.” Ironically, she is turning a holy shrine into an armory . . .

-“you should phone your boss . . .”

Down below in the culvert, Captain Rice trains his field glasses on German soldiers climbing the hill through the brush; they have obviously been called to action with reports of Americans in the abbey. He reports to Komansky who waits, headset to his ear. “Krauts going to the top,” he says. “You should phone your boss”—interesting choice of words; I don’t think Gallagher has ever been referred to as Komansky’s “boss.” Komansky’s response is all obedience: “I can’t sir, you heard his orders not to call.” Rice has no response to this except to train his field glasses again on the toiling line of German soldiers.

-“Colonel, the hill is theirs . . .”

The next scene presents one of the most complex scenes of 12OCH—complicated to begin with as two gentlemanly enemies face off in a church–their conversation is a reflexive duet of veiled accusations, implications, opinion presented as fact, clarifications, overtures—blunt statements. Gallagher and Gottschen, in front of the altar—both in profile in a medium shot; neither one “demonized” nor “privileged”—begin their talk. Joe asks for his help in getting the women out of there—“Colonel, the hill is theirs,” replies Gottschen, implying that the Americans are trying to take the place away from them. “Of course it’s theirs,” Joe says, agreeably. Then—“you’re using them.” They more or less stroll past the altar on the way to a window. “You come here?” Joe asks. “Occasionally.” At least he’s being honest. They come to a window, its leaded panes are in the shape of diamonds. “What about the view?” Joe asks, though not accusingly. Gottschen merely regards him. “Look down there Colonel. As you know, those are our lines . . . now let’s reverse our situations for a minute.”

Gottschen’s handsome but set face, semi-illuminated with the sun coming through the window, reacts to this invitation. “Suppose those lines were yours—would you allow us to use this hill . . .for whatever reason?” Gottschen clarifies Joe’s overtures, but manipulates words:  “You are Air Corps—I take it you intend to bomb this retreat”—the ugly word of “bomb” and the sweetly religious term “retreat” make this into an accusation, not a question. Once more, Joe does not break a sweat and turns the man’s words against him. “The hill, Colonel, the hill. That’s my target. But of course I cannot bomb this hill without causing mortal danger to this retreat.” Interestingly, neither man has strayed in to the “people factor”—it’s all been lines, attack, use .  . . Gottschen makes Joe’s strategy into an unimaginative and cruel lesson out of a book: “Because you went to military school you were taught to ‘take the high ground.’” “Yes, when the high ground is used as an observation post.”

Gottschen now brings in the people involved, but in accusation: “Does that justify you in the killing of women and children?”

“Colonel, I didn’t come here to justify this”—Joe’s choice of words is interesting—what does he mean, “this”? But his words are true, he is here to request the German’s help in evacuating the living and he does not intend to justify the bombing—it’s too militarily evident to be justified—but they can prevent bloodshed of human beings unnecessarily caught in the bombing . . . Joe appeals to his pity as well as asking him to prove his pity that he perhaps is only giving lip service to: “Now, the Reverend Mother is a country woman of yours—perhaps a friend—so if you have pity for the innocent you will help me to persuade her to leave.” Gottschen then seems sincerely moved by Gallagher’s words, but does not give in. “Well, let’s discuss the facts as they are—you suggest a course of action which is impossible.” –but these are not facts; that is his opinion, although he regards it as a fact and you can see why—of course, the enemy, this action is impossible.

They stop their difficult conversation as Mother Martha re-enters. “Reverend Mother,” says Gottschen, “may I make a recommendation . . ?”

-“you know your boss is up there . . .” Below all this reasoning, circular and other wise, evasions, redefinings—the German soldiers are still moving upwards, observed by Rice. He once more returns to Komansky who faithfully waits and thus becomes involved with another complex situation: Joe’s orders were given—but when they were given, did Joe take into consideration that the abbey was to come under attack of sorts by German ground forces? Should he, Sandy, use his own discretion in the face of this growing danger and alert Gallagher?—would that make the situation worse?—it would help Joe escape, if that were possible and it seems unlikely; Gottschen would also learn that their “summit meeting” is being monitored . . .

The words of the officer are not easy to listen to. “They’re going up on both sides now,” he reports, with a slight edge of exasperation. “Well, maybe they’re just surrounding us,” is Sandy’s slightly flippant answer, but he is trying to make a decision, somewhat akin to Christ’s struggle between his human nature and his divinely obedient nature in the Garden of Gesthemane. “They’d wipe us out with a mortar shell,” says Rice, picking up his phone and blowing into it. “You know your boss is up there—whether you warn him or not, it’s up to you.”

His words cause Sandy to put his fingers to a knob on the radiopack, hesitate–and then obediently continues to wait upon Gallagher’s word.

-“they have recommended that I speak to you” Act III also takes up with the same scene—the steps to the chapel—this time, women and children, followed by German soldiers—who are not forcing or herding—enter the doors. As the two young soldiers enter, they look wary and apologetic, and have their helmets clasped to their sides. Mother Martha speaks to the assembled. “Colonel Schotten has befriended us . . . while Father Roman is a priest of our faith . . .they have recommended that I speak to you.” Moving over to Gallagher, with Father Roman moving behind her, she continues . . . “Colonel Gallagher has asked us to leave . . .so the Americans can bomb the retreat without causing injury or death here. . . did I say that fairly?” “Well, actually the hill is our target,” Joe says, without reprimand or drama. “But we feel we will probably hit the retreat. . . Now we realize this place is very sacred to you, but unfortunately,” he continues, gesturing, “the enemy has brought it into the war.” Framed by two stations of the cross, Schotten hears this, but says nothing.

“He’s using you,” Joe continues, “to keep observers here and kill American soldiers.” Schotten’s sudden response is a non-sequitur: “No one has ever dishonored your shrine . . . can I believe anyone would bomb it?” But he then offers, “If you wish to leave I’ll do everything I can for you.” Apparently referring to the evacuated village below, “But there is no protection and very little food . . .” He goes for the gut: “There is also the question of your vow.” Mother Martha looks to Father Roman who nods. “I release you from your vow if you wish to go,” she tells the community. “But I must tell you that my home, my church, my life are here . . .and I shall stay.”

The sisters, the postulants, and the villagers hear this with a variety of expressions. Gallagher uses this as leverage. “Now let me make this perfectly clear—if Colonel Schotten will come with me to the American lines and surrender Mont St. Marie, there will be no bombing.” Still framed by stations of the cross, Schotten hears this—and he is being put into an untenable position: surrender, which would be viewed as dishonorable—but surrender would ensure the safety that he is seems to be gallantly supporting and offering.

Galvanized by Gallagher’s—impudence? Gambler’s savvy? Sheer gall?—he steps forward. “Preposterous! Surrender?—It is finally your true purpose—you still insist that the hill is your objective?” Gallagher is gracious but drives him into a corner: “Why don’t you come with me and guarantee it?” “What do you take me for, a fool? You cannot—negotiate with me!—you are in fact my prisoner!”—thus redefining their meeting as a mere act of graciousness on his part; it obscured his real plans. Joe, a long veteran of driven superior officers, knuckle-headed subordinates, fighters, flak, public relations—politics–etc., is not scared one bit. “When coming here we fully understood we might be killed or captured—you want to hold me?—go ahead, if that’s the kind of victory you want.” Schotten is excused by events from answering this. Mother Martha’s eyes shift with concern as artillery is heard.

Finally, a voice from one of the pawns is heard—“We wish to leave,” says a woman with children in her charge. “May God go with you,” says Mother Martha as Schotten gives his assent to the two soldiers who, despite their respectful attitudes, are there as guards. At this, Gallagher and Schotten, despite their words, go together to the door and wait while the postulants leave, followed by the sisters . . . leaving Francoise by himself. Perhaps he makes his prayers . . .he is about to do something foolish, and whether it is an act of personal desperation, or an act of incredible gallantry to finally reveal to the sisters what the Germans are really up to is never known.

-“I’ve been to that cellar, it’s a crackerbox”

The gates of this abbey open, and two German soldiers, at a strong point, ready their gun—these are probably two of the soldiers Captain Rice saw toiling up the hill. They wait and see one of their own come out, signal, and the two women, with several children clustered about them, leave for the village below. Within the gates, Mother Martha counsels her sisters: if they intend to stay they must gather their essentials from their quarters and they will withdraw to the fountain cellar, “the safest place”—the viewer’s interest quickens; at least we are to see the shrine and learn what miracle took place. The Americans hear this. Father Roman, far more worldly than Mother Martha, puts no faith in a “mere” shrine which he saw when storing the weapons earlier. “I’ve been to that cellar, it’s a crackerbox.” When he hears this, Joe asks Mother Martha if he can see the cellar. She immediately turns to Gottschen to receive his advice—“these men did come under the flag of truce,” and asks “if safe passage can be arranged?”

“Yes, it is possible,” says Schotten, once more sympathetic, seemingly. “Show them the cellar.”

-“The Stone Yielded Water A.D. 1327”

Hastily, Mother Martha takes them to the cellar—a familiar flight of steps (seen—a lot!—in “Six Feet Under”) takes them where Joe does not exactly belong—underground; this is a man of the sky.

Roman guides them into the cellar, suitably murky. Joe’s eyes are drawn to the shrine—surprisingly small, it features the Virgin Mary on a ledge above a legend: “The Stone Yielded Water A.D. 1327.” (Hate to quibble here, but why is this in English?) Joe is neither impressed nor amused—he asks no questions, instead turning to practical matters, saying to Roman “I think we’re under the courtyard.” “Um hmm,” agrees Roman, having no faith in the physical strength of the shrine except to become a tomb to the nuns intending to hide there. “I can understand why the colonel let me see this,” Joe says; it’s to provoke his fear and pity for the nuns and to open him up . . . “That roof couldn’t stop a hand grenade.” “There is no other place,” she says, sitting down. “So, if you must bomb . . .” she says, saying the words that Gottschen expects her to say to the Colonel, and start him revealing the plans.

“And I know when,” Gallagher counters. “And if Colonel Schotten knew this, he would use it to destroy me and my men.”

“When will it come?” she asks, as if programmed by Schotten; in some ways, she has been, but she does not seek the information to pass it on. “Soon enough,” Joe hedges. “Sister, there’s still time—“ “When will it come?” she demands. The ticking clock, which has been fairly silently ticking away, suddenly ramps up . . . Father Roman looks on these two adversaries, both strong, but one practical, and one foolish. . . “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.” Joe makes his point. “He might somehow find that out from you.”

-“your own vicious game”

“No, that’s not what you believe,” Mother Martha tells him. “You believe you can weaken us with fear. You use us . . . in your own vicious game.” –That is the first time in a while that image has been evoked; and it assumes a different meaning as it is spoken by a nun, isolated physically and politically in her abbey, to an officer who knows the full value and range of the term as he has detected it, and played it, many times. Roman intercedes. “You’ve never been tortured—“ “Chaplain,” Joe says, trying to spare the woman. “Germany has changed,” says Roman. “Tortured?” she asks, shocked. “For information—that’s what Gallagher is risking.” She doesn’t believe it. Joe asks her to please listen, and the chaplain, assuming his priestly role, banishes the superior officer to talk to her alone. Roman sits down next to the woman whose once secure life has split and scattered over her identities—a German, a nun, a caretaker of an abbey and a shrine. “Reverend Mother, you’re behaving badly and I’ll tell you so. I accuse you of pride . . .”

Since my contacts with nuns has been extremely limited, I must go to  The Nun’s Story (1959) for reference—Sister Luke, played so fetchingly my Audrey Hepburn, must tame her human desires in order to submit to the rule of the convent. Worrying about ever becoming a true nun, she speaks to Christ, describing how, when she succeeds in following the rule of her house she then takes pride in her success . . . and pride is considered one of the chief sins, because pride makes you think only of yourself. Mother Martha must listen now. He tells her that she takes too much pride in her authority, her nation and her possession—“pride is blinding you in that Colonel Schotten is using your minds and your bodies—he is making you hostages of your fear—and you’ve listened to his voice and it has lulled you—and you are afraid.” Ultimately, Mother Martha is no fool and understands that she has been listening to the devil, rather than to an angel. “Father,” she begins in fear and confusion. “Come with me,” he says, and carries her out in the world, in the sunlight.

-“I am willing to lead you out of here . . .”

In the courtyard, Gallagher and Schotten speak, very symbolically, at a dry fountain.

“Of course,” Schotten says, “the cellar offers no protection—but if you bomb, you’ll be committing a mass atrocity.”

“How can you—“ Joe begins, and we are left wondering what he would have said as they see Father Roman and Mother Martha emerging from the cellar. As Gallagher listens, Roman speaks to the sisters, who are holding their few possessions. “I’m a priest and also an American soldier”—he too has many identities—“I’ll be taken prisoner but I am willing to lead you out of here—all of you who will go.” The priest’s sensible authority finally seems to penetrate the sisters’ cautious following of their Reverend Mother. Francois, who has done more than his duty by carrying them safely up to the abbey, then . . . either tries to escape, or, bravely seeks to reveal what is really going on to the sisters who won’t acknowledge the truth, thereby sacrificing himself for the lives of others. He unbars the gate, slips out—we see briefly, but better hear the German guards doing their duty in a hail of gunfire.

Mother Martha cries out at the noise. In the best melodramatic fashion—as I have said, 12OCH does not fear melodrama—Francois reels back in, clutching his gut—and dies, not only a victim of the German guards, but a victim of Mother Martha’s stubbornness. Schotten is always quick to defend, but he does not rationalize this time. “Mother, this did not happen in the sanctuary—remember that and understand. I wish you no harm—but you must stay here.” He looks around. “No one is permitted to leave the compound.” He has now drawn the line in the sand.

-“I don’t know how to live outside!”

Trapped physically and trapped by her own “sins of commission,” Mother Martha gives into her fear and despair and flees to the cellar. Schotten—perhaps for humane motives—seeks to follow her but Gallagher stops him, taking his arm—“Leave her alone.” Schotten jerks his arm away, but accedes to him, maybe feeling shame for what has happened. In the cellar, Mother Martha kneels frantically at the shrine—which seems a little empty; yes the rock gave water in 1327, but has it yielded any other water in over six hundred years? She may wonder about this as her calm orderly life continues to unravel, trapping herself and others . . . One of the others, Colonel Joseph Gallagher—war can make strange alliances, contacts, friends—comes down the stairs, seeing if she is all right. He says no words but listens to her as she finally admits to a terrible truth—“I don’t know how to live outside!”

-“Hans!—Hans . .?”

In the outside world, down below, a returning German patrol comes to the culvert, with one of the soldiers foolishly crying out “Hans!—Hans . . ?” The silence draws him and his comrades forward. As one lingers, he is suddenly taken from behind by a GI; this rouses his friends who kill him . . . As the bell’s ringing drifted down earlier, gunfire drifts up, piercing into the increasingly endangered abbey. Schotten rises to his feet; Roman listens. In the culvert, the fighting spreads. Captain Rice manages to get out from under the culvert and deliberately kills a German soldier heading in—the soldier falls but rolls, and his dying hand inadvertently releases the grenade into the culvert, where Komansky is . . . In the courtyard of Mont St. Marie, Gallagher, wondering what is going on, stares morosely at Father Roman. Evening is coming, and in the morning, the bombs come down.

-“Any word from Joe?”

An abrupt switch from this vortex of the time worry, negotiation, cross-accusations, conversations, confessions . . . as Act IV takes up, the scene is Operations, in the night. Within, Harvey, previewing his taking over the 918^th in the aftermath of “The Hunters and the Killers,” stands in Joe’s office by the stove, dictating to a sergeant—briefing at 0300 . . . take off at 0525 . . . all the latest on weather, flak and fighters—in through the open door comes Phil Doud, who greets Harvey and heads straight for the coffeepot—“Any word from Joe?” His question focuses on the simmering crisis in communication which is now a true crisis as debris, including bodies, litter an outpost on Mont St. Marie.

“Nothing, sir,” Stovall answers; word or no word, “the mission goes,” says Doud. “I’m on target, 0700.” I’ve got the nine best bombers we own—I want to blast that hill with the least possible damage to the retreat—I’m commanding.” Doud glances up at him: “No deal, Harvey.” “I’m a good pilot,” Harvey says, his co-piloting with Joe has dramatically improved his abilities. But Doud is not nervous about him nor is trying to rob Harvey of any glory; he wants to protect this good man from accusations of committing an atrocity. “You fly right seat. I’m commanding.” The episode now is now ticking “by the clock” . . .

-“the last firefight, Colonel . . . the Jerries jumped the outpost”

Evening has fallen on this long day, and in the twilight, the retreat looms up, strong and serene (and looking very much like the Baroness’s hill top home in “Face of a Shadow”!). In the shadows, but illuminated by candelight pressing through the window, Joe Gallagher finally radios Sandy—being that they were not prisoners, nobody searched them for the walkie-talkie I assume—and into which Gallagher quietly, urgently, calls for Komansky. He swats it with some frustration, adjusts the antennae and tries again. Jameson is realistic: “The last firefight Colonel–the Jerries jumped the outpost.” Joe neither ignores nor acknowledges the opinion. Handing the walkie-talkie over, he tells Jameson to hide it—“Maybe he turned it off,” he says calmly. Perhaps the bond between these two men is so strong that Joe simply has faith that Sandy is not dead. . . . and Sandy is not.

Down below, miraculously, Sandy has survived . . . once again. Clasping the radiopack and his weapon, his forehead oozing blood, Sandy crawls up the mountain on his hands and knees.

-“Reverend Mother, it’s midnight”

In the fountain cellar, some exhausted nuns are eking out some sleep on benches and tables. Joe comes down the steps, once more entering the underground world in which he was really does not belong, and finds Mother Martha seated, with her head down. He sits down next to her. “Reverend Mother, it’s midnight,” he tells her, urging her to realize that while she struggles with her conscience, time is getting away . . . “I know . . .I tried to pray . . .I don’t know what to do.” There follows an intense conversation which, I must admit, does not quite all the time follow on itself—but in it comes forth all the complexities and the simplicities of the whole situation. Joe’s compassion comes to his aid and to her aid too, if she would let it. He tells her averted face to go to Colonel Schotten, talk with him, there must be some kind of appeal she could make. “I know he lied to you—but—don’t you understand—that’s only part of the Germany he represents.” “My Germany,” she says . . .despite being long a bride of Christ—and thus she should cleaving only unto him–she has not given up a national identification which disgusts her and pulls her, and can conceive Joe as her enemy and also as a friend, and a finer man that Schotten. “My countrymen . . .” “Exactly, that’s the point—“ “My countryman—he deceives me and my faith—you are my country’s enemy, and you come in love and mercy—yet you would kill us.” “Yes, sister, I know we kill—and we die fighting for what we believe—don’t you understand,” Joe repeats, “we’re in a war that was forced on us—but dead people can’t build better worlds than this—or stop wars.” I believe that is looking into Joe’s future, when he seeks to “wage peace” . . . . “My pride has left me and I can see that I was blinded—but Colonel how can you ask us to go the outside world when you have brought the war in here?” “Sister Martha, whose world is it?”

Fed up, perhaps feeling helpless, knowing he has spoken his piece, he leaves. Her head rises. “God’s world,” she says.

-“give me the time and I will call them out in time”

Joe goes from one German to another—Colonel Schotten standing before the windows of the chapel. He has become more and more of a riddle as the episode goes on; he probably contemplates this himself as he seeks to do his duty and protect helpless women; though eventually duty will prevail. As Joe approaches him, Schotten warns him—“I could give one signal and my men will attack.” “Who, Colonel? You know we’d fight back.” After all, they could access their weapons in the cellar fountain. “And I don’t think you’d want to risk some of these nuns—your own men would revolt at that.” “No one wants these women to die,” he stalls. “Exactly . . .so give the signal.”

Joe  turns the tables. “If there’s to be an air raid, give me the time and I will call them out in time.” “And let your men get off the hill and then come back and re-occupy it?—No, I didn’t come here to—“ “Only to destroy,” Schotten says—partly correct; yes, there is destruction coming, but that is not the only reason Joe has come, nor is the retreat their target. But Schotten keeps this as his objective, and tells Joe “If you bomb, I will see that your efforts are forgotten . . . and only your atrocity remembered.”

Joe’s tired face reveals the strain he is under; and his clenching jaw reveals that Schotten’s words have disturbed him.

-“yes, yes—artillery at 0645!”

Back at Archbury, planes come to life and start down the runways . . . in relief to this relentless verbal tilting as the three people make their claims, make their confessions, make their threats . . .but the planes are bringing the stuff that may make Joe’s name go down in perpetuity as a monster . . . Cut to Farnum—probably without sleep, he is hunched frantically over the radio—“No, I can’t raise Captain Rice . . . they must have wiped them out!”—the whole shooting match is now devolving on Komansky’s physical and perhaps spiritual strength as, wounded, he crawls up the mountain; surely he must pray for strength during this long, terrible night and long terrible climb. Farnum continues: “Well, there’s no word from the convent—but that doesn’t change anything, Major—yes, yes—artillery at 0645—and you jump on it when the first bombs fall!” Cut to the flightdeck; Doud asks for a time check; “0630 sir . . . IP in 25 minutes.”

-“the bombers will be here in exactly 25 minutes”

Morning follows night . . . and Gallagher is checking his watch—and walks back to Schotten, who pretends to be relaxing on a bench. Joe, before playing his trump card, gives Schotten one more chance to be honestly decent. “Colonel, there’s still time to get these women out of here.” Schotten ignores him. Then he deals it—“There’s not enough time for you to use this information so I can tell you—the bombers are going to be here in exactly 25 minutes.”

Schotten comes to his feet and Gallagher catches him back. “No signals, no signals!—and not you alone—if you go out of here, you go out with these women.”

In the chapel, Father Roman advises the nuns who have remained silent during the entire episode. “Whatever happens to you today, you are in God’s hands.” They look around, as do Gallagher and Schotten, when firing is heard. The opening through which they came through the day before suddenly flies open, and Sandy clambers through, and returns fire . . . he lurches around, exhausted and confused, not knowing what he is now entered into; he stops when he hears Joe shouting, “Sandy, hold your fire–!” As always, he obeys—and he must have been in God’s hands that Father Roman promised to the women in order to complete that ascent and somehow run the gauntlet of the guards  . . . and redeem the enterprise and give Joe the chance of averting an atrocity . . .

Sandy  stands, looking stunned as Jameson relieves him of his radiopack. Joe demands of him what happened—“Krauts sir,” he reports; more firing erupts around them. Jameson, holding onto the wavering sergeant, supports him while Joe takes his weapon, returns fire, and closes the opening—and then deals with the Colonel; he and a man are trying to get out. At his order—he is armed—they stop and return. With Jameson covering them, Joe takes the radiopack and then assists the reeling Sandy to a bench who gets out his report—they were jumped, and he decided to bring the radiopack to him, which, Joe observes, has two holes in it. “The receiver’s shot but the transmitter will work . . .” He waits while Joe struggles with the radio, blowing into the transmitter and sends out a broadcast to the formation . . .above, Doud, not receiving the message, radios the other planes “to do it right; I don’t want to come back here again.”

-“if you open that gate my men will fire”

Oh dear—everybody is trapped; the radio is not working, the bombers are coming . . . but small miracles are at hand . . . Mother Martha has seemed to accept the situation; up from the cellar, she nearly strolls into the midst of the stymied Gallagher and Schotten, once more talking at the dry fountain. “I think I’ve understood you all along,” Joe tells Schotten. “But lead these people out of here.” “My orders were to hold Mont St. Marie at all costs. And that includes my life.” “All right,” Roman says to the assembled nuns, as he flourishes some kind of baton which may give safe passage. “I’ll lead you—follow me.” Some of the nuns obediently look to Mother Martha who comes to them. “Don’t be afraid,” he tells them and makes them follow him. “Are you going to allow that?” Joe asks Schotten, and then joins them.

Schotten finally makes a decision from his military identity. “If you open that gate, my men will fire.” Mother Martha’s spiritual backbone is firm—she apologizes to the sisters: the retreat is not hers—and they neither are they—they belong to God and she defies Schotten and his orders. Schotten knows that his hold on her is broken, particularly when she declares that she will lead her sisters. She does, her arms around two fearful postulants. “He will lead us,” she declares and they open and pass through the gates that she has spent years avoiding. The two waiting soldiers fire at them—the bullets, perhaps by a miracle, fly up and only hit the arch over the gate. They walk on.

Inside the courtyard, Schotten demands they fire and Joe—finally delivering the punch that he has held back on at least three occasions—once with Sandy, once with Troper, and once with Hollenbeck—decks the German colonel with a sharp one-two. Sandy’s voice cuts through—“Colonel, they’re coming.”

-“They’re turning! They’re turning!”

Strangely appearing like crosses, the B-17s approach, and Harvey, safe in the heavens, prepares the countdown . . . Joe, freed of Schotten for the moment, returns to the radiopack—and perhaps by another miracle, his message, through fragmented, gets through … “If you can hear me,” Joe says, his words edging on a prayer, “turn around and hold your strike by five minutes.” As he repeats the message, the camera pans over to Sandy’s bruised, set face—which then glows with a rare grin—“they’re turning! They’re turning!” Father Roman proffers the baton he has carried, but Joe knows they have the upper hand—when the soldiers see the planes returning, they run, as does a German soldier . . .who stops and peers at Schotten’s prone body—and hastens away, as do Joe, Roman, and Sandy . . . As Christ supposedly fought with the devil—harrowing hell and thus releasing imprisoned souls—during his three days of death, Joe has fought this devil, released the imprisoned women, and then leaves the place of his own possible death, which has been averted by the strength of Mother Martha and Sandy’s resilience . . . groggy from the blow, Schotten wakes up and climbs to his feet too late—he is enveloped by the blast of bombs—his death is an accident and bad timing; this has not the grace of sacrifice, as he spoke of . . .

-“Resurrection has more than one meaning . . . we will build again”

As the Epilogue begins, a Jeep brakes to a stop before the gates of the retreat, which is surrounded by rubble—which looks curiously like a carpet of flowers.

Joe, unharmed, leaves the bandaged-up Sandy in the Jeep; he goes to the cellar which has lost its roof—but has gained sunshine which reveals that the shrine yet stands. Mother Martha has fought against the outside world invading; it has come in, but in the shape of light. “Sister Martha?” calls Joe. “I am here,” she responds cheerfully, as she lights two small red candles, symbolic of the presence of God. “They told me in the village that you had come back.” “Many years ago,” she begins matter of factly, “there was another battle here”—an indeed, in the last 24 hours there was more than one battle—“the abbey had no water but a spring appeared, right here!—it was a miracle—now see, our little shrine,” continues, placing the red candles in the niche, “has come safely through the bombing and the battle. Do you think it’s another miracle?”

Joe neither agrees nor disagrees; rather, he apologizes—the damage was not as bad as it could be—“but it’s enough, and we’re sorry.” “Resurrection has more than one meaning,” she says—and her words say it all, past my abilities to interpret fully. “We will build again.” “We’ll help you, I promise.” He must go and he has the grace to feel terribly awkward—and she has the grace to take the initiative with the farewells—a handshake, and a firm goodbye, and as he mounts the steps—heading into the regions where he belongs, her hand traces a cross in blessing, echoing the many crosses seen in the episode, literal and figurative.

Joe leaves through the gates—the locus of much of the drama—and symbolic of goings and comings, wilderness and safety, ends of journey, and beginnings of journeys and there have been many of these moments. As he picks his way through the rubble, the driver returns and perhaps he–and Sandy—watch as the colonel selects a piece of the rubble, stares at it, flips it with a grin, and then gets into the Jeep, starting homeward after a remarkable duel which called upon his emotional, physical and spiritual qualities, and not one failed him.

**If you’ve ever wondered what Joe and Sandy were like before Archbury and how their lives played out afterward, you’ll want to keep returning to this blog to find out many things…You’ll be drawn in to the lives of three remarkable individuals, Joe Gallagher, Sandy Komansky and Rigel O’Ryan, a gutsy flight nurse with whom they cross paths. Theirs is a story of deep friendships, enduring love,  courage under fire, great triumphs and heartbreaking tragedies. You’ll meet their  families,  their extended circle of interesting friends,  learn how they touched the lives of others and  contributed to the tapestry of events from the birth of America to the mid 21st century.  So, fasten your seatbelts…but you’ll most definitely enjoy the flight!

“Graveyard”

Writer: William Gordon

Director: Robert Douglas

Grim title but all possible spookiness of a graveyard is alleviated by its location—a sunny island in the Mediterranean, San Sabena (real place? There is a San Sabina in northern Italy) site of what seems to be a medical unit at which are stationed two African-American soldiers. The growing mystery of why and how these men are here is compounded by the image of a dead man living, both literally as Jim Prince masquerades as the deceased Captain Glen Luke, and figuratively as Jim Prince carries on, broken, punished, and hiding on San Sabena—serving, but hiding. The masquerade theme recalls two episodes of Seasons II and III: first, “Cross-Hairs on Death,” the story of Everett Stone who hides under “John Gaines Carpenter” and a stolen officer’s uniform; and “The Fighter Pilot,” in which three pilots, on the run from charges in the States, hop the Atlantic, but can’t evade their pasts catching up with them. Stone redeems himself though he is off to prison for his masquerade; DeJon gains a partial redemption when he saves Gallagher (rather than killing him), but dies.

The island placement of this story also recalls the drama of being isolated on an island—which has been evoked twice in 12OCH: in Season I a downed Savage and a German pilot fight and reconcile on an island in the channel; in Season II (“Decoy”) Joe is marooned on an island in the North Sea with Captain Tony Powell a pilot he washed out, and both are victimized by a U-boat captain who uses them as lures to sink and kill rescue craft. In “Graveyard,” Joe and Sandy and General Ken Chandler (last seen in “The Ace”) desperately bring their wounded plane into a small island and thus evokes the literary theme and heritage of “the island”—which can be either an isolated paradise, a place of refuge, or a place from which there is no escape–from the island, and from yourself. In terms of 12OCH this theme also evokes “no man is an island” (John Donne, Meditation 17) meaning everybody is caught in the same interconnected web of life, which each person’s life transforming others and being transformed by others. This even applies even to people marooned on islands, such as Robinson Crusoe and Prospero in The Tempest. Robinson Crusoe, in desperation of his loneliness turns to God and his Son for support and manages to remain sane and civilized for over thirty years. He first saves and then indentures Friday; but Friday changes his life. Prospero, a king, was marooned by his evil brother but upon the island discovers magic which he uses to first punish his brother and then be reconciled to him.

The island theme in 12OCH is complemented by the presence of African-American soldiers one of whom finally realizes that he has got to stop running away and face his deep-seated aversion to killing (a wonderful aversion, but in time of war, this aversion may kill you). In some keeping with the island’s isolation, there is no “ticking clock” aspect of the story—the mission is completed in the teaser, and the story’s interest is thus able to concentrate on the problems of the two men which grow more complicated when Joe’s crew makes an unscheduled arrival. However, their “racial identity” does not really add much to the story; frankly, the story could have been told with “white guys”. Nonetheless, this is the first time that 12OCH has included African American soldiers, including a cool, steady P-51 pilot surely from the Fifteenth Air Force—“The Red Tails,” which flew out of Italy. While a good if small history lesson of the role of African-American soldiers in World War II, the story does not get into segregation nor other issues facing the African American soldier prior to integration (1948)l and the “white guys” get along perfectly with these men. Yet, Prince’s “problem” is a human agony—a hatred of killing. Thus he and “Conk” are ordinary human beings, without “racial profile,” which is refreshing when so many stories involving white and black center on the racial question—though a case might be made that “Graveyard” touches on the issue of black self-identity in a largely white world (see Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison).

Yet we still have a “typical” 12OCH story—action and adventure, a troubled human being having to deal with personal issues in the midst of war (“I Am the Enemy” among many other episodes)  and redemption, sometimes wonderful, sometimes bitter. The overall “racial” situation reminds me of an anecdote in Readers Digest “Humor in Uniform”—the army drill sergeant, greeting his “mixed” squad of recruits said, “I don’t see black or white—all I see is GREEN!” Anyway, our guys in green have quite an adventure as they return, for the first time since “Face of a Shadow” to sunny Italy  . . .

-“be sure to be exact in their locations”

The teaser is spare, quick, and action packed with the mission started, flown, finished; many episodes build up to “bombs away”; this is only an incident in the teaser before the real action starts. The teaser commences with Joe’s finger pointing to a spot on the map—“Loftheim” (I think!)—which is connected to the Cambridgeshire and to other locations on the continent by taped lines. “This is where we climb to bombing altitude, Ravensburg, 11:35—target, 11:42.” The camera switches to pilots in the briefing hut, learning about their target for the day and their instructions. “We will bomb in columns of boxes—rally left—and down to Italy”—and the names become somnolently Mediterranean . . .”We will be landing in Foggia, Italy, at 1500 hours this afternoon. This group will be leading the wing—led by General Kenneth Chandler from my aircraft”—the Piccadilly Lily? She has not seemed to figure much in Season III, at least by name, dear lady . . .

Joe yields to Ken Chandler, whose homely-handsome face was first seen in “The Ace.” His leather jacket is shinier than Joe’s, as is the emblem on his crush cap. He tells the men that the bases at Foggia are well developed now—they were quite primitive—“so be sure to be exact in their locations and conditions.” We finally learn the target, which, as it turns out, has little bearing on the plot, but suggests information gathered in “To Seek and Destroy,” and possibly, in the “$50,000,000” cache of stuff Joe brings back in “Six Feet Under”—factories which produce components for the German jet fighters—so you know how important this mission.” Joe consults his watch. . .”It is now 0500—mark! . . . we will start our engines at 0705 . . .taxi at 7:20 . . .take off.”

“right on time” Cut to Chandler’s GI watch—on the flightdeck, at right seat, he is smiling: “Right on time!”—as it turns out, time is not a particular factor in this story as it has been in “Six Feet Under” and “Duel at Mont St. Marie.” “We try to keep it that way,” Joe smiles at his old friend, which leads to the question—why exactly is Chandler here, and leading the mission? Perhaps he has the visual site memorized in his head, but his presence there is not clear, but it becomes expeditious as the story continues—he is the one to get banged up and helped by Prince, and then be at the mercy of the Germans, rather than Sandy or Joe. Sandy needs to be well and healthy because he recognizes Jim Prince, and Joe, though suffering a bad ankle, needs to be well and healthy to advise Prince about his “failures” and to help him redeem himself.

Speaking of Sandy, Sgt. Komansky vaults up by Joe’s side in the flightdeck as the Lily rolls; their growing professional closeness will become highly personal in the upcoming “Long Time Dead” The plane begins its taxi, and frankly, Sandy should be calling off the airspeed (see Chapman doing this in “The Jones Boys”), however . . .. Down the line the flak starts, which they fly through. Forty seconds before bombs away, Chandler notes that they are in line . . .and “make it good!” But things go bad . . . Sandy radios that fighters can be spotted outside the flak bed, at ten o’clock high. Joe notifies the crew to be on their toes; as soon as the flak ends they’ll be heading in . . . “it’s all yours,” he tells the bombardier. Here come the P-51s—at the controls is an African American pilot!—perhaps one of the legendary “Tuskegee Airmen” do the story does not go into that. The pilot, “Toro Leader,” is played, as is not noted by Duffin and Mathes in Logbook, by Lloyd Haynes who starred on “Room 222” for several years in the early seventies. He will be an important presence in the working out of the story. Calling on “Sure Thing Leader,” he asks “how do you read?” “Our fighter cover!” Joe exults. The fighters slice off as the run begins . . .”Bombs away,” and Chandler grins—until the plane suddenly jolts . . .the radio man, hurt, reports on a fire, and the plane begins to dive . .. “Komansky, get up here!” Joe shouts. The moment Sandy arrives the right plexiglass window shatters, raking Chandler. “Something’s jammed, I can’t get the nose up,” Joe tells him; Sandy checks out the situation with the controls before Joe yells “Get back there fast!—see what’s wrong!”—but by now everything is wrong and will only get worse, as indicated by the six bongs striking over Joe’s scared but steady face.

-“better than ditching . . . “

Underscored by taut music, the Piccadilly Lily—if that is who Joe is flying—sails alone in the sky; she is crippled but still going, thanks to Sandy’s desperate efforts. Chandler is wounded but functioning and he is checking the maps while Joe wrestles with the plane. “San Sabena straight ahead, according to the poop sheet”—and ahead, is a blue island in a blue sea. There is a small valley between the mountains with a landing strip. “Better than ditching,” Joe says and shouts for Komansky three times over the com before the gunner Parkins answers him; Sandy is valiantly holding the lady aloft by manually splicing a busted cable with pliers. Parkins gives the crew report, and it’s bad—navigator and bombardier are dead, as is the belly gunner. Joe grimaces at the report while Chandler hazily listens in. He asks if Komansky can hang on for another ten minutes; Sandy nods, and Parkins says he can spell him. On the flightdeck, Chandler radios for help for landing by instruments at Sabena . . . the failing plane is heard . . .down on the island, a stocky, seemingly middle aged African-American soldier comes out of a stone cabin, pauses to see lounging men near the base of a sheer cliff (manmade; constructed for the movie “Von Ryan’s Express,” ctd. Duffin and Mathes), shouts at them to go back into the small opening in the cliff—which they do–which previews the odd situation that exists on this isolated island . . . and why it has not been alleviated.

-“nothing here is very pretty”

As Chandler calls again, the soldier enters the tent in which is a young, singularly handsome Staff Sergeant, is taking and responding to their call for help, “reading you five by five, stand by please,” and gives the transmitter to the older man; he goes out to keep an eye on the four men—taking a gun, he exits, shouts at them in German and they file back in. He takes up a post at a gun emplacement to keep watch. Making contact, the older man efficiently provides the data they need—directions, headings, wind speed–for a landing; this is heard by the two flyboys as they fight winds buffeting them from the broken window. Chandler acknowledges the instructions but says they have battle damage and “this might not be very pretty.”

“Nothing here is very pretty,” says their contact, making clear that he and his sergeant haven’t been dwelling on some island paradise. Toro leader, still escorting them, notifies Joe that Jerries are heading in at 12’o clock high; Joe calls Sandy from his repair to defense duties; he mans the top turret and the run for safety begins in earnest, helped by the two men taking up their positions in the gun emplacements. Downb below, the Staff Sergeant watches the older man with caution, as he gingerly, cautiously, takes control of the weapon . . . In the air all hell breaks loose—played out with firing guns, darting fighters, and an array of faces, including that of a German fighter pilot—whose blonde hair, blue eyes, and Nordic features—haunt the story and creates a particular contrast with the African-Americans who were judged inferior, not only by Hitler (who reportedly refused to greet Jesse Owens at the 1936 Olympics) but of course by many others . . .

The German pilots succeeds in shooting down the valiant plane—Joe notifies the crew that he is making a pass over San Sabena and to bail out; Sandy comes forward to help with Chandler. In the air, Toro Leader, is also successful—he shoots down the German pilot. In his cockpit, the young pilot feels his plane yaw, then right itself; he assumes his goggles for he is going down as well—indicative of his limited future. Joe, in a preview of his final scene in “The Hunters and the Killers” sets the control and drops down to parachute out the forward hatch . . . and a valiant lady goes down . . .

-“Hi there . . .have some people hurt, huh?”

In contrast to all this, the next scene reveals Sandy, upright in a lovely setting of golden grass, hills and trees. He peels off his harness after yet another parachute jump (Sandy was a charter member of the so-called “caterpillar club,” named for the silken parachutes—in this season alone he has left four planes in such manner in “Gauntlet of Fire,” “Fortress Weisbaden,” and “Duel at Mont Ste. Marie,” and the upcoming “Long Time Dead”; Gallagher has him beat by one I think; he had to jump from his Mustang in “Practice to Deceive”). Sandy sees and runs toward Chandler; still alive, he slumps on the ground. As Sandy helps him, Parkins and the wounded radio operator limp into sight. “Where’s the colonel?” asks Perkins. “I don’t know,” mutters Sandy, probably thinking, “What now?” “Did he get out?”

Sandy has no answer except to say they need to find medics. “Better get some help,” Chandler says, his sense of command fading as his injuries worsen. “Hi there . . . have some people, hurt, huh?” Like a rescuing angel, the increasingly mysterious man appears. In contrast to his shaky handling of the gun, he is calm, friendly, reassuring, and in charge. “Yes sir,” Sandy answers the officer. He gives Chandler his report, including how Chandler is the CO, and his colonel—“I don’t where he is . . . “

“I’m Major Luke.” At last, after an odd amount of time, we know who this man is . . or do we? “Sergeant Komansky, sir,” Sandy says . . .and the two men regard each other for a moment. Luke takes charge. “There’s a path down there that will take you to our base. Have Sgt. Conklin bring the litter bearers. “Uh, yes sir,” Sandy says, and moves off . . .and turns around for another look. Sandy seems to be overplaying his hand here, but, he is always less subtle than the colonel, and besides, the tension of the man’s increasingly mysterious identity needs to pick up as the story advances. “Move, sergeant,” Luke barks at him. Chandler speaks up—have someone look for the others–Ellis, Shadrach and the colonel.” “The others? I thought there was seven altogether—unless I miscounted parachutes.”

-“What’s his name again?”

Luke did not miscount; the seventh parachute is being disposed of by its bearer—the Luftwaffe pilot.

Young, fresh, and thoroughly dedicated (he probably grew up sing the “Horst Vessel” song and swearing blood oaths to the Fuerher), he is actively seeking his safety, first disposing his parachute into a hollow tree, reconnoitering, and seeing a grim group advance up the road that leads by the graveyard—with Sandy leading, and Sgt. Conklin following, the four prisoners, bear the wounded away. Moments later, the tent headquarters, the litter-bearers are trooped off by Conklin, whose fluency with German asserts his authority. In the tent Chandler and radio operator are stretched out and administered to by Komansky and Perkins and Luke, who efficiently prepares and injects painkillers into Chandler who admits to needing some . . .

Sandy asks Conk about the four Germans—“Luftwaffe pilots,” he is told. “How did they get here?” “Same as you did!—got into trouble, jumped or crash-landed—we keep them here to do the chores.” Here there is a nice overturning of images as the two black men employ their prisoners as slaves of sorts. Conk, though more forthcoming than Luke, turns to calling for air evac. Sandy, listening, then hears as Luke tells them that he is going for blood plasma. “Yes sir,” says Conklin, helping to maintain the odd circumstances; as it turns out, he out-ranks Luke. Questions and answers heighten the mystery: “What’s his name again?” Sandy asks. “Luke, Sarge, Major Glen Luke,” Conk says, perhaps a little too forcefully. “Who else is here?” “You met the whole crew.” “Just the two of you? Can’t you get help from your own command?”

Conk becomes more than a bit evasive. “We’re just a skeleton crew—you know, the Germans built this base –used to be real important, but not now—we’ve good bases in Italy.” Sandy turns away from these non-answers. “How do you control the prisoners?” –“We have the weapons”—they spell each other—“where would they go?” Conk asks. Sounds like a tidy operation, but Sandy is not buying it—he must be asking himself, well, why don’t they get the prisoners flown out of here rather than sitting on four guys, which outnumber by two? Why they don’t have more help?

Luke returns with the plasma and Sandy assists him in hanging the bottles from the poles. Luke tells Chandler that they will get them out, but he will leave the dressing as it is. “Did you ever study medicine, sir?” Sandy asks, politely, but warily. Luke deflects the question with grim news: “I don’t think the radio man is going to live,” and leaves, abruptly.

-“are you sore at these guys?”

Conk also leaves. “One of you watch the prisoners, all right? And if the radio answers, holler.”

Taking his gun, he too leaves. Sandy turns with a sharp look and gesturing hands—and Conk knows he is leaving a touchy situation as he stops, lights a cigarette—gestures at the prisoners to withdraw—and then throws his smoke down and starts toward the stone cabin.

In the tent, Sandy arms himself. Parkins speaks—“Are you sore at these guys?” “I’m not sore, but the whole thing smells phony to me,” Sandy says, his face clenched up. “That Major Luke—I think I know him—and if I do, that’s not his name.” For the second time in the Gallagher-Komansky episodes, Sandy recalls a face from his past—the first was Wally Bolen, childhood friend and a shattered pilot; this is somebody he knew more recently; older, but shattered as well.

-“I can count the lives you’ve saved, including mine”

In their quarters, Luke has wilted on his cot. He tells Conk as he stands behind him, “He doesn’t remember yet, but he will.” Indeed, no man is an island—even though living and working—and hiding—on this tiny bit of Mediterranean earth, Luke still meets someone from his past. “Even if he doesn’t I can’t bluff a general, or a colonel—one hard look and they’d see right through us.” So these are partners in whatever deception is going on. Conk urges him to stay—“You’re not gonna run again, are you Jim?” –which once more edges on the black person moving in a predominately white world; at times, running is the only resort; plus the man’s real name– “Jim”– harks back to Mark Twain’s classic meditation on American values and attitudes, including black slavery—Huckleberry Finn, who drifted down the Mississippi with the escaped slave—who was named Jim.

-“if I go back, I’m dead!”

At last we start hearing the facts—“I didn’t mean to go AWOL in the first place,” Jim says. It seems a strange AWOL; he is efficiently running a small base, has brought a plane down with some safety, guards German POWs and tends to American soldiers conscientiously and skillfully. Conk points this out—“you’ve got a good record here—four months . . . and I can count the lives you’ve saved, including mine.” But it also explains why they are holding onto four prisoners; calling for help would provoke suspicions.

“You tell them that, will you Conk?” He then straps on a gun and prepares to leave, but he is seeking the other men, still missing and will send them back. Conk speaks to him sharply, though it’s the sharpness of a concerned friend, not a sergeant—he’s got to face his problems, some time. Jim refuses, but releases his friend—tells him “to get on the radio, and to get himself and prisoners and everybody else out of here.” His words suggest that San Sabena might have been abandoned a long time ago except for these two men who seem to be there under no particular orders (though Conk seems to be under them; he has no threat hanging over his head it seems, but this is not made clear)—the German prisoners are there because the two men have never called in assistance—how could this be? In the widespread dispersal of men, equipment, bases, and orders, a small operation like that could be ignored or forgotten—or could it?

The coming of the damaged air crew has now invaded their fool’s paradise. Jim is electing to stay, saying “I can take of myself”—proposing to turn himself into the figurative island that Donne says nobody can be. Conk grows angry, telling him he has stayed with him for four months, out of compassion. Prince turns on him—“I’ve got to!—for your sake as well as mine—I’m AWOL twice, I’m impersonating an officer—you’ve got to leave me here—if I go back, I’m dead.” With these words, the titular graveyard seems to be beckoning him, this efficient, compassionate man who, to the Army, is criminal.

-“he’s trying to do the right thing”

Despite Sandy’s concern he has stayed within the tent, though he watches through the flap—he listens to Conk continue to transmit for assistance; conveniently for the story,there seems to be a problem. Sandy then observes Major Luke leave the cabin—pause, and head resolutely off.

“Where’s the Major going?” Sandy asks, trying to be casual and failing. Conk immediately lowers his eyes but says, confidently, “Looking for the other guys who jumped—your colonel, sergeant,” he says, bringing Sandy’s head around with an obvious plan to follow him. “Look, I got a lot of my hands here . . .” Sandy orders Parkins to stay there with Conk; Parkins nods. Conk then jumps up to plead, implicitly, with Komansky. The sergeant “doth protest too much”—“Look, he’s trying to do the right thing—he’s not a quitter—that’s why he’s here—he’s helped a lot of guys—and he could have taken off before he helped the general—“

“Is that what he’s doing now, taking a powder?” Sandy demands.

“No—“

“Then why are you telling me this?”

Conk’s blown it and he helplessly supplies more details and reveals the man: “I just meant—well, he thought you’d might remember him from somewhere.” Conk of course does not know that he is speaking with a man who empathizes with Jim Prince—Sandy has not only been an underdog but he masqueraded himself for probably nearly two years as an eighteen year old when he, underaged, joined the army (“Then Came the Mighty Hunter”) and he too knows what is like to feel—know–he can’t do something—in his case, it was to be an officer, and he went AWOL for a week to get away from it (“Loneliest Place”).

Sandy’s answer cuts through the shit: “If I do, you don’t need trouble from me, you’ll have enough—I know there’s something phony about this set-up and I can care less—that’s your business—but I need to trust you or him—my colonel and one of my gunners is out and they may be hurt—and that’s all I care about.” He moves to leaves and Conk stops him, saying “he’d never run out on a man who was hurt”—meaning Prince, and asking Sandy to do the same. “Let’s put it this way—there’s two guys out there—you stay with your radio—“ and he leaves. Parkins looks on, not sure what is going on, and Conk, after a moment, returns to hailing for assistance.

-“Americans in trouble on the ground . . .nothing important”

The graveyard, glimpsed as the German pilot hides and the litter detail brings the wounded in, is revisited—tidy, neat, thankfully rather small, but heartbreaking with hats and other insignia decorating the crosses; soldiers a long way from home, though resting in a beautiful place–and evoking the memory of Pres’ “little walk in the garden” of the dead at Magadar. Silently, Major Luke, ready to transform back into Jim Prince, kneels at a grave marked “Luke”—he divests himself of the man’s rank, exchanges dogtags and headwear—his worn green cap for a dress hat.

Back at the tent, Conk’s so far useless calling finally claims Chandler’s attention. “Sergeant, maybe your receiver is out,” he says. Conk acknowledges him, and maybe—it’s never clear—Conk is able to get a message out because his ruse has been detected—maybe. In any case, his message goes out and is picked up by a Luftwaffe unit. The pilot listens and then radios a simple message but one with a great deal of meaning—“Americans in trouble on the ground—nothing important.” And on the ground, a puzzled sergeant roams by the graveyard; Sandy’s eyes, sharpened by months of scouting the skies for unfriendly craft, immediately sees the green cap left behind on a cross. Kneeling, he looks at the name and peers at the dogtags: “Prince, Jim Prince,” he says in recognition.

-“Hey, anybody here?”

Cut to a hand, against the trunk of a tree, holding a Luger, steadily and purposefully—at who? Neither at Komansky or Prince; rather the pilot is keeping an eye on an airman who is shouting for assistance when he reaches a weathered shed—Ellis, probably, who has perhaps outrun the limping colonel. He shouts “Hey, anybody here?”—which goes unanswered and he enters the shed. For some reason—for defense and perhaps just for the thrill of it—the young pilot follows him, pausing first to get his knife, and hurries after the airman and swiftly dispatches him—his face is at first tensely joyful—and then grows slightly alarmed as if he has become  appalled at what he has done. He too runs—and his flight observed by his exact opposite—an African American private—who cannot pull the trigger on this fleeing murderer who goes on to conduct more mayhem—as Gallagher observes later, a doctor figuratively kills a disease to stop a plague, and Prince has missed the chance . . . but how is he to know this?—perhaps he has his first glimpse of the hard, hard truth when he checks on the airman in the shed and finds him dead, the knife still gruesomely in his back, suggesting that the German pilot was so shocked at what he did he failed to carry away his weapon.

“My God,” he says.

At the tent, there is another dead man, as “Benny” dies—Parkins calls his name; Conk lowers his eyes. Parkins pulls the blanket up over his face . . . and as Conk still struggles with the radio, Parkins struggles with his grief, and Chandler struggles from following Benny’s fate.  He then urges Parkins to help Conk fix the receiver.

“You know me? You tell me—what am I?”

In the shed, feet approach a gun on the floor. Sandy kneels next to Prince, who similarly kneels with grief. “I got here too late,” he tells Sandy. “Who did it?” Sandy asks, taking the knife from Prince. “Who did it?”

Prince reports that there was a German, not one of their prisoners—“I saw him?” “You saw him do it?” “I saw him run—I let him run.” Sandy controls his temper and his mouth. “Where did he go?” “I don’t know—I could have stopped him—I could have shot him.” Sandy tells Prince to “listen to me—listen to me!—I know you now. I remember—and I understand.” Interesting words coming from Sandy; he just might indeed understand. “But there’s a German on the loose here—“ “You know me?” Prince interrupts him. “You know me—you tell me—what am I? What am I?!”

-“who are you?”

Sandy does not answer for two reasons: he can’t, he has no answer for the man’s real question, even though he enunciated “Jim Prince” moments before; also, he hears footfalls outside; unlike Prince, he goes flying back, gun at ready to defend them. The door flies open with Joe coming in; if it seems foolish, it is clear in a few minutes that he too has been observing what has been going on and knows that friends are in the shed–”Komansky!” Joe says, with Sandy getting to his feet—“Skipper, are you all right?” Joe has a sprained ankle, which has kept him from running.

Prince can no longer run; not with this partnership squaring off with him; he could not run into two better men; Joe has deep wellsprings of compassion; Sandy has personal knowledge of certain aspects of Jim’s agony. Joe asks Sandy if the German did this–?—he saw him bail out. He then sees Prince, and asks him a question which beautifully follows up his last words to Sandy: “Who are you?—I saw you come in here first—who are you?” Prince takes charge of himself: “I’m Private James R. Prince. I used to be an officer in the Signal Corps—and when the shooting started I went over the hill –and they broke me. That was a year and a half ago—he remembers,” he says, looking to Sandy. “When I ran to the radar school I was there when the MPs came to get me.” (Dramatic story but I wish there were some details here—what radar school? Was this back in the States? Overseas? What was Sandy doing at radar school? Did Prince hide there for a while before the MPs caught up with him, or did he come running in with the MPs in hot pursuit?—oh, well!)

“Forget it,” Sandy says. “Thank you Sergeant, you could have copped out.” “Jim, it doesn’t make any difference now,” Sandy tries to tell him. Jim continues, as though finally got some pain and embarrassment out of system. “Colonel, they busted me—I did nine months hard labor because I couldn’t pull a trigger—the German did this and ran—because I can’t kill a man—I never did!”

Joe, exhausted and in some pain can only listen, but he and Sandy trade glances; this good-hearted and now honest man is only increasing their peril.

-“I am in command now . . .”

Back at the tent, Conk and Parkins work with the radio—“maybe that fixes it,” Conk says. Somewhat ironic last words as he looks up to see the German pilot at the tent’s opening—who kills two more men, without hesitation, without mercy.

They hear this in the shed; Joe tells Sandy to check it out. Prince is calm and quick, telling Sandy that there is a way to get back to headquarters without being seen. Back in the tent, Chandler, perhaps out of sheer pride, raises his body up to confront the Luger and the face behind it—which is tense, alarmed, polite, and smug. “No sir, you will not move. I’m Captain Karl Holtke—I am now in command.” A quick look around reveals that he is not completely sure of himself what comes next but repeats, “I am now in command.”

-“Man the guns”

As Act III opens, yes, indeed, Holtke is in command. The Luftwaffe guys are liberated, and Holtke learns about the situation and the location—typically, and in contrast with Prince, his only interest seems to be in guns. His first interest is in the iron bridge structure that runs between a butte and the cliff face. One of the Luftwaffe men informs him that it was ventilator shaft “used by their people to run munitions to the anti-aircraft our people had here.” Holtke tells them to man the gun emplacements two by two; he is told that American planes would never come down so low; they would crash against the cliff face. “Man the guns,” Holtke replies, despite this good point of advice; but the man lives by guns and violence.

He and the Luftwaffe man return to the tent to work the radio. In the tent, the sedated Chandler tenderly touches the head of Conklin—he must feel pretty bad that he and Joe “invaded” this tiny, convenient island, paying back their care by bringing in the enemy and death—but along with Gallagher and Sandy, Chandler will help make reparations to the surviving Prince. The radio then whines, getting his attention, and Holtke and his associate transmit a message for Luftwaffe anywhere—he has captured an American general (well, it’s easy to capture a wounded man) on Island 869—interesting how the American call it San Sabena, while the Germans have only numbered it. “Captain,” Chandler says politely, “I think this man is dead.” The other man gets up to take care of the situation—at the radio, a variety of emotions cross Holtke’s face—carelessness, intensity—and for a second maybe a moment’s regret for his cold-hearted killing. We will never know.

-“ETA for Sabena, 1645 hours”

Cut to somewhere else—Italy? It would make sense for the rescuing B-17—yes, Conk’s message finally got through. With a flourish of optimistic music, the plane takes off—and the pilot is Geoff Deuel whose brother, Peter Duel, was an up and coming star in the late sixties and seventies, and was acting in a “Butch Cassidy” TV knock-off called “Alias Smith and Jones” when he committed suicide in 1971.

The pilot radios a crisply uniformed officer in an office—interesting connection of words—who accepts his message that they are “ETA for Sabena, 1645 hours.” He rogers this and “Major Cook” gets on the phone and requests a fighter escort for emergency plane to Sabena. Thus the rescue effort is underway.

-“Well, it’s your duty not to speak”

On San Sabena, the liberated prisoners ironically do more stretcher work as they carry Conk out. Holtke actually helps and then seems to hurry away. The  Luftwaffe officer watches, curious, and then helps himself to water from the water bag … as he does, the camera tilts up to reveal Komansky, crawling along the ventilator bridge, gun in hand; he has completed his reconnoitering; it would have been interesting to know the route Prince told him to take and how he ended up and over on the bridge!—but—no time for that—and we return to Holtke, going back into the tent and asking Chandler, courteously, if he is in pain. “I’m all right,” he answers. Holtke then becomes deferential–and as the product of the German war mentality–and Goebbels’ propaganda–is seemingly a little embarrassed that he, a captain, is in charge of a wounded general and his apology is rather grand—“I regret your leaders have brought you into this war (cripes!!)—I do not wish to kill more Americans—“ and then says he knows that there is another sergeant and a major here—any more? “I’m sorry Captain . . . I wasn’t counting . . . I imagine you will soon find out.” “Well, it’s your duty not to speak,” Holtke acknowledges. “And our duty to escape,” which is true in the odd but at times highly logical rules of warfare. He gets on the radio and transmits his message again.

-“I thought I’d bury myself here”

Joe and Prince toil along, with Prince carrying the unfortunate Ellis, and Joe limping. They carry the young man into the graveyard, and lay him down, while Joe asks if this is the place they were to meet Komansky. “Yes sir.” He looks at the garden of the dead. ” . . . I thought I’d bury myself here. Jim Prince, rest in peace.”

“Who is buried there?”

“Glen Luke. A good man.” He explains how he and Conklin were left to keep the base alive—“and he stuck his neck way out for me.” This is nice; this tells us that Prince is not merely exploiting a dead man’s name and rank; rather, he is partly honoring a man who believed in him. “Jim, tell me, how’d you get here?” Joe’s question articulates the audience’s own curiosity. It seems he was assigned here—but when the base was reduced and the personnel was ferried to southern France and mainland Italy—“I hid”—perhaps Conk did too; his continuing presence is not really explained; maybe Conklin and Luke were officially left behind to operate the small station. When Luke died, Prince took his name and rank—but this too was not for cheap reasons; “when we started to capture Germans I needed some kind of rank and authority.”

Joe asks about his own outfit, the one he is AWOL from. “I don’t know—we were supposed to be moving forward where the fighting was.” He then confesses that all his life all he wanted was to be a doctor—to save lives, not destroy them. “I don’t feel afraid. But I can’t shoot a gun at a man.” –And at this point, I feel that Ossie Davis may have been too old to be playing this role!—with his hair graying, he looks fiftyish, which means he was too old to be fighting. I wonder if the actor, Don Harmon, who played Conk, was originally slated for the role, but when Ossie Davis, with his acting and political chops and credentials, expressed interest, it was given to him.

-“does that make killing right?”

The following scene is a bundle of conundrums about war, duty, morals, expediency, right actions, reasons strung out on a yard of the necessities of war and sheer survival. He asks Gallagher point blank—“what am I? a coward?” Joe answers that with a question. “Were you running today?” He turns to walk among the dead. “I was going to hide—to get out of here—try to find a way out—find another outfit—medics perhaps—change my name—Colonel, I don’t want to go into confinement—I want to soldier, I don’t want out—but killing isn’t right.”

Joe is elegantly terse. “Jim—the world is at war.”

“Yes sir—but does not make killing right—no sir.”

Joe presents an analogy: “Look, you said you wanted to be a doctor—a doctor fights disease—and an epidemic kills—now either you kill—or it kills you.” Jim gives no answer to this analogy which both works and does not quite work—yet there is brutal sense in it—kill or be killed; eat or be eaten. Sandy joins them, reporting that the Krauts have taken over the camp—and just like he said, he found and used the ventilator tunnel. At this point, the action becomes a little expeditious to be satisfying, but as always, this is a one-hour episode and things must move quickly—“a tunnel?” Joe asks. “Can we use it?” “It’s too small—but we can use the stream”—unseen to the viewers, there is a stream of sorts between the two rock cliffs. “Wait a minute—the prisoners?” Jim asks. “How could they take over? Conk had the machine guns—“

Sandy, plainly, tells him “it’s over—with a little bit of help by the guy you let get away–Sgt. Conklin is dead.” He saw his body being carried out as he crawled along the ventilator bridge.

“He killed Conklin?” – classic moment in a story with this kind of theme; the man who refuses to kill learns that his refusal has led to a friend’s death—this still does not answer the question Jim posed—“is it right to kill?” but Jim must comprehend Joe’s words—“It’s an epidemic, Jim.”

-“I think I will go on in. . . “

In the skies, the rescue plane approaches, with the pilot radioing for instructions for landing and not receiving them. “I think I will go on in,” says the young man, and the plane flies in on the harshly brilliant sky—while down below, the German soldiers, under Holtke’s commands are waiting at their guns. He has received no instructions because no one is at the radio—though crawling for it, through the dirt, is Chandler, who has withdrawn his drip and valiantly attempting to warn the oncoming plane. Holtke, who perhaps is brash, but certainly energetic, intercepts him, and as he collapses in pain, Holtke once more broadcasts for the Lufwaffe, anywhere . . .

-“you guys want to tangle?”

Act IV  . . . and the rescue B-17 coming in . . . and this serene moment is destroyed when Holtke orders his men to fire. This strikes the B-17 in an unaccountable way, but it seems like an insect bite. The pilots bring the plane up, more puzzled than alarmed. The navigator relays, “They’re firing at us.” The pilot gets on the air and demands, “What are you doing?” His answer: more firing from the emplacements. Holtke is a stubborn son of a gun; wasting ammunition on a target that is too high, with the idea that this might allow the Luftwaffe to land and rescue them—but this man puts all his faith in guns and bullets, in contrast with Prince.

Holtke returns to the tent where Chandler is knocked out in pain, sprawled on a cot. Holtke seizes the mike, once more asks for help, and in the air, a Luftwaffe fighter pilot hears this again . . . as does “our fighter cover!” The nameless pilot, “Toro Leader” of Toro Squadron, has been called out to protect the B-17 and hears this . . . and all begins to converge on San Sabena just as all the emotions and fears of Jim Prince begin to converge on the confrontation of his life. With a confident voice, Toro Leader radios his men: “You guys want to tangle?”

-“Sergeant Conklin was my friend—why did you kill him?”

On the ground, another tangle is about to take place—scrambling over a grassy slope, Prince prepares to distract the Germans. Back behind them, cutting through the stream through the convenient break in the cliff face, Sandy and Joe reveal their on-the-job commando training, gained at Weisbaden. The German soldiers are so intent on their work that Prince has to call to them—arms outstretched, he approaches them with “don’t fire!” Holtke sees him—they have met, he unknowingly, distantly, as Prince followed his progress into the shed and out again; now these two foiled characters come face to face, and Prince must carry through what he failed to do earlier.

“Sergeant Conklin was my friend—why did you kill him?” Incongruous for the military situation, but in terms or morality, spot on! In the last moments of his life, Holtke is being called upon, morally, to account for his actions. One of the former prisoners comes forward identifying him as “Major Glen Luke—commandant.”

Joe and Sandy crawl out of the stream and into a ditch . . . “Why are we killing one another?” Prince asks. “We’re not going to prove anything here—“

Again, incongruous words but they have the ring of truth. “Why did you kill Conklin?” he again asks. “You are Major Glen Luke?” Holtke asks, not knowing what else to say to this black American soldier, calling him to accounts. The answer is puzzling to him, but not for Prince: “I’m Private Jim Prince.” “No, he’s the Major,” says the German—which touches on Jim’s question to both Joe and Sandy—who am I?—yes, who is he? In the ditch, Joe and Sandy crawl along—and Joe rises, poised— “Come forward,” says Holtke. Arms still raised, Prince moves in, but in a way, keeps the situation under his control, but still demanding “who killed Conklin?” “Holtke!” shouts Joe—to demand the man’s attention; it also answers Jim’s question! The firing begins. Prince throws himself down; Holtke, firing, runs for safety to the shed—which seems awfully close by!—it seemed to be further away earlier, but  . . . Joe and Sandy meet up with him at the shed. Prince is on his feet, informing Joe that Chandler is in the tent. “Let me,” he says. Joe tensely nods and lets him—while Sandy takes the German prisoners again, after a pretty lousy interval of freedom—they’re probably cursing Holtke by now; surely their rescue could have been handled better; the guy who liberated them now has fled. Holtke has foolishly run into the shed, rather than out into the country—maybe he’s a city boy and went for a structure—finds himself trapped, a bit like a rat.

-”I thought I flew my combat quota!”

Cut to—the advancing P-51s!—the Luftwaffe fighter pilot—and the pilots in the rescue ship. They all see each other in a rather humorous parallel with the ground action. The B-17 pilots get a wonderful  view of Toro squadron knocking off some of the enemy. Joe, on the ground, renews his call to the B-17, and the wary pilots grow warier—“I thought I flew my combat quota!—and this was a nice rear-echelon assignment.” Joe renews his call, explaining that the receiver is out, but the base is secured. Signing off, he tends to Chandler who has been through a lot that day—yes, this all seems to have happened in one day!—We can only figure that it still summer, the evenings are long . . . Chandler assures him he will be all right, and “go ahead”—which Joe does.

-“the fight is over” – “my fight is not over!”

In a scene reminiscent of a police officer trying to get a punk to give up, Prince talks with Holtke who is willful and stubborn—and you have to admit he has accomplished some remarkable work during this day! But he is like Nazi Germany, even in its death throes, still hanging on—“You can’t survive,” Prince tells him, quietly. “The fight is over.” “But my fight is not over!” “Don’t throw away a human life,” Prince tells him. “Not even your own—you have no right to do that!” Prince is not pretending, he is pleading with this young man to be reasonable, to choose life. “If you come in, I’ll kill you.”

Frankly, the situation is ridiculous—not story wise; we are talking just plain common sense. “Oh yes, you’ll kill me—but I’m coming in—and you’re coming out—one way or another, alive or dead.” After this stand off, Jim, who must feel like this is the only way out now—revenge for Conklin?—maybe. To protect others?—probably. To finally face what he hates because he does not . . ? Yes, definitely. The firing commences when Prince finally pushes his way through the door drape; both men fire, and hit each other—and both are hit in just about the same place. Holtke fights but finally crumbles, Prince slumps to the floor. With Sandy taking care of the prisoners, Joe arrives and immediately checks on Prince’s injury. “A disease—an epidemic,” Prince says. “An epidemic—that’s right, soldier.” “Soldier—thank you sir,” Prince says, finally hearing and accepting the identity that he asked of both Sandy and Joe.

-“You boys okay?” – “Toro, we’re fine now—thanks for your help”

The epilogue, unlike many others, is airborne—and happy. The rescue B-17 flies in a beautiful sunny sky, protected by valiant P-51s, and over this plays the lovely 12 O’Clock anthem which though faintly sad, is also joyous. The two B-17 pilots, who were more puzzled than fearful over the day’s events (is it still the same day?—must be), observe Toro squadron, and their leader calls to them—“You boys okay?” The young pilot, on rear echelon duty, radios back—“Toro, we’re fine now—thanks for your help.”

It’s just nice—and hopeful even now that two American citizens, one white, one black, helping  each other and thanking each other. I wonder if the use of the word “boy” is deliberate—a common slur on a black man is to call him a “boy”—and the efficient black pilot of the Toro squadron calling his white colleagues “boys”—well, maybe it was a simple use of the term, but it’s interesting . . . “Go on home,” the pilots tell him, and with a doff of his hand, he and his men do just that.

“did he?—not in my presence”

In the belly of the B-17, Joe and Sandy sit with the wounded—Chandler and Prince. Joe, for once, is happily being a passenger and a kind of nurse—he should be tired after a long, busy day, but you wonder if Operation Overleaf, prior to June 6, has left its mark on him. “Radar school?” Joe is asking Sandy. “Yes sir—the way I understand the story, he never quit—but when the shooting started he would take another job, changing his name—and found a job he could do.” “He asked me if he were a coward—the answer to that is no. I just hope he lives to be proud of himself.”

Yes, being a brave man is more than just pulling a trigger, it’s also living up to your beliefs, as he has done. Prince does not exult in his finally pulling a trigger; indeed, he perhaps feels he has been punished for it by also being shot—yet he will live, but living is bringing up a host of possible problems. “What about the other charges sir?—he’s AWOL,” Sandy asks, looking at Joe—who knows that Sandy himself has been AWOL, twice, and spectacularly—yet with good results; his first AWOL kept him from OCS where Sandy knew he did not belong, and his second AWOL’s punishment brought them closer together as Sandy humbly served as clerk, chauffeur and go-fer, and in the process becoming a trusted aide and as will be seen, a beloved friend.

“Well—“ Joe exhales. “Perhaps we can do something about that”—perhaps something along the lines of what he did for Sandy. “Impersonating an officer sir?” Sandy asks, as Chandler surfaces from sedation.

“Did he? He didn’t in my presence.” Ah, Joe—is this what you mean by “whatever is right and true?” Nicely done! “General Chandler knows he did sir,” Sandy points out. “Well, we’ll just have to wait and see how much the general remembers,” Joe says, pretending not to know that Chandler is listening. “Yes sir,” Sandy agrees as Ken and Prince peer at each other; Ken winks. Sandy’s face is quietly happy, and Joe’s grin is as brilliant as the sky their rescue ship flies them through—and we can only hope—and trust–that Prince’s future will be as bright.

“A Long Time Dead”

Writer: Joseph Doherty

Director: Gene Nelson

A grim title for a grim episode (written by James Doherty who also wrote “Six Feet Under”)—and after some reflection on it, I realized that Calvin Dula, alive, alert, and seemingly confident, is little more than a phantom, pretending to be alive, alert, and confident and worse, fleeing from the fact that he is pretending. It’s interesting that the name Dula can be changed to “dual” very easily—he’s no dual personality, yet there are two sides to the man, living and dead. This episode features two new qualities—first, the director, Gene Nelson, was new to 12OCH, and perhaps was partially responsible for the second quality: scenes taking place in areas of the plane rarely glimpsed, such as Stovall being lowered behind the pilots’ seats, and Sandy falling into the crawlway. Nelson, a wonderful dancer whose finest work was done in Doris Day musicals (in Tea for Two his dancing in a curved stairwell is beyond belief and in Lullaby of Broadway he dances on top of an upright piano) was lithe and slender—which is how airmen had to be to slip through tiny hatches and passages.

It is in the crawlway that we see Dula as either a wise man judging a wound correctly, or an enraged murderer preparing his victim while furiously pushing away rescuers. As the series wound down,  “A Long Time Dead” seems  to recall several notable “conventions” of 12OCH. First, the missions involved are in the air—Regensburg, a frequent target for the Eighth, although we never know what precisely is being bombed and the success/failure of the second mission is overwhelmed by Dula’s “murder.” The airborne missions and acts in this episode contrast with the three preceding, all largely played out on the ground: “Six Feet Under,” “Duel at Mont St. Marie,” and “Graveyard.”  Second—Sandy mouthing off; Joe has been instrumental in shutting his mouth a great deal, but Sandy still forgets himself (“To Seek and Destroy,” and “The Pariah”) and boy, in this episode does he ever, even forgetting the pain of being labeled a jinx himself (“Show Me”). Third, the recurring “grace note”: Joe expressing his deep regard for Sandy, who of course is not present—but in the second half of this episode Sandy’s presence figures monumentally as a furious Joe demands answers for his strange death. The theme that has not been seen for a while—the screwed up pilot, in in the character of Captain Calvin Dula who suffers blackouts when routine suddenly crashes into danger and does not seem to remember the blackouts and obfuscates as he seeks to cover up that he does not clearly remember. In this the episode strongly recalls “Falling Star,” in which Gus Wexler’s mental aberrations drive the plot. Also, “The Hollow Man” is recalled, as Bolen comes in and out of mental fugues. Fortunately, all three men survive and in the end are headed for assistance, but leave behind a somewhat damaged Komansky—who has to respectively suffer his own mental status being questioned, embarrassment over trying to defend someone obviously ill, and finally an experience provoking his primal fear of abandonment and may haunt him the rest of his life—seriously injured, terrified, and being pitched out of a plane. Fourth: death and rebirth. It’s particularly notable in this episode as Dula “revives” from a self-imposed death, and Sandy not only has a birthday—but a “deathday” if you will–and he too “revives.” Fifth—after a “long time gone” Doc Kaiser reappears (was it “Massacre” the last time he was seen?) and General Britt, who has not been present since “The Ace” also reappears—which might mean they were either available to act again after other commitments, or, because the Gallagher-Komansky relationship reaches new dimensions in this episode, perhaps both were needed for “sentimental” reasons—Britt had “blessed their union” (“Loneliest Place”) and it was to Kaiser that Sandy spilled a few guts about his feelings for Gallagher (“Show Me”)—however, with all the physical and emotional damage in this episode, the Doc needed to be there! Finally, with all the illness and confusion going on, this episode has several “dissolves” in scene transition rather than the “cut” that has dominated Season III editing methods.This episode is neatly divided: Robinson dominates in the first half, his acting ranging from comic (at the birthday party), to taut fearfulness (his private conversation with Dula), to terror as he realizes his fate. Burke similarly shines in the second half of the episode as he barely controls his shock and grief, flashes with anger (at Dula, Britt and Stovall), is relieved and overjoyed when the good news arrives; and then, knowing he is not recovered, firmly puts himself, Kaiser—and Sandy—into Dula’s hands in the epilogue–and he must trust the man to get them all home.

And– an interesting “literary” theme—“the letter” or fancily, the “epistle.” Called “epistolarity” in academic studies, the use of the letter as a story telling device is an old one, and assisted in evolving the novel. Bear with me here, I won’t be too long winded . . . letters, whether bearers of news, an expression of sentiment, and providing of information have long been a literary “device” that can project a voice, advance the plot, create meaning, bring in unknown information, reveal feelings that are not normally on display—and sometimes relate the entire novel, such as Pamela and Clarissa. In both these eighteenth-century novels, written by Samuel Richardson, desperate young women, either kidnapped or fled from home, and whose chastity is in peril, write letters to friends and family pleading for help and for understanding. It sounds ridiculous these days—and readers in the eighteenth century were no fools, they too questioned the situations—yet even the most hardened or blasé reader can still be swept into the young women’s minds as they question their feelings, ponder their fates, seek help that is not coming– in other words, the human heart, soul and mind were on rich display, which is one of the essential hallmarks of a good novel. In “Long Time Dead” the letter serves to heighten and complicate the plot. A good example of this is the frankly named movie, The Letter, starring Bette Davis, in which an unfaithful wife’s note of assignation to her dead lover finally reveals her guilt—that she did not shoot him in protection of her virtue as she told her husband; he was meeting with her as she begged him to in her letter; and when he rejects her, she kills him.  In “Tonight’s Episode,” the critical letter similarly complicates the story as a wounded American airman makes his accusations from a POW hospital; this letter seems to endanger Sandy as he informs Dula of the airman’s accusations, and then the letter, which is not destroyed as requested by Sandy, alerts and drives Joe to demand answers. All set?—on to “A Long Time Dead” . . .

-“I hope I’m not keeping you up”

Archbury, flightline . . . in a scene underscored by soft trumpets and the sound of ringing bells, the Piccadilly Lily (?) is being prepared for flight—a bad one over Regensburg—and crews are trucked in. Joe emerges onto the flightdeck where Harvey is yawning—and what is Harvey doing as a co-pilot on such a dangerous mission? Bob Fowler, it seems to me, must have gone home after “The Pariah” (he will reappear in “Hunters and Killers”) and maybe Harvey was the only man that Joe really trusts now in right seat, although it’s pretty remarkable Harvey is carrying on adjutant duty and flying dangerous missions. However, as the story develops, Sandy must be isolated from his alliances; with Harvey hospitalized and Joe sidelined with a concussion, Sandy is once more taking on the role of the solitary and “needy” folk tale hero who proceeds alone—similar to “Show Me a Hero.”

“I hope I’m not keeping you up,” Joe joshes with Harvey, who joshes back, “You did, Joe, three hours ago, remember?” “It does get a little rough on you older men, doesn’t it?” Joe’s good natured teasing previews his own admission, in the epilogue, that he has been roughened up by recent experiences. “Wars should be fought 9-5, forty hours a week,” says Harvey, bringing in a tidy, rationalized plan of war which will collide with what will happen on this flight and on a future flight—impelled by the man coming up between Joe and Harvey, Captain Calvin Dula. “Need me at all up here sir?” Dula asks—cheerfully and without a trace of guile. Joe tells him “No, Cal, you go on down to your station . . . it’s going to get pretty rough on you today unless the weather clears up.” “I’ll get you there—I’ve been to Regensburg before, sir, remember?”—all this suggests that Calvin has nothing to hide about what, we will soon learn, is a doubtful recent history. “Well, good luck one day, bad luck the next,” Joe tells him, and alerts him that the engines are starting up in three minutes. Dula withdraws, and as Joe affixes his headset, Sandy vaults up between the two men, saying everything checks out and “we’re in good shape”—prophetically ironic words, underscored by his next, “But Captain Dula . . . to fly sir.” Harvey backs him up: “He’s slated for a pilot evaluation board.” “But he’s not on board as a pilot today,” Joe says, to Harvey’s quizzical look.

-“take off these bars . . . and knock your teeth out”

“Everybody wonders when a pilot comes back alone,” Sandy remarks, a little too carelessly—after all, he too came back alone (“Loneliest Place”) and assisted Captain Bradovich  (“The Survivor”) after he came back alone—yet Bradovich was arrogant and angry which provoked Sandy’s empathy and support, while the eager-to-help Dula seems to be handling the situation all too breezily. Speaking of Dula, who is serving as navigator (ironic, because is this man is lost and does not know it), hears Sandy’s next words—“I had some good buddies on the crew he lost—it’s not that I believe in jinxes. . .but I just wish he wasn’t flying with us, that’s all.”

Joe’s eyes and mouth reveal his irritation—and perhaps his growing exhaustion: “Sergeant, how would you like a ten-day restriction so you couldn’t mouth off to anybody?” Sandy hears this . . . and Dula has too. He crawls into nose and then calls to the flight engineer “to come down here a minute?” Joe relays the message and Sandy obeys.

Dula seems reasonable. “I’m not the only pilot to lose a plane and a crew, now am I?” Sandy is direct: “Sir, I said too much in the cockpit—if you overhead the conversation you also heard the colonel read me out—” “All right—this is just between you and me—if I did do something wrong, the evaluation board will say something, all right?”—which sounds wise and professional, but it is also evasive—as it turns out, Dula can’t remember what happened and he seems unaware that he can’t remember. “Yes sir,” says Komansky, in that inimitable way that Robinson could do with two syllables. Yet Sandy takes a lesson from this; and plays fair with Dula in their next clash.

“Matter of fact,” Dula continues, in the same winning tone, “if I hear anything more out of you—I’m going to take off these bars—and knock your teeth out.” With that threat of violence the “six bongs” strike over their faces, which both separate yet unite them. Both of these men are loners; Sandy less so, as revealed when he accepts Joe’s dressing down and apologizes. Dula is mentally a loner as he narrowly navigates around guilt or worry, and covering up his solitude with professional good will and offers of help—yet his smiling threat to Sandy reveals a man in trouble.

-“we’re out of control, we’re out of control!”

Act I—one of those glorious shots of a formation of B-17s aloft—proud, in order, regal—yet what is going on inside those ships? Anti-aircraft fire begins; “Here comes the friendly flak,” Harvey announces, calmly, as the bursts jostle the planes. Joe radios the bombardier that it’s time he starts earning his money; Ken Velsor, the bombardier, in the nose, jocularly replies that Joe shouldn’t interrupt him “in the middle of his prayers,” and sites down the Norden. Behind him, Dula, with a frantically blank face, hangs on during this run down flak alley. The payload is delivered; Joe asks the crew to watch where they hit; Ken cranes his neck to peer out the Plexiglass nose—as some clouds obscure the site, the bombs are seen hitting fields, far away from the built up area they were released over. –And a ball of flak pounds the Lily, spraying Plexiglass over Harvey and Joe. In the nose, Ken is similarly knocked back and he tumbles into Dula’s arms—who holds him for a split second and then flings him away–a preview of future actions. Another unusual angle—straight on, rather than in the customary profile, Sandy’s face emerges over Joe’s slumped shoulder. As Dula gets hold of himself, and revives and gets Ken back to where he belongs, Sandy takes control of the disaster in the flightdeck, first removing Harvey Stovall, and, in another unusual shot, drags him down to the small platform behind the pilot chairs. He adjusts him and then assumes control of the right yoke, just as Dula, shouting “coming through, coming through,” emerges from the nose, climbs onto the flightdeck shouting, “We’re out of control, we’re out of control!” “I can hold her sir,” Sandy says, and asks him to take care of Stovall who is bleeding badly.

-“I intend to charge him with mutiny”

Dula overrides Sandy’s control and his request. Grabbing the yoke, he shouts “I gave you an order—now out of that seat!” “Sir,” says Sandy neutrally, but his face betrays his fear. Dula orders him back in the turret, which is currently where he does not need to be; there are no fighters. Sandy instead kneels down to Stovall to stop his bleeding. Sgt. Nick Neely, the radioman, then opens the hatch, demanding of Sandy about what is going on; Dula roars for everybody to get back to their stations. Sandy’s had enough, angrily telling Neely to radio “Captain Dula is flying this plane and he’s blown his top!” “I heard that Komansky and I ordered you to get back in the turret!” Neely, his face unsure, withdraws. Gallagher groggily revives and Dula becomes reassuring. “Don’t worry, we’re not going down.” Komansky radios his people to watch for fighters and “yell if they come.” Dula’s assuring qualities snap—“Get back in that turret!” “Maybe you don’t care if this man bleeds to death but I do!” Sandy yells back. Dula does not flinch at this and instead calls up the radio operator, who fortunately is a friend of Komansky’s. “Log the time—six minutes after bombs away—filing an emergency situation on a combat mission—Flight Engineer Technical Sergeant Alexander Komansky resisted authority—and endangered the lives of the crew . . .and I intend to charge him with mutiny.”

Sandy, still with Stovall, hears this—and perhaps is too worried or disbelieving to protest—or too wise, knowing that this is the time to keep his mouth shut. Neely, at the radio, taps his pencil on his jaw—“he’s got to be kidding.” Outside, German fighters surround the lone plane; Sandy’s warning scrambles the crew, and in an exciting fight, Lily lives up to the name “flying fortress” as her 50 calibers defend her from turret, nose, waist and tail . . .and she makes it home and lands under friendly English skies.

“A concussion, sir” – “I’m fine!”

Sandy, the one healthy member of the Three Musqueteers, helps Stovall be lifted out, and placed into an ambulance. At the receiving doors of the base hospital, both he and Joe, and a welcomed face—Doc Kaiser—bend over Harvey Stovall who has been lifted out and placed on the tarmac. Kaiser identifies the wound as a clean slice, concussion—possibly a fracture—and sends him on his way. “And how are you?” he then demands of Joe. “He was out cold sir,” and “concussion,” Sandy gets in, pre-empting Joe’s protests of “I’m fine!” Kaiser hustles Joe away, which means he will miss debriefing; Sandy is losing his protector, but his protector is behaving in some ways like Dula. Sandy starts to follow Joe in and is interrupted by a female voice: “Sandy!” An RAF woman sergeant is calling him; Jeanne Springer. Sandy comes up to her, practically grabs her to engulf her in a hug—no romantic clinch, this is Sandy giving into fears and  responding to a sympathetic face; as it turns out this pretty young woman and Sandy are more friends than lovers; their bond is an airman named Marty.

Sandy gets hold of himself. “Look, I’m sorry, but I may have to cancel out on the shindig tonight.” “Cancel out? Why? I worked very hard on your party.” If Sandy has a response it is cancelled as a Jeep load of personnel stop and men pile out on their way to debriefing. She too looks at them and recognizes Dula—“Did he fly with you today?” “Yeah, I know, Marty’s pilot,” Sandy says; he was one of the buddies of Jeanne’s lover, whom Sandy is not necessarily replacing. “I may be in a spot of trouble myself”—and then puts a reassuring hand on her pretty, concerned face. “Are you in trouble then?” He smiles. “Not enough to get into an uproar about,” he fibs. “I’ll come tonight if I can.”

Sandy dutifully goes into debriefing, and Jeanne walks away, controlling her fears.

-“you were throwing snowballs at Regensburg—you did a terrible job”

Joe sits at his desk at Operations, busily writing; his hands suddenly push away as he is overcome with dizziness—unfortunately, Joe’s spells of dizziness—and Dula’s “fugues” are accompanied by “trembly music” which is a little too cliché for my taste, but it does indicate that Joe’s athletic body and complete command of himself are under assault. Joe tries to push the spell off and then rises to his feet with a trench-coated Britt comes in, saying, “as you were.” His tall stature hides Kaiser, who darts around him and presses Joe down in his chair and peers into his eyes with a miniature light.

This seems a planned maneuver; Kaiser could count on the superior officer to make Joe submit to a second examination, or maybe the first—perhaps Joe escaped from the hospital without being examined. Britt sticks to business. “Well, well, what happened today Joe?” Britt asks. “You were throwing snowballs at Regensburg—you did a terrible job.”

Despite everything, Joe manages a smile. “Be kind to me, General, I may not live”—spooky prophecy. Admitting he did a terrible job, Joe points out “The flak was bad, the weather was bad,” and allows Kaiser to peer into his ears; like Dula, his head is scrambled too, which might lead to his bad decision over Dula’s request to read over the mutiny report . . . “We’ll just have to back and do it all over again.” “How is he?” Britt asks Kaiser instead. “Awful. He has headaches.” “He knows how I feel,” Joe jokes. “Concussion,” Kaiser adds. Joe makes a dismissive noise. “I only wish Harvey Stovall’s head is as hard as this one’s.” Joe asks about his adjutant and receives a report that he will be fine, but he had to shave his head and “he looks like a homesick cueball,” and then digs in. “How long were you unconscious?”

Joe swivels his chair and becomes slightly evasive . . . and then honest: “I don’t really remember anything after ‘bombs away.’” As Britt and Kaiser take this in, Joe tells them they should speak to Captain Dula—“he got us home—I’m going to put him in for a DFC.” Britt demurs—“he’s the man who lost his ship and crew ten days ago over Regensburg . . .he’s scheduled for a pilot evaluation board—he’s not supposed to fly.” Joe explains he volunteered to be the navigator, and “when Harvey and I got clobbered, he took over—I’m sure glad he was along.” It is clear that none of Dula’s behavior got reported; Sandy sat on it; perhaps if Gallagher and Stovall had been well he would have brought the problem to them; or did he opt “to take the problem into himself?”—as Joe once described the “little frightened orphan boy” as doing (“Show Me”). Britt picks up business—Joe needs to get some ideas ready because they must return to Regensburg. “He’ll send the group,” Kaiser announces. “He won’t go.”

“I feel fine,” Joe protests, standing up and immediately faltering. “Okay, I’m grounded,” Joe agrees, and then adds, foolishly—“but just for tonight!”—that statement makes us realize that indeed, Joe Gallagher is not well. “Until I say,” Kaiser says, words Joe picks up and uses to his benefit later on. “That’s firm, Joe,” Britt tells him. As he leaves, he seems to defuse the situation by saying “he wanted to know how you and Harvey were,” and that Joe could drop by Wing at about 8:00 the next morning. “Yes sir,” Joe says quietly, still hanging onto his chair. –

“ . . .they can hang a man for mutiny”

Alone, Joe sits down, shaken, perhaps fearing his future—will he recover? If not, then what . . ? Will he fly again? . . . He looks up when Sgt. Nick Neely appears at the door, holding a sheet of paper. To Joe’s query, he says, “Sir, I’ve got a sort of problem—well, I’ve never logged a mutiny before.” Joe looks sharply at him: “A what?” He is learning there was more going on when he was knocked out, at least more than a heroic Dula doing some commendable flying. “A mutiny sir; I just wanted to make sure I did it right.” The last is an excuse; he has held up the report and then is quietly seeking to inform Joe about the affair.

Joe takes the report and reads it, while Neely stumblingly explains the situation . . . “Well, like it says there sir, mutiny.” Joe tries to get in control of the situation by snapping he was supposed to turn in his log at interrogation—and perhaps it would have helped. Neely confesses his feelings: Dula came to the 918th . . . and in the second mission lost his crew and some friends of ours—“but he came out alive—I don’t know; well, sir, he was yelling and hollering and acting pretty wild up there today.” “Are you charging him or are you judging him?” Joe demands. He too becomes evasive. “All I know sir . . . well, Komansky and I have been friends a long, long time.” “Your neck isn’t long enough to stick that far out.” “Well, sir, we know, uh, Komansky sounds off a little loud at times but . . .maybe he was out of line, but I don’t think it was mutiny sir . . .they can hang a man for mutiny.”

-“ . . . he’s an awful man, Sandy”

Grim words—and cut to—a birthday cake!—a wartime-teeny chocolate affair with a single candle and inscribed “Happy Birthday, Sandy K.” Has any character celebrated a birthday?—I don’t think so. In the oddest way we have ever seen him, Sandy sports a frothy yellow party hat as he blows out the candle; his slightly boisterous behavior—and his loosened tie–covers up his worries. Friends cheer him and he gets a gift of a handmade muffler which he slings jauntily about his neck—“How d’you like that?” he asks, as the guests cut the tiny cake, and Jeanne answers the door, emitting a WAC and Sgt. Neely. He laughs at Sandy’s get-up; Sandy grins back but he is deeply touched by Jeanne’s gift, which looks like her picture; it would be interesting to see it! He joins Jeanne in the tiny kitchen and says in a heartfelt voice, “thank you.” Her “you’re welcome” is brave enough for Sandy to ask, touching his finger to her chin, “What’s wrong tonight?” “Nothing,” she says and carries the tea tray to the table.

Nick Neely sympathetically intercepts Sandy, saying the colonel wants to see him “but not to break up the party.” “What about?” “The ruckus upstairs this morning.” They see Jeanne regarding them and he playfully touches the muffler much like Sandy touched Jeanne’s chin—“You are beginning to look a little older, you know.” He leaves and Jeanne asks what is going on. This time Sandy says, “Nothing.” “He’s an awful man Sandy,” she states, unfooled. Sandy, perhaps to protect himself—or, indeed, revealing his maturity exemplified by his birthday party, demurs—he did get himself into this—and he did more or less ignore an order. “He’s a man nobody knows,” she says. “Marty was scared to fly with him.” “Scared? He only flew with him once.” –This is a difficult part of the story, which I don’t think is referred to again—I think it was added to help build a case against Dula and also to help the men not look so hot-headed, including the American POW who writes a letter to her. Dula’s actions are not completely isolated; there is a history. “No, he flew with him twice. He flew with him once—and again  . . . my Marty’s dead because he flew with him.”

She turns away. Sandy can only put his arms around her; and by now, he probably wants her arms around him in comfort as well.

-“mutiny is a pretty strong charge . . .”

Act II begins on a calm and organized note; the meetings and set-tos becomes more and more ambiguous, and finally ends in confusion and horror. Commencing with the typical scene of Operations at night, Dula reports to Joe who, despite his defiant words, is grounded, literally, at his desk, refusing to let headaches or dizziness stop him, at least here. Recovered from his enforced sleep, Dula is greeted seriously but cordially by Gallagher, who kindly asks him to take a seat. He apologizes for being so late, but Kaiser gave him some knock-out drops . . . “How do you feel?” he then asks Joe. He’s not being cagey, he is truly concerned. “Not bad,” Joe answers and gets to business; typically, Joe does not plunge into accusations or demands, rather, he “unpacks” the situation, offering “wiggle room” not only for Dula but for the absent Neely: “Look, Cal, I have your log sheets here—your radioman slipped up—and didn’t turn them in.”

“Oh,” Dula responds, concerned but not disturbed. “It was kind of a bad go up there today, sir.”

Joe pauses a split second, unsure about Dula’s completely calm demeanor—and evasive answer. He gets up and comes over to Dula: “Mutiny is a pretty strong charge,” he begins. Dula’s face flexes. “Komansky,” he says; he seems to be guessing. “Yes, and Sgt. Komansky’s record here is outstanding—and knowing him as well as I do he must have been extremely upset and worried about Major Stovall and me . . . and also, what he did, according to Sgt. Neely, probably saved Major Stovall’s life.” There’s a lot going on in that statement; Joe desires to let Dula reconsider his remarks, as well as Joe’s own history with the touchy young man: his successful tearing down of Sandy’s walls, his pride in his accomplishments, and that he knows him, probably better than anybody. Dula’s face reveals he is searching for answers; and his answers reveal that not only does he lack memory, he’s concealing his lack and fleeing from the concealing . . .like Joe who tried to cover up his dizziness but failed–by honesty. Dula responds, but it is based on the data Joe gave him—he’s not questioning Komansky’s guts or loyalty, but “he, uh, violated . . . discipline.” Getting a concerned look from Joe, “Look, I don’t want to crucify anybody—if you want me to withdraw the charge–“ by now, he might be happy to! Joe sharply rebuts this; after all, he read out Komansky for mouthing off about Dula. “I’m not asking you to withdraw anything, Captain, but mutiny is the wrong charge—Now I know that JAEG will knock that charge right down—there’s no evidence of collusion.” Dula cannot conceal his confusion, and this angers Joe. “Unless there’s more to this than what you logged.” “Well, I uh, only logged the incident, didn’t I?” These evasive statements will surely haunt Joe when he starts demanding an investigation. “Well, I don’t know—don’t you remember what you logged?” “It’s not a charge,” Dula says. “I’d have to think over what happened—I’ll try to put it down as honestly as I can. I don’t want to hurt him.” The statement is a fascinating blend of honesty and obfuscation. By now he realizes that he has roused Gallagher’s sense of protectiveness over his sergeant and seeks to reassure his CO; far worse, he also senses that he has exposed himself.

-“how Marty died . . . nobody knows about it”

Cut to a shadow on wallpaper and Jeanne’s hand taking a letter from a concealed place, and she sits down with Sandy at the table where he is drinking tea. The small party is over; but the banner “Happy Birthday” poignantly hangs from the fireplace mantel—there is little happiness here; Sandy’s under a cloud and Jeanne must deal with still extremely raw memories and perform a painful act. “You remember Jimmy Sinclair?” she asks. “One of Captain Dula’s gunners,” Sandy replies. “He was the only survivor,” she tells him. Actually, she is mistaken; both he and Dula survived; however, there is truth in the statement; Dula in many ways, is “dead.” Jeanne goes on to explain that Jimmy Sinclair is in a POW hospital in Germany—and the letter, which explains how Marty died, came through the Red Cross—“nobody knows about it.”

Now here is a classic use of a letter—to bring forth information from a distant point; this information both enlightens and complicates, and moreover, it is information in the hands of the receiver, who possesses the ability to conceal or expose it. As Sandy unfolds the letter, Jeanne stands up and walks away, revealing how she takes the letter’s information at face value—“Sandy, he deserted those nine men in that aircraft and whatever he says is a lie!” “I can’t see why you withheld it,” Sandy says, joining her. “One minute you’re hating him, the next moment you’re protecting him.” “I’m not protecting him,” she says. “I don’t want this whitewashed or shoved away”—she is waiting for the “right moment” for the letter to expose the pilot. “I was wondering why you were afraid of Dula,” Sandy says. As it turns out, Marty was afraid of him too, though for unknown reasons—“He wouldn’t say anything,” she tells, “it was just something he felt.” She sits down and tries to figure things out and her answer is emotional and evasive. She says that Marty was a good and decent man; Sandy adds that he was a good flight engineer . . . “I just don’t want to be alone,” she finishes.

The statement is simple but so full of human fears. Perhaps holding onto the letter will allow her to hold on Marty a little longer as her lover; expose the letter and Marty will turn into a public figure–Dula’s victim–and like it or not, Dula will get all the attention. Sandy well understands her. “Nobody does,” he says, and leaves her . . .the poignancy of this moment is a little ruined by him seeming to leave her flat (you can just hear the door close) with his tied still untied and without a jacket—Sandy, come back here and get dressed!

-“if this is taken to a general court—I’ll fight for my life”

Back on the base, Sandy has taken a daring step—he has sought Dula out in his quarters; the scene is ambivalent in its mixture of threats and honesty. Taking a chapter from Joe’s book, Sandy provides Dula some “wiggle room,” and a chance to step back, though these humane offers are silently rejected by the befuddled man—before they are tentatively accepted.

As the scene opens, a quiet but not contrite Komansky is speaking to the captain: “I’m not very proud of the way I spoke to you this morning but I was scared for the skipper and Major Stovall—and I still feel what I did was right.” Dula is open but not forthcoming: “Well, I told the Colonel I never questioned about your . . . intestinal fortitude.” Sandy is not fobbed off: “I’m going to report to him now and if this is taken to a general court—I’ll fight for my life.” Sandy lays it on the line; Dula can only stand up, find a cigarette, tap it . . . his back to Komansky, he says “Sergeant, I’ve never been one to call by the rulebook . . .but you . . .” he lights the cigarette; it’s obviously to calm himself and give him a moment to dig up an answer of some kind. “. . .kicked the rulebook right in the pants . . and that can’t be done, you know that, don’t you?” Sandy looks at him; the energy with which this statement was delivered exposes rather than covers up its banality. The keenly intelligent sergeant might realize that he is dealing with a kind of ghost—and he has gotten himself into a sticky situation—if he goes to Gallagher with this information he exposes a man that he knows he owes something to—and also look like a squealer. Taking the information to Dula first however exposes his knowledge to the man . . . Sandy takes one of the two evils; they are both pretty much even. “Look, I’ve got a card to lay on the table,” he says, and then seems to reach into jacket—though the letter never appears in the scene and ends up being stashed in his footlocker (script rumple?). He admits that he knows he will sound “like a lousy black mailer.” He fixes his inimitable stare on Dula’s blankly anxious face. “The day of your second mission—eight men died—there was a survivor.”

-“you flew us home and for that that I thank you sir”

“How do you know that? Who’s the man?” “Gunner Jimmy Sinclair.” Sandy relates what the letter told him. Sinclair went to the flightdeck, found the co-pilot dead and the pilot missing, and the plane on autopilot—“there was never an order to bail out.”

Dula is shocked: “That’s not true!”

Sandy continues with his painful recital. The engineer Marty was a friend of his—and his friend and Jimmy found the bomb bay doors open—they went out, but Marty’s parachute failed to open—“where was the pilot, sir? Did he leave before?” “Now look,” Dula says, rising, which brings Sandy to his feet. “I would not desert a ship without a bail out order! . . .now how do you know this?” A letter, Sandy tells him. “So you came here to threaten me,” Dula says…

Sandy is adamant—“No, I’ll try to keep the letter out—if I can’t, I didn’t want to surprise you out of left field sir.” “Out of the kindness of your big, juicy heart,” Dula responds. and Sandy turns to leave—Dula calls him back and they confront each other, toe to toe, face to face. “Now why did you come here? I want the truth.” The truth probably surprises Dula—Sandy is truthful, grateful, blunt as hell: he was scared during the mission, he thought Dula was scared too—in a total panic—but “whatever it was sir, you flew us home and for that I thank you sir.”

The image of “home” is often used by these men referring to the cold and ugly base of the 918th; in Sandy’s case, it has become his first real home by means of Joe Gallagher and the word and images recurs, later, poignantly. Sandy turns to leave and then turns back. “I don’t believe you’d desert your aircraft sir but if we fight, I want to keep it clean.” By now, Sandy is frightened and angry and his next words are fast and jumbled—“if I say anything more it sounds like I’m bargaining, good night sir.” He leaves, and a stunned Dula turns around, his face struggling to remember, or revealing that he is struggling not to remember. The truth may be too terrible.

-“I’ve learned that the sergeant is a highly irregular guy”

In Operations, a peeved Joe is taking a phone call from Britt; the mission to Regensburg is on and every word out of his mouth indicates his aggravation at being grounded due to being on the sick list—which he will then coolly use against Britt very soon. He tells the attending officer to pull out the file on Regensburg; as he does so, Sandy comes in from the party after his detour through Dula’s quarters: “Reporting as ordered sir,” he says. The new assignment has rearranged priorities; Joe, bent on the mission, does not bother to deal with the mutiny charges and directs the faithful Sandy to his duties—with an ever so slight look of surprise on his face, he says “Yes sir,” and leaves—relieved? Worried? We learn that since Joe is down, Major Cross will lead; and into this flurry comes Captain Dula requesting a word with him.

Joe directs him to his office. As Joe talks on the phone with a “Bud” about planes and their readiness, Dula goes into Joe’s office—and he sees the log on the desk. Perhaps Dula has come in to “come clean” with Joe, as Sandy has “come clean” with him–but he finds another seemingly easy out and takes it—he removes the sheet with the mutiny charge, folds it and pockets it—when Joe comes in, Dula perhaps has changed his reasons for being here; he volunteers for navigation duty again. “Captain, are you trying to build yourself a case for the pilot board?” Joe asks. “I just can’t sit around here,” he says, and perhaps truthfully—he is running from memories, and there’s nothing like a bombing mission to divert your thoughts.

Joe doesn’t like it, but admits he is shorthanded—and if the doctor will certify Dula, he will fly, “because I need every hand I can get, including Komansky.” “Uh . . .” Dula is hoist on his own petard—and confesses what he has done. “I want to study the charges made against the sergeant . . . is it all right if I return it tomorrow?” he asks as Joe confirms there is a page missing. It’s a double-edged situation—it seems, and it may be a friendly gesture from a contrite man; it may also be a destroying of evidence . . . Joe decides to trust him, and this incident later becomes to Joe evidence of Dula’s design to kill his sergeant. “It’s highly irregular,” Joe says. “Well, I’ve learned that the sergeant is a highly irregular guy,” Dula says—so irregular that he wants to kill him, or, does his statement mean that he is bending, and wishes to make amends? . . . “Strange, one of these pages is missing,” Joe announces. “Thank you sir,” Dula says and leaves. Joe watches him depart; the look on his face is not quite readable . . . and his face “dissolves” into B-17s in flight . . .

-“yeah, sure . . .”

With Major Cross at the controls, all seems well on the lead plane, but this is belied by Sandy suddenly accosting Neely in the radio room.  The easygoing Nick—though these qualities are thin; they will evaporate quickly– warns him, merrily, that he’d better return to his turret before Dula gets him for desertion. Sandy ignores his breezy advice to tell him about the letter—it’s in his footlocker and that it belongs to Jeanne. “What’s it say?” Neely asks, a bit slyly. “I don’t want anybody to see it—if I should buy the farm I want you to take it to Jeanne and nobody else—will you ask her to burn it?”—taut advice and to what point? First, to keep Jeanne out of a painful situation and second, as indicated by his last words to Dula, he is trying to protect the man; reflection has convinced Sandy that Dula, who so ably vaulted to duty when Gallagher and Stovall were taken out, would not have deserted his crew without warning; perhaps the bail-out bell failed to work. The letter might serve to convict him, and Sandy is simply not sure. “Yeah, sure,” Neely says, thinking this is some romantic kerfuffle; letters have a way of doing that.

The flak begins; Sandy climbs into his turret and the bomb run commences. Once more Ken sends the bombs down, with a wary but calm Dula in the back; the fighters come in with Sandy announcing “they’re coming in at 9:00 and headed for the leader.” The fight commences, and casualties pile up—the co-pilot is struck, Ken is injured and Sandy, in his turret, jerks as bullets tear into his leg (the lack of blood here is unfortunate; he seems more nicked than struck). He spills onto the flight deck and slithers head-down in the crawlway, calling to the captain for help. Cross calls for the crew to report, and asks Neely to get up to the flightdeck. He does so and sees the co-pilot—“don’t bother with him, he’s dead” announces Cross, and tells him to get into the turret. Sandy’s words recur to him. “Where’s Komansky?” he demands. “He’s been hit—he’s in the crawlway.”

-“no . . . no . . .”

The next few minutes are nearly silent; there are close-ups of Sandy’s wincing face; Dula’s twisting of the tourniquet; Sandy passed out from pain; Dula’s twitching face, then hands fastening on a parachute; Sandy coming to alarmed; a hand knocking out the hatchway door . . . a struggle starts with Sandy saying “no . . . no . . .” as Dula remorselessly drags him to the hatch. Ken, wounded, also sees this and cries “Captain, you can’t do that!” He struggles to him and Dula pushes him away. “No, sir, no . . .” Sandy says, his eyes wild as he forced to the opening. A second’s cut to a hand fastening the pull line to a handle can be missed—but is it a red herring? Dula fastens the clasps. Neely drops down from the turret to see and then reaches out to help his buddy; Sandy frantically reaches out for his hands, but Dula finishes his work and pitches Sandy out. Neely gets to deliver the hysteria that Joe cannot without having his own mental stability questioned—the sergeant seizes Dula’s jacket and yells “You murderer—you murderer!”

-“Neely says you killed Sergeant Komansky . . .don’t you remember?”

Act III starts with a plane coming, seemingly, easily in . . .but cut to a Jeep tearing away from the tower. Having the camera mounted on the Jeep the viewer can join Dula who is driving hell for leather to the base hospital; his haste  propounds his sense of fear. He drives the Jeep by a huddle of hospital workers and stops as Kaiser is seen to climb down from the ambulance. He goes to assist Kaiser with Neely who is dazedly being helped out. “Get a litter for this man,” Kaiser directs. Neely’s breezy ways have become hysteria; “killer, killer!” he shouts as lunges at the captain. As he is carried away he roars “you killed him! you killed him!” Dula recovers, but barely; he is leaning against the Jeep. He throws his hands out as Kaiser asks “What happened in that airplane?” Helping to bring Neely in, Kaiser had probably gotten an earful.

“Wounded—we had wounded.”

“Neely says you killed Sgt. Komansky . . . don’t you remember?” That’s the second time that question has come up.

“CAPTAIN! Sergeant Komansky and I have been together a long time!”

Dula, of course, does not remember; the camera cuts to his incredulous face, as he stands in Operations. He has been questioned and he is saying, frantically calling upon his raddled memory, “I can remember thinking—we are still two hours away from England—and I didn’t think he could live two hours—“

The camera pulls back revealing Cross at the door and Gallagher at his desk. The Colonel has his head turned down away from him, and is staring, in shock and anger, at nothing. “Look, I questioned what I was doing myself—I thought I was right—“ Cross interrupts him. “Why didn’t you check with me before you threw him out?!” “I guess—I guess—I didn’t think there was time—“

“You guess?” Gallagher comes to his feet and speaks to Cross. “Major, I have to withdraw from this—you take it up with General Britt—“ He falters. “Take it up with him—“

“Colonel, you don’t think—“

“CAPTAIN! Sergeant Komansky and I have been together a long time—now this will have to be investigated by somebody a lot more impersonal that I am—get out.” Joe has never said such words to anybody—and then he goes to the windows toward which he often turns in confusion, weariness and grief. Cross gets the stunned Dula to follow him out. Kaiser comes in and Gallagher comes to; shock or not, he starts asking questions. He learns that the wounded bombardier, also a witness, was questioned, and “He agrees that he threw Komansky out—he wasn’t as shocked as the radioman—and Sgt. Neely wants to see you.”

“Okay,” Joe says in an oddly meek voice.

His office dissolves into the sight of Joe’s hand placing the letter on Jeanne’s table where the night before she and Sandy discussed it.

– “he did it to get rid of him”

Jeanne is bent over, her hands around the back of her neck as she finishes hearing Joe’s relation—he probably had to tell her what happened—and then relates Neely’s words—if something were to happen to Sandy she was to get the letter back—“he wanted you to burn it.” She takes the letter, gets up, and wrapping her arms around herself, goes to the fireplace; she is struggling with grief and guilt—if she had not given Sandy the letter . . . and starts her own investigation. “Who was up in that airplane, was it Captain Dula?” When Joe affirms this, she looks at him. “He made the decision, didn’t he?” “Yes, he did.” “Well, I think he did it to get rid of him.”

This is new to Joe; prior to her words he must think that Dula heaved Sandy out as the result of their clash; there’s more.

She flourishes the letter at him, saying she knows that Dula has seen it.–Well, at least he knew of it; though Sandy seems to reach into his jacket to get the letter, it is never seen, suggesting Sandy put it into his footlocker first; but this is not clear. Jeanne tells Joe flatly that the letter was given to him and “because Sandy told him–and that’s why Sandy’s dead.” Joe takes the letter back, removes it from its outer envelope, opens the pages and begins reading.

-“Well, I’ll take it into consideration for what it’s worth”

Cut to Wing in the night (the lighted windows of which always bother me!)—Britt has been given the letter which Joe has presented to him as some sort of evidence. Now let’s retrace its path from this point—Joe gave Britt the letter. Joe, on Sandy’s request, tried to give the letter back to Jeanne, relaying Sandy’s request to burn it. She asks him to read it, and he thus keeps it. Joe was told about the letter by Neely, whom Sandy requested, if he died, to find the letter and give it back. Sandy used the letter as a kind of bargaining chip with Dula. Sandy was given the letter by Jeanne to learn about Dula. The letter, delivered through the Red Cross to Jeanne, was written by a survivor   . . . see what I mean about epistolarity?

The camera pulls back at Britt reads it, revealing Joe, who is cautiously watching him reading it. Britt glances back at Joe who then, oddly, turns his face away, perhaps not wanting to reveal his emotions. Britt’s words are not, considering the man’s experience and rank, surprising: “Well, I’ll take this into consideration, for what it’s worth.” “For what it’s worth?” Joe’s “impudence” flares up. “It’s worth a man’s life—eight men and the life of my flight engineer—“ Britt bluntly puts things into jarring perspective: “A letter allegedly written by a wounded POW in Germany”—accusing a pilot of bailing out of plane without giving warning.Joe fights back, but reasonably; Joe’s intelligence tells him that Britt’s doubts must be entertained. “General, if this letter but touches on the truth . . . it may get to the truth of what happened to Komansky!” “You believe he shoved Komansky out of the airplane to cover this up?” “I’m ready to believe anything sir—I don’t know—maybe he did it to try to save Komansky’s life—I hope so.”

He turns, walks away, and gathers himself before speaking about things he was glossing over before. “General, I know my objectivity is shot to pieces—but I believe there’s something wrong with Dula—he’s vague—and quite often very evasive—well, ask the witnesses—ask the members of the crew—“ “I’m sorry to keep punching holes in your little balloon,” Britt says dryly, but then tells that he has spoken briefly with Neely and Velsor and “I plan to go into greater detail here, tomorrow morning.” “What time?” “I haven’t set a time.” “I want to be here.” “All right, you’ll be notified,” Britt says, gesturing with the letter. “I’ll keep this here.” Joe salutes and leaves.

Alone, Britt nearly tosses the letter aside—too hot a potato, or does he think it’s trash? Hard to tell but his doubts are valid; letters are tricky, they can reveal the truth, and they can also lie and the writer was an angry and wounded man, probably on painkillers. Britt’s next action seems dismissive, but is taken to help Joe Gallagher. Like Joe knows Sandy, Britt probably knows Joe better than anybody, and understands Joe and Sandy’s devotion to each other—best to waylay a professional and public blowing up; it would destroy his best group commander whom he takes pride in because he gets the job done and indeed, cares for at times like a father to a son. He gets on the phone to Pritchard (last seen, “The Slaughter Pen”?) and asks “if there might not be some nice easy target someplace—to assign the 918^th tomorrow morning?”

-“don’t patronize me!—there’s something wrong with Dula”

Cut to Operations where Harvey, head well-bandaged, is working; Kaiser has mentioned that the hospital is crowded, but I wonder if Harvey, after hearing what has happened, volunteered to be released to help Joe at this time. At the teletype, he puts on his glasses to read the message and tears it off as Joe charges through the door. In his distracted state he greets Harvey and then suddenly asks “What are you doing here?” Harvey admits that he’s getting by on pills—and “they’re to stand by for a new ball tomorrow morning.” Joe snatches the teletype as Harvey tells him that Pritchard is requesting that he lead the mission—“Funny, the order didn’t come from Wing, it came directly down from Bomber Command.” “General Pritchard my eye—it came from General Britt—he’s hearing Dula tomorrow and he doesn’t want me to be there–“ “Joe, maybe you’d better not be there,” Harvey says, firmly and gently.

He swings on Harvey. “Don’t patronize me!—there’s something wrong with Dula—I can see it—I can sense it—I’m gonna find out what it is!—I’m gonna—“ He stops himself. Harvey regards Joe without anger. “I’m sorry Harvey.” He slaps his cap on the desk and sits down and puts his head on the back of his neck. “There must be something wrong with me.”

Yes, wrong, in that Joe did not get on top of Dula’s case from the beginning. Being a sole survivor happens, but the normally sharp Colonel Gallagher was missing warning signals. But Joe is not only banged up, he has got to be tired—exhausted by war, by flying, by administration, by knuckleheads, by loss of planes and crews; so exhausted that Dula’s cheerful evasiveness went right past him and he must feel he played into Dula’s hands by giving him the page from the log. Events then played together so wretchedly that his trusted man, with whom he fought with, argued with, taught, learned by, depended on and has come to love has been lost, possibly murdered. Joe is overwhelmed with guilt and plays hardball with his future.

-“I’m still suffering some side effects of that concussion”

B-17s taking off on that milk run . . . and the scene changes to Wing, opening with a focus on a model B-17. Britt stands by the window, apparently watching the planes disappearing—taking Gallagher with them—before turning to business, which is far more complicated than the “simple bomb run.” Dula, accompanied by Dr. Kaiser, listens as Britt reviews his record—commercial flying, submarine patrols—“why did you want to fly combat?” Dula’s reply is typically evasive: “Well, uh, sir, I never had and I thought I should.”

As Britt adjoins, “Now, at the time—“ and Joe quietly enters, through the curtains. “Colonel, you were ordered on a mission,” Britt says, flummoxed by his impudent protégé, who is now using his sidelined status for his own use.

Joe looks at Britt defiantly. “I’m still suffering some side effects of that concussion. I thought it wouldn’t be wise for me to fly today.” When Britt has no response to this, Joe adds, “I’m sure Doc Kaiser can examine me.” “All right, all right,” Britt says. “It’s probably true,” Kaiser agrees and it turns out to be true. “Well, in that event, I request to stay,” Joe says and then adds, openly—“I have a personal stake in the matter.” Britt, caught, motions with his head for Joe to sit at the desk. Joe does, like a dutiful student, but his eyes steadily meet the annoyed glance that Britt directs to him. He also picks up the letter.

The questioning begins, with Britt telling Dula that the flight during which he logged Komansky for mutiny was only his third mission. “Sir, we came to an understanding,” Dula begins. “An understanding?” Britt queries. “I came to . . .understand . . . the sergeant better,” Dula says, still desperately trying to cover up. “The next day, Komansky was wounded and you couldn’t stop the bleeding,” Britt continues and Kaiser intervenes. “Where was the wound?” “Well, it was . . . upon the leg.”

“Where?—here?—here?” Kaiser says, pointing to his own leg.

“What difference does it make?”—typical Dula maneuver, attacking his questioners, making it sound as if they care more about the location of the wound than the fact the sergeant had been wounded. Kaiser has a calm answer. “Well, it would take an expert to stop certain types of hemorraghing.” “Oh no,” Dula answers. “I couldn’t stop the blood, that’s all I can remember.” “So was it easier to dump him out of the airplane than find someone who could help you?” Dula becomes direct and forceful. “I thought somebody one the ground could help him better, otherwise I wouldn’t have done it!”

“Where exactly were you at the time?” Britt asks. “Where–?” “Where were you?” Britt now demands. Joe can no longer keep silent. “Don’t you remember, Cal?” he demands, echoing the question Kaiser asked him the day before upon hearing Neely accusing Dula of murder. Dula obfuscates. “General, no matter where we were it was only minutes to the ground and hours away from England—now somebody down there would find him—wouldn’t they? I mean, wouldn’t they?”

Silence.

-“I CAN’T REMEMBER!”

“All right,” Britt begins and Joe rises, who ignores Britt’s warning of “Colonel!” “Cal, where were you when you threw him out?” “There was a lot of confusion up there, I don’t remember exactly where we were.” “Exactly where was Komansky hit?” “Well, I told you, somewhere on the leg.”  “I’ve worked on many hemorrhages and I remember everyone of them exactly!” “Okay, you can remember—I can’t!” Joe sticks his face into Dula’s; by now Britt knows it is better to retire and let Joe have the field, and devil take the hindmost. “Okay, do you remember what you did after you threw him out?” “Not exactly.” “Or what he did that made you accuse him of mutiny?” “He resisted authority.” Joe jerks back with a disgusted noise; some of the disgust may be directed toward himself. “Cal, I asked you about mutiny in my office and you didn’t remember until you took a look at the log sheets.” “Well, they were on your desk,” Dula says, trying to throw the responsibility to Joe. “Exactly what orders did he disobey?” Joe demands.

Dula, out of words, gestures and then puts his hand to his mouth.

Joe changes tact. “All right—did you ring the bail-out bell?” “The bell?” “Yes, on your second mission.” “Do you think I would abandon ship without giving a bail-out order?” He looks around at the men surrounding him, seeking their help. “Am I going to accused of desertion—and murder?” “There’s a British girl,” Joe says, turning to fetch the evidence. Quick as thought, Britt stops him, planting the base of his cane on the letter. This scene reminds me of the bomb run in “Burden of Guilt,” in which Joe refuses orders to turn back; they’ve come too far not to continue the mission. Joe tumbles on almost frantically about a British girl who received a letter from a POW in Germany—“When I want that introduced, I’ll do it,” Britt thunders. “You have to let me pin this down!” Joe demands.

Dula’s finally had enough—of them, and of hiding. He rises, and finally admits that he knows about the letter—and he knows about the girl—“Komansky told me—I know the way he said it, it had to be a girl.” Joe now picks up the letter without Britt’s interference. “He laid the letter on the line for me—he said he wanted to be fair—but I think he also wanted to keep her from being dragged in and hurt—more than she already has been. She—believes—“ “Don’t you see it’s an easy thing to accuse you of throwing Komansky overboard—because of this?” Britt says, now being the one to accuse him. “Now look,” Joe says, bearing in and down, but keeping the issues straight. “She can accuse you—so can Neely—so can Velsor—but the letter does indicate that you left the ship—quit being vague and evasive—and screaming you can’t remember!”

“I CAN’T REMEMBER!”

To Kaiser’s calming question, “What are you saying?—that you black out?” Dula confesses that he does not know what happens. “I never had any trouble in the air until they shot me up. It’s like a nightmare going through my mind—and once it’s over—I can piece it together—but when the shooting starts—I can’t remember—now if they accuse me I can’t even defend myself.”

-“they found him!”

A disturbance behind the curtains; once more, an uninvited guest comes into the hearing. (I wonder how Jeanne Springer was privy to the information and then made it that far into Wing headquarters; however, maybe she is an RAF liaison, which also explains why she was at the 918^th.) Jeanne, a true smile on her face, and uncaring of rank, puts her hands on Joe’s arms—“they found him!”

“Komansky?” Joe demands. At this, Kaiser jumps up, patting Dula on the shoulder; Jeanne says he was found near a forward base in Foulard, France.

Dula’s face melts with agonized relief and joy; Joe grins like the sun, and even Britt smiles at this miraculous turn of events.

-“Okay, you lose awareness under pressure—but you do perform”

Another dissolve . . .to a single B-17 taking off; it’s accompanied by a wave of jubilant music as it journeys to bring a nearly lost sheep home. Well or not, Joe is flying the plane, with Kaiser and Dula in attendance—but Kaiser tells Dula that “Joe will need some help.” “He should have brought somebody else,” Dula says. “I’m grateful but the only reason I’m here is because I want to see Komansky alive—I can’t go up to that cockpit.” Kaiser points out that there is nobody left on the base to fly, and “it’s only a simple hop across the Channel—and I’m no good up there.” “Anybody’d be better than me.” “Okay, you lose awareness under pressure—but you do perform.” Dula still declines; he’s not a member of the crew; though he does stand to benefit from this flight . . .”I appreciate that,” Dula says. “Then participate.” “Major, I don’t belong in the air—if anything happened up there . . .”

In the cockpit, something does happen—Joe suffers an attack of dizziness. Hanging onto himself, he calls for Dula’s help; and he is putting the plane on auto-pilot. Dula, once eager to help, now sits and stares. Kaiser goes up and joins Joe, who has his hands over his eyes. Perhaps out of pride—a bit like Dula—he lowers them to appear all right–but he has asked for help . . .

-“You okay?” – “Yes sir—let’s go home.”

Epilogue, with Sandy, face down on a stretcher, his flight jacket thrown over him, is brought on board from the field hospital. In some ways, his and Joe’s reunion in the field hospital not being shown—maybe for sake of time—is a little disappointing, but, I have also learned, probably for the better. Sentimental scenes can quickly become a little too much—or not quite enough—and it’s frequently best to leave these things to the viewer’s imagination. In “Between the Lines,” a possibly sentimental reunion was averted when Joe and Sandy end up yelling at each other!—for good reason.

“You okay?” Joe asks.

“Yes sir—let’s go home,” Sandy answer raising his head and shoulders up.. The 918^th has been home for them both a long time, and I think in the orphaned Sandy’s case, wherever Joe Gallagher is, that’s where his heart finds its home. Joe starts toward the cockpit but Sandy stops him when he speaks to Dula—“Captain, they told me when they sewed me up—I would have at least lost my leg—thanks.” Joe turns, probably pleased with Sandy’s graciousness, and then suffers a dizzy spell. He speaks firmly this time; Dula must come forward with him—Dula slaps Sandy on the shoulder, now feeling more confident with seeing him, and buoyed by his thanks. With him gone, Sandy, wonderfully, asks about Dula’s future; his has been salvaged!–but what about him? Kaiser tells him that he will receive psychiatric therapy, “but I don’t think he’ll fly anymore.”

On the flightdeck, Joe gets in first—and settles authoritatively in the right seat. Dula know what this means; “Colonel, I don’t think I’m fit for this.” “I know I’m not,” Joe responds—he has learned his own lesson, from Dula’s example, about not playing with other people’s lives because you’re ashamed of your health being damaged. Dula, with his masks torn away, is brutally honest. “Sir, you never deserted a ship and crew.” “Maybe you didn’t either. Maybe with treatment you’ll find that you didn’t do anything wrong—I have a hunch that’s how these blackouts started”—a bit of armchair psychiatry, but Joe’s seen a lot in his tenure of CO, and he can see how Dula’s sense of guilt for being a survivor turned him down a dark path. “That’s where these blackouts started—in the air,” Dula tells him.

Joe is blunt but sympathetic—“this may be the last time you fly. You have me and Doc Kaiser to back you up and right now you’re in much better shape than I am. Well come on,” he then says, “I’m betting on you.” With that, these two injured men start the plane—to bring Sandy home after “the ride of his life,” and also to bring Dula down to the ground. He may never rise into the sky as a pilot again, but he’s learned and faced the truth about himself and is on the road to living again, after being “a long time dead.”

“The Hunters and the Killers”

Writer: G.B. Anderson

Director: Robert Douglas

The last episode?—say it isn’t so! But it is .  .  . and for the last time we get to see Joe, Harvey, Sandy, General Britt and Doc Kaiser on duty at Archbury, and in the air. I imagine that when this episode filmed, the fate of TOCH was a little unsure—the ratings were respectable but not spectacular and sponsors were getting a little hard to secure. I don’t find an absolute air of finality in this episode; but there are some qualities which denote that when the episode was prepared for transmission, they knew/suspected it would be the final one—particularly exemplified in the throat-choking moment at the very end when Britt stares up at the single Flying Fortress: this image can mean several things—persistence, “the show goes on” despite what has happened to Colonel Gallagher, and a salute to the fallen . . . And also there are aspects of the episode that seem to be “one last glimpse” of the conventions of the show —the story features its full cast of characters with everybody having “some good scenes;” the Star and Bottle (which is weirdly almost destroyed in a brawl); Operations (both the Chino set and the studio mock-up), Harvey, no longer “just an adjutant,” but a trusted pilot flying left seat; Sandy in hot water, in his turret, and in his capacities of flight engineer, aide, and “love interest”…Bob Fowler checks in one more time… and Joe Gallagher in full profile: son of a noteworthy general, driven, impudent, innovative, troubled, selfless, and compassionate . . . to an old acquaintance: an enemy of sorts, whom he transforms into a friend. Finally, of course, the mission: as noted previously in “Long Time Dead,” in some episodes, while there is a mission (in this case, bomb Regensburg), it tends to be in the background of the real drama, which is Calvin Dula’s irrational behavior. Other episodes’ drama develop directly out of the mission—such as “Fortress Weisbaden” in which Joe and Sandy join commandos to destroy a fire control center. In “The Hunters and the Killers,” the mission is paramount: to destroy the last—yes, last–remaining “wolf pack.” The mission hatches problems, brings enemies together, demands different thinking, destroys planes and personnel, but is ultimately done . . .though at the cost of Joe Gallagher . . . and does he recover as Britt says he will?

All is directed by Robert Douglas, a solid, dependable director who seems to have directed the most episodes at least in Seasons I and II and whose works swings from dependable if pedestrian, to inventive and sharp.

Beginnings and endings . . . they are interesting to study: In “Loneliest Place,” the episode that kicked off the “Gallagher-Komansky” episodes begins with a confident Joe Gallagher, at the controls of “The Leper Colony,” leading the formation, and questioning a possible problem with “Piccadilly Lily”—which soon after is preyed upon by a pirate ship, and goes down. At the end of “The Hunters and The Killers,” our last view clear view of Joe Gallagher is of him leaving the controls of his plane—presumably Piccadilly Lily—the ship is going to be a fireball soon and he and the crew are bailing out—and down goes the plane into the Atlantic. Our last almost-glimpse of Joe is him on a stretcher, being carried into the base hospital. The last words of the series are spoken by Sandy—“No sir,” he tells Britt, but this confirms the General’s assurance that Joe will be okay. (Interestingly enough, the first words of Season III are also spoken by Sandy: “How much more are they gonna pile on us, Colonel?”) “Loneliest Place” also set the tone for Joe Gallagher’s tenure as commander of the 918^th which may very well conclude in “Hunters and the Killers.” In “Loneliest Place,” Britt tells him of Savage, “They tell me he was one of a kind,” to which Joe replied, “I believe we are all one of a kind.” Joe’s command  philosophy was demonstrated again in “Gauntlet of Fire” when an exhausted Joe chose danger, chose to keep flying with his men instead of taking the safe desk job with G-3. Britt grounds Joe bellowing at him, “You are not just a pilot, Colonel!”  Joe roars back, “Not just a pilot! Nobody’s just a pilot!” which demonstrated Joe’s belief in his people. Another theme that became more evident over the course of Season III was that of “waging peace” as well as waging war: In “Massacre” Joe’s primary task is one of diplomacy and he forges a bond with the Russian commander, General Vorodenko. In “Six Feet Under” Joe tells battalion commander Major Dimscek that the best thing Dimscek did in the war was rescuing two boys, Emile and Jacques, not a combat strategy, not a count of enemy dead, but the Major’s act of risking his life to save two kids. The major is surprised to hear such a thing from an Air Corps colonel who’s obviously seen a lot of combat, too.  Upon hearing Joe’s statement, Dimscek tells Joe that neither he nor Joe really belongs in war.  In “Duel at Mont St. Marie” Joe struggles with what he deems to be a senseless bombing and refuses an order from General Doud– and asks that he be allowed to make one last effort to avoid having to employ force. So, Joseph Anson Gallagher, fourth generation West Point officer, is moving away from wager of war to wager of peace.  There are also hints about Joe’s life after Archbury when he talks about a possible future daughter in “Practice to Deceive” and his affection for homeless brothers Emile and Jacques in “Six Feet Under.” Finally, in “Hunters and Killers” Joe’s desire to work with the caustic and close to paranoiac Crompton indicates that he is essentially, a peacemaker. From beginning of Season II to the end of the short Season III: The first image in “Loneliest Place”—B-17s in flight. Last image in “The Hunters and the Killers”: a B-17 in flight. In between these images and words and situations lies an exciting array of people (messed-up pilots, “aces,” spies, pugnacious fighter pilots, athletes, renegades, embittered officers, scientists, lovers of both Joe and Sandy, ambitious journalists, Nazis both good and bad, heroines, bad girls, tragic figures, a plane with a mind of her own); situations (dangerous and impossible missions on the ground and in the air; heartbreak; acts of mercy; bail-outs, those MIA, treks along the Underground, murder, even ground action in Germany); a range of locations (Norway, Sweden, Russia, Italy, North African, Yugoslavia); some fun/strange moments (Joe and Sandy trying to create a baseball team; Joe surprised in his first luxurious bath in months); and finally history: Kasserine Pass, the D-Day, the 6^th of June and the Air Force’s contribution to its success, and the attempted  assassination of Hitler. Regrets—we never again see Max or Pres Gallagher (“Grant Me No Favor” and “Big Brother” respectively and to be fair, they are referred to); also, Harvey’s son is still MIA. Ah, what happens to these people?—and do Joe and Sandy make it to VE Day?

Well, it must be faced—the final blog entry for Season III—although blogging will continue with Season I—“The Savage Episodes.” As I relate “The Hunters and the Killers” I will make frequent pauses to reflect on the conventions and themes we are seeing for the final time—these at times lengthy “pauses” are in italics, if you wish to skip them. And, stay tuned for an invitation. . .

-“They talked you into joining the Navy”

The “last teaser”—as always swift and incisive about defining the episode’s issues and conflicts– opens on Wing, daylight—the beautiful country home which has served as Wing HQ (though it seemed to change when the series went into color). Inside, and into the olive-drab bustle of uniforms comes a middle-aged man in Navy blue—removing his hat, and turning, he reels off naval lingo—and goes into General Britt’s inner sanctum to the shake the smiling general’s hand. How many times has the Navy figured in the Season II-III? The ‘Slaughter Pen’ ground operation was done with naval assistance (“The Slaughter Pen”) and the Navy comes to Joe and Tony Powell’s rescue—and their near destruction–in “Decoy.” We also must remember Admiral Kreuter in “Practice to Deceive.”

“Don’t tell us you’re joining our side,” Britt tells him—signaling the clashes to come. “I think it’s the other way—they talked you into joining the Navy,” he says, and turns away to take off his coat and hat—but the look on his face and the tone of his voice erode Britt’s warm welcome. Britt’s rejoinder: “Well, either way, I know you insist on meeting an airman on neutral territory.”

The naval officer turns into the Britt’s slightly smiling face—Ah, General Britt!—friend, tormentor, disciplinarian, mentor, comforter, courier, inquirer, leader—and the “link” between Savage and Gallagher. The naval officer tells Britt—“Notice . . .my hat is not in my hand.” Britt ignores this challenging statement and gets to business: “It seems SHAEF wants us to go after a wolfpack—I didn’t think the Nazis had any left.” “They have one—Pack Leica. They operate around the Azores”—the pack is attacking anything that sails into the Mediterranean. This is the second “wolf pack” of the Season II, the Nordesholm Pack figured in “Burden of Guilt”—two episodes about wolf packs in the short Season III alone indicates a growing paucity of “air stories.” Also, in this there is a return to the Mediterranean area, previously visited in “Face of a Shadow” and “Graveyard.”  Britt, regarding him, reels off the orders, which finally identify who this angry middle-aged officer is: “Leon Crompton. Commanding—congratulations.” “Congratulate yourself sir—I guess I can’t operate without your eyes.”

Britt does not lose his easygoing attitude, but he gets down to cases: “Leon, are you prepared to operate under my command?” So does Crompton: “I fought you long-range bomber boys and I fought hard”—but he backs down. “But if I have to make a concession to get back to sea I’ll make it.” His desire is underscored in the next image—“I’d swallow this if I knew it were full of ground glass—they’re going to let me fight again.” As it turns out, he chokes more than once on that ground glass, which is embodied in the form of Joseph Anson Gallagher.

-“Gallagher?” – “Yes sir, my father is General Maxwell Gallagher”

In the outer office, Joe comes in, as always, a sight to behold in his Dress-As—everything about the now-late Paul Burke was sharp, handsome, compact, in contrast with Savage’s rangy face, disturbing eyes, and bigger body. As he too divests himself of his hat and coat, he sees the man—the sudden zoom-in of the camera lets us know this man is not a welcomed sight. Joe turns away, and comes to a desk—and always, courteous to everybody (a blog reader pointed out the difference between Savage and Joe’s command styles—Savage was always centered on the mission; Joe’s concern was the people involved in the mission): “Excuse me, Sergeant, can I use the phone?” The sergeant removes himself and Joe cleverly calls Britt first, and tells him he is calling from the outer office. Britt refuses to play this game and orders Joe in. His face creased, Joe hangs up the phone and obediently walks right into a confrontation.  After returning Joe’s salute, Britt steadily remarks that Crompton and Joe have had prior contact.

Crompton’s hand, proffered, stops: “Gallagher?” “Yes sir, my father is General Maxwell Gallagher.”—Ah, a wonderful TOCH convention—the meeting with friends, enemies and “associates”– prior contact furnished clashes which further textured the war-related events  . . . Joe’s first contact with an old friend was “Rx for a Sick Bird,” in which his happy meeting with General Dave Creighton finally becomes bitter when Creighton, to complete his own mission of smoking out Nazi agents, threatens to “rack him,” and Joe learns another terrible lesson about command; friendships can’t always be factored in. In between that meeting and this meeting, Joe encountered a variety of old acquaintances, everybody from a German Admiral/family friend (“Practice to Deceive”), to a West Point cohort and “family enemy” (Barney Deel in “The Slaughter Pen”), to an instructor (Gus Wexler in “Falling Star”), to a former playmate (Josh McGraw in “The Idolater”) to a kid who admired him (Ted Masters in “The All American”), among quite a few others (Gus Wexler, Harry Connelly…). I appreciate that he never met an old girl friend–like James Kirk did.  All leave their mark on him. Sandy also meets people out of his past but only two: Wally Bolen in “The Hollow Man,” and Jim Prince in “Graveyard.”

Back at Wing, the two men regard each other—enemies over something Maxwell Gallagher has done—and Crompton breaks first, gathers his hat and coat and he leaves. To Britt’s “Leon . . .?” the naval officer says “I’ll do this job alone.” Fighting words?—no, foolish words. He stomps off. “I tried to warn you,” Joe says to Britt. “How did you know this was going to happen?” Britt asks (a question to expedite information, surely Britt would know about this from Max Gallagher or just sheer Washington scuttlebutt). Joe tells him about his personal connection with Crompton—two years earlier, Max Gallagher and Crompton clashed at a Senate Committee hearing on long-range bombing efforts—“I guess,” Joe demurs, giving him the benefit of the doubt—which Joe was always doing; the best most recent example was in “Long Time Dead”—“his conduct at the time wasn’t the best—and they broke him.” There is a hint of compassion in Joe’s eyes; he knows what it is like to be “broken” (“Golden Boy Had Nine Black Sheep”). When Britt inquires about this, Joe further relates “Yes, sir, he had just received his second star, and they took it away and stuck him in some office—and he blames my father.” It is a MAJOR regret of mine that Max Gallagher didn’t appear in least one more story!—his and Joe’s rocky relationship and its healing was the emotional core in “Grant Me No Favor” and what a striking father-son team they made. Max’s name came up in “Loneliest Place,” “The Idolater,” “Big Brother,”  “Underground,” and of course this episode his “presence” is strong. Pres Gallagher appeared in “Big Brother,” and Joe visited him “Burden of Guilt”—and he was referred to in “Loneliest Place;” Joe took a phone call from him in “Grant Me No Favor” (which was poignantly cut off in mid-conversation) and he obliquely referred to in “The Jones Boys,” when Joe tells Frank Jones that he know what it is like to have brothers.

“Well, he can’t blame you—and he can’t walk out on me,” Britt says, picking up the phone. Joe stands up to Britt—a tough thing for a mentee to do, but Joe is savvy about human relationships that Britt seems at times to lack—Joe tells Britt to “let him cool off—and don’t thrust me down his throat.” Britt listens to his protégé—he will listen to him a second time before the story concludes–who has come a long way since that callow, somewhat self-centered pilot that Savage made “grow a spine,” and that Britt selected as the new Commanding Officer of the 918^th.

Cut to—submarines patrolling—helpless prey in sight—a familiar arm (last seen in “Burden of Guilt”) launching the torpedoes which engulf a ship in destruction—and the for the last time the “six bongs strike”—with the announcer’s exultant voice—“Twelve . . .  O’Clock High” . . . it’s a bit ironic that this final “six bongs” strike over a ship at sea . . .

-“will you accept an apology from me?”

Act I takes up in what seems to be an alley; boxes and crates are piled up; startlingly, there is a bright red British ‘phone booth. With moody music playing, the Commodore is driven into this symbolically tight, blocked off space. His driver, whom we will soon meet again, escorts him out. Crompton looks around and walks slowly over to where a sailor is nailing a sign into place: “Headquarters/Task Force 10/US Navy”—the sailor is standing on kegs and is affixing this to what Crompton will call a “fisherman’s rotten bait shack”–which indicates that this is on the sea–which is never far away in England. Hands on hips, Crompton surveys the situation; fishes for change out of his pocket and goes into the phone booth which will double as a kind of confession booth—and he makes a “sheepish” call to Britt. “Put him on,” says Britt—who then curiously calls him “Admiral”—that must have been the actor’s error or script flub-up. “Will you accept an apology from me?” Crompton asks. “It’s like trying to splint a broken leg with a toothpick,” Britt pungently observes, and then brusquely, with a hint of contempt, tells him that he does not have to work with his Wing, and he’s about to teletype SHAEF about this.

“No, please,” Crompton pleads, broken and desperate—and the prior incident in Britt’s office suggests his being demoted two years earlier was probably deserved; Crompton will later admit to having a foul temper and a “loud mouth.” “You don’t know what they’re doing to me—I’m calling from a telephone booth—a fisherman’s rotten bait shack for an office—but Task Force 10 is all at sea, and I have only one ship . . . I need you Ed . . .and I guess I’ll have to deal with young Gallagher too.” Britt does some laying on the line: “If there’s a way to win this way—if there is a way—is to put the job into the best available hands . . . and the best man to fly our end of it is Gallagher.”

-“Sir, I’ve got nothing against the Navy . . . but why us?”

Cut to—the “best man” being driven to his meeting with Crompton at the neutral ground of the Star and Bottle—by Komansky who has to come serve Joe in all things, from Flight Engineer, to duty sergeant, to aide—and most interestingly as a “Greek chorus” to Joe’s conscience (“Fortress Weisbaden”). His fetching Gallagher’s towel and robe in “Massacre” seems the most demeaning but they were in Russia, and somebody had to get the butt-naked Gallagher something to cover up with as Lt. Zavanoff refuses to be budged from her duty as spy.

“Sir, I’ve got nothing against the Navy, some of my best friends are sailors [groan!] . . . but why us?” Joe, not standing on his eagles, tells his non-com, “It may be or may not be us” (that depends on his second meeting with Crompton) and tells Sandy to wait for him . . . and thus begins the last few glimpses of these two—Joe and Sandy had one of the best foiled relationships I ever saw on a television series, and was far more subtly done than Kirk and Spock’s relationship on Star Trek. It commenced in fury and attacks (“Loneliest Place),” developed by professions and acceptance of loyalty (“Big Brother”), cemented by mutual support (“The Hot Shot”)—and though the course of friendship never runs smooth with these two (even “late in the game,” Joe still has to rightfully thump Sandy, such as in “To Seek and Destroy” and “Long Time Dead”), they support each other in the clutch; Joe turns to Sandy again and again for assistance (well seen in “Duel at Mont St. Marie”); and though at times taking him for granted (most recently seen in “Long Time Dead” when he fails to tell Sandy that Dula seems to be questioning his charges of mutiny), Joe well knows his value. Sandy responds to Joe’s powerful charm and more important, Joe’s belief in him. By Joe’s taking an interest in him—and accepting his support, Sandy has climbed out of his self-imposed isolation, found his potential, and he is going to be all right—a big step for this “little frightened orphan boy” (as Joe describes him in “Show Me a Hero”) who once turned his back on others when not lashing out.

Joe heads into what seems a back entrance of the Star and Bottle—and a moment later, out comes a very pretty WAC—to Sandy’s approval. “Terry, front and center!” he says and she comes to him with a smile. He admires her second stripe; which she acquired, she tells him, at 9:00 that morning. “When are we going to celebrate?” he asks, putting his arms around her; this romantic moment is a bit ruined by her pert response to his telling her to meet him at the Star and Bottle at 1600—“Wear a uniform so I’ll know you,” she says, and walks off. “Well, thanks,” he says, just as Obie Sorenson, who observed the Commodore’s humbling visit to the pay phone booth.

Two things of note here—for one, Joe’s and Sandy’s “love lives.” In Season II, Joe had a heavy rush of romantic action in his “affairs” (or would-be affairs) with Susanne Arnais; the warmhearted Polish patriot Ilka Zradna; the beautiful brunette USAAF Captain Phyllis Vincent; and the beautiful blonde RAF Leftenant Faye Vendry; the latter two both appeared twice in separate episodes. Joe has a kind of loving alliance with Patricia Bates (“Which the Wind Blows”) in which there was no kissing, but the two are holding hands to take a walk before she departs for London. He then once more keeps company with Phyllis Vincent in the following episode “The Outsider,” and then his love life seems to go into hiatus. In Season III the only reference made to Joe’s love life was in “To Seek and Destroy,” when Joe unexpectedly returns to Operations, after a date (with a nameless woman) is cancelled by a V-1 attack. Sandy’s love life was on hold for a while or kind of curious; after his own would be affair with Susanne Arnais fizzles—and then keeping company with some friendly girls in “Then Came the Mighty Hunter”– his heart gets banged up by Susan Nesbit (“Show Me a Hero”), and after being seen once with a young lady at the Star and Bottle, he finally has a relationship with Helene Conboy, though Sandy is actually more in love with her sister, the remote “Danzig Lady.” In Season III, with Joe apparently sidelined—for reasons discussed below—Sandy’s love life blossoms, with dates (“Massacre”); a happy if perilous smooch session in a Jeep with an unnamed local lass (“The Pariah”); and there is Katie Henshaw who gets punished when trying to help Sandy help Tony Carmichael (“To Seek and Destroy”). In “Long Time Dead” Sandy seems to be in a semi-romantic relationship with the grieving Jeanne Springer, and in the last episode, attempts to pitch some woo with Cpl. Terry Cahill. Why was Joe sidelined from romantic duties? Perhaps viewers objected, saying it seemed undignified; or the writers could not settle on the “right woman,” and Joe needed to be open for alliances for story purposes—indeed, in “The Idolater,” he tells Phyllis that they have agreed they can see other people. However, as an alert viewer noted, Joe, when talking with Britt about the G-2 offer in  “Gauntlet of Fire,” seems to be rubbing his left hand ring finger —as in being married?—no wedding ring?—easily explained– many pilots wore their rings on their dogtags! 

After Crompton has gone through the same door, Obie, his driver, also waiting—(Sandy and Obie are very much “twins” in this episode) whistles at the figure of the departing WAC, and thus gets an eyeful from Sandy. “Yo, Navy,” Sandy says, getting out of the Jeep, “You gotta light?” –Sandy smoking?—Sandy’s noticeable avoidance of smoking is illuminated by Joe Gallagher’s smoking which, it seems to me, reached the high level mark in “Which Way the Wind Blows”—and seemed to taper off in Season III; perhaps at the request of anti-smoking groups or maybe Paul Burke was also trying to cut back; reportedly, he battled with smoking a great deal of his life and was finally able to quit. QM seems to have imbued Joe Gallagher with many Burke traits–Irish, charming, athletic, strapping, savvy, complex, introspective. Whole episodes in Season III would go by without him lighting up once; the last time I recall him smoking was in “Burden of Guilt”—Joe taps on a cigarette when Sandy starts to tell him about Hollenbeck’s antics. In the sixties people smoked, and soldiers smoked (“smoke if you got ‘em”) and so Sandy was shown carrying cigarettes—in “We’re Not Coming Back”  he rouses Yellich’s first interest in the stranded flyers by scattering cigarettes before him; and in “The Pariah,” he accepts a hand-rolled cigarette from Bellingham, but immediately puts it aside, unlighted.

A pleasantly light scene opens up with the two guys, underscored by a lilting score that according to Duffin & Mathes was first used in “The Sound of Distant Thunder”—which I believe I have read that even though it was scheduled as #4 in Season I, was actually the first episode filmed—if so, a true beginning and ending. Sorenson, to this music, flicks his Zippo for Sandy, while watching Terry; Sandy snaps the lid down, in a kind of castrating gesture. He then places a cigarette in his mouth and makes Sorenson pay attention to him while lighting it. The way Robinson then snatches it from his mouth suggests he did not take one puff. “Thanks,”  he announces. It’s unfortunate that this series did not have more lighthearted moments–not a lot; this was a bloody war in the sky, but the melodrama needed some lightening up.

-“Your father called me a paranoid”

Cut to—a kind of parallel scene with these two rivals’ bosses; with drinks rather than cigarettes and with much higher stakes than the attentions of a pretty WAC, these “rivals” feel each other out.  A waiter delivers the drink—surely a brandy to Joe, who seems to drink nothing else. In “Loneliest Place” Britt identifies him as a brandy drinker, which he is; and in “Grant Me No Favor,” his father has actually brought a bottle of Gallagher brandy with him. He always orders brandy when he has a drink. I think Joe drinks beer once—in a hiding place in a rathskellar in Germany! (“Practice to Deceive”).

Crompton is blunt, describing his task—and then says that its real objective might be to “sink me at sea and forget me.” He looks to Joe, who lowers his eyes. “What do you think of me?” he demands. Joe defers to Britt: “The Navy designated the best man to go after the wolf pack.” “Do you think I’m paranoid?” Tactfully, Joe redirects the topic. “I think there’s an emergency in the South Atlantic—and they’re trying to improvise a solution in a hurry.” Crompton is undeterred. “Your father called me a paranoid.” Joe gives into him. “Commodore, make no mistake—I love my father—and you think you hate him—but that’s not the battle I’m fighting.” “My life and my career are on the line here Colonel,” Crompton says, confessing to the son of his enemy. “I can recover from what he did to me two years ago—but I think I have some rights to doubt . . . his son.” “I came here by request,” Joe tells him, either at Britt’s or by Crompton’s. “Besides, what could I do to you?” Crompton laughs, though not jovially—and tells Joe that either he’s wiser than his old man . . . “or you’re a very convincing fake.” Joe returns. “There’s something you should know—I told General Britt that I thought it was wrong to force me down your throat.” Crompton backs down—again . . . and once more admits that he is willing to swallow—as in down the throat—ground glass to get back into the fight. But he’s going to make Joe swallow some ground glass too . . .

-“No bomb loads. No bombs”

Crompton’s face “dissolves” into Joe’s face—a telling image—as the scene takes up in briefing with Britt, Harvey and Bob—and a few others, flanking him on the podium. Joe, perhaps a little overconfidently, explains the mission tactics; three relays, three flights, and because—in deference perhaps to the Commodore—“the mission was activated to fight a wolf pack, we’re going to call it ‘Navy Squadron.’” Search patterns will be set by Harvey, and Harvey and Fowler will lead the relays. Also, Britt says, a “Huff Duff” (?) device will be installed in the planes. Joe then brings up the bomb load.

“No,” Crompton enunciates looking at him, and gains Joe’s quizzical glance. “No bomb loads. No bombs.”

Crompton says this steadily, but with some pleasure. Britt interrupts Joe—and the Commodore. “Minimum load, maximum range.” “You do not bomb,” Crompton says, to Joe’s consternation, which he cannot hide. “You’re the hunters . . . we’re the killers. Get that clear.” Britt wisely intercedes—Crompton is headed out to sea that night . . . and everybody leaves except Joe and Britt. Britt, with that slightly mocking look in his face, and the slightly mocking tone in his voice—by which he has twitted Joe, challenged him, brought him down to earth, cautioned him—lets Joe have his say. “Sir, is he after that wolf pack—or his promotion?” Britt chides him—he has accepted the duty. “Yes, I accepted it myself and 89 officers and men—but all of a sudden bombers can’t carry bombs—“ “Minimum load, maximum weight,” Britt hands down.

Joe hands it back. “That’s exactly what I would say if I were the opponent of long-range bombers he’s always been.” “He didn’t give the order, I did,” Britt says—revealing his “killer” side. How many times has Britt, despite his high regard and concern for Joe, hands him shit on a shingle and tells him to eat it?—and Joe does, but makes his ideas known when Britt’s first orders fail or need modifying—or are too terrible. Britt leaves him—as he often does after issuing unpleasant orders (best seen in “Back to the Drawing Board”)—as Joe’s face darkens. But a command has been ordered and Joe’s West Point discipline takes over.

-“I didn’t even get off the ground.  . .”

Cut to the lower ranked guys and gals, who are now in the Star and Bottle—in another parallel scene. Seaman Obie Sorenson, a good-looking young man, has inveigled Terry to sit with him while she waits on Sandy. He explains naval duty and terms to the young woman who seems attentive to him, surely the result of the flowers on the table. “So I have this whole installation to worry about,” he says, perhaps truthfully, while Sandy emerges into the scene—and waits. “Hey, flyboy!” he calls to Sandy, who then comes up, flapping his garrison cap. Sandy nearly always wore his garrison cap, rather than his dress cap—I recall seeing him wear such a hat only twice–in “Loneliest Place,” and  in “Show Me A Hero,” and perhaps there was agreement it did not look good on him.

Terry chides Sandy for being late; “I pulled some duty I didn’t expect,” he explains and tries to get her out of there. She rises—“don’t forget your posies,” Sorenson says. “He bought them—aren’t they sweet?” she says. “Yeah,” Sandy says, figuratively swallowing some ground glass himself—he doesn’t want to look like a jerk in front of Terry and Sorenson, and by now has learned not to lash out, particularly at this time. Sorenson, knowing damned well he has her sympathy, hands Sandy some grief. He manages to invite himself to dinner—there’s only one place in town for that, and “Oh no,” he rhetorically protests when she asks him to go with them; “Two’s company, three’s a crowd.” Sandy hears this; his brow is clenching—but not too much—Joe has managed to somewhat  cure him of that unpleasant habit. “You just show me where,” he blithely goes on, and “I’ll find a separate table . . . if there is one.” Oh, brother . . .  She is apparently so pleased with being the object of rivalry between the two guys that she forgets her coat, which Sandy abashedly picks up. “I didn’t even get off the ground,” he remarks, following them out. He too has been thwarted by the Navy . . .

-“anybody see a mermaid—report to me at once”

The jaunty tune underscoring these romantic maneuvers becomes the regaling music attending the take offs of the valiant Flying Fortresses—and one more time, Harvey pilots, and from left seat. What a change Harvey has gone through—in Season I he was bespectacled grandfather and “nothing more” than an adjutant; in Season II his son went MIA and he qualified—from grief, revenge, a seeking of lost youth—to be a pilot (“Storm at Twilight”) and I think the grandkids disappeared!—if they had still existed, Britt would have reminded him of his obligations to Mike’s children and to their mother. After a near disaster in the air, and Sandy brutally criticizing his flying, Harvey tries to go back, but serves in right seat, saves Joe and the mission . . . and then returns to the air in “Back to the Drawing Board.” Though flying right seat in several episodes, in “Duel at Mont St. Marie,” his reclaims the left seat and here he flies it one more time—and at episode’s end is the temporary commander of the 918^th. Yay, Harvey!!—there was no better man; he became an advisor to Joe and to Sandy, took up the controls again, and seeks meaning in a life in which he seems to be about as alone as Sandy. But I wish we could learn about Mike Stovall’s fate . . . or, can we?

Harvey steady and ready; he alerts the squadron of their duties, the perils—they are flying without fighter cover—and “to watch for anything and everything”—in deference to their sea duty, he ends with “anybody see a mermaid, report to me at once.” In another plane—Bob Fowler!—whose name seemed a little unsettled; at one time Joe called him Bobby, and he also seemed to be called Johnson at one point; but finally  became “Bob Fowler”—at least that is my impression. Fowler finally became Joe’s most consistent co-pilot, steady and ready, after a series of them were knocked off (usually before we know them!—although co-pilot Captain Lowell in “We’re Not Coming Back” is known, cared for, and mourned when he dies in faraway Yugoslavia). This tendency to knock off nameless co-pilots seemed to climax with “Show Me a Hero.” In his tenure as Joe’s co-pilot, Fowler too was wounded—ironically when he replaced one of the gunners (“The Hollow Man”); he also took Komansky in hand (“The Pariah”) as well as teasing him about becoming a CI agent (also in “The Pariah”). I was beginning to think he had disappeared, so this last sight of him is a good one!—and flying left seat too in his own plane. I can’t remember if he ever did so before this episode.

Bob spots the destroyer and radios Crompton about this; he also reports that they have completed their pattern with negative results. Crompton, with field glasses, on the bridge of his ship, sees the planes in tight formation. Later, standing outside on the deck, Crompton rubs his face and adjusts his jacket. The ship’s captain joins him and encourages him to hit the sack—he agrees, but wants to be awakened at three bells.

-“sail ho—in the right quarter—I think”

In the air, a hesitant voice reports to Stovall—“I don’t know how to say this sir—but sail ho—in the right quarter—I think.” A carrier is spotted at 3 o’clock. Stovall alerts Shark of their aerial observation and the ship’s captain is pleased—“Task Force Ten shaping up sir.” Crompton is not so sure—“where’s my lousy carrier?” he asks.

-“he has some striking power now”

At Wing, the paneled walls and carpets of which contrast with Crompton’s grayly metal bridge, Obie Sorenson delivers a message to Britt and the apprehensive Joe—the force has been gathered, except for the carrier. Joe is glad—“he has some striking power now, if they can find the wolf pack.” The camera then focuses on a pair of shapely legs coming down the stairs. Belonging to Cpl. Terry Cahill, the legs and her face make Sorenson pause and grin. “Hello, I found you!”—and a brief review of the “finding” of women’s faces in 12OCH, in the final half season—this subject has already been canvassed in the entry on “Duel at Mont St. Marie,” which was prompted by the strong yet also fearful Mother Martha– but we have a bit more to say about the final female face seen on the series; she accounts for herself well.  Though beautiful and alluring she is described as a “nice girl” by Sandy. Her work has been good because she has been promoted from private to corporal. Fortunately, she is not a piece of cardboard; she is attracted to Obie Sorenson (the guy is good looking and has charm); she then clearly, forcefully, but sympathetically defends the two boys after the brawl, and then wisely—if somewhat sarcastically—dumps them both.

  In response to Sorenson, Terry asks, “Were you looking?” He assures her that’s the only reason he’d be here (Sorenson is a bit of a blow-hard) and asks her what she is doing—just as Sandy appears in time to hear her say—and being her own woman—that she will probably go to the Star and Bottle . . . “and make up my mind.” Sandy interrupts—Sorenson asks him what he is doing there— “I drive Colonel Gallagher,” Sandy says—and referring to how I think he was punished for going AWOL in “Show Me”—after this episode Sandy, who already taken up some duty sergeant work (“The Idolater”) really became Joe’s aide—doing everything from desk work, building fires, driving the Colonel, making and bringing coffee—and even towels and a robe to the flustered Gallagher in “Massacre.” Perhaps a bit demeaning and punishing at the beginning, Sandy’s being Joe’s aide brings the two men closer together.

Terry tells them—“See you later”—at the Star and Bottle. Once more, Sandy is left flapping his cap. Sorenson, as Sandy did him on the street, comes behind him—“Hey Flyboy, you got a match?” Sandy digs into his pocket for matches—apparently he never replaced the Zippo lighter he gifted Yellich with (“We’re Not Coming Back”) strikes it and offers the flame. Sandy says he heard her say something about “making up her mind.” “Not with me, she doesn’t,” Sorenson says, lighting his cigarette and blowing out the flame, similar to Sandy snapping down Obie’s Zippo lid. “I make up their minds for them.” Sandy ceases to be a jealous suitor and becomes protective, like a knight to his lady’s reputation. “Look, she’s a nice girl.” “Yeah—that’s the best kind.”

-“a little girl trouble Sandy?”

Gallagher, without knowing that he has just missed a sort of head-butting session, comes up to Sandy to tell him he can go back to the base. “Sir, how long do we have to be nice to the Navy?” Sandy asks. Joe grins, getting it. “A little girl trouble Sandy?”— here rolls the final tender scene between the two men. It is “tender” in that Joe’s older-brother affection for Sandy is revealed; he is aware that his sergeant’s love life is in some distress. Though they frequently fight, simply, the two men love each other. Joe’s honest regard for Sandy never goes overboard, though it came close in “Between the Lines,” and “Long Time Dead.” Sandy’s regard for Joe  is well seen when he learns that Joe is in peril (“Decoy,” and “Practice to Deceive”); a particularly affecting scene is in “The Outsider” when Sandy humbly thanks Harley Wilson for saving him—“in this whole rotten war—Colonel Gallagher’s the greatest, you know?” Do these two guys remain friends after the war?—we will see . . .

Sandy does not mind Joe’s smiling concern. “That’s just part of it, sir. I’ve got this feeling—“ “I know, nothing against the Navy.” “I just have a feeling that they’d like to sink us sir—I have a feeling something lousy is about to happen.” A bell interrupts Joe’s listening and he leaves . . . and somewhere in the South Atlantic, the wolf pack roams—a ship which both Crompton and Gallagher are waiting for is sited—and struck.

-“Wolfpack Leica has come up for air”

Act II commences with a dramatic downward view of three B-17s in formation. This time, Joe is at the controls. On the I-com he receives a report that something has been spotted on the Huff Duff (?) screen, at 10 o’clock below—and there it is, a sub surfacing. Joe radios Shark that “Wolf pack Leica has come up for air,” and identifies their position. Without saying thanks, Crompton orders his men to launch everything they can—“go get ‘em.” Above, Joe’s frustration is clear: “If we had bombs, we could destroy them now.” The viewer is now treated to new footage—understandably not seen before; these are Navy planes, launching from the deck of a carrier. They are exciting clips, showing the pilots getting on board; the ground crew preparing their launch—and the astonishing short launch from the carrier deck—I wonder if they partially built this episode off these clips, similar to how “Six Feet Under” might have been partially inspired by ground combat clips.

Down below, the Wolf pack dives; spookily, we never see a face associated with any one of these subs—they are faceless, soulless monsters of the deep. Sandy, once more between Joe and his co-pilot, remarks “I think they’ve seen us sir.” “Of course they have,” Joe remarks. “And remember Sandy, we have orders not to strike.” On Crompton’s ship, they have intercepted a Nazi message in code—but the radioman ventures that “it’s a call for help.” “They’ll need it,” Crompton says with too much confidence. “Signal those B-17s to get out of the way.” –Out of the way? They are thousands of feet up in the air!—Crompton is revealing his paranoia.

-“Message from Commodore Crompton—go home—don’t interfere”

In the Piccadilly Lily Joe is sighting affairs through field glasses and Sandy asks—“Is that the Navy?” “I don’t know—seems they’re coming in the wrong direction . . . Sandy, get in your turret—it’s the Luftwaffe.” The warning goes out to Bob Fowler and Harvey Stovall—“On your toes, on your toes!”—and tells the radio man to send a message to the task force about the fighters headed their way. The radioman has his own report—“We just got a message from Commodore Crompton—go home—don’t interfere.”

Joe is astounded. “Don’t interfere?”—for a team player like himself, the message is not merely rude it is senseless, and suggests that Crompton is trying to squeeze every bit of glory he can out of this task. Sandy, in his turret, announces that the Krauts are headed their way. A firefight ensues—the last time—and a B-17 goes down. Joe contacts a Navy pilot, a Lt. P.L. Gusky—“We need some help.” “Roger . . . hang on.” On the bridge—“Negative,” Crompton orders and demands the pilots stay under orders—“and get those subs!” “Sorry—you’re on your own,” Gusky says regretfully—and Joe, with a worried look on his face, knows they have to swallow whatever is coming their way.

-“The wolf pack—and it cost me 2 of my bombers and 22 men”

Cut to Archbury—planes limp in, a staff car hastens toward the tower—and Sandy drives Joe hell for leather to Operations. “Keep it running,” he tells Sandy as he vaults out, briefcase in hand.He aims like a bullet toward his phone; Harvey, apparently already down for some time, follows him in, concerned. Joe barks requests into the phone—he needs to see Britt—is he there—“I’ll be at Wing in 15 minutes.” Harvey tells him there has been no word from the Navy—“did you see anything?” Joe is about as furious as we have seen him—Joe’s charm does not always hold; he fights with Troper in “The Hot Shot,” he dresses down Susan Nesbit in “Show Me a Hero,” he barks at Pritchard in “The Slaughter Pen,” comes close to punching shit out of Hollenbeck in “Burden of Guilt,” roars “Get out!” to Dula—and his clashes with Britt, most lately seen as he demands answers over what Dula did to Komansky, reveal a man who can hold his temper until he needs to lash out in defense of his work, his command, and his personnel. Joe is never unrightfully angry.

He tells Harvey that they saw “the wolf pack—and it cost me 2 of my bombers and 22 men.”—He gives Harvey the briefcase and leaves, without bothering to change into his Dress As.

-“The Hunter- Killer concept is a good one—just not good enough!”

Joe’s last encounter with Britt—his mentor, who encourages him, taunts him, thwarts him, settles him down. . . there are so many scenes between Joe and Britt it would take forever to review them all . . . it is interesting to note that in the Mad Magazine satire, “Twelve O’Crocked High,” related in the entry for “The Slaughter Pen,” Sandy and Harvey do not appear in the satire, though Britt does!—and of course, hands an “impossible mission” to Gallagher. Britt’s presence in the satire reflects his penetrating presence and his pivotal role in the series, despite the fact that he is absent in many of the episodes, with his place being taken by Pritchard (“Falling Star”) and by Phil Doud (“To Seek and Destroy,” “Duel at Mont St Marie,” and “Six Feet Under”). This final scene does not disappoint—it’s a doozy as Joe stands up to his mentor and makes him listen— And shows Joe is ready for that star on his shoulders, which he ducked in “Grant Me No Favor”—will he get that star? At Wing, the somewhat perturbed Britt tells Joe “Of course they bombed the area!—I bet they covered it pretty well—“ “In other words, they didn’t sink a thing,” Joe snaps. “They’re not making any wild claims,” Britt says, jerking Joe’s angry face around at him. “Then I’ll make one—and you can call it wild if you want—I saw about four subs come to the surface and I could have sunk them all if I’d had bombs!” “That’s exactly what I’d expect you to believe!” Britt answers. “Well, I hope you don’t expect me to go back there with empty bomb bays,” Joe says, issuing an ultimatum. “COLONEL!”—bellows Britt, flummoxed at Joe’s attitude which has soared way past impudence; it is in the sheer defiance range. “Yes sir, I know—the Hunter-Killer concept is a good one—just not good enough!” “Brash judgments,” Britt says to Joe’s intense face. “I think you’re speaking out of prejudice.” “General, I am not.”

Britt then admits he knows that Crompton did not let his naval fighters come to his aid—but turns this on Joe—“and you dig down deep into your gut and tell me you don’t hate him for that.” “I’m not accusing him of anything personal . . .” Britt turns away, saying “I think you’re evading the question, Joe.”

“NO SIR!—and I’ll tell you how much I’m not evading it—I want to see the man! I want to re-evaluate the tactics!”

Britt tries to cut short Joe’s words but he won’t have it—“Sir, I don’t want the question of prejudice to come up again,” and asks that he be flown out or Crompton flown back—“I want to deal with the man face to face.” In answer, Britt stares at him—and then accepts the fact that Gallagher’s request is right.

-“Hey flyboy . . . I hear the Nazis really whipped your tails today”

Once again from macro to microcosm; from high command to “guys and gals”—with their own set of related conflicts. Sandy is buying drinks at the Star and Bottle—enjoy it—this is the last time we see the friendly, busy pub, the scene of so many things—comings and goings; the last night of life; fights and reconciliations; joy and mourning, strange encounters; withdrawals—Teddy the football player is clobbered there; Joe counsels both Dr. Rink and Pat Bates there; Joe is humiliated—and then resolves to bring Colonel Troper to heel there; Sandy runs afoul of Tony Carmichael there; Major Pridie confessed to his terrors there, Margo Demarest is rooked into falsifying documents there . . . a lot has gone on. Oddly, our last sight of the good old place is it being severely damaged –if not destroyed in a fight!

Sorenson, close by—keeping an eye on the waiting Terry at one of the tables, remarks, “Hey flyboy . . . I hear the Nazis really whipped your tails today.” “Sorenson, 22 guys died today,” Sandy tells him, curtly, and without another word, carries the drinks to Terry. Sorenson follows—but turns out to be a gentleman. “I’m sorry I made that crack,” he says, sincerely. In the background, an airman on that mission, and who perhaps has several drinks under his belt, moves into the scene and speaks—“Chicken navy fighters could have saved us,” he says.

Sorenson puts his drink down. “Who’s chicken?”

Sandy and Terry grow uneasy and Sandy, an old hand at such threats, “saves his lady” by pulling her into a fairly safe spot—“You stay here!”—just in time for the fight to commence—and it swiftly becomes a brawl. Sandy tries to break a clinch between Sorenson and the airman—and becomes a peacemaker—Sandy has thrown a many a punch in this series—and provoked a few!–during Joe and Sandy’s “showdown” at Susanne’s apartment in “Loneliest Place,” Sandy taunts Joe into nearly striking him; in “Rx” he is thrust into a fight; he then turns up the hot water he is already in when he punches an MP in “Show Me”; he wallops Sgt. Trask in “Between the Lines”—and then himself is roughed up in “Siren Voices.” In Season III he folded his fists a bit; he does punch the daylights out of Reininger in “The Pariah,” believing him to be a spy; resists punching out Tony Carmichael (“To Seek and Destroy) and here, in the final episode, he is trying to stop a fight. In contrast, Joe Gallagher pulls his own punches on two occasions (“The Hot Shot” and “Burden of Guilt”)—reflexively punches Harry Connelly (“The Ace”) when he tries to strike him. When Joe finally unleashes his fists—it is satisfyingly against the German Colonel Schotten in “Duel at Mont St. Marie.”

Ironically, both Sandy and Sorenson are flung into the same spot. A man goes over the bar—and another goes through the railings; the latter has concealed and backdropped many scenes. Sandy and Sorenson get up and once more try to break it up—and once more are flung into the same space. “We gotta stop this!” Sandy says Sorenson, now his ally. “Ain’t no way we’re gonna stop this!” Sorenson says to his ally—but they get on their feet again and wade back into it. Terry shrieks as glass flies over her head . . . and the Star and Bottle is engulfed in a wave of violence . . . .

-“Sorenson!” – “Commodore . . . ain’t you at sea, sir?”

Act III, as is common in 12OCH, “veers off” in a  new but related direction that the “turning point” in the narrative launches—the pub fight has crystallized the needless tension between Gallagher and Crompton, which is going to soon come to the crisis—and finally make them allies as Sandy and Obie become allies. It begins with Crompton driven into the 918^th to make his meeting which he has been ordered to have with Joe—and he climbs out of his car just in time to see a pack of prisoners—in Navy blue and Army green—being hustled out and into the infirmary. We see Komansky dealing him a glance before heading in with the others; Terry Cahill is visible to the side, near Stovall who has taken charge of the mess.

“Sorenson!” Crompton barks as he sees his driver and aide. The seaman, embarrassed, fumbles with his cap, salutes—“Commodore . . . ain’t you at sea, sir?”

Stovall intervenes, telling him to “get into the hospital, son.” As Sorenson skedaddles, Crompton demands “what happened?” “The facts sir?” Stovall asks, as Terry listens. Oh, Harvey!—what a good man you are; he is obviously trying to help these boys, including Komansky whom he at times regards in a fatherly fashion, and he has listened to Terry and brought her with him.

The scene cuts to Joe’s office, where Joe demands “A fight?” Stovall then tells him “The Commodore knows some of the casualties, so I thought I would address right now—they wrecked the Star and Bottle—I’ve guaranteed reparations . . . and I have a witness.” As he tells Joe this, Crompton is heavily, deliberately, removing his coat, and listening, his anger becoming rage. “What was is it all about?” Joe demands. “Army vs. Navy—isn’t that what all this is about—or is it Gallagher vs. Crompton?” Harvey leaves  . . . and Crompton takes the offensive; he believes he has been brought in to be accused. “I know what you have in your craw young man—you’ve lost airplanes before—that’s the name of the game—if you can’t stand it—get out!” For the last time, we hear the reference to “game”—how many times has this word or related words been brought in? Game as a strategy for war; game as a strategy between rivals; game as a horribly ironic description of the war in which two competitors try to win. It is a theme that richly endows 12OCH, evoking its essentially anti-war sub-text.

Joe is flabbergasted at this attack, which continues. “Is it going to do you any good to drag me off my ship and haul me ashore?” “That wouldn’t be possible,” Joe says. “Then what am I doing here?” “The order of General Britt, sir—“ “Isn’t that a convenient camouflage,” he says, turning away. “Come to think of it, he’s a friend of your father, isn’t he? Gallagher vs. Crompton—Army vs. Navy—What am I doing here?” Joe, speechless, struggles to collect himself—though an experienced hand at war and handling men, Joe finds Crompton’s accusations beyond belief—and is Joe remembering possibly his first clashes with Savage?

“Answer me!” Crompton demands.

-“No sir . . . it was just a mess”

Stovall knocks on the door with quick efficiency—how many times as Stovall wisely intervened?—come in at the right moment? He probably has been listening at the thin door of Joe’s office, and knows that Joe needs a hand; the fight in Joe’s office needs to be stopped too.

He comes in, with the witness. “Not now Harv,” Joe beings. “Oh yes, now,” the adjutant says, his age and wisdom overriding these senior officers. Joe looks a bit surprised when the pretty young corporal comes in; she crisply salutes and he returns it. Harvey explains that she knows exactly how the fight started. She steps forward. “Sir, I was with Sgt. Komansky—“ “Komansky?” Joe demands, perhaps thinking, what is it with this guy?—Sandy’s proclivity for getting into trouble was remarked on in “Show Me”—“always in hot water,” Susan Nesbit delightedly informs Kirby Wyatt. Joe may also feel embarrassment that his aide was increasing the friction.

“Yes—and Seaman Sorenson.” This time Crompton is startled and embarrassed about his aide; the two men are now building common ground. “Well sir, they had been needling each other—half-kidding—Seaman Sorenson made a remark . . . well, when Sgt. Komansky told him that 22 men were killed, he apologized. But somebody didn’t hear that and started shoving the seamen around . . . then both of them tried to stop it . . . and it just got worse.” Stovall comes forward as both Gallagher and Crompton—particularly Crompton– digest this report which reduces his and Joe’s fighting into a rather juvenile—or roughneck—affair. Stovall asks, “Was it Army vs. Navy?”

“No sir . . . it was just a mess.”

“Then Komansky and Sorenson weren’t fighting each other?” “No sir. They were trying to help”—a bit of a homily to Crompton—the Army and Navy can work together to stop something ugly. “That will be all,” Crompton says in a heavy voice. She salutes and leaves—leaving an embarrassed Crompton who realizes that he has been similarly brawling with Gallagher and the whole USAAF—it has not been a friendly duel, it has been a “mess.” As men were hurt in the brawl, men have died in those planes–which is what brought Sorenson up short at the pub and produced a sincere apology.

Crompton sits down and puts his face in hands. Joe silently takes a bottle and two glasses out of his desk—the times since D-Day have been hard on him and others—in “Gauntlet of Fire” he told Britt he kept no bottle in his desk; however, one has appeared in “The Fighter Pilot,” by which he served a terrified Margo Demarest. He pours two drinks and hands one to Crompton. “Sir,” he says. The Celts call it “Uisce Beatha” meaning “water of life” and from that comes the American term “whisky.”  Whisky and more specifically brandy  played important scenes in the life of Joe Gallagher…it emboldened, charmed and soothed.– In “Golden Boy” General Savage offers to buy Joe a drink and he refuses, choosing to rebuff Savage and instead buy his own. This establishes a precedent for the remainder of the series:  Joe Gallagher can’t be bought–not by Savage, not by anyone.  Later he shares good times with the Leper Colony’s officers in the Officers Club over glasses of spirits. In “End of the Line” an ailing Joe sees the advantage of a “medicinal toddy” under the “care of a nurse,” revealing his charming and lighthearted self. In “Loneliest Place”…Joe and Britt meet at the Langham and Joe outlines all of the reasons why he doesn’t want Savage’s job. Britt tells Joe that he’s earning Savage’s job. “Let’s both of us stop talking stupid…Waiter, I think this man drinks brandy,” to which Joe replies with a smile, “As a matter of fact, I do.” Later, Britt and Joe meet to talk again, this time at the Officers club after Joe’s been cleared of wrongdoing in downing a B-17 that failed to give recognition signals. Joe has his own bottle of brandy and he and Britt commiserate about war and leadership. Joe refills his glass with brandy and tells Britt that he just might get a little drunk tonight. Britt, tongue in cheek, tells Joe that “Colonels never get drunk but on occasion they slightly overindulge.” Joe tells Britt that this is one of those times and a tipsy Joe seeks out Susanne Arnais . . . which ends with near-violent clash with Sandy. In “The Idolater” he sweetens his coffee with brandy – Irish Coffee –as he waits for Phyllis to join him in the Star and Bottle. In “Grant Me No Favor” the symbolism is quite strong.  Joe bolts down a glass of brandy prior to a private meeting with his father and during that meeting Max and Joe share “Gallagher special brandy” together. In “Angel Babe,” Joe tells Willets “tonight you’re drinking in the officers club!” In “Which Way the Wind Blows,” while Joe awkwardly picks up at drinks at the bar, Patricia Bates apologizes for being rude and he gets called out for his charm by the assertive scientist. In “Gauntlet,” the absence of the famous Gallagher brandy in Joe’s desk is brought out. In “The Hunters and Killers,” brandy brings adversaries together; in “The Ace,” when they are pouring celebratory drinks for Connelly’s survival, Sandy is invited by Britt to join them.

-“I think that’s valid and proper”

Crompton looks up, surprised—takes the drink—and they share a time of silence. “You look tired,” Crompton then says. Both seem overcome by the sympathy each has offered the other. “I am tired.” “Does Ed Britt know how tired you are?” “We’re all tired.” “Does Ed Britt think all I’m after is glory?” When Joe tells him Britt is coming, he then asks “Do you think that’s all I’m after?” “Sir, I think you’re after that wolf pack.” “I’m not tired,” Crompton then admits. “I just have a foul temper and a loud mouth—I thought I had learned—why was I ordered here?”

Gallagher, without recriminations, tells him he was called here because he wishes to propose new tactics—more relays, different patterns . . . carry bombs. Crompton puts down his drink, gets up, and picks up the model B-17 on Joe’s desk—which has served several purposes over the episodes—in “Rx” it flies off Joe’s desk as he reaches for the phone; in “Runway in the Dark” young Christian Borg reveals his youth as handles it a bit like a toy; in “Angel Babe” it is pointed right at Willet’s heart which belongs to Angel Babe; in “The Fighter Pilot” a similar model is turned into a joke by DiJon and Rausch.“ I don’t know why I didn’t think about it in terms of 22 men,” he admits—the third time the amount of dead men has been mentioned. “It’s like you said sir—it’s the name of the game.” Crompton then slaps the model down and echoes words that Joe himself said in “Long Time Dead”—“Don’t patronize me!” Once more, Joe is speechless. Crompton once more gets hold of himself and moves to the org chart, which has not been since “Loneliest Place”—when Britt removed Savage’s picture. . . He looks at the faces and then is blunt—he couldn’t send fighters to help him—he had to protect his striking force. Joe’s next words reveals months of grief—and hanging on—and evokes the shadow of Savage, whose damaged ship Joe had to leave behind months earlier—when Savage died and the 918^th passed into his hands. “Sir, when a B-17 with friends of mine becomes disabled I have to abandon it—in order to protect and maintain my whole striking force. Now the orders you gave your fighters this morning were valid and proper—I had no bombs and I couldn’t strike . . . and I think that’s valid and proper.”

“what can you say..?”

Crompton still considers the faces. “What do you do—write letters to their families?”—something he has probably never done, being stuck in an office somewhere after his demotion. “What do you say?”

“What can you say?” Gallagher says. He muses, poetically and powerfully, like a Celtic bard—“you really can’t force a man to give up his life—or offer it—but when a man goes into battle—he’s making the offer—and he’s got to believe there are things more important than just existing like a human animal—what can you say? Remember him? Don’t forget him?” . . . Ed Britt suddenly appears . . .apologizing for being late.

“No bother,” Crompton says. “I think we have things pretty well worked out.”

-“I’ve got a date with a six foot six 220 pound Marine”

Cut to—a wrist being bandaged—it belongs to Komansky and the bandager is Doc Kaiser—the wry, skillfull, compassionate, avuncular base physician, whose humanity and sense of humor never fail him. He’s the only man except Britt to overrule Joe; he has seen a great deal of both physical and mental anguish—and is one of the few people whom Komansky opens himself up to; even Joe and Harvey have not received such confidences as Sandy gives in  “Show Me A Hero.” It’s great to see in this final episode; he was not in that many in Season III, with his best showing in “Massacre”. And Sandy’s final wound!—wow, he picked up a lot of bumps and bangs over the episodes, with his first bump in “Between the Lines” (never sure what happened to him) and his final bang is his sprained wrist—between these are a sprained ankle, a leg wound; some serious undisclosed injury suffered at the Weisbaden firefight; a head wound; his deadliest injuries were being shot in the chest in “Day of Reckoning,” and most recently being shot in the leg and suffering a hemorrhage which might have killed him but for Dula’s doing the right thing. Joe received a variety of wounds himself; he was seriously injured in “Golden Boy,” but then seemed to suffer various fairly superficial wounds, such as his head and arm injury in “Show Me” and in “Storm at Twilight.” His leg was injured in “Falling Star” (and made him somewhat Britt-like in his use of a cane) and returned from “sick leave” in “Storm at Twilight.” The state of his health seems a bit unsure in “Practice to Deceive,” when his remarkable “coming to” after a supposed three sleepless days of starving and being shoved around suggests his grogginess may have been a matter of drugs. Very soon, Joe will be injured in war for the final time . . . and it’s serious.  

 Sandy and Sorenson are being treated in the same room, at which an MP stands; the door is opened on Corporal Cahill to whom Harvey has entrusted a message—which she delivers to Kaiser. He reads it, pleased—they are free to go, no charges will be filed. Terry smiles and turns to leave—“Where are you going?” Sandy asks. She turns, bends down to Sandy, and without a look at Sorenson, tells him, “I’ve got a date with a six foot six inch 220 pound Marine.” She salutes him . . . and walks out. Wise girl–and she reflects Gallagher and Crompton’s détente—no favorites. As the jaunty little tune plays, Sorenson asks, “Do you believe that?”  . . . and with that, their faces fade into Gallagher . . .

-“but now we’re carrying bombs”

. . .who is again in charge, although though in complete command, which is how this team player wants it. To his pilots, who are busily filling the air with smoke, he outlines their modified strategy: “we’ll still be the hunters and they’ll still be the killers—but we’re carrying bombs—and if we can, we’re going to help them destroy the wolf pack.” Help them—that’s Joe being Joe.

-“how’d it go in the enemy camp? – “I don’t think we use that term anymore”

Cut to Crompton returning to his bridge, is welcomed back—“How’d it go in the enemy camp?” an officers asks. “I don’t think we use that term anymore,” Crompton said, equably. He is now a team player too. A message comes through from the carrier—submarines have been found. Depth charge markers are hurled—then the charges—and the sea flies in all directions. Cut to Wing where a radioman, in Britt’s presence receives a message for Gallagher: it is a call for assistance. Task Force Ten is under attack and the carrier is sinking—“get here fast, with everything you’ve got.”

-“we’re in Luftwaffe striking range”

Act IV—ah, the final Act IV—is fast, action-oriented, victorious, destructive . . . It opens in the air, and quickly visits the cockpit of the Piccadilly Lily—I guess it’s the Piccadilly Lily!—the last time we saw the “lady” was in, I believe, “The All-American”. It would be nice to see her one last time—before she goes down . . . Joe and his one final time nameless co-pilot–and Sandy between them—Joe asks Sandy if he can handle his guns with his wrist—“Yes sir, I can handle them,” Sandy assures him, evoking a memory of how twice before Sandy has flown wounded–in “the Hollow Man” he flew with a sprained ankle and in “Gauntlet” he ignores a leg wound to fly with Gallagher. “Good—we’re in Luftwaffe striking range.” Sandy slaps his shoulder and points out Harvey Stovall’s formation. “Ramrod leader,” Joe calls—once more we hear Joe’s “name,” which refers to a device ramming powder down a gun and a cattle driver interestingly enough–relaying to Harvey that the carrier for Task Force Ten was sunk—and does anyone have fuel enough to join them? Cut to Harvey—as we have never seen him—that is, facing right, not left! He reports to Joe that he is redlining on fuel but he will return, gas up, and come back. Joe approves, saying Fowler will join them—and since the carrier was sunk, they have the sole responsibility for air power and air strike. Harvey hears this, and the look on his face is one of foreboding.

-“we’re standing directly over the wolf pack”

On the bridge, the ship’s captain declares “We’re all alone, sir!”—and Crompton gives orders to start the depth charges. Gallagher’s distinctive voice comes over the intercom; Crompton snaps to give Gallagher their position, and the radioman hastens to do so—“we’re standing directly over the wolf pack.”

In the air, Gallagher and his co-pilot exchange glances. Crompton relays that they will force the subs to the surface with depth charges and Joe and his men are to bomb what they see—“but get that wolfpack.” By now, Crompton does not care who gets them, or who gets the doubtful glory. Joe acknowledges and calls the formation with the information. . . “and we’ll bomb whatever we can. Bombardiers, you’re on your own.” The pack is sited and Joe tells Crompton to bring them to the surface—“we’re ready to strike.” –It is curious—and wonderful—that the final battle in the series was at sea!—which commences with depth charges being lobbed into the ocean, striking and jostling the subs, and forcing them to the surface. Joe advises his pilots to take on one sub per plane—“and conserve your bombs.”

-“I thought this was going to be turkey shoot . . .”

Sandy—one last time in his turret—by which he destroyed the pirate that had killed Savage; spotted many an oncoming gaggle of fighters; manned his guns with a sprained ankle (“The Hollow Man”), a leg wound (“Gauntlet of Fire”) and one last time with a sprained wrist—sees the Luftwaffe approaching, 9:00 clock high. The co-pilot points them out. Joe, tense, steady, sees them—“I thought this was going to be a turkey shoot—I guess we’ll have to work for it.” Good words from a good man; after some lapses, and a good kick the pants from Savage, Gallagher vaulted to duty, and never quit, and at times this “never quit” attitude nearly destroyed him, such as in “Gauntlet of Fire.”

-“you can’t get to the scene of action in time so don’t bother”

Cut to Wing—where Cpl. Cahill takes a phone call and hands it to General Britt. It is Harvey, and Britt tells him that “Nothing’s wrong,” but “you can’t get to the scene of the action in time, so don’t bother.” Harvey hears this with a set face—and hears Britt relate that the fight taking place near the Azores: Gallagher and Crompton are engaging the wolf pack together—they’ve sunk three—there is enemy fighter action—but three destroyers are coming up . . .”they’ll be there,” Britt finishes, “so you sit tight.”

“Yes sir,” Harvey answers, and cradles the phone, far from the action, and worried.

-“Release him—send him home”

Cut to the Atlantic—the Piccadilly Lily jostles under fighter attacks; Sandy fires from his turret; other pilots radio for instructions—Gallagher tells a pilot whose fuel is critical to do a 180 and head for home—“we’re going to stay until our bombs are used up.” More trouble—smoke begins seeping into the cockpit. Joe calls for Sandy, one last time, to see what is going on with his lady—their lady . . . On the ship, Crompton hears the problems engulfing Gallagher and his crew—the Luftwaffe is leaving, but the friendlies haven’t arrived yet. “We still have half our bombs left,” Gallagher says, as ever, thinking in terms of effort and cost and results—particularly well seen in “Six Feet Under” as Joe kept a mental balance sheet against the price of victory, both of which became entangled with a priceless horde of information, a destroyed village and two homeless boys. Joe points out that the destroyer below is vulnerable, and as long as they remain in the air, the wolf pack won’t attack it. “Besides, if our luck holds out, we may get one or two more.”

Down below, Crompton makes a decision: “Release him—send him home.”

The radioman relays Compton’s orders. Gallagher, typically, refuses—Gallagher’s “impudence,” if you can call it that has kept him going, at times dangerously, not only against the Germany enemy, but the enemies at home. The signature example—he refused to fold his hands when Bill Christy was held for charges in “Grant Me No Favor,” which played havoc with a career that he indicates to his father that he is willing to give up . . . for his beliefs.

“Negative, Shark,” Joe radios. “If we leave now, they’ll sink you—what about the other destroyers.” Crompton tells him that three will be there within ten minutes. Joe agrees—to leave when the destroyers arrive . . . Crompton goes outside to view the work of the “hunters” and the “killers” and then sees a sub coming off the port bow.

-“You’d better come on, sir” – “Right behind you”

Things start spiraling into a climax . . .  the radioman tells Gallagher of the target. Gallagher radios that they see it and will bomb it.

The last salvo of bombs from Miss Lilly. The sub is sunk. Sandy makes his report—he doesn’t know what is burning but if it’s the fuel lines the tanks will blow.

“Then we’ve had it,” Joe acknowledges, and tells the crew to bail out—there are cruisers coming so they are not alone . . . Alone in the cockpit, Joe steadily radios . . .which is heard on the ship—if he tries to ditch he will lose half his crew so he’s ordering a bail out. Crompton shouts, “Launch boats—move, move!!” The crew bails—oddly, when the Gallagher-Komansky episodes commenced in Season II,  and now at its conclusion, Sandy bails out again . . .this time, however, a living pilot, also the CO of the 918^th, is still in his seat, and Sandy’s final last heard direct words to Joe are “You’d better come on sir”—to which Joe says “Right behind you.” We see Gallagher leaving his seat, getting his parachute, and . . . The scene cuts to the ship, where Crompton, with field glasses—and hearing the unmistakable sound of a downturning aircraft watches the dark splotch of Piccadilly Lily, heading down into the South Atlantic . . . and we hear it crashing.

-“Hey—I heard you guys really polished off the wolf pack”

Epilogue—back at Archbury, an ambulance, followed by running men, tears away from the field . . . at the base hospital in Archbury, Kaiser seems to be directing a wounded man in—we can only assume it’s Gallagher. A transport brings Commodore Crompton and the crewmembers—the Commodore clearly took the responsibility of getting the boys out of the ocean and back home—however, how much time has elapsed? Did they bring the men on the ship, make for shore, and then they were air-evacuated back to England? Sorenson is waiting at the receiving door, and he and Komansky have their full reconciliation. “Hey,” he says, taking Sandy’s hand, “I heard you guys really polished off that wolf pack.” Sandy shakes his  hand back. Then he asks why Crompton is here—and my DVD fuddles up here, and I can’t hear what Sandy tells him!—he leaves, and Sorenson gazes after him . . .

-“his boy has paved the way”

Inside Joe’s office, Harvey is pacing—another CO lost? Sandy and Harvey’s last heard words together are about the Skipper—“They will let us know,” Harvey says. At that moment, Crompton, followed by Britt comes in; Crompton heads for the phone and as Sandy listens, asks for a call to be put into Washington DC—“General Maxwell at the Pentagon.” Britt goes over to stand next to the org chart where Gallagher’s picture has been affixed since that day sometime in 1943 when he tossed Joe his eagles. Crompton’s words to Britt also promote fear . . . “I think this is something his father and I can talk about calmly—his boy has paved the way.” How interesting, how poignant it is to have Joe referred to as “a boy.”

“Ah, how is he sir?” Sandy ventures.

Britt turns to him. “Tough—and lucky.” Sandy’s smile is small but relieved. “By George, when I send him on a sick leave, he’ll stay there.” Glad words—but they seem to have a double meaning—as in “staying on sick leave forever”? As the wonderful 12OCH “anthem” plays softly in the background, Britt takes charge—a Major Carson will take over the air element, and Harvey will take temporary command of the base. Crompton, still waiting for Max to come on the line, asks if Kaiser wants to fly Joe home—and one last meditation—the word “home.” Many times that word has come up—“break for home”—“yes sir—let’s go home”–“send him home”– are just two recent examples. The 918^th was a temporary home for Gallagher and his men—and in their hearts will always be a permanent home of duty, honor, horror, and joy—pain and suffering, enemies and friends—war and peace. Of course Crompton means the United States—maybe even Joe’s honest to goodness home, wherever that may be—but home . . .what does that mean to Gallagher—and to the orphaned Sandy?—and to the lonely Harvey?

Britt is reassuring about Joe’s status—“I got the impression it wasn’t quite that critical.” Crompton makes a magnanimous offer—he will bring in his ships into Southampton for a day or two—and then go to Norfolk in Virginia. “I’d like to tell Joe’s father that I’m bringing Joe home with me.” (A knowledgeable reader has said that by now, air evacuation was the fastest and the best way to deal with the wounded.) “I’ll see what Doc Kaiser has to say,” says Britt, as the phone rings . . . “Yes, put him on please,” says Crompton and at the Pentagon, Max will learn what has happened to Joe. . . and that his bullheaded, charming, incredible son has helped an old political enemy find redemption—as Joe sought redemption from his early failures as a combat pilot, and his first mistakes as a commanding officer of the 918^th.

-“I don’t think a few broken bones . . . are going to stop him”

“Sergeant,” Britt beckons to Sandy to leave the Commodore alone while he delivers his message. Sandy’s voice and mannerisms reveal an array of emotions—relief that the colonel will live but fear of his future—their future overrules the relief. Sandy has come to depend on this man a great deal, and probably regards Joe as his best friend. His voice is calm—but tensely offhanded: “Are you going to put the colonel someplace else when he comes back?”

Britt knows them both very well by now and is reassuring though his answer is a little ambiguous: “he’ll want to go on flying . . .and I don’t think a few broken bones or broken ribs will stop him.”

“No sir,” Sandy whispers–these final words for the brief but beloved television series..

. . . Britt leaves, stepping into the tidy compound of the Operations Buildings. Walking slowly, using his cane to help with his artificial leg—the story of which he told to the tipsy and upset Lt. Colonel Gallagher to get him to understand that things had to be faced up to so long ago—Britt comes under the sky, hears a familiar noise—and looks up to see a single B-17, flying high and flying proud.

Final Thoughts: “Have your 6”

To some, the wounding and departure of Joe Gallagher and the moving on of Sandy and Harvey has seemed like the loss of family members. Over the course of three seasons, we watched Joseph Anson Gallagher mature from a cocky captain to a mature, confident, competent and caring commanding officer who believed that by taking care of his people he was taking care of the mission—and he was right. Harvey moved from a well-respected earth-bound typewriter jockey to a vital man and capable bomber pilot. Sandy evolved from a self-centered tough guy– whose façade concealed terrible fears–to a loyal, trustworthy friend capable of insight, self-sacrifice, and the ability to care for others.

There is an old Air Force slang term. “Check 6.” The 6 o’clock position is the most vulnerable position as it is your tail or your back.  In the comradeship of the air, flyers guard each other’s backs; a buddy will “have your 6.” Despite their moments of discord, flaring tempers (and Joe definitely had an Irish temper that Sandy occasionally matched with bull-headedness!) foibles and failures, Joe, Sandy and Harvey always covered each other’s “6”– that’s what friendship is all about and what Twelve O’Clock High portrayed so powerfully.

AN INVITATION . . . If you’ve ever wondered what Joe and Sandy were like before Archbury and how their lives played out afterward, you’ll want to read Into the Wind–a multi-title opus which looks at the war-time and post-war years of these people. You’ll be drawn in to the lives of three remarkable individuals, Joe Gallagher, Sandy Komansky and Rigel O’Ryan, a gutsy flight nurse with whom they cross paths. Theirs is a story of deep friendships, enduring love, courage under fire, great triumphs and heartbreaking tragedies. You’ll meet their families, their extended circle of interesting friends, learn how they touched the lives of others and contributed to the tapestry of events from the birth of America to the mid-21st century.   You’re invited to follow Joe, Sandy and Rigel—and Harvey Stovall–in the skies and on the ground in America, Europe and North Africa during World War Two. Afterward, the war in Europe winds down but the world is still not at peace. Tensions mount between the West, Soviet Union and Red China the Korean War explodes and Joe and Rigel are tested once again. Sandy’s engineering prowess propels him into the Space Race and all three are drawn into the Cold War and the social changes of 60’s and the 70’s. The Gallagher, O’Ryan and Komansky families — as well as their interesting friends play important parts in history and their power and influence not only shapes their times but reaches into the future…one that includes The White House and the stars. So….Join them.  You’ll most definitely enjoy the flight!  “Twelve O’Clock High: Into The Wind” a new blog chronicle of Sandy, Joe and Rigel is coming soon!  

Find details here at this blog or at Facebook. ******    

Thank you for reading!–this blog has been a great experience.