Just over seven years ago, I wrote a letter to Tom Hanks. I’d recently finished reading Donald L. Miller’s seminal Eighth Air Force book, Masters of the Air. In it, Miller used excerpts from another book I was familiar with – The Mighty Men of the 381st: Heroes All, written by the chaplain of the Eighth’s 381st Bomb Group, James Good Brown. His was a unit I knew well, having researched its history before becoming the chairman of a museum dedicated to it. Having pored over airfield maps and walked the land, I’d found where James Good Brown had lived and worked during the 381st’s time in England. Remarkably, his dilapidated chapel had stood the test of time. Hearing rumours that Miller’s book was likely to be used as source material for a Band of Brothers and The Pacific follow up, I was keen to let Tom Hanks know all about James Good Brown and the story of the 381st. Sadly, his reply never came, but the production finally did. Almost a decade in the making, it venerates the American bomber crews and those who supported them.
The Allied bombing campaign during the Second World War was a contentious one. While the Royal Air Force conducted “area” bombing of cities at night, the American Eighth Air Force attempted “precision” raids by day. While each allowed the Allies to carry out “round-the-clock” attacks on Nazi-occupied Europe, the effects won few admirers. Worse still, in an effort to deliver a “sudden and devastating blow,” each bombed Dresden within 48 hours. The raids devastated the city, killing more than 20,000 people. Coming so close to the end of the war in Europe, Dresden became a byword for “butchery.” Politicians, including Winston Churchill, distanced themselves from the attacks. Complicit by their part, RAF bomber crews went unacknowledged in his victory speech.
It is this aspect that quickly comes to the fore in Apple TV+’s lavish miniseries, Masters of the Air. Sat on opposite sides of a table in a British pub, a group of newly arrived Eighth Air Force airmen discuss the divergent campaigns with their Royal Air Force counterparts. “It’s a question of philosophies,” opines one British officer. “We bomb at night because it doesn’t matter what we hit, so long as it’s German. But bombing during the day is suicide.” When the conversation turns to the shortage of American crews due to mounting losses, another RAF officer chides, “It’s a pity. You’d have more if you flew your missions at night.”
What follows – apart from the RAF officer’s subsequent beating outside the pub (another blow for British bomber crews) – is the extraordinary struggle these ordinary men faced on an almost daily basis. Whatever the perspective, their mutual objective was to destroy the Nazi war machine to become “masters of the air.” Whoever achieved it remains a moot point, but this production aims to highlight the Americans’ contribution. It’s a lesson British filmmakers would do well to learn from.
Backed by Tom Hanks’ Playtone and Steven Spielberg’s Amblin production companies, Masters of the Air could equally describe Apple TV+’s decision to snatch it away from HBO – the network that had previously aired the award-winning Band of Brothers and The Pacific. The result is a production that tries hard to obliterate everything that came before.
Miller’s Masters of the Air covers the broad sweep of the American bombing campaign using first-hand accounts from multiple bomb groups. Masters of the Air, the series, focusses solely on the 100th Bomb Group – a unit that was fatefully labelled “The Bloody Hundredth.” It was a reputation I discovered after coming across the account of one 381st airman, who, fearing he was being assigned to the 100th, loudly exclaimed, “not that unlucky snake-bit command!” The 100th’s leaders were not the cause, however, as soon becomes clear in Masters of the Air. The group was led by extremely capable airmen, including two charismatic squadron commanders, Majors Gale “Buck” Cleven and John “Bucky” Egan.
Played by Elvis’s Austin Butler and Fantastic Beasts’ Calum Turner respectively, both share centre stage as a close-knit pair of the 100th’s four squadron commanders. Befuddling nicknames aside (signal for another acerbic comment from the British RAF officer: “Is there a shortage of nicknames in the Hundredth?”), it’s not hard to differentiate the two. One is cool, calm and collected (Cleven), while the other (Egan) is an unpredictable livewire. It is their close friendship that becomes a focal point for the series.
What soon becomes clear, despite the obvious Hollywood-style good looks, is that these were two very real men fighting an otherworldly war. It’s an aspect that’s starkly illustrated early on in the series when Egan joins another bomb group as an observation pilot before his friend arrives in England. He quickly discovers just how horrifying aerial combat is, but – not wishing to admit to Cleven exactly what he might expect on his first mission – then confesses, “I didn’t know what to say.” It was the same story at the 381st Bomb Group. While many of its original crews revelled in the “fun of flying” during their stateside training, they had yet to meet the Luftwaffe. As soon as they did (three days before the 100th flew its first mission), attitudes rapidly changed. “The aircrews had no idea what they were getting into,” recalled one 381st officer. “This was never discussed with our aircrews, and they all woke up to what aerial combat was. It’s a deadly business.” Egan’s comment, then, is a throwaway line that has greater meaning.
As someone who’s closely studied the Eighth Air Force, I was keen to pick up on the nuances of Masters of the Air. Alongside the airmen’s initial bravado (“Let’s rack ’em up and knock ’em down” is no “Hollywood” cliché, but a brashness seemingly prevalent among the first Eighth Air Force crews to arrive in England), there are numerous subtle details that are barely noticeable. Scores of white stones mark the edges of roads where no lights could be shone; the lucky charms carried by combat crewmen; the value of the humble bicycle. Even the hearty breakfasts served to the crews before their missions comprised “powdered” eggs; although it was a well-known fact at the 381st that if you were served fresh eggs for breakfast you could expect a particularly “demanding day.”
It’s Masters of the Air’s aerial combat footage that will probably garner the most attention. With a reputed production cost of more than $250 million, three replica B-17s were built. They were then suspended 15 metres high on gimbals and surrounded by a 360-degree bank of LED screens known as “The Volume.” The technology allowed the actors to be physically flung around in their cockpits as they reacted to flak, fighters and aircraft explosions. Aided by intense computer-generated imagery, the result is an experience that the viewer could almost feel like they, too, were flying combat missions. The fact that not a single flying aircraft was used during the production is something to marvel at.
Another innovative prop was a full-scale B-17 cockpit used for the actors’ pilot training. Handmade by David Littleton in his Essex garage, the cockpit contains both original parts and those he fashioned using Boeing’s production plans. The son of an engineer who once worked on the UK’s only flying B-17, Sally B (and who was involved in the making of the 1990 movie, Memphis Belle), Littleton has followed in his father’s footsteps by being credited as one of Masters of the Air’s only B-17 technical advisors. An incredible achievement for someone who frequently shares his remarkable progress on the Facebook page, B-17 Cockpit Project.
The progress of the 100th’s wartime journey in Masters of the Air is narrated by Anthony Boyle’s character, Lieutenant Harry H. Crosby – one of the group’s “original” airmen, who’d been among the first to arrive in England with the fledgling 100th. Crosby became Group Navigator, remaining with his unit until the end of hostilities in Europe. His experiences were published in his 1993 memoir, A Wing and A Prayer, which is leant on heavily by the production’s writers. Anthony Boyle, who had previously appeared in the 2016 stage play of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, brings a quiet determination to Crosby. His narration helps the viewer understand the wider European air war and the 100th’s part in it; his most poignant observation being what was felt about the crews who failed to return. “Those of us who had to continue to fly, mission after mission, had to tiptoe around their ghosts.”
It is this historical accuracy that Masters of the Air writers have been striving for; one of whom – Band of Brothersalumni, John Orloff – helped create, write and co-produce Hanks’s and Spielberg’s companion piece. Having written the screenplay for two Band of Brothers episodes (Day of Days and Why We Fight) Orloff is someone who really “gets” the “Greatest Generation.” It is this understanding that really drives the storyline for Masters of the Air. Instead of a procession of combat missions, it ventures outside the B-17s, to Belgian farmhouses, Stalag Luft prisoner-of-war camps, and foxholes on European battlefields.
Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal landed in the latter after bailing out of his crippled bomber on a mission to Berlin in 1945. A lawyer before the war, Rosenthal (played by Hollywood newcomer, Nate Mann), was one of the 100th’s standout pilots. He flew no fewer than 52 missions – more than any other 100th airman – and was awarded 16 decorations, including two Silver Stars and two Distinguished Flying Crosses. His legal background then saw him employed as an assistant to the American prosecutor at the Nuremburg War Trials – a task involving the interrogation of Hermann Göring, commander-in-chief of the Luftwaffe, as well as those who’d helped produce, Zyklon B, the poison used in Jewish extermination camps.
It’s Rosenthal’s story that provides the weightier scenes in Masters of the Air. Sent to a “flak house” (a colloquial term for an English country manor, used by the Eighth Air Force to rehabilitate its war-weary airmen), Rosenthal struggles with the “strange adjustment” and can only think about getting back into the war. “This here,” he protests to an Eighth Air Force surgeon, “is exactly what you don’t do.”
This is the premise of Masters of the Air – the fact that men like Robert Rosenthal were willing to climb back into their aircraft despite the seemingly insurmountable odds stacked against them. It was later estimated that less than 25% completed their tour of duty. Rosenthal was one of the lucky ones, despite being shot down twice. Harry Crosby, who lifted off from Thorpe Abbotts in the last B-17 to leave, was also blessed, although he later confessed, “I don’t recognise myself.” That’s what aerial warfare could do, and what Masters of the Air set out to emphasise.
In today’s parlance, Masters of the Air is not “binge-worthy.” It’s not meant to be. After all, who could stomach nine hours of high-tension aerial combat? What we see is a tribute to those who did – and by extension, those who flew with them; be they American, British or German. It is an outstanding testament, produced with care and attention by those who (thankfully) had the clout to do so.
Tom Hanks may have ignored my letter and overlooked the role of James Good Brown and the 381st Bomb Group, but he’s been forgiven. What he and the Masters of the Air production team, actors and support staff have done is bring their stories to a much wider audience, and in a dazzlingly authentic way. There are some (let’s call them “Rivet Counters”) who are not convinced, but having learnt a thing or two about the Eighth Air Force over the past ten years, the mettle of those who served matters most – more than the metal that held their B-17s together. Masters of the Air will propel them all.
Paul Bingley is an aviation historian and the author, of Bomb Group: The Eighth Air Force’s 381st and The Allied Air Offensive Over Europe.
