Americans have fought in many wars; and historian Stephen Ambrose has chronicled Americans’ participation in war, diligently and skillfully, for many years now. A longtime professor of history at the University of New Orleans, Ambrose was particularly renowned as an authority on the Second World War generally and the Normandy campaign specifically: filmmaker Steven Spielberg made Ambrose an historical consultant for his Academy Award-winning film Saving Private Ryan (1998); Ambrose’s book Band of Brothers: E Company, 506th Regiment, 101st Airborne – From Normandy to Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest (1992) inspired the 2001 HBO miniseries of the same name; and he was instrumental in the founding of the National World War II Museum in New Orleans in 2003. And Ambrose’s many admirers will find much to enjoy in his 1997 book Americans at War.
Americans at War is a collection of 15 articles, published in a variety of magazine and book venues, and treating the American Civil War, the Second World War, the Cold War, and the Vietnam War. In reading these articles, one can see many of the same thematic perspectives that characterize Ambrose’s larger and better-known works.
For instance, Ambrose writes, in an article about General Ulysses S. Grant’s successful 1863 siege of Vicksburg, Mississippi, that “Greatness can take many forms, assuming one shape with a Douglas MacArthur, another with an Andrew Jackson. It is most appealing, perhaps, when couched in directness and simplicity” (p. 50) – qualities that Grant possessed in abundance. Looking not only at Grant’s use of speed and surprise, his application of superior force at critical points, but also at the respect with which he treated his defeated rebel foes – at Vicksburg as, later, at Appomattox – Ambrose reminds the reader of “a line of thought that does not often occur to our people: Americans do not fight wars to make permanent enemies, but ever strive to convert their ex-foes into allies” (p. 50).
As Ambrose is particularly renowned for his histories of the D-Day invasion and the Normandy campaign, his chapter on “D-Day Revisited” is likely to be of particular interest to many readers. Having visited Normandy, and having walked all five of the invasion beaches from 6 June 1944, I was pleased to hear Ambrose’s impressions of D-Day sites that I too have seen, as when he writes of Omaha Beach that, “Looking up the bluff, I reminded myself that the brush and small trees that today make it such a lovely sight were all cut down in 1944. The bluff was crisscrossed with rifle pits and trenches, machine-gun pillboxes, and Tobruks [concrete bunkers]. Barbed wire was everywhere” (p. 100).
After evoking the dramatic sequence from the film The Longest Day (1960) that depicts the successful seizure of Omaha Beach as a matter of U.S. troops blowing holes in concrete walls that block the draws along the beach – “As Robert Mitchum, playing General Norman Cota, climbs into his jeep and drives up the hill, the music swells” – Ambrose reveals that, “climbing the bluff myself, and listening to the veterans’ words on the tapes, I made a discovery: That wasn’t the way it happened. The victory was won by individuals and small groups struggling up the bluff. German defenses at the draws were too strong to be breached and had to be outflanked” (p. 100). Ambrose always encourages his readers to look in new ways at something they thought they already knew.
Fans of George C. Scott’s Oscar-winning performance in the movie Patton (1970) will enjoy the account, in Ambrose’s essay on Eisenhower and Patton, on the press-conference episode that lost the real-life General George Patton the command of the 3rd U.S. Army. The incident occurred in September of 1945, after the end of the Second World War. Patton had long since established a bilious relationship with the members of the press corps that had been assigned to cover his work as military governor of occupied Bavaria; and he had already made clear his predilection to work with former Nazis, in opposition to official U.S. Government policy, on the (false) pretext that the ex-Nazis were the only qualified people available. It was against that background that the following memorable exchange occurred:
[T]he press waited for a chance to bait Patton into damning the de-Nazification policy. It came on September 22, when he called a press conference and asserted that the military government “would get better results if it employed more former members of the Nazi party in administrative jobs.” A reporter, trying to appear casual, asked, “After all, General, didn’t most ordinary Nazis join their party in about the same way that Americans become Republicans or Democrats?”
“Yes,” Patton agreed. “That’s about it.”
The headlines the next day screamed that Patton had said the Nazis were just like Republicans and Democrats back home. (p. 172)
A summons to Eisenhower’s headquarters in Frankfurt-am-Main, and Patton’s fall from grace, followed quickly.
Ambrose is no jingoist; he is willing to look at the grimmer episodes of American military history, as in his article “My Lai: Atrocities in Historical Perspective.” As many as 500 South Vietnamese civilians were murdered by U.S. troops at My Lai in 1968; the massacre remains one of the most shameful episodes in the annals of the U.S. Army. Ambrose concludes that the massacre resulted in part from the fact that the United States was “trying to win a war on the strategic defensive” (p. 200), out of concern that an offensive war might bring Communist China into the war, as had happened during the Korean War 25 years earlier. A resulting emphasis on body count – Vietnamese body count – as an index of military success led, in Ambrose’s view, directly to the My Lai massacre. At the same time, Ambrose writes,
One of the things about My Lai that stands out about My Lai in my mind and makes it not only possible for me to live with it but to be once again proud of the institution that I have spent most of my life studying, the United States Army, was that the army itself investigated the incident, made that investigation public, and did its best to punish the perpetrators of that outrage. I would defy anybody to name another army in the world that would do that. (p. 202)
That faith in the United States Army as an institution that not only protects but also champions and nourishes American democracy is a core theme of Americans at War, as it is of all Ambrose’s work. It is an interesting and invigorating thing to see this historian who is known for his epic works of history take more of a short-focus look at the U.S. Army at its work.