Tag Archives: Germany

The Story of a Pen

On quiet Saturday mornings, when the angle of the sun is sharp, is usually the time I attack my weekend to-do list. Recently I finally came to terms with the unbearably large pile of books, papers, and household bric-a-brac choking off the usable workspace of my desk. Amongst the mélange were several ink pens of which I methodically assessed their usefulness before disposing of the deficient. One pen scratched the test paper with the unapologetic harshness of a desert stone. Upon closer inspection the words Hotel Astor Madeleine confirmed its esteemed provenance. 

In the closeness of the present it is possible to lose sight of the monumental as each day mimics the day prior. Just as the gradual tilt of the earth surreptitiously changes the seasons from year to year, so too does the scrum of daily living disguise the existence of momentous life events. At forty years old I can identify four key moments that changed the course of my life. First, when I joined the military. Second, moving overseas for the first time which put me on the path to meeting my wife. Third, the birth of my son. However, there is one event that precedes these other three. Without it the life I know and enjoy would not exist.  

Growing up in my parents house I was surrounded by information.  The family library was filled with books on science and natural history, atlases containing maps of countries long since disappeared, and histories of peoples and countries of yore. My mother had an incessant need to provide her children the complicated answer to any scientific question, not satisfied with oversimplifications and partial explanations. At one point in his life my father had wanted to become a history professor. Bedtime stories were a mix of the contemporary and the gruesome un-Disney-fied versions of the Grimm’s Fairy Tales. (You know, the ones where Hansel and Gretel push the witch into the oven to escape) Even the artwork on the wall beamed down the complicated history of Old Europe. It was inescapable and ever present.

For a young boy, not yet a teenager, the history seemed too remote. Kings and queens living in palaces, tens of thousands of muscat-wielding grenadiers waging war, the empires won on strength of wooden sailing ships were too long ago and too far away to be real to a kid from Michigan. That is until July 1994 when I accompanied my father on a business trip to Europe. It was my first trip outside of North America and the only time that I’d get to travel with him. Seeds were planted then that would have a profound influence on the rest of my life. 

The trip was only two weeks long, but it took me through Sweden, Germany, and France as my father conducted business in various offices. From the perspective of a twelve year old boy it was like being born again. The buildings looked different, the food was unrecognizable, the languages incomprehensible. It was the first time I ever drank Orangina and ate snails, became aware of European acceptance of nudity in the media, and walked through narrow medieval city streets on stones placed by men that died seven generations ago. 

It was also where I came face-to-face with the Swedish warship Vasa pulled from the mud and placed in a museum, artifacts of East Germany in a Bonn flea market, the Place de la Concorde in Paris, and where King Louis XVI lost his head to the guillotine. It would be too strong a statement to say that I lost my naivety on this trip; it would be more correct to say that the heroes and villains, triumphs and tragedies of the human experience came to life. The distant history instantly became close, tangible, and real.

Place de la Concorde, Paris. The site where King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette lost their heads during the French Revolution. Photo by Andrew Zapf

After this trip I developed an insatiable thirst to learn the stories of past men and women and visit the far-off places where another’s life turned. It would take another decade before I was able to visit Europe again, but by then the seed had firmly taken root. 

The Hotel Astor Madeleine was the hotel where I stayed with my father in Paris in July 1994. The room was so small my dad joked “don’t push the key in the lock too hard or you’ll break a window”. From that hotel room I watched the Eiffel Tower’s lights twinkle in the night and listened to the sounds of Parisian traffic far below me. It was the room in which my life, quite literally, turned on the point of a pen.

 

Andrew Zapf is a co-founder of Pushing Horizons.

Disclaimer: All views expressed are that of the author.

What We’re Reading This Month – August 2020

This past month has been a busy one. As society emerges from months of isolation the demands of stir-crazy families, a modern economy, and extended work hours in our day jobs has drastically cut down on the available reading time. I’ve turned to a few audiobooks during my commute to feed my appetite, but have still managed to read a few pages each night from a trusty hardbound, real-life book. This month’s reading selection features a mix of what was on-hand and what was easy to consume in these days.


The centerpiece for my reading this month has been The Splendid and the Vile by Erik Larson. Since last autumn I have been eagerly awaiting its release. There are few authors I’ve bothered to set up a Google Alert for, and he is one of them. For Father’s Day this year my wife purchased it for me and which fit neatly into the mental space I’ve made for the 80th Anniversary of the Battle of Britain.

The Splendid and the Vile by Erik Larson

“And so, with family turmoil, civic trauma, and Hitler’s deputy falling from the sky, the first year of Churchill’s leadership came to an end. Against all odds, Britain stood firm, its citizens more emboldened than cowed. Somehow, through it all, Churchill had managed to teach them the art of being fearless.”

In true Larson style, he weaves the historical narrative of the Battle of Britain, which began this month in 1940, with that of the human experiences of Winston Churchill, his family and closest associates in his first year as prime minister. Historical figures, especially the giants like Churchill, can be so famous that we view them as a two-dimensional version of themselves. Larson’s true skill is drawing out primary sources – letters, diaries, speeches, etc. – from the unlikely corners of history to inflate these 2D oversimplifications into three-dimensional, flesh and blood people with human foibles, emotions, and insecurities when the outcome of monumental events were uncertain. 

Furthermore, Larson reveals a wartime England that still clung to the normalities of life. Air raid sirens, shelter wardens, and rubble have been well-captured by history, but it was also a time when night clubs stayed open, debutantes were still presented to society, and the love-struck sought flowers and chocolate to express their affections. Probably the most memorable chapter for me describes the night of Queen Charlotte’s dance of 8 March 1941 and the death of jazz band leader Kenrick “Snackhips” Johnson as bombs rained down on central London and exploded into packed hotels, night clubs, and shopping districts. 

The Splendid and the Vile showed that Londoners didn’t simply turtle into a year-long shell only to emerge when the Nazi’s turned their military attention to invading the Soviet Union in May of 1941 True, many nights were spent sleeplessly awaiting the Luftwaffe, fighting fires, and digging the wounded and the dead from the rubble. But other nights were spent with lovers, dancing in clubs, courtship, and adultery. Churchill’s family enjoyed the privileges of the privileged society and spent weekends in the country in comfortable homes and exceeding their ration coupons. It was an exciting time to be alive for the English and the prospect of nightly death sharpened their appreciation for life. Larson magnificently portrays how life went on in England through the stories of Churchill’s daughter, Mary Churchull, and private secretary, John Colville who had their own stories of love and disappointment.

WIth this book I have renewed appreciation for Larson’s writing and added respect for the English spirit as they persevered with living and fighting when the second world war seemed the most hopeless and bleak.

Fighter: The True Story of the Battle of Britain by Len Deighton

“The Luftwaffe, hitherto a tactical supplement to the blitzkrieg, a force that had taken orders from the army, was about to take upon itself a strategic role. Moreover, it was asked to create a strategy, and then to translate that strategy into day-to-day tactical objectives for its bombers and fighters. The experience of its staff officers was not equal to this task.”

It’s been in my head for months to learn about the Battle of Britain while living in England. 2020 marks the 80th anniversary of the start of the battle and there are several events across the country to mark England’s success in defeating the Luftwaffe’s attempts to crush the Royal Air Force and England’s fighting spirit. I’ve sung the praises of Len Deighton for years. He’s one of my father’s favorite authors and his Cold War spy thrillers are some of the most enjoyable reads I have in the past five years. He’s also had success writing alternative histories – which have been converted into a television series. Deighton has also written some histories, and with his storyteller’s pen, has done an excellent job of making them readable and digestible

While he tells a remarkable narrative, Deighton does analyze the Battle of Britain beyond the mythical heroic Royal Air Force pilots and their advanced Spitfire and rugged Hurricane fighter aircraft. He delves into British aircraft production, the Luftwaffe staff shortcomings, German short sightedness. Probably the greatest feat Deighton reveals is the immense difficulty and achievement in the logistical balancing needed to build, employ, and maintain the Royal Air Force Fighter Command at a time when wooden-framed, cloth-covered aircraft were still in the British inventory. It’s a quick read and the way he organized his sections I was able to read a little at a time without having to commit to a full study of the battle.

The Lemon Tree: An Arab, a Jew, and the Heart of the Middle East by Sandy Tolan

“I struggle for your rights despite my fears. But your rights have to be balanced against our needs for survival. That is why you cannot be satisfied. For you, every viable solution will always be lacking in justice. In a peace plan, everybody will have to do with less than they deserve.”

In a departure from the Battle of Britain theme, I downloaded the audiobook of The Lemon Tree for my commute into work. In a vary Erik Larons-esque style, Tolan weaves the long history of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict with the story of a single home built by an Arab family and later occupied by an Jewish family. The home, and the lemon tree that was planted in the garden, become the focal point for all of the contradictions, injustices, and mutual hope that characterizes the evolving conflict. It’s a story looking backwards, not a solution looking forward, but it’s greatest feature is the empathy a reader can gain for both sides. 

I listened to this as an audiobook and hearing the stories orally added an additional layer of hurt to the injustice.

The 33 Strategies of War by Robert Greene

“The prudent man might seem cold, his rationality sucking pleasure out of life. Not so. Like the pleasure-loving gods on Mount Olympus, he has the perspective, the calm detachment, the ability to laugh, that comes with true vision, which gives everything he does a quality of lightness – these traits comprising what Nietzsche calls the ‘Apollonian ideal.” . . . Odysseus loved adventure; no one was better at the experience of pleasure. He was simply more reasonable, more balanced, less vulnerable to his own emotions and moods, and he left less tragedy and turmoil in his wake. . .  . In a world where people are increasingly incapable of thinking consequentially, more animal than ever, the practice of grand strategy will instantly elevate you above others.”

Finally, the end of my COVID-induced physical separation and work absence has given way to a rushing return to the office. A backlog of emails, papers, and activities to coordinate has eaten into the reading time I previously enjoyed. I turned to Robert Greene for a daily dose of professionally thought-provoking material. Having finished The 48 Laws of Power a few months prior I decided to pick up another of his works, this time The 33 Strategies of War. Each “law” is packaged into a chapter of historical case studies, analysis, related parables, and cautionary counter-examples. In short, Greene gives a readers’ digest of political-military content for the busy and the rushed. I tend to read a few pages each morning over coffee, allowing my brain to engage with the material as the caffeine stimulates my central nervous system.

Geared toward the non-military professional, The 33 Strategies of War employs lessons of past conflict for common usage. There may be some disappointment for those that view their industry as cutt-throat and hope to find practical advice on wielding the knife. It’s not prescriptive for action, but encourages the reader to think with a clear vision. 

Don’t expect to become a new Napoleon after reading this work, but don’t be surprised if you find yourself with a more ruthless inner monologue in your daily interactions.

Andrew Zapf is a co-founder of Pushing Horizons.

Disclaimer: All views expressed are that of the author. As an REI Associate, Pushing Horizons earns from qualifying purchases.

The Kandahar Run

One of the Oldest Ski Races traces its origin to the Hindu Kush.

“There is always that lone skier…going down where it is steepest and the snow untouched, in absolute grace, marking each dazzling turn with a brief jab of the pole—there is always him, the skier you cannot be.”

James Salter- Essay “ The Skiing Life”

Time is quickly fleeing proclaims a house in Oberammergau, Bavaria

In January we found ourselves in the Bavarian Alps.  Chocolate box perfect Alpine chalets, with painted exteriors, seemed to stand at every corner.  In the town of Garmisch, towering above it all stood the imposing jagged profile of the Zugspitze, the highest peak in Germany. 

The Zugspitze, the highest peak in Germany.

On every street stood banners proclaiming the upcoming Kandahar Ski Run.  For those of my generation, the word Kandahar is more likely to conjure up images of an endless counterinsurgency against the Taliban than a ski race in an idyllic snowy mountain setting.

The Kandahar Race in Garmisch, site of the 1936 Olympics

Yet the two, worlds apart, have more in common than it appears.  In 1928, the Arlberg Ski Club in Austria and the British Kandahar Ski club in Switzerland co-hosted the first race in St. Anton.  It was the first Alpine Combined ski race of slalom and downhill events in the history of skiing.  

45 fearless skiers from Austria, Switzerland, Britain, and the United States competed against each by hurtling down the mountain as fast as they could with their primitive equipment.  Its popularity led the International Ski Federation to recognize Alpine Skiing in addition to the classic Nordic disciplines.

Field Marshal Frederick Roberts was a Victorian era soldier whose career at the height of British Empire saw him fighting in India, Ethiopia, and South Africa.  In Afghanistan, at the head of a 10,000 man field force, he marched across 300 miles of inhospitable terrain to defeat Ayub Khan at Kandahar in 1880. In honor of the victory, he was named the Earl of Kandahar.  Later in life, he awarded the Roberts of Kandahar cup at one of the first ever ski races, which led to the formation of the British Kandahar Ski club.

The Kandahar ski race soon spread to other locations including Chamonix-France, Sestriere-Italy, and Garmisch-Germany.  Thus history is made and a ski race in Germany is named after a city in war ravaged central Asia.

A racer flies down the slope on a qualifying run.

Now a part of the Alpine Skiing World Cup, the Garmisch Kandahar run is considered by some to be the best ski run in the world.  It drops 1800 meters or 5 thousand feet in elevation in 7 km. One section, ominously labeled “free fall”, is a jaw dropping 92% gradient.  Those who want to win the race, compete for advantages in hundredths of a second.

Lisa on the summit of the Osterfelderkopf, above the Kandahar route.

Lisa and I were drawn to ski the run like flies are drawn to light.  Sneaking out for an afternoon on the slopes we found most of the route shut off as they prepared the course for the race.  Luckily a section wasn’t yet closed and we got to taste a little of the Kandahar in midst of a snow storm. Then on Friday, we skied on the margins of the course to watch the racers test themselves on the qualifying runs. 

Skiers along the route check the rankings

By Saturday, race day, the skies were a brilliant blue.  Crowds walked through the town and fields to the base of the mountain.  Festive music blared, and people lined up for beers and bratwurst.

Fans mingle at the base of the mountain.

Above them on the impossibly steep slope, the racers battled.  Ski racing, probably like life, is a matter of finding the right balance between risk and restraint.  Too fearless and too fast and a racer would go crashing into the nets that line the course. Too prudent and a skier wouldn’t win.  The greatest, of course, were just over the edge of control as they hurtled down the mountain at maximum speeds of 140 kms an hour (86 mph) and jumps that could launch them 60 meters.

A racer launches off a jump.

Hometown hero Thomas Dressen took the victory, the first for a German in many years.  The crowd roared their approval. He completed the course in 1.39.31. Second place was .16 of a second slower.  Last place that day was two minutes slower than the champion-an eternity.

Fans cheer as a racer crosses the finish line.

Amidst the festive beer fueled atmosphere, which resembled an Oktoberfest in the Snow, we marveled at the athleticism and daring of the skiers.  Stranger still were the twists of fate that had led the race to be named after a city far away where men continue to fight.

Exploring Heidelberg, Germany

The Germans say that spring arrives first in Heidelberg, and that very well may be true. Visiting on a Saturday in February the city was still bundled against the cold, but had enough sun and blue skies to give one optimism. While passing through Germany on work travel I was fortunate to spend a solo day exploring some of the interesting corners in this university city of southwest Germany.

The Old Bridge of Heidelberg. Constructed in the 18th Century it remains a fixture of the landscape. Behind is Schloss Heidelberg on the hillside. Photo by Andrew Zapf

First and foremost, Heidelberg is a city for discussion and learning. Home to one of Europe’s oldest universities, Heidelberg University, and its reputation and ancient traditions seep into every corner of the city’s identity.

As a student-city, Heidelberg is rife with bicycles as a means of transportation. You can find them parked around the campus buildings, cafes, and shops, which is a clear indicator of lively intellectual life. Photo by Andrew Zapf
The Heidelberg Univeristy Prison originally was a place feared by students, but as the 19th century turned into the 20th century a stay in the Prison became rite of passage. The Prison was eventually closed in 1914 after students became a little too bold with violations and confrontations with university staff to earn a few nights in the Prison. Photo by Andrew Zapf
A carved doorframe in the University Prison. Photo by Andrew Zapf
Graffiti within the Heidelberg University Prison. There were only a few rooms, but the furniture, walls, and ceiling gave evidence of many visitors over the years. Photo by Andrew Zapf
Furniture carved on every surface during the long hours of boredom while in the University Prison. Photo by Andrew Zapf
More graffiti within the University Prison. Photo by Andrew Zapf
Bookstores in Heidelberg are deep and rich, reflecting the educational core of the city. Photo by Andrew Zapf

Schloss Heidelberg dominates the city from above. It once commanded the River Neckar and housed Germany royalty. Now it is largely a ruin, but can still excite the imagination. Within its walls are the giant wine casks, a Michelin-starred restaurant, the remains of Heidelberg Palace, and impressive views of the surrounding area.

The legend of the castle says that anyone who could bite through the ring on the Schloss Heidelbergs gate would gain control of the castle and right to rule. A witch tried to bite through the ring and could only crack it - failing in her attempt. Photo by Andrew Zapf
Das gross Fass, or The Great Tun, with a capacity of 55,345 gallons (222,726 liters) of wine. Wine brought in by local farmers, tithed to the rulers, probably blended into an intriguing (or awful) blend. Photo by Andrew Zapf
"Perkeo" the mascot next to The Great Tun. Named after the Schloss Heidelberg cellarmaster who is said to have responded to an offer for another glass of wine with "Perche, No?", in Italian, or "Why not?". Palace legend has it that he died after drinking a glass of water. Photo by Andrew Zapf

Around Heidelberg are restaurants and cafes to feed the student population, citizenry, and constant stream of tourists. A visitor can find modern chains alongside the oldest establishments in the city. For the coup de grâce of my day in Heidelberg I sought out a centuries-old haven of students, intellectuals, and travelers – Gasthof zum Roten Ochsen. In my imagination the walls still lean in to overhear the conversations of beer-soaked wisdom and wurst-fueled philosophy. The sturdy tables bore witness to Heidelberg’s 1960’s student activists, and supported the elbows innumerable notable and ordinary men and women.

A table with Zum Roten Ochen. Mark Twain, Otto von Bismarck and countless celebrities enjoyed meals in this establishment. Photo by Andrew Zapf
Decor within the Zum Roten Ochesen, the Red Ox. This face of Beethoven may have been overlooking generations of visitors for all I know. Photo by Andrew Zapf
More importantly, generations of students and authors sat at these tables arguing and debating long into the night. The carved tables reflect the long hours with which one could pass the time in The Red Ox, and the smooth edges are probably evidence of the many spilt beers during those hours. A personal hero of mine, Patrick Leigh Fermor, passed through and mentioned his visit in his book A Time of Gifts. Photo by Andrew Zapf

Although I only had a day to visit, I can certainly understand how others have spent a weeks, months, and lifetimes in the historic city of Heidelberg.

Views to the west with Schloss Heidelberg on the left, and the Old Bridge over the River Neckar on the right. Photo by Andrew Zapf

Andrew Zapf is a co-founder of Pushing Horizons.

Disclaimer: All views expressed are that of the author. As an REI Associate, Pushing Horizons earns from qualifying purchases.

World War II: Strategic Bombing Campaign

“From recently built bases in East Anglia, a new kind of warfare was being waged – high-altitude strategic bombing. It was a singular event in the history of warfare, unprecedented and never to be repeated. The technology needed to fight a prolonged, full-scale bomber war was not available until the early 1940s and, by the closing days of that first ever bomber war, was already being rendered obsolete by jet engine aircraft, rocket-powered missiles, and atomic bombs.” – Masters of the Air, Prologue

It seems to me that some in England have a fetish for the 1940s. During World War II, London was still the center of a vast world-wide empire. It was a time when its citizens were lauded for remarkable resilience during the Nazi Blitz. The British can rightly hang their hat on the inspiration of their wartime Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, who carried the mood of the nation on his shoulders. Museums stand across the nation on the sites of former World War II headquarters and stations vital to the war – Churchill’s War Rooms in London, Bletchley Park – home of the enigma code breakers, and others. Seasonally, towns across the island celebrate with 1940s-themed events where vintage fashions and vintage cars are revived along with period Big Band music. Even my town’s local property preservation company advertises itself as The Damp Busters, complete with an image of a Lancaster bomber. The name is derived from the 1955 World War II film The Dam Busters, not the most obvious reference in 2019.

England’s remembrance is tinged with a large dose of nostalgia that ignores some of the commonplace contributions of the English countryside. In my daily work I constantly encounter names of former Royal Air Force (RAF) bases that housed RAF and United States Army Air Forces (USAAF) squadrons. Names such as Alconbury, Wyton, Bassingbourn, Molesworth, and the like. Most of the bases have long since been reclaimed by the villages’ farmers, transformed into other military installations, or simply memorialized on local village signs (insert picture of village sign). However, these names are also the last reminders of the greatest air campaign and largest bomber force the world has ever seen. I reckon that there is no time in the history of human aviation where more human beings took to the skies than during the massive 1,000-plane missions of 1943-1945.

I have begun digging into the Strategic Bombing Campaign out of personal interest and professional curiosity. As the Masters of the Air quote above indicates, the advocates and planners of strategic bombing were pioneers in aviation and warfare unrivaled by anything in history in regards to technological complexity, marshalling of resources, and sheer power of destructive force. The books reviewed below are just the tip of the iceberg on this subject, but one I’m inclined to continue exploring.

“Visitors to the bases noticed that there was something wrong with these boys. Most of them were ‘quiet, edgy, morose.’ And many of them drank tremendously and lived only for the day; they lacked the sweeping horizons and large dreams of most boys their age. The replacements arrived excited and eager to perform, but that usually lasted less than a week. Soon they, too, had that ‘look.’ 

One evening, Ben Smith joined a volleyball game in progress. It was the strangest thing he had ever experienced. No one laughed, no one shouted, no one made a sound. ‘The entire game was played in silence.’”

During World War II, the men that signed up for the United States Army Air Corp, later the United States Army Air Forces, fought the newest type of warfare ever imagined. They rode in the biggest aircraft ever designed with the Allies most secret technology – the Norden bombsight. But the cost of living on this frontier were punishingly brutal lessons taught in this new school. Donald Miller gives a rich voice to the stories of these men as their endurance and resilience was tested during an oft-romanticized theater of war. While the men flew in the wild blue yonder, and slept on white sheets in an Allied country, the bomber crew casualty rates exceeded any other theater of war, until the full commitment of ground forces with the invasion of Normandy in 1944. 

The bombing campaign chewed through men and equipment at astonishing rates. Men suffered in sub-zero temperatures, thrashed by dogged German anti-bomber schemes, and continuously bore the trauma of their dead and wounded. This book is tremendous in marrying the personal stories and anecdotes with the necessary historical information to give them broader context. This is the book that needed to be written as the World War II generation slowly, and eternally, slips entirely into history. It should be no surprise that this book is being made into an HBO series, à la Band of Brothers, so this is certainly worth reading now to give that future viewing experience an even deeper meaning.

“The bombing was in fact so imprecise that the Germans, seeing bombs scattered across hundreds of miles, were genuinely unaware of what the target was. The RAF suffered high casualties in the process. . .

If it was impossible to bomb precisely, then there were only two choices: bomb imprecisely or don’t bomb at all. There was no other way of hitting back, and an end to bombing was unthinkable. British forces had been driven from the Continent, and reestablishing a British military presence was out of the question. . . All that was left was area bombing.”

If Masters of the Air is that book that needed to be written to tell the human story of the Strategic Bombing Campaign, then Fire and Fury is the book that needs to be read to appreciate the immensity of the undertaking along with the moral burden on the decision makers during its implementation. Randall Hansen asks and attempts to answer the two biggest questions of the bombing campaign against Germany. Was it effective, and was it justified? At the heart of his analysis is the employment of area bombing by the British Royal Air Force, targeting civilian morale, versus American precision bombing of Germany’s industry. Hansen brings the reader from the pre-war discussions all the way through the final missions over Berlin in 1945. His discussion of the ethics and morals is accompanied by the ugly data of Total War making a powerful argument and important read. Despite the serious nature of Hansen’s topic I found the writing tremendously engaging.

In our own era of cyber threats and the possible militarization of outer space, it is critical to remember that our predecessors grappled with the moral implications of the newest technologies and most modern method of waging war. We can fortify ourselves knowing that in the greatest war the world has ever known, a Total War, many of them still chose to value human life.

Depictions of the Strategic Bombing campaign are useful in contextualizing the above-mentioned books. Twelve O’Clock High, already widely known as a Hollywood classic, depicts the immense mental strain the bomber crews and commanders had on them during the war. While, the PG-13-rated 1990 film, Memphis Belle, captures the strain bomber crews sustained while flying their missions, albiet with every cliche imaginable. Finally, the actual Memphis Belle crew was featured in a World War II documentary film and released during the war. I’m especially drawn to this short film for its World War II-era footage of the air bases and the immense logistical and personnel requirements needed to keep the bombers flying day-in and day out.

Andrew Zapf is a co-founder of Pushing Horizons.

Disclaimer: All views expressed are that of the author.