51 pages • 1-hour read
A Higher Call: An Incredible True Story of Combat and Chivalry in the War-Torn Skies of World War II
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Themes
Chivalry and Compassion Amidst Total War
A Higher Call is built around the tension between the brutal realities of total war and the fragile persistence of personal honor and compassion. Makos uses Stigler’s choice to spare a crippled B-17 as the central moral axis of the book, presenting it not as a simple act of kindness but as a profound assertion of humanity in a system designed to crush it. In December 1943, with the Knight’s Cross tantalizingly within reach, Stigler approaches Brown’s shattered bomber and instead of finishing it off, refuses to fire, escorting it through flak batteries before saluting and turning away. This act is set against a backdrop of escalating violence, propaganda-driven kill counts, and Nazi demands for absolute destruction of the enemy.
Makos reinforces the significance of this choice by tracing Stigler’s professional education in North Africa under Gustav Roedel, whose blunt code of honor is encapsulated when he warns, “If I ever see or hear of you shooting at a man in a parachute,” Roedel said, “I will shoot you down myself” (47). This line distills the ethos that pilots are meant to remain knights of the air despite the war’s growing savagery. Encounters with Hans-Joachim Marseille also reveal a culture that celebrates high kill tallies while quietly endorsing mercy as a sign of mastery. These ideals are tested as the Luftwaffe transitions from the “Desert Amusement Park” era of camaraderie to the desperate defense of German cities under relentless Allied bombing. Stigler’s own experiences—witnessing inflated victory claims, watching rookies die in their cockpits, and enduring Gestapo interrogations—underscore the moral corrosion of total war, making his moment of compassion all the more extraordinary.
Makos uses Stigler’s inner monologue at the crucial moment to dramatize the personal cost of mercy: “A gear clicked in Franz’s soul. He laid a hand over the pocket of his jacket and felt his rosary beads within. This will be no victory for me, Franz decided. I will not have this on my conscience for the rest of my life” (195). This moment highlights that Stigler’s refusal to kill is not passive but an active, conscious stand against the pressures of indoctrination and reward. Meanwhile, on the American side, Makos shows Brown leading “The Quiet Ones,” whose nickname signals their disciplined, unglamorous professionalism. The B-17’s crew becomes the human face of the enemy for Stigler, transforming from faceless targets into wounded, terrified men. This recognition of shared vulnerability is the emotional core of the book. The narrative’s depiction of flak bursts, severed stabilizers, and dead or dying crewmen gives weight to the mercy Stigler extends.
Ultimately, A Higher Call suggests that acts of chivalry and compassion are not naive relics of a bygone age but essential counterforces to the dehumanization of total war. By sparing his enemy, Stigler preserves not just 10 American lives but also his own integrity. Makos frames this moment as proof that even amidst mechanized slaughter and ideological extremism, individual choice still matters—and that true honor lies in recognizing the humanity of one’s enemy.
The Psychological Toll of Combat and Moral Dilemmas
A Higher Call is not just a story of wartime heroism but an exploration of the psychological burdens carried by soldiers on both sides. Makos devotes attention to the inner struggles of Stigler and Brown, illustrating how combat trauma, survivors’ guilt, and moral conflict reshape their identities. These themes emerge not only in battle but also in quieter, reflective moments, showing that the war’s most enduring wounds can be invisible.
Stigler’s journey reveals the corrosive effects of sustained combat. Early in North Africa, he is mentored by leaders who stress honor, yet the realities of war quickly challenge these values. He witnesses friends like Willi Kientsch die in futile rescue missions, sees his unit unravel under leadership scandals, and watches younger pilots burn out or fall asleep mid-sortie from exhaustion. By late 1944, he is writing condolence letters while numbing himself with alcohol. Stigler’s fatigue emerges not only in private grief but also in his mentorship role, as when he tells Brown, “Stick close to me and you’ll come home alive” (241). This line captures the desperate blend of care and fatalism that war breeds in even the most seasoned veterans. His decision to spare Brown’s bomber can be seen as both a triumph of conscience and a reaction to moral exhaustion—a refusal to add another senseless death to an already unbearable ledger.
Brown’s psychological journey is equally complex. Initially a disciplined but inexperienced pilot, he quickly becomes the reluctant guardian of his crew’s lives in an environment designed to kill them. The December 20 mission inflicts devastating losses, including the death of tail-gunner Ecky Eckenrode, and severe injuries to other crewmen. Brown’s determination to keep the plane airborne despite catastrophic damage speaks to both duty and desperation. His sense of responsibility is highlighted in Makos’s plain, unadorned phrasing: “He was worried, not of dying, but of messing up and taking nine other men’s lives with him” (149). This sentence reframes heroism around caretaking rather than killing, revealing the ethical weight that haunts even “successful” missions.
Makos’s narrative underscores that these psychological tolls are not incidental but integral to understanding warfare’s human cost. By showing how both men grapple with fear, guilt, and the weight of moral choice, A Higher Call rejects simplistic notions of heroism. Instead, it honors the complexity of soldiers who, despite immense pressure to dehumanize the enemy and themselves, managed to act with mercy and reflection. The book argues that the true test of character lies not in racking up victories but in enduring—and learning from—the moral wounds war inflicts.
The Power of Reconciliation and Shared Humanity
At its heart, A Higher Call is a testament to the possibility of reconciliation and the enduring power of humanity. While the December 1943 encounter between Stigler and Brown is the narrative’s emotional climax, Adam Makos frames it not as an isolated moment of wartime mercy but as the seed of a decades’-spanning journey toward mutual understanding and forgiveness. By tracing their lives from the war to reunion in the 1990s, Makos shows how even the bitterest enemies can recognize their essential sameness.
The book’s closing chapters reveal how this reconciliation was anything but easy. After the war, Stigler wrestles with the loss of comrades and the moral compromises of serving a criminal regime, even as he builds a new life in Canada. Brown, meanwhile, carries the trauma of his mission for decades, haunted by questions about why he survived when so many others did not. Their journeys underscore how wartime experiences can linger as unresolved wounds, requiring acknowledgment and human connection to heal.
Their reunion does not erase the past; it confronts it honestly. When they finally meet, both men acknowledge both the horror of what they survived and the grace of what they shared. Stigler’s inscription describing Brown as “as precious as my brother was” (361) fuses wartime loss and post-war reconciliation, elevating humanity above rivalry. Similarly, the line “Their message was simple: enemies are better off as friends” (363) distills the book into a moral principle that transcends history’s divisions, turning a singular act of mercy into a universal lesson about empathy.
Makos amplifies this moment by describing their tours together in later life, speaking to schools and military units about mercy, honor, and forgiveness. A Higher Call ultimately argues that reconciliation is not mere sentimentality but a necessary act of moral courage. By recognizing each other’s humanity, Brown and Stigler defy the forces that once demanded their mutual destruction. Their story offers a model for confronting the past and using acts of understanding to reshape lives and promote peace grounded in shared values. Such an approach, on a larger scale, could prevent dehumanizing actions in future wars.
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