Ambrose's version of events retroactively imposes an elevated meaning on the American side of the war. Although The Good Fight neglects a host of relevant events and subjects that did not directly involve the United States (the V-weapon attacks on Britain; Operation Bagration; the resistance movements in Yugoslavia, Italy, and France, to name a few), Ambrose does discuss—and in greater detail than any other event save D-Day—the Holocaust. Young readers could be forgiven for inferring that the plight of the Jews and others in the death camps in part motivated America's involvement in the war. Ambrose quotes a former U.S. Army major who "voiced the emotions of so many of his fellow soldiers" when, many decades after the event, he maintained that when he saw Dachau, he said to himself, "Now I know why I am here." In truth, stopping the mass murder of Jews figured in no way in either American war aims or American conduct. In fact, U.S. political and military leaders, along with the press, played down the Nazi effort to exterminate the Jews, and the Army's own propaganda film series "Why We Fight" didn't even mention the Holocaust.
As the critic and literary historian (and World War II combat veteran) Paul Fussell reminded us in Wartime (1989), his study of the psychology and emotion of the United States at war,
For most Americans, the war was about revenge against the Japanese, and the reason the European part had to be finished first was so that maximum attention could be devoted to the real business, the absolute torment and destruction of the Japanese. The slogan was conspicuously Remember Pearl Harbor. No one ever shouted or sang Remember Poland.
(This understandable American passion for vengeance against Japan easily metastasized into what Britain's ambassador in Washington called a "universal 'exterminationist' anti-Japanese feeling" in the United States and among its armed forces overseas.)
The Good Fight is littered with lofty cant. To say, for instance, that the purpose of Operation Overlord (the Normandy invasion) "was to free France from Nazi tyranny" is to transform history writing (albeit "for kids") into rhetoric. That statement places the accents on all the wrong syllables. Overlord's goal was to establish a literal and figurative beachhead in Western Europe in order to help destroy German military power and hence end the war. To characterize it as Ambrose does is to confuse incidental results with fundamental purpose.
His literary endeavors seem largely motivated by a laudable desire to praise America's World War II fighting men. Ambrose honors them, however, not simply by chronicling their indisputable bravery and toughness but by insisting on a sentimental and high-minded explanation of what those men believed they were fighting for. In his books he repeatedly asserts that U.S. soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines "knew they were fighting for decency and democracy and they were proud of it and motivated by it." (Or, as Brokaw insists, "Everyone understood that the successful outcome of the war was critical to the continuing evolution of political and personal freedom.") But has any man ever killed and risked being killed for such abstract, imprecise, and gaseous sentiments? Ambrose, if not Brokaw, has read too much military history not to acknowledge plainly—as he wrote in a passage in Citizen Soldiers which contradicts the thrust of the rest of the book—that, according to the vast literature that assesses the motivation of U.S. fighters in World War II, "there is agreement that patriotism or any other form of idealism had little if anything to do with it." "The GIs fought because they had to," he continued. "What held them together was not country and flag, but unit cohesion." In the same book Ambrose papered over this difficulty by informing his readers that although the GIs fought for "decency and democracy," "they just didn't talk or write about it" (emphasis added). How, then, does he know? Rather than rely on what these men did write and say repeatedly during the war (which boils down to the reasonable, even courageously clear-eyed, but hardly righteous formula of kill or be killed, fight the war to end it so that we can go home), Ambrose draws on reminiscences and interviews and at least one "beer-drinking bull session" with a small number of veterans forty-five years after the fact—hardly the most reliable testimony.