Michael Wittman, born in Bavaria in 1919, was a tank commander in an elite SS division and was killed in action at Normandy. He was the most highly decorated tanker of the war, a brave and skillful leader. He was also an ardent Nazi who wanted nothing more than revenge for the damage that Allied bombing had done to Berlin. German propaganda elevated him to celebrity status.
There is no question of his skill. He performed wonders, both with a flat little assault gun and later with the awesome Tiger. Almost alone, he brought the British advance on Caen to a halt. He taught his unit to fire while their tanks were moving, a tactic that was forbidden by standing orders. His courage prompted him to be in the lead of every attack, including the one that led to his death. He was extremely good at what he did.
This episode focuses less on the context of his battles than on Wittman himself and his almost unbelievable personal achievements. Participants from both sides make their observations. It's a combination of newsreel footage, stills, talking heads, narration, and the splendid CGIs that are usual in this series.
But it can't help giving the viewer the willies. Wittman took a bride just before his final post. He probably loved her, and his parents too. If he had a dog, he probably loved the dog. If he had a hobby like collecting stamps or building toys, he probably loved that. An admirable soldier who was fully committed to a set of foul values unlike Rommel, say, who was able to tell the difference between being a soldier and embracing the ideology that promoted the war. I always have the same problem with some military idols. Robert E. Lee, for instance or, more aptly, Nathan Bedford Forrest. And there is George Patton, a skillful and courageous leader whose personal values I find loathsome -- and he was on OUR side.
In any case, to the extent that it's possible to swallow Wittman's ideology and motives, as one of the historians, Higgins, does, it's possible to hold the guy in considerable esteem. I mean -- I couldn't have done what he did, I'm sure. Who could? The historian, David R. Higgins, seems to accommodate this cognitive dissonance with aplomb. He's like a doctor dispassionately discussing a loved one's terminal disease. He doesn't bat an eye. Enviable.