I had an epiphany recently. I realized that rank can sometimes have the same effect as overindulgence in alcohol: it tends to amplify a person's most dominant qualities. A sober jerk becomes a complete moron when drunk; happy people tend to make jovial drinkers. The same can be said of one who has rank, particularly in the military. Good leaders tend to improve with rank and position, while bad leaders tend to get worse.
Case in point: my first supervisor at my last unit was a complete moron who fortunately got fired before he got anyone killed. I don't say that about many people, but the poor man was too dumb to realize he was stupid. One time, when I was in Atlanta preparing for my first trip to Kuwait (where he was), I sent him an email asking what I should do there to prepare for my job here. His reply was, "We'll talk about it when you get here." I was too dumbfounded to even ask, "Huh?" Unfortunately, the higher I climb up the Army ladder, the more people like that I meet. Does stupid just gravitate to me?
At the other end of that spectrum lies a different superior officer, who also works in the same Cubicle Hell that I did -- and who is too smart for his own good. Thankfully, I did not work for him; God help me (or him) if I ever do. This man was in academia long enough to add a whole bunch of impressive-sounding letters to his name, but was away from the Army so long that he forgot how to be an effective leader. This pompous blowhard has an ego the size of Texas, and treats everyone around him -- including some of his peers -- like West Point cadets. He's always the smartest man in the room, and makes sure you know it within about five minutes. For months on end I would hear him loudly proclaim his utter disdain for the organization, especially to his cronies over the phone. He once had the audacity to tell one of his officers that he knew my job better than me, and that his officer should strive to not be like me -- but for all his disrespectful bloviating, he never had the intestinal fortitude to confront me personally. When confronted by someone junior, he usually hides behind his rank.
It was people like those two who made the organization what it was: not a genuine team, but a loose collection of individuals. While both of these men were polar opposites in intelligence and education, they both either forgot or else never learned some basic tenets of leadership. I've always said that effective leadership -- motivating others toward a common goal -- is simple. Treat people with respect, before you expect them to respect you, and they will do anything for you.
Apparently for some this concept is too complex, while for others it is not complex enough. And that is unfortunate for the officers and soldiers who have to endure such incompetence.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Friday, July 11, 2008
Grab your helmets, here comes a war story
Many of you have heard me tell this once or twice over the years, but it bears repeating. A couple of you were there as well.
On July 11, 1991, at approximately 1100 hours, a thundering explosion shook me out of bed. I was at what was then Camp Doha, Kuwait, with the Germany-based 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment's 511th Military Intellgence Company. Some 75 Russian and German linguists strong, we deployed as part of Operation Positive Force, *the* contingency plan just in case the recently-defeated Iraqi army decided to re-invade Kuwait. I still have no clue why the Army in its infinite wisdom sent 75 Russian and German linguists, so don't bother asking -- but I can tell you that I heard more Russian radio traffic here than I ever did in Germany (probably from some border dispute with Kazakhstan at the time).
Still asleep from the previous night's guard duty, I stumbled out of the building to witness dozens of my comrades running down the street, gazing at the explosion's fallout some 1,000 meters to our north. Popular theories at the moment as to the cause of the ruckus ranged from enemy mortars to a guarding M-1 Abrams tank shooting a wayward vehicle. Or maybe a fuel tank exploded in the heat? I decided it wasn't my problem so I visited the latrine, then blearily headed back for bed.
Then a second, much louder explosion ripped across the desert, shaking the warehouse buildings where we lived and shattering the small windows atop the 20-foot walls. The curious were now running back to the barracks, convinced something in the motor pool was on fire. I hastily threw on everything I could grab in 10 seconds: boots, pants, flak vest, dogtags and helmet were all I could muster before we all gathered on the leeward side of the building. The explosions were coming fast now, one right after the other, and I won't lie -- I was scared at first.
After a quick accounting of every Soldier, our company joined the rest of the Regiment in running for our lives. It's quite a sight to see thousands of Soldiers streaking, yelling, and jumping over the fence that separated our compound from the U.N.'s, which was normally off-limits because they allowed beer. I sprained an ankle upon landing; I heard one buddy proclaim "We'd better get our combat patches for this!" (We did, later.) Over the next 8 hours, we sat quietly as the explosions still rocked the base and eventually died down. All day long, medics were carrying in Soldiers on stretchers, seemingly by the dozen. Most of them were heat injuries -- when the explosions started, the temperature was already well above 100 degrees.
We found out that indeed a fire in a vehicle in the large motor pool on the north side of the camp had caused a massive cook-off of ammunition. All of our unit's vehicles were combat loaded, meaning they carried a full complement of live ammunition just in case -- and all the extra ammo was stored in nearby containers, exposed to the searing heat. The subsequent investigation revealed that a Field Artillery unit had just returned from field exercises, and an ammunition carrier had experienced an electrical fire that didn't get extinguished before it was parked next to all the other vehicles. A Major on the scene called over a fire truck, stuck the hose in the hatch of the burning vehicle, and told everyone to run to safety. The ensuing chaos flung debris and unexploded ordnance as much as three-quarters of a mile; I even saw a whole engine on the ground, a half-mile from the motor pool.
My newly-pregnant wife and toddler son were in Fulda, Germany with the rest of the spouses. The initial radio reports they heard -- from none other than Paul Harvey -- were that at least 50 Soldiers had died as a result of the explosions which did rattle windows in downtown Kuwait City, some 10 miles across the bay. In truth, there were some serious injuries but no deaths until two weeks later, during the clean-up of the unexploded munitions, when three Soldiers were killed instantly after a tank round exploded without warning.
A couple of weeks after the incident, we had a previously-scheduled visit from Gen. H. Norman Schwarzkopf. We all stood in formation and watched as his helicopter circled the disaster site, then landed. The General awarded some medals for near-heroic acts during the incident, gave a thankfully short, hooh-ah speech in which he erroneously called us the "Blackhawk Regiment," then left. (The 11th ACR is the Blackhorse Regiment.) I found out later that "Stormin' Norman" ripped our Regimental commander a new one all the way there and all the way back. (Historically, some of his ass-chewings were legendary.) We returned to Germany in September after only three months deployed, and got a new commander the following March. The old commander, Col. A.J. Bacevich, was the only commander of that unit to not get promoted to Brigadier General. Another Colonel told me years later that Bacevich took full responsibility for the incident, even the faulty ammunition storage. The new commander was Col. William S. Wallace, now a full General.
The 11th ACR was my first unit in the Army, after nearly two years of Russian
linguist/interceptor training. I've since run into many others who were there that day, and they have their own stories. One guy in my unit even had the presence of mind to take pictures of the explosions, and sold copies of the best ones (like this one to the right). One of those, which is buried in an album at home somewhere, even showed a guy sprinting from the showers in nothing but a towel and flipflops. I even later saw pics of the site taken from the air; it looked like a nuke had gone off in the center. The Army still considers that day the worst accident ever, and I'm told someone here in Kuwait actually has a safety video describing it.
[Interesting facts for you numerologists...
The German philosopher Nietzsche said, "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." I guess I'm a better man for having lived to tell the tale.
On July 11, 1991, at approximately 1100 hours, a thundering explosion shook me out of bed. I was at what was then Camp Doha, Kuwait, with the Germany-based 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment's 511th Military Intellgence Company. Some 75 Russian and German linguists strong, we deployed as part of Operation Positive Force, *the* contingency plan just in case the recently-defeated Iraqi army decided to re-invade Kuwait. I still have no clue why the Army in its infinite wisdom sent 75 Russian and German linguists, so don't bother asking -- but I can tell you that I heard more Russian radio traffic here than I ever did in Germany (probably from some border dispute with Kazakhstan at the time).
Still asleep from the previous night's guard duty, I stumbled out of the building to witness dozens of my comrades running down the street, gazing at the explosion's fallout some 1,000 meters to our north. Popular theories at the moment as to the cause of the ruckus ranged from enemy mortars to a guarding M-1 Abrams tank shooting a wayward vehicle. Or maybe a fuel tank exploded in the heat? I decided it wasn't my problem so I visited the latrine, then blearily headed back for bed.
Then a second, much louder explosion ripped across the desert, shaking the warehouse buildings where we lived and shattering the small windows atop the 20-foot walls. The curious were now running back to the barracks, convinced something in the motor pool was on fire. I hastily threw on everything I could grab in 10 seconds: boots, pants, flak vest, dogtags and helmet were all I could muster before we all gathered on the leeward side of the building. The explosions were coming fast now, one right after the other, and I won't lie -- I was scared at first.
After a quick accounting of every Soldier, our company joined the rest of the Regiment in running for our lives. It's quite a sight to see thousands of Soldiers streaking, yelling, and jumping over the fence that separated our compound from the U.N.'s, which was normally off-limits because they allowed beer. I sprained an ankle upon landing; I heard one buddy proclaim "We'd better get our combat patches for this!" (We did, later.) Over the next 8 hours, we sat quietly as the explosions still rocked the base and eventually died down. All day long, medics were carrying in Soldiers on stretchers, seemingly by the dozen. Most of them were heat injuries -- when the explosions started, the temperature was already well above 100 degrees.
We found out that indeed a fire in a vehicle in the large motor pool on the north side of the camp had caused a massive cook-off of ammunition. All of our unit's vehicles were combat loaded, meaning they carried a full complement of live ammunition just in case -- and all the extra ammo was stored in nearby containers, exposed to the searing heat. The subsequent investigation revealed that a Field Artillery unit had just returned from field exercises, and an ammunition carrier had experienced an electrical fire that didn't get extinguished before it was parked next to all the other vehicles. A Major on the scene called over a fire truck, stuck the hose in the hatch of the burning vehicle, and told everyone to run to safety. The ensuing chaos flung debris and unexploded ordnance as much as three-quarters of a mile; I even saw a whole engine on the ground, a half-mile from the motor pool.
My newly-pregnant wife and toddler son were in Fulda, Germany with the rest of the spouses. The initial radio reports they heard -- from none other than Paul Harvey -- were that at least 50 Soldiers had died as a result of the explosions which did rattle windows in downtown Kuwait City, some 10 miles across the bay. In truth, there were some serious injuries but no deaths until two weeks later, during the clean-up of the unexploded munitions, when three Soldiers were killed instantly after a tank round exploded without warning.
A couple of weeks after the incident, we had a previously-scheduled visit from Gen. H. Norman Schwarzkopf. We all stood in formation and watched as his helicopter circled the disaster site, then landed. The General awarded some medals for near-heroic acts during the incident, gave a thankfully short, hooh-ah speech in which he erroneously called us the "Blackhawk Regiment," then left. (The 11th ACR is the Blackhorse Regiment.) I found out later that "Stormin' Norman" ripped our Regimental commander a new one all the way there and all the way back. (Historically, some of his ass-chewings were legendary.) We returned to Germany in September after only three months deployed, and got a new commander the following March. The old commander, Col. A.J. Bacevich, was the only commander of that unit to not get promoted to Brigadier General. Another Colonel told me years later that Bacevich took full responsibility for the incident, even the faulty ammunition storage. The new commander was Col. William S. Wallace, now a full General.
The 11th ACR was my first unit in the Army, after nearly two years of Russian
linguist/interceptor training. I've since run into many others who were there that day, and they have their own stories. One guy in my unit even had the presence of mind to take pictures of the explosions, and sold copies of the best ones (like this one to the right). One of those, which is buried in an album at home somewhere, even showed a guy sprinting from the showers in nothing but a towel and flipflops. I even later saw pics of the site taken from the air; it looked like a nuke had gone off in the center. The Army still considers that day the worst accident ever, and I'm told someone here in Kuwait actually has a safety video describing it.[Interesting facts for you numerologists...
- Date: 7/11/1991
- 1991/11=181
- time: 11 a.m.
- Unit: 11th ACR
- Temperature: 110 F
- Hijri (Islamic) calendar year: 1411
The German philosopher Nietzsche said, "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." I guess I'm a better man for having lived to tell the tale.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Some Independence Day weekend thoughts
I am reading an ongoing discussion today on Fark.com, my favorite time-wasting website, about Pettty Officer Michael A. Monsoor (http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,376243,00.html) -- the Navy SEAL who in April was awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously for his actions in Iraq in September 2006. In short, he chose to save the lives of his comrades by diving on a live grenade during a firefight -- when he could have jumped out of the way, likely meaning others would have died. This hero was buried in San Diego, and President Bush attended the ceremony.
In the Fark discussion, as in many of them I read, there were several trolls who were out to denounce the war, vent their opinions about Bush, or otherwise denigrate the SEAL's honor with their tripe. Most others came to the defense, telling the detractors to take their rhetoric elsewhere. One particular person, however, got my goat by bringing up 1st Lt. Ehren Watada, the Field Artillery officer who, in 2006, refused to deploy with his unit, the 2nd Infantry Division (of which I am a proud alumnus). This was part of my reply on the discussion thread [the abbreviations and apparent misspellings are particular to the site]:
"Watada is a first-class coward who deserves a blanket party, but instead walks off scot-free. He joined well after the initial Iraq invasion, -- and in the Field Artillery at that. If he truly thought it was an unjust war, he should not ever have joined in the first place. But oh, he saw the light after he started reading a little, eh? Sorry pal, too late now!
"The rest of us Soldiers might not all agree with what is going on in this part of the world (I'm in Kuwait), but we do what we do out of a sense of duty not only to our country, but to the men and women next to us.
"That farking moran Watada is a disgrace to the uniform. Any idiot who signs up knows that once you're in, you're at the complete disposal of Uncle Sam. That inlcudes giving up some of the Constitutional rights we serve to protect. You don't get to pick which wars you go fight, you just go -- and in the position he was in, he should have gone if but for the sake of the men under his command, to at least ensure everyone made it home alive. He could easily have vented his frustrations on a blog. Instead, he chickened out because he thinks we had no right to be in Iraq.
"Monsoor's selfless sacrifice stands in stark contrast to Watada's bad need of a good biatch-slapping. And your pathetic attempt at trolling in this thread is misplaced at best. If you really think that idiot is a hero, then I challenge you to sign up today. Otherwise, STFU and GBTW."
//Rant over.
In the Fark discussion, as in many of them I read, there were several trolls who were out to denounce the war, vent their opinions about Bush, or otherwise denigrate the SEAL's honor with their tripe. Most others came to the defense, telling the detractors to take their rhetoric elsewhere. One particular person, however, got my goat by bringing up 1st Lt. Ehren Watada, the Field Artillery officer who, in 2006, refused to deploy with his unit, the 2nd Infantry Division (of which I am a proud alumnus). This was part of my reply on the discussion thread [the abbreviations and apparent misspellings are particular to the site]:
"Watada is a first-class coward who deserves a blanket party, but instead walks off scot-free. He joined well after the initial Iraq invasion, -- and in the Field Artillery at that. If he truly thought it was an unjust war, he should not ever have joined in the first place. But oh, he saw the light after he started reading a little, eh? Sorry pal, too late now!
"The rest of us Soldiers might not all agree with what is going on in this part of the world (I'm in Kuwait), but we do what we do out of a sense of duty not only to our country, but to the men and women next to us.
"That farking moran Watada is a disgrace to the uniform. Any idiot who signs up knows that once you're in, you're at the complete disposal of Uncle Sam. That inlcudes giving up some of the Constitutional rights we serve to protect. You don't get to pick which wars you go fight, you just go -- and in the position he was in, he should have gone if but for the sake of the men under his command, to at least ensure everyone made it home alive. He could easily have vented his frustrations on a blog. Instead, he chickened out because he thinks we had no right to be in Iraq.
"Monsoor's selfless sacrifice stands in stark contrast to Watada's bad need of a good biatch-slapping. And your pathetic attempt at trolling in this thread is misplaced at best. If you really think that idiot is a hero, then I challenge you to sign up today. Otherwise, STFU and GBTW."
//Rant over.
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