The Pre-Bagram Story

I did not mean for yesterday's post to turn into a cynical rant on the state of logistics in the military.  To be clear, I actually think the military does a decent job harnessing geography and moving tons of cargo and troops thousands of miles around the world.  Just don't forget where FedEx founder Fred Smith and Walmart cofounders Sam and Bud Walton (among others) got their impetus to start logistics companies.

No, what I really wanted to talk about yesterday was the following axiom:

Photo:  A trite truism, but one that I had to learn the hard way...

This is one of those little sayings that you hear repeated ad nauseam in classrooms and symposiums.  Unfortunately, you never fully appreciate the power of the message until you encounter someone from your past and hope like hell that you never said or did anything awful to them.

Alternatively, this truism is also applicable to times of reflection around major life changes when you actually have a moment to ponder how and why you got to this point.  This decision point.  This tipping point.  This leap of faith.

To be clear, we're talking about me here and why I left the USAF.

Obviously a lot of thought went into the decision and I did not leave on a whim or because of a bad boss.  I left because of a series of conversations that, at the time, I swept under the rug, but were clearly a glimpse into my next 20 to 30 years.

This is one of them.

***

December 26, 2009.  Pre-dawn.  RAF Lakenheath, UK.  The morning of the main body movement to Afghanistan via Kyrgyzstan.  

I was a second lieutenant and charged to be the troop commander for over 200 folks going downrange.  I had a compliment of outstanding senior noncommissioned officers (SNCOs) either enroute or going with me, but I still felt extreme anxiety.  

I had all of the documents that I needed to get everyone to the postage-sized dump in the middle of Central Asia known as Manas (pronounced either MAN-ass or MUN-az, but whatever).  Once there, I then had to get them assigned to transport missions into Afghanistan.  All of this before the aircraft package from England via EMEA got there, of course.  

Not to make excuses, but I had been in the active-duty USAF for all of 17 months and with this particular unit for four months.  Yea, stressed out does not even begin to describe how I felt.

Then the problems started.

I found out through my commander, Major Mercurial (name changed to match his outstanding leadership style), that one of my SNCOs had gotten into a bar fight and would not be going with us that morning.  No problem.  We call the alternate.  Alternate arrives.  Cool, right?

No.  Major Mercurial is going to call the SNCO who got his shit punched in and requires dental surgery into the office for a berating that very morning.  This will take place in front of everyone who still has to go on the deployment as well as:

During final out processing.

During multiple roll calls.

During final instructions from the logisticians charged to move us.

During weather reports.

During transport aircraft updates.

During the bus loading to the aircraft.

Photo:  So this is how I probably would have dealt with everything (i.e. no paperwork), but that's why I am getting out...

So I make the call to send a fully competent Senior Master Sergeant into the berating session so that I can herd cats, stay up-to-speed on all the information, and try to avoid completely screwing up the first step of this monthslong deployment.

Wrong.  WRONG!

Video clip:  Wrong.  WRONG!

So the moment Major Mercurial realizes that I do not plan on attending the putdown session he bursts into the hallway and essentially asks what I am doing.  (NOTE:  I can only assume that the berating was just to make sure this guy felt worse than he already did, since he was, and is, a good guy and got into the fight because some guys were giving his wife trouble.)

And this is where the details of the exchange get fuzzy.  Like I said, how I felt is the main point of this story.

So he directs me into the office, dismisses the bruised and battered SNCO, and rips me a new one.  He proceeds to asks me if I have any idea what I am doing (me:  I guess not), asks me if I know what is important (me:  again, I guess not, sir), and around and around we go.

The part that stuck with me was the cussing.  I had never been sworn at like that in the past.  Sworn at, absolutely, but not in reference to my decision-making abilities, prioritization skills, or general intelligence.

Regardless, it was one of the few times I did not take this sort of interaction personally.

I knew that given the opportunity I would have made the exact same decision.  One human being just simply cannot be in two places at once and I made the call that I needed to move over 200 people versus making one guy feel worse than he already did.

I am thankful, however, that I had enough wherewithal to put the incident behind me and focus on the mission at hand.  (WOW, the paradox of that last statement actually has me laughing out loud right now; does the mission get any more at hand than that?)

I did make one horrendous decision when I got to Kyrgyzstan in spite of all the hoopla and that was to make a point of the incident and not allow folks to drink their daily beer allotment since it was an alcohol-fueled bar fight.

If anyone on that trip reads this, I AM SORRY.  Additionally, I know all of you drank and you know that I did not go to Pete's Place for that very reason, right?

Photo:  A real crap decision on my part...

See all of this is indicative of what a crap manager-leader I was, but at least I see that now and can learn from it.  Too bad I didn't have anyone (Major Mercurial) to call to help me with that thought process.

More on him and his mentorship later.

For now, thanks for reading!