Thanks everyone for your patience, here's the newest installment in this case study.
After the meeting you make your way down the hallway to the Chief of Staff’s office. You can see the Group S2’s contingent is already seated around the table. You let out an audible sigh, mentally gearing up for what is probably going to be a contentious meeting. Just before you go in, MSG Reynolds places a hand on your arm. “Hey sir, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. I know you and the S2 don’t get along, but it would be great if we could try to work something out. Guys like you and me are OK but the younger guys get caught in the middle. And they see the way you talk to the major and NCOIC, and they think they can get away with it too.” You think about this for a second, then respond, “Fair enough. I’ll try to play nice with the S2 from now on, at least in public. But if I’m going to make nice-nice with The Dud, I want you to do something for me. PLEASE stop antagonizing the DCO about his missing finger.” The DCO lost a part of his right index finger during an operation in Afghanistan, and for some reason Reynolds just can’t help but antagonize him about it. Both the missing finger and Reynolds’ making light of it make you inexplicably uncomfortable. Reynolds’ serious face melts away into a smile. “No promises, sir,” he says, entering the room and sliding into a seat.
You notice to your annoyance that one of the assistant S2s has occupied “your” usual seat at the table. There are no assigned seats per se, but by custom and common sense, the primary staff officers, the commanders, and the DCO sit at the main table, and the secondaries and NCOICs sit in the chairs along the wall, since there is not enough room for everyone at the table. You’re about to tell him to get his ass out of your seat when you remember your promise to Reynolds to play nice, and realize how ridiculous you’d sound telling him to vacate “your” seat. You drag a chair up to the table and ask the assistant S2- very nicely- if he could move over and give you room. As you ease your chair up under the table, the assistant S2 looks uncomfortable with the lack of space. Good.
Everyone in the room rises when the DCO enters the room. He looks uncharacteristically happy, which makes you relax a bit; normally when you’re in the DCO’s office, it’s to be on the receiving end of an ass chewing. Hopefully today doesn’t end that way. The DCO notices MSG Reynolds sitting behind you. “MSG Reynolds, your hair looks a bit long for someone who just came out on the E9 list,” says the DCO. From the smile on his face, it’s clear he’s kidding and this is his way of congratulating MSG Reynolds on his pending promotion. MSG Reynolds is ready to give it right back. “Thanks for ‘pointing’ that out, sir,” he replies with his right index finger pointed towards the ceiling. You groan inwardly; you don’t know how Reynolds gets away with making fun of the DCO for his war wound, you’re quite confident any officer who tried to joke about it would end up getting chopped in the throat. The DCO laughs and then turns to business.
“OK, as you all know, we are getting a group of intel lieutenants,” says the DCO. “We’re getting five second lieutenants straight out of the schoolhouse, and two first lieutenants who have just done a tour in Korea. The first order of business is to figure out where they’re going to be assigned.”
The Group S2 takes this as his cue to speak up. As soon as he starts talking, you feel yourself cringe. Just listening to The Dud speak is a painful experience. “So, um, we’ve got, ah, five 2LTs and, uh, 2 1LTs,” he says, as if he needed to repeat what the DCO just stated. “And, uh, the new Group MTOE, um, shows one 2LT as the assistant MID commander at, um, each battalion, and, um, one 1LT at the, um, Group S2, and, ah, one 1LT at the Group Support, um, company.” You glance back at Reynolds and see that he, like you, is counting the number of times that the Group S2 uses filler words like “um,” “ah,” and “uh.” Right now by your count he’s at 10, but the single-meeting record is well over 200.
You work through the Group S2’s ridiculous inability to speak coherently and decipher what he just said. “Wait a minute,” you interject, “you’re going to send a bunch of brand-new second lieutenants straight from the schoolhouse down to support an SF Battalion? A couple of problems with this. First of all, the lieutenants, God bless them, don’t know anything about anything. Their ability to contribute to the SF is zero. Less than zero, because the battalions are going to have to take time to train them up. And besides, what are you going to have them do, be assistant MID ‘commanders?’ Does a guy in charge of 12 people really need another officer to help him run things?”
"Additionally, if you send brand-new 2LTs down into an SF battalion, where they will be unsupervised and underutilized, around a bunch of people who by their very nature operate under a different set of rules than the rest of the Army, they will learn terrible habits and will be absolutely RUINED when they have to go to a Big Army unit. Your LT days are the days to make mistakes and learn leadership; after they leave here they won't be lieutenants anymore, they'll be capatains, and their future bosses will have captain-level expectations of them. We're setting them up by failure by sending them straight down to the Battalions." As you finish speaking, you see all of the other commanders nodding in agreement.
“That’s where the MTOE says they belong,” the S2 says defensively.
“Right, and SF is reknowned for always following the rules," you say, rolling your eyes. Before the S2 can reply, the DCO speaks up.
"You have a better idea, CPT Faith?" he asks.
"Roger sir. You take all of those lieutenants and you give them to me. I make the most senior one my XO, and the rest of them will be platoon leaders. That gets them some leadership experience and a chance to get their legs underneath them. Then, as we think they're ready, we rotate them down into the battalions. Sending brand new butter-bars straight into the battalions is a disaster waiting to happen."
The DCO considers this for a moment. "That's a really good idea," he says, "but there are some other MTOE changes that are coming as well that make that idea moot. We'll talk about them after this meeting. We were originally slated to get eight lieutenants but now we're only getting seven," he says. Continuing, he adds: "The lieutenants will be split up as follows: one each to the three battalions. Scratch that, I mean four battalions; each Group is getting another battalion on the new MTOE. Four go to the Battalions, two go to the Group S2 shop, one will go to the GSC, to serve as the GSC S2.”
“An S2? For the GSC?” you ask, incredulous. You know from the DCO’s tone that the decision has been made and no further discussion is desired, but you can’t help yourself. You glance over at the Group S2, who is grinning broadly; clearly he “won” the fight over the lieutenants. You’re about to say something to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face when you feel MSG Reynolds tapping your chair with his foot. You know what that signal means without even having to look back at him; “give it a rest.”
“OK fine,” you say sullenly, “Then I want the most senior lieutenant.”
“I bet you do,” says the Group S2, and he and the rest his minions snicker.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you reply.
“Oh nothing, I’m sure the fact that you want the only female lieutenant never even crossed your mind.”
Now you’re REALLY pissed. “What the hell are you talking about? Not only do I not know anything about the lieutenants, I didn’t even know we were GETTING any lieutenants until about…” you look down at your watch, “20 minutes ago. Great job on sharing THAT information in advance.” MSG Reynolds’ the tapping on your chair has now turned into a gentle kick.
“1LT(P) Delano, being female, cannot go to either the battalions or to the GSC,” says the DCO, taking control of the meeting again. “Everything below Group level is coded male-only. Delano goes to the Group S2 shop. CPT Faith, the GSC will get the next-most-senior lieutenant. Looks like that is… 1LT Charles Castelli.”
This news stuns you into silence for a second. The GSC is getting Castelli? Things might not be so bad after all. “Yeah, OK sir, that will be fine,” you say.
“Well I’m glad you approve,” says the S2, snottily. That’s it, you think, game on…
Just before things really explode, CPT Criss leans forward and interjects, “Sir,” he says to the DCO, “As much as I enjoy a good catfight between MI weenies, might I suggest we move on to new business?”
“Yes, I think we will do that,” he replies, glaring at both you and the S2. “MAJ Dudley, CPT Faith, see me after this meeting.” Now you’re not only pissed off, you know you’re going to get an ass chewing from the DCO after the meeting. Great. “0h for seven” on the lieutenants, and an ass chewing on top of it to boot.
The next part of the meeting is routine Command and Staff, with commanders and staff primaries briefing their last week of training and projecting six weeks out. You’re only half-listening as the others talk; you’re hungry and pissed off an anxious about the ass chewing you are going to get from the DCO. When it’s his turn to talk again, the S2 says he’ll be taking leave for a week in the next month. Suspicious, you look at the training calendar and confirm that the week the S2 will be on leave is the date of the big quarterly intel inspection. The Group S2 has a reputation for skipping out on these inspections and leaving it to his assistants and NCOs. The inspections are a pain in the ass, to be sure, but the Group S2 seems to unnaturally fearful of them and takes any opportunity to be elsewhere when the inspectors arrive. It is your belief that everyone in Group secretly is happy with that arrangement.
Your turn to brief is last. Just before you start to talk, the door opens and CPT James walks in. Everyone looks at him in kind of stunned silence; to interrupt a meeting held by the DCO, there had better be a major emergency threatening life, limb, or eyesight. “Hey sir,” says James, “here is the copy of that Pakistan brief you wanted.” Unconcerned by all the sets of eyes staring at him, James walks over to the DCO, lays a CD and some papers on his desk, and turns to walk out. As he does no, he noticed a pile of Starbursts on the corner of the DCO’s desk and helps himself to a couple as he walks out. In your mind’s eye, you see the DCO drawing a commando dagger from some hidden recess in his desk and severing CPT James’ offending fingers. But he doesn’t, and CPT James manages to walk out of the room with his digits intact. No one says a word for a second, then CPT Criss chimes in, “Well, that was unexpected!” and everyone laughs. The incident, while bizarre, serves to lighten the mood.
Returning to business, you brief the DCO on last week’s training, talk him through next week’s, and start talking about plans for the upcoming weeks. You mention that 6 of your Soldiers are scheduled for Pathfinder training the same week as the upcoming inspection, and that their loss will leave you a bit short-handed during the inspection. You know MSG Reynolds has already talked it over with the Group S2 NCOIC to have their guys help cover the inspection, it’s not really a big deal.
“Sir,” you say to the DCO, “We’re losing 6 guys to Pathfinder training during that time period, we’re asking the Group S2 folks to help us out during the inspection.” You decide not to add, “even though it’s their damn job to do it in the first place, not ours.”
The S2 lets out an exasperated sigh. “If you don’t have enough people to cover down on the inspection, then why are you letting people go to Pathfinder School?” he says in his “gotcha” voice.
“This isn’t Pathfinder School you idiot, this is Pathfinder Database training, you know, admin intel work? The stuff that YOUR shop is supposed to be doing? Maybe if you weren’t so terrified of failing another inspection you could actually be here when the inspectors show up so the rest of us don’t get stuck doing YOUR job. Again.” You would have continued your little rant, but MSG Reynolds kicked the back of your chair so hard that it rocked you forward in your seat.
The S2, his face beet red, stammers ineffectively in response before managing to blurt out, “FUCK YOU!”
The DCO slams his hand on the desk. “That’s it, were done here. Everyone out,” he says firmly. “Not you two, he says, pointing at you and the S2.
As the rest of the commanders and staff file out, CPT Beverly catches your eye and offers a wan smile of support. CPT Criss, grinning, shakes his head as he walks out. MSG Reynolds claps you on your shoulder as he gets up to leave. “Good luck with that, sir,” he says, making a beeline for the door. As the door closes behind you, you feel a sinking sensation in the pit of your stomach. At least the DCO waited until his door was shut before he started yelling.
But then again, what is college for if not for delusions of grandeur?
