by Peter Grant
~ ~ ~
In the candidates’ nightmares the obstacle courses seemed to morph into primeval fossilized monsters, taunting them, mocking them silently as they threw their aching bodies at the obstacles’ unyielding, uncaring, cadaverous skeletons. More than a few candidates were heard to mutter darkly that the course designers had unquestionably been sadists, and the instructors were clearly their all–too–willing acolytes.
The four obstacle courses were designed as tests of tactical leadership as much as fitness. Each candidate in turn took charge of a team, leading them through a course, motivating and directing them, and solving a tactical problem at the same time. Each would repeat the process at least three times during OCS under the gimlet eyes of the instructors. To be asked to lead a team through an obstacle course more than four or five times was, rightly or wrongly, considered bad news by the candidates, who assumed it meant the instructors were still unsure about the leader’s ability.
The tactical problem might be to transport a ‘wounded’ comrade, strapped into a stretcher, to an ‘ambulance’ on the far side of the course — preferably without half–drowning the victim by dropping the stretcher into a water obstacle. This happened to more than a few candidates, who, when fished out, were vociferous in their displeasure. It might be to convey boxes of ammunition, crates of food and water–bottles through the obstacles to ‘a patrol needing resupply’. It might be to carry building materials through the course, then construct a field–expedient structure of one sort or another — all while ‘under fire’ in the middle of a ‘predator–infested swamp’. Other candidates would act as ‘predators’ or simulate enemy ‘fire’ using paintballs. The team tackling the course would have to defend themselves while completing the mission. The team leader was responsible for maintaining discipline, making sure everyone was pulling their weight, deciding how to deal with the problems confronting the team, and exercising what the instructors called ‘command presence’.
The most aggravating aspect was that the instructors never gave any indication of how the leader was doing. They watched everyone, of course, but always one or more of them would be staring straight at the team leader, unblinking, seeming to peer into his or her very soul. If mistakes were made, they didn’t shout or scream; they merely made notes on their ever–present electronic clipboards. When things went well, they didn’t praise, either — just made more notes. Team leaders soon learned never to ask the instructors for advice on how to accomplish something. Their inquiries would be met only with an impassive basilisk stare. They had to consult their team members — which was the whole point, of course.
To make matters more interesting, as Steve had seen from the air, each team of candidates had to prepare a design for an obstacle course, including a tactical problem that it would test, and elect a leader for the exercise. After Master Chief Dumisane approved their design they would build it on one of the empty sites, using whatever tools and materials they could obtain locally at short notice — another test of leadership and initiative. Their construction had to be sufficiently sturdy to withstand at least six teams climbing over, around and through it, testing their strength and skills to the limit, but without being impossibly difficult.
Steve drew on his experience at Radetski when his team’s turn came around. He rapidly sketched the layout of Leona’s hold and described the firefight there to an appreciative audience, demonstrating how Spacers had taken cover behind stacks of crates and containers. Some had put down suppressive fire on the smugglers. Others had built a bulletproof bulwark of crates to shield the wounded from the enemy, then evacuated the injured by building stacks of crates behind which to move them.
“You slid the crates along the floor to provide cover to your wounded?” Brooks inquired. “That was unusually tactical thinking for a bunch of Spacers. Sure you don’t want to transfer to the Marine Corps?” The other Marines on the team grinned and nodded enthusiastically.
Steve retorted with a grin, “No way! You couldn’t afford to keep me in the style to which Spacers are accustomed!” He ducked as Brooks cheerfully hurled a clod at him, while the rest chortled.
The team agreed to use Steve’s scenario as the basis for their obstacle course, and elected him as their ‘commander’ for the duration of the exercise. The Master Chief looked over their design, asked on what incident it had been based, made a few notes, then approved it. They built it using empty crates obtained from nearby field workshops, erecting an imitation bulkhead and hatch made from posts and planks. To make the exercise more realistic, Steve approached his former comrades at the Small Craft School, who provided several roller deck panels from a scrapped cargo shuttle’s load bed. Crates could be dragged over the roller bearings with greater ease than trying to tug them through the soft sand of the exercise terrain. They mounted the panels on cross–beams, leveling and bracing them to form a broad surface, simulating the hold deck aboard Leona.
The Chief Instructor observed impassively while six teams of students tried to master the course. As the exercise progressed, Steve noticed him making comm calls. Other instructors joined him, including Lieutenant–Commander Baudouin, their Training Company Commanding Officer. They stood as a group, watching, conversing quietly among themselves, taking notes.
Only two teams thought to build a line of crates in front of their ‘wounded’ to provide cover for them, and only one slid crates alongside their casualties as they moved them, to protect them from ‘enemy fire’ (enthusiastically simulated by Steve’s team with a plethora of paintballs). The others tried to maneuver around the crates, often exposing themselves to ‘incoming fire’ as they did so. Some hoisted their ‘wounded’ comrades over the crates in full view of the ‘enemy’ marksmen, who gleefully took advantage of their mistake. A few unfortunate individuals even lost their heads and tried to run across the cargo rollers, which brought them crashing to the deck in spectacular and painful fashion under a hail of paintballs.
The last team surprised Steve and everyone else by coming up with an ingenious solution to the problem. Rather than try to evacuate their wounded, they hid them behind a wall of crates, then pushed the entire wall bodily forward over the cargo rollers. It served as moving cover against incoming fire while they charged the hatch behind its shelter. Once they got close enough, they launched a shower of paintball grenades through the hatch, then erupted from behind their crate wall and dived through the opening en masse. The exercise disintegrated into a mass of heaving bodies, from which arms, legs, profanity and paintballs emerged at frequent intervals and unpredictable velocities and angles.
Laughing, Lieutenant–Commander Baudouin and the instructors untangled the two teams and sorted out the mess. The attackers were commended for their initiative, and the defenders consoled by pointing out that only one team out of six had managed to find a way to defeat them.
Baudouin pleased them by observing, “Those aren’t particularly difficult obstacles, but the course is very challenging from a tactical perspective. Don’t dismantle this yet. I’m going to run more teams through it tomorrow, and invite other Training Company Commanders to observe. For bonus points, I want you to work as a syndicate to prepare a report about the tactical lessons to be learned from the fight aboard Leona. Let me have it by zero–eight–hundred tomorrow. We’ll have to consider adding this scenario to the permanent curriculum.”
He didn’t add, “Well done”, but he didn’t have to. That was a very satisfying day for Steve and his team.
~ ~ ~
The candidates were introduced to the Tactical Simulator — TacSim for short — during the second week of the course. From then on they had two sessions there every week, conducting simulated operations in space and on planetary surfaces. They learned how others had employed ships and spacers, and troops and equipment, in combat in the past; analyzed their mistakes; tried to come up with better solutions; and applied them against an ‘enemy’ — the TacSim staff — who seemed intent on frustrating their every move with
diabolical cunning.
Candidates took turns to command teams of their comrades. Their leadership was closely monitored by eagle–eyed assessors. Things became even more interesting when Marine candidates were put in command of simulated spaceships, and Spacer candidates were ordered to lead simulated Marine patrols. Chaos ensued… but members of each Corps developed a deeper and more profound respect for the abilities of those from the other, and a greater understanding of the challenges they faced.
Inscribed on the wall above the tactical simulation floor was a famous maxim of the nineteenth–century military theorist Helmuth von Moltke: ‘No plan survives contact with the enemy’. The TacSim staff appeared to take malicious delight in ensuring that none of the students’ plans survived at all. It was rumored bitterly among the candidates that they ran a betting pool during every training cycle, the winner being the instructor who could most quickly reduce a student to tears of frustration.
TacSim gave rise to Steve’s biggest disciplinary problem of the course. He was taken aside one evening by Gunnery Sergeant Dixon, his Platoon Instructor. He braced to attention as she focused her gimlet eyes on him.
“Candidate Maxwell, I overheard you saying some very unprofessional things to other candidates this afternoon about the TacSim staff. What’s it all about?”
Steve gulped. “Er… I’m sorry, Gunnery Sergeant. I was tired and frustrated over our last session in the simulator.”
“I’m told you made a serious tactical error. Why did you blame it on the TacSim staff instead of yourself?”
“With respect, Gunnery Sergeant, I’m not sure it was an error. In the real world, I think my proposed solution would have worked. I suspect the TacSim staff changed the enemy’s response because they knew what I was about to do, and wanted to make me fail.”
She looked at him narrowly for a moment, then unbent slightly. “Candidate Maxwell, you’re a combat veteran and you’ve been awarded multiple medals for valor in action, so I’m going to cut you some slack. That’s more than I’d do for most others in this situation. I can understand this is more frustrating for you than someone who hasn’t had that experience. You’re right; the TacSim staff do try to make you fail from time to time. There are two reasons for that. First, it’s the most effective way we’ve found to teach tactics at this level. Second, it adds to the stress on the candidate, which is a good thing from our point of view as instructors. If you can’t handle stress under training, it’s not very likely you’ll be able to handle it in combat, is it?”
“Er… no, Gunnery Sergeant.”
“Your combat awards demonstrate that you can handle it. If they didn’t, I wouldn’t be wasting time talking to you like this — I’d be giving you ten demerits and a formal warning about your attitude instead. However, I think you get the idea. Despite the frustration you experienced this morning — or perhaps because of it — I’m sure you won’t forget the lesson you learned.”
“When you put it like that, I don’t think I will, Gunnery Sergeant.”
“And what was that lesson?”
“Never assume that the enemy will react as I want them to, Gunnery Sergeant. They can change their plans as quickly and easily as I can change mine.”
“Good! One more thing. Don’t let yourself get frustrated about how we do things. The Fleet’s been training officers for a very long time, and it knows what works. Your job is to listen, learn, and demonstrate leadership when called upon to do so, irrespective of all obstacles in your path — whether they’re put there deliberately or not. You hear me?”
“Loud and clear, Gunnery Sergeant!”
She wasn’t finished with him. “Be careful not to let your frustrations show in front of other candidates. Some of them already look to you for leadership. Don’t let your problems become theirs, and affect their chances of being commissioned.” Her face broke into a rare smile. “I’ve learned to remind myself that if no one’s shooting at me, it’s already a good day. That helps keep lesser problems in perspective.”
Steve couldn’t help grinning. The instructor’s six combat stars and three decorations for valor in action lent weight to her statement, and his own, more limited combat experience bore it out. “Point taken, Gunnery Sergeant. I’ll try to do the same in future.”
“Good. I don’t want to have a discussion like this with you again, Candidate Maxwell. See that you don’t make it necessary.”
“Aye aye, Gunnery Sergeant.”
~ ~ ~
The mid–week evening training session of the Armati Society was in full swing. A dozen sets of students were sparring with each other, while other candidates and more experienced swordsmen observed from around the walls of the gymnasium. Steve watched Brooks wield a practice saber in a mock duel with another Marine candidate, attacking again and again, recoiling after every parry only to strike again from another direction or with a different stroke. His opponent was clearly off–balance, on the defensive, trying to block each incoming blow rather than taking the initiative with an attack of his own.
From further along the wall, Steve heard the deep, booming voice of Master Chief Dumisane as he stepped forward. “Candidate Shelby, hold!”
Brooks stopped in mid–thrust, stepped back, and returned his saber to a cross–body guard position. His opponent staggered for a moment, then regained his balance and did likewise as both turned to face the Chief Instructor. Breathing heavily, they raised their blades to the salute, then lowered them to their sides.
“What went wrong, Candidate Nazwari?” the Senior NCO asked.
“Master Chief, I… I guess I lost focus. I wasn’t aware of Candidate Shelby at all — the only thing I could see was his saber. He was all over me, and it was all I could do to keep his blade away from me.”
“That’s a pretty fair summation. It also illustrates what I said to you at the start of the course, about swordsmanship being a valuable discipline and worthy of study. Let’s apply what you’ve just experienced to an incident that’s making headlines right now.” He raised his voice. “Candidates, gather round.”
Everyone stopped what they were doing and formed a circle around the Master Chief and the two candidates. Dumisane summarized what Nazwari had just said to him.
“I want you to think about that in the context of LCS Lakshmibai,” he continued. His audience sucked in their collective breath, some nodding, some shaking their heads. The Hero class destroyer had recently been involved in a fight with a pirate vessel, which had escaped after inflicting heavy damage and more than fifty per cent casualties on the Fleet ship. News of the combat had only just reached Lancaster, and had made headlines in all the news bulletins.
“The facts as reported so far are that the ship successfully stopped a salvo of missiles fired at her by pirates. Her Commanding Officer assumed he could therefore pursue the fleeing pirate ship with impunity. What he didn’t know was that they’d launched a few missiles at very low velocity, at the same time as the rest of their salvo. Due to their minimal drive output, they couldn’t be detected beyond point–blank range. The pirate ran directly away from them in the opposite direction, basically inviting the destroyer to chase him. By charging down the tracks of the missiles she’d just shot out of space, Lakshmibai ran head–on into the follow–up attack, which crippled her and allowed the enemy to escape. Her CO’s dead, which means he won’t face a court–martial for his mistakes; but we should nevertheless learn from them.
“Lakshmibai’s Commanding Officer became fixated on the weapons his enemy was using, and failed to remember that he might have other tricks up his sleeve. His ‘tunnel vision’ was made worse, I’m sure, by the fact that we tend to hold pirates in contempt. We don’t regard them as serious opponents for a warship, because they tend to use old, relatively slow, converted merchant ships or mining boats, lacking a warship’s main battery missiles or electronics.
“That’s similar to what you just experienced, Candidate Silvan. You narrowed your focus to Candidate Shelby’s weap
on, rather than the man himself. Every time you beat off an attack, you defeated the saber in that particular maneuver; but it was wielded by a man who refused to be defeated or discouraged, and came right back at you with another attack, putting you back at square one again. Sooner or later, he’d have slipped through your defenses and landed a telling blow. The only permanent way to stop a weapon is to stop the person wielding it. You can’t just defend yourself; you have to look for, and if necessary create, an opportunity to counterattack, whilst still being alert for any riposte. Get the idea?”
“Aye aye, Master Chief.”
Dumisane looked around, his face very serious. “Candidates, if you take only one lesson away with you from your training with the Armati Society at OCS, let it be this. Don’t focus too much on your enemy’s weapons. Focus primarily on the enemy himself. It may be necessary to concentrate on a weapon in the short term for tactical reasons, but that may — and usually will — cause strategic disaster in the long term. An old proverb reminds us there are no such things as dangerous weapons, only dangerous people. It’s true. Remember it, and apply it. It might help you avoid making the same mistake as Lakshmibai’s Commanding Officer one day.”
~ ~ ~
A Marine Corps officer, Major Markovitch, moderated a biweekly discussion on military leadership, past and present. Steve was surprised at the intensity with which leadership in past conflicts was analyzed, and how seemingly extraneous elements like culture, society and religion had affected the way in which wars had been waged through history.