Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air. No, I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize. (1 Corinthians 9: 24-27)
Upon reporting to my Special Forces battalion for the first time I had an odd surprise. The usual Drill for a new officer reporting in to his battalion is to arrange with the “One” (the battalion S-1—the personnel officer) for a time to meet the “Old Man”, the colonel in command of the battalion. Then, at the time appointed, the One has Captain New Guy (in his best and shiniest pair of boots) stand outside Colonel Old Man’s office door, leans his head in and says, “Sir, Captain New Guy is here.”
“Send him in One.” Old Man barks, downloading command attitude appropriate for the occasion.
Cue New Guy, who marches through the door into Old Man’s office, centers himself in front of Old Man’s desk, snaps to attention, renders a crisp hand salute and says, “Captain New Guy reporting sir.” Unless he screws up down the line, New Guy will not have to stand in that spot in that way his entire time remaining in battalion. The relationship between colonel and captain is much more relaxed. But that first time, the Report, there is ceremony that has to be played out.
“At ease New Guy,” Old Man says. He might even have him sit down. I’ve had it both ways. Then Old Man asks New Guy if: a) he has any kids, and b) where he’s from. Once that’s out of the way, Old Man tells New Guy why his battalion’s “command climate” is different from every other battalion in the United States Army: “New Guy, let me tell you how we do it here in 12th Battalion. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it’s not like they do it in 11th Battalion. We set and maintain high standards here in 12th Battalion.” Wow, Captain New Guy thinks, I’m glad the Army didn’t send me to 11th Battalion—they sound like a bunch of bums over there. Actually, New Guy doesn’t think that. By the time you are a captain, you know the Drill, and that the Old Man of 11th Battalion is telling his New Guy the same thing about 12th Battalion. The whole Drill only lasts about 10 minutes. Old Man and New Guy know they will have a couple of years to find out whether they love or hate each other (usually a little of both), so they don’t try to read each other’s Emotional Facebook pages.
I knew the Drill was different in my Special Forces battalion as soon as I talked to the One on the phone. He didn’t tell me to come meet the Old Man in my best and shiniest boots. He told me to wear my field boots and bring my rucksack. Hmmm, I thought. That’s odd. When I got there, the One put me and my rucksack in the backseat of his HMMWV and drove us out into the back woods of Fort Bragg. It seemed like we drove a long way before the sergeant driving the vehicle pulled over and stopped. Then the sergeant and the One turned around and looked at me and my rucksack sitting together in the back seat. I said, “something tells me you boys want us to get out of your HMMWV.”
That’s exactly what they wanted. Out on the dirt road, with my rucksack on my back, the One pointed me back towards battalion headquarters and said, “It’s twelve miles back to battalion from this spot. You have three hours to get there. There’s no prize for getting there any faster.”
“What’s the prize for getting there slower?” I asked.
“You don’t have to report to the Old Man.” The One replied. “You get to go to some other battalion.” Then the One got back in his HMMWV and he and the sergeant drove back to battalion. And I walked back.
When I got to battalion, the One sent me into the Old Man’s office. I marched in (gritting my teeth against the limp-blisters that I got from the hot road), centered, snapped, saluted and reported. This Old Man didn’t ask me about my kids or my hometown. He didn’t tell me about his Command Climate. He just looked at his watch and said, “you made it. That doesn’t tell me anything about you other that you are in good shape. You still have to prove yourself. But if you hadn’t made it, I would have known that you are not in good shape, and that makes you subject to fatigue. And, Fatigue Makes Cowards of Us All. I won’t have any cowardly officers in my battalion.”
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