Read Ride The Rising Tide (The Maxwell Saga) Online
Authors: Peter Grant
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 weapon, 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.
Markovitch brought a unique perspective to bear on junior leadership in combat, using statistics to draw conclusions that sometimes startled his students. “During the Second Global War on Old Home Earth,” he pointed out, “infantry divisions of the United States Army were authorized to have 132 Second Lieutenants — junior platoon commanders, in other words. Over the course of the war, across all divisions, they lost that many of them — killed, wounded or missing — every 88 combat days. That means on average, three of their Second Lieutenants became casualties every two days in combat. They were authorized 99 infantry captains — company commander level — and lost that many every 294 combat days, for an average of one captain down every three days. That’s a far lower casualty rate than for Second Lieutenants. Would anyone like to suggest why the latter became casualties so much more frequently?”
Responses came thick and fast. “Captains learned how to take care of themselves, so they lasted longer.”
“
No, Captains sent Second Lieutenants and their platoons into the front line while they remained further back, so as to exercise company command more effectively.”
“
There were more platoon engagements than company engagements, so the Second Lieutenants saw more fighting.”
The Major held up a hand and waited for silence. “You’re all missing the most obvious reason. Occam’s Razor reminds us that when there are multiple possible explanations for something, the simplest is most likely to be correct. In this case, the simplest explanation is also the right one. Many of those Second Lieutenants simply weren’t up to the job.
“There are several reasons why that was so. Some of them had been commissioned on the basis of possessing civilian academic qualifications. Unfortunately, in those more primitive times, it was wrongly assumed that civilian academic achievement correlated to military leadership potential. Others entered the military through conscription, underwent basic training and had a few months enlisted experience — usually not including combat — then were sent to an officer’s course because they’d performed well so far. In most cases, their training was inadequate; and even when it was adequate, very few of them had a meaningful foundation of experience to help them integrate theoretical training into the reality of combat. As a result, far too many of them failed; and apart from their own pointless deaths, they needlessly killed far too many of their troops through their mistakes.”
He paused to take a sip of water from the glass on the desk beside him. “Still others became officers because it was arbitrarily decided that certain positions or jobs rated a commission. For example, by the end of the Second Global War the Western Allies commissioned most of their pilots as officers, simply because a pilot’s job was held to involve sufficient responsibility to make that appropriate. That wasn’t the case, of course — enlisted pilots had built up a stellar record in the air forces of all powers, just as the vast majority of our small craft pilots today are enlisted. Still, that’s how they thought back then. Pilots weren’t commissioned primarily because of their leadership qualities, but because they could fly, and were in charge of relatively expensive assets.”
It was Brooks’ turn to raise his hand, frowning. “But, Sir, by definition, officers are expected to be leaders. What does flying ability have to do with leadership?”
“
A very good question, Candidate Shelby. Officer training back then assumed that leadership could be taught. We’ve learned the hard way that it can’t. We can teach you how to manage others or administer a given function, but we can’t implant in you the kind of character that inspires others to follow you even in situations of mortal peril. You either have that, or you don’t.” He looked around the classroom. “We try very hard to select for that sort of character in our candidates, but it’s a rare commodity. Your future careers will be the test of whether or not you have it, even more than your service record to date. That’s why we won’t promote an officer beyond O–3 grade without either combat or expeditionary experience in commissioned rank — preferably both. They’re acid tests for leadership.”