Pentagon Expertise

Monday morning, 0900, at an office in the Pentagon:

Division Chief, Colonel:   "Major, we need a position paper on this particular subject IMMEDIATELY."

Me:  "Sir, I'm not at all acquainted with this as I've never heard of this particular subject."

Colonel:  "You have 30 minutes to prepare a position paper on it.  That's an ORDER!"

Me:   "Yes, sir.  I will give you my 30 minutes of expertise as you requested."

I hurriedly reviewed some websites, copied and pasted what I found, and made it look really professional.

The position paper was adopted as the Air Force's position on the matter.

Moral of the story:   GIGO... Garbage In [computer] - Gospel Out [as long as it looks pretty]


True story

One Day at the Pentagon

So there I was… a junior field-grade officer [a staffer] at Headquarters United States Air Force, Pentagon.  I kept telling myself this is a good assignment—everyone said so—and supposedly it meant certain promotion; and it did ... but…  

In any case, here’s a couple of war stories

1.         The Memo

After initially reporting for duty at my new assignment, I spent a couple of weeks of inprocessing, i.e, signing in, getting appropriate badges, etc. I also attended various briefings, the topics ranging from nuclear strategy to office safety.  Finally, I was ready.  First task: I was directed to prepare a staff memo on some topic or other, for the higher ups. It was time sensitive and I was given a deadline of a few days.  As an eager beaver, I gave myself entirely to the task.  I imagined my memo having a direct impact on the readiness of the strategic nuclear forces of the United States and our national security.  On Friday, I turned in my memo to the colonel in charge of our division.  He thanked me and told me he would review it.   I was somewhat taken aback by his lackadaisical manner:  I’d been told this was a priority, I spent almost a week researching and analyzing the topic; therefore, it was ready to be given immediately to the President for his approval.

The following week, I received back my memo. It had red ink all over it… Diligently I redid the memo per the changes noted; and turned it in.  The colonel seemed satisfied that I incorporated  all of his changes.  We sent it up the chain.  A few days later my time-sensitive memo returned, this time with green ink all over it… more changes from some other colonel.  Once again I redid the memo incorporating all ‘suggested’ [a.k.a. mandatory] changes; and turned it in.

You guessed it… the memo came back with orange ink with further changes… After what seemed to be a couple of dozen changes in various colors, the memo was approved at division level, signed and sent upwards.  I compared the final version to my original version:  except for a couple of “glad” to “happy” changes, the original version did not differ much from the final version. 

Bottom line of story:  Air Force is top heavy with rank and Pentagon contains too many colonels with nothing to do but to edit memos with multi-colored pens… BTW:  The memo disappeared into the Pentagon’s black hole of busy work…

True story

2.         The Reception

While stationed there, I became friends with another junior field-grade officer.  He was a really nice guy, very quiet, diligent and focused, and totally dedicated to Air Force mission [Yes, he was a Zoomie [Air Force Academy graduate]].  Socially, he was quiet, never drank much at functions we attended [a.k.a., mandatory] His work was always impeccable and was generally considered a rising star.

One fine day, we were required to attend a social function hosted by a three-star general for some event or other – YAWN --  Various foreign officers had been invited and were in attendance.   Dinner was scheduled to start at 1900 (7:00 p.m. for civilians)  We were instructed to mingle about and just socialize with the foreign officers… My friend and I got there around 1630 (4:30 p. m.).  They had just opened the bar and drinks were free… I just settled with my usual Whisky Sour preparing to nurse it for a couple of hours. 

While mingling with some RAF officers, I noticed that my friend had gone over where a group of Korean army officers were drinking.  Having lived in Korea for three years, I can definitely say that Koreans know how to drink.  They were having a party all by themselves, drinking and laughing; and my friend was happily in the middle … socializing …

At 1855 (6:55 p.m.) the bell rang: dinner is about to start.  The Air Force three-star arrived.  He was one of those typical Air Force generals:  Skinny runner-type fighter pilot with a dour-face, totally humorless, and entirely focused on the mission (and his career therein).  I didn’t ‘socialize’ with him…

As I came to our table I saw my friend—he was shit-faced drunk… I had never seen him like that… I told him to get his shit together and maintain himself.  Promptly at 1900 the place was called to attention and the general formally entered into the dining hall; the entire assembly still at full attention.  As the general got to his table, suddenly there was a really loud CRASH:   Yep, my friend fell flat on his face in front of the entire assembly, taking some dishes with him to the floor.

ASTONISHED DEAD SILENCE…

After a moment, the general said: “Everyone may laugh now… "

COLLECTIVE ROAR OF LAUGHTER

"And I want to see that man in my office at 0630 tomorrow morning”

Thereafter my friend got every shit job and detail possible; he was everyone’s gopher and point man for shit.  He never mentioned the incident, and bore all the crap with stoic dignity never complaining… That must have impressed the general because my friend did get promoted; though, to the best of my knowledge, he never went drinking with Korean army officers again…

True story

Two War Stories on Leadership

Leadership… There’s a plethora of books, articles, comments, blogs… you name it there something on it.  I offer no comments on the merits of each, they speak for themselves.  I just share a couple of war stories based on personal experience.

Tale 1

As a young captain in the Air Force, I began to look forward to promotion opportunities. Being appointed the commander of a unit, any unit, is usually a good way to get you on the promotion list.  So I spoke to my Wing Commander about it.  Not being risk averse, I told him ‘give me your toughest job’ and I will do it.  He told me one of the organizational maintenance squadrons was having a tough time and needed new blood.  “I’ll do it” says I.

Organizational maintenance is the heart of Air Force flight operations.  The crew chiefs perform the most important and most thankless jobs in the Air Force.  They take care of the aircraft, get them gassed, clean them, inspect them, you name it and the crew chiefs do it.  This particular squadron was responsible for our bomb wing’s KC-135A and KC-135Rs air refueling tankers.

As I began to work there and got acquainted with these airmen [male and female] and the jobs they had to do, I truly appreciated them infinitely more than I did when I just flew in the aircraft.  These airmen work incredibly long days, don’t get paid a lot, yet take such pride in what they do that it was truly a humbling experience.  I committed to myself to do the very best possible job in order to earn their respect.

About a month into the job, I was tasked for weekend duty.  I was the Officer-In-Charge of the entire squadron responsible for the operational maintenance of over 45 aircraft and about 300 airmen.  I have to admit that I was feeling… good.  I was going to be ‘DA MAN’ that weekend.  That Friday, I briefed the senior non-commissioned officers (NCOs) on what were the most important tasks that weekend, etc.  They knew all this better than me did but we had to follow protocol and standard procedures. 

On Saturday morning, at 0700 I was at ‘MY FLIGHTLINE’  I was the ranking officer in charge and  it was all mine – like in Braveheart when Stephen of Ireland says “It’s my island” [re Ireland].  With my boots spit shined to a glassy black mirrors, my uniform pressed with knife-edge creases, I got into my command truck and began to make the rounds – just stopping by and greeting all the crew chiefs as they did their normal tasks.  Leadership [management] by walking around…

Suddenly on the radio:   “ATTENTION, ATTENTION.  THIS IS NOT AN EXERCISE.  Massive fuel spill on parking spot __, aircraft ____. “ This was repeated a couple of more times.

‘This is it’ I thought, my command moment…

 I turned on the flashing lights on the truck and sped to the appropriate spot.  The senior NCO in charge of the flight of aircraft was already there; nothing appeared amiss.  I drove up to him, and very formally asked him to appraise me of the situation, what steps had been taken, etc.  Now this particular NCO was… a bit on the mild-mannered side.  He gave me a detailed explanation of what had happened and his actions. 

Not fully understanding what he was saying, I declared in a baritone and authoritative command voice, that we should tow all of the aircraft away from this aircraft to ensure safety of the flightline, clear the area, etc. etc. 

He then very seriously asked “Sir, so do you want me to tow all of the aircraft to another area, etc, etc?”  And he was ready to do this….

[ MOMENT OF SILENCE ]

 Have you ever had one of those Whiskey Tango Foxtrot moments where you are jolted into a clarity of thought and vision wherein everything else fades … and only stark reality remains? 

I suddenly felt that a fog had been lifted from my mind:  I didn’t have a clue of what I was talking about yet this NCO was ready to do whatever I told him to do.

“NO!”  I said, “No.  Just continue to follow the appropriate procedures and let me know when its cleared.”   I then promptly left. 

I drove back to my office, sat down, and thanked God for having jolted me into reality. I was really shaken up.  I couldn’t believe what had just happened… I didn’t know any of the procedures regarding massive fuel spills (hell, I didn’t even know what constituted a massive fuel spill), yet this NCO was ready to do whatever I requested. 

As it turns out, ‘massive’ fuel spills are not at all unusual with tanker aircraft and what is called ‘massive’ may, in reality, not be quite massive at all.   There are well-settled standard procedures to deal with these incidents known to all maintenance personnel who work on these aircraft.

Well, I didn’t know that… 

I sat at my desk for the rest of the day … promising myself to study and prepare so that I would never again issue orders without knowing what I was talking about.  Somebody might actually do what I requested.   A very scary thought when you don’t know what you are talking about…

Tale 2

So there I was… After about a year in the Organizational Maintenance Squadron, our wing was tasked with participating in an exercise wherein we were supposed to generate aircraft [prepare aircraft for flying] in a simulated chemical warfare environment.  In English, we are supposed to do our jobs while wearing chemical warfare equipment, and pretending that this was a real world situation. 

I was appointed the on-site commander for the exercise. I was responsible for both the tanker and bomber aircraft that were part of the exercise.  I had to ensure that all of the aircraft assigned to the exercise were operationally ready to perform their mission.  Naturally, all actions were being monitored by our commanders who in turn had to report our status at various times throughout the exercise.  If you fail to meet a particular milestone, it reflects on the unit, as well as yourself… this is not a good thing. 

Wearing chemical warfare gear is not fun… I was driving around in my command truck monitoring the operations. The aircrews that were going to fly the aircraft came out to their aircraft, completed their preflight and engine runs. Everything appeared to be going well and that we would meet our timelines. 

Suddenly, there’s a radio message stating that bomber so and so has a fuel leak and is grounded.  In essence, our wing would be unable to accomplish its mission,  NOT GOOD.

I drove over to the particular aircraft.  As I came up to it, one of our young lieutenants jumped into my truck—it was supposed to be free of chemicals, so I didn’t have to wear the gas mask.  She took off her gas mask, and told me the aircraft had a fuel leak on one of the line and had been grounded.

Again clarity came over me… I told her to think about the situation.  We were supposed to be preparing to fly an operational mission; the usual normal peacetime rules of operations do not apply in such a situation.  I told her that I wanted the aircraft to be buttoned up for a one-time flight so that it could be declared mission ready.  I also told her that if the aircraft could not be flown even one time, to let me know that as well.

Now this particular lieutenant was a really smart person, with a degree in electrical engineering from MIT.  She looked at me with a look of wonder and clarity… ‘wow, I never thought of it in that way’.  Without a word, she left the truck.  Thirty minutes later, the bomber dispatcher called out on the radio that the aircraft had been buttoned up for a one-time flight and was ready to go.  Our wing was 100 percent operationally ready to accomplish the specified mission.  We passed the exercise…

Later our deputy commander for maintenance gave me thumbs up.   I felt good about this one.  Yes, I was no longer scared that someone would follow my orders…

 

A Tale of Two Commanders...

Leadership… There’s a plethora of books, articles, comments, blogs… you name it there's something on it.  I offer no comments on the merits of each, they speak for themselves.  I just share a couple of war stories based on personal experience.

Tale 1

There I was … [all war stories begin this way so humor me with your patience]… a captain in the US Air Force and flying in B-52 bombers as an electronic warfare officer [EWO].  My job was to protect the aircraft and crew from both radar and heat-seeking threats.  One eventful time my B-52H crew was selected to participate in a Red Flag exercise.  Red Flag is an advanced aerial warfare exercise held few times a year at Nellis Air Force Base, Las Vegas, Nevada.  The Red Flag is designed to simulate actual combat operations, i.e., fly as we fight.  The Red Flag ranges contain a multitude of threat radar simulators which mimic those of enemy systems.  Further, on this particular exercise, in addition to the usual F-5 / T-38s masquerading as MIGs, the OPFOR [opposing forces] included RAF Phantoms and Tornados.  The Commander of the exercise was a British Group Commander [0-6] from the Royal Air Force.

“Great!” I thought, because (1) we got an opportunity to test our training and mettle in the most realistic battlefield environment short of actual combat; and (2) we got to spend a few days in Las Vegas.  

The staff guys from our wing tactics’ shop had been sent a couple of weeks ahead to coordinate and assist with the planning.  A few days prior to our deployment, we received the mission package and we began detailed mission planning.  I was really excited. “I’m going to fly Red Flag!”  At the time, B-52 crews included a gunner to operate the 20 mm Gatling cannon [H-models; quad .50 caliber machine guns on G-models].  My gunner and I meticulously reviewed all threat radars, enemy aircraft characteristics, and analyzed possible contingencies like, “if I’m wounded, push this button to keep the jammers active, etc.”  and “There’s no way we’re going to allow our aircraft to be shot down.” 

During our pre-mission briefing, we were informed of the rules of engagement [ROEs].  During low level penetration and bomb run, our altitude was held a few hundred feet higher than we expected.  “Whisky Tango Foxtrot?” says I.  “Why are we being held to such non-tactical parameters?”  But orders are orders and we were to fly at such and such an altitude. “Foxtrot Tango” I was one pissed-off [EWO].

Our flight went smoothly enough through initial low-level penetration to terrain avoidance altitude.  As we approached the range, everything appeared peaceful enough. My warning receivers were operating normal giving no indications of OPFOR activity.

We arrived at the initial point and began our bomb run.  The pilot revved up the aircraft to max power and speed; even though we are wearing helmets with ear protection -- IT IS LOUD!

“BLEEP… BLEEP…” I heard on the earphones in my helmet.  My warning receivers detected the sure tale signs of air surveillance radars. Then height-finders… “Holy Sierra” OPFOR s are there!"

Then all hell broke loose.  Every freaking bell, whistle, and flashing lights [and there are lots of them] began to beep, flash and otherwise go bonkers.  We had encountered the forces of two OPFOR armies and all of their target-tracking radars [TTRs] were on … us.  Imagine playing ten different video games all at the same time while playing the stereo at full blast, with the whole room shaking, and a lot more…

Under such circumstances, your mind cannot keep up with the sensory overload; training takes over.  Before I could even digest the totality of the situation, my hands were flying over the jammers & punching out chaff & flares to protect the aircraft against the TTRs and heat-seekers. 

We proceeded with the bomb run [start humming Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries; or Eye of the Tiger by Survivor depending on your musical preferences] 

Then I noticed the radar signal of an AWACS – directing OPFOR fighters against us.  Jam him too… Over the radios you could hear the controllers directing Brit Phantoms against our aircraft.  I called for lower altitude but the pilot told me we were at the lowest altitude allowed by the ROES.  “F__ the ROES” I screamed on the interphone…  but we couldn’t do that.

Suddenly my brain woke from what seemed to be a mental fog … I had a clear vision of what was going on… I had complied with every procedure called for in such a tactical operation and I did not even realize that I had done it – the value of training over and over.   I could not believe I was getting paid to have this much fun!!!  Even Bill Gates cannot buy such a moment…  My gunner high-fived me as we completed our bomb run and began our exit from low-level altitude.

We got back to Nellis and were slapping each other on the back for a kick butt mission.  The staff pukes told us debriefing was the following morning at 0800 hours (8:00 a. m. for civilians); Vegas night awaited us. 

Next morning at debriefing, the staff pukes from our tactics division informed us that our aircraft had been shot down by OPFOR fighters as we climbed out of low level. 

“BRAVO SIERRA” I said. “There was nothing there.” 

“You got shot down by an infrared missile” said a staffer.

“No way” I said.  “There’s no way we got shot down.” We kept arguing back and forth.  I DEMANDED to see proof that our aircraft had been jumped by OPFOR at low-level exit.  They produced some data showing that, indeed, aircraft had jumped us at our low level exit point… and the pilot had yelled FOX 4 – IR missile “launch”.  I was … yep… the ROES.

Next the British Group Commander came in and began to talk about the mission and the following mission.  Not being too much of a milquetoast kind of guy, I immediately raised my hand:

“Why were the B-52s held at XX altitude?”

His response was not what I expected.  He slammed down his briefing book and began yelling that all of this had been coordinated ahead of time with all units and why in the bloody hell were we asking such questions…  My pilot gave me a look “SHUT THE F___ UP”

Limey bastard, I thought.  “With due respect to your rank , sir, if the object of the exercise is to fly as we expect to fight, then the B-52s should be allowed to fly at tactical altitude? If the object of the exercise is to prove a foregone conclusion…?" I thought the Group Commander was going to explode… then suddenly he burst out laughing…  He looked at his staff… all of them sitting with notebooks on their laps [like those pictures of North Korean generals around Kim Jong Un];  “Why the hell didn’t any of you say this?” Silence.

He came over and gave me a friendly slap on the back… “Well done, Captain.” 

True story…

Tale 2

In a flying wing, all operations are under the control of the deputy commander for operations [DO].  He or she is responsible to the commander of the wing for the flight schedule, aircrew training, flying hours and all of the support necessary to ensure them… It’s a pretty responsible job and was particularly so during the 1980s because of the B-52s nuclear missions.

There I was one day, when our crew was selected to participate in a very secret program.  We were given some guidance and told to develop a mission profile.  Once we did this, we were to travel to Strategic Air Command headquarters in Omaha, Nebraska and brief the vice commander of SAC – a three-star general.  When a crew gets such an assignment, they get bombed [no pun intended] with staff assistance from the wing [i.e., you are going to do this in such and such a way]. 

Our particular DO was a new colonel who was bent on becoming a wing commander, hence, a general.  I had seen him at a number of functions at the officer’s club. He seemed okay to me though I had not had many interactions with him. 

With staff ‘assistance’ we prepared our mission profile, etc. in the required time.  Our DO led a team of staffers, our crew, a KC-135 crew, etc. to SAC HQ to brief vice-CINCSAC.   The briefings went well enough… and a few days later it was time to return home.

I was based in Northern Michigan at the time, and it was COLD.  While we were gone, the base had been through a major snowstorm and had begun to dig itself out of the snow.  We flew back on a KC-135.  Upon landing, there were no buses at hand to pick us up… the temperature outside was around -15 degrees F.  All of the sudden, a command car pulled right up to the tanker.  It was the DO’s assistant.  Without a word to any of us, the DO got in the car and they drove away.  We all looked at each other… and 40 minutes later or so buses arrived to pick us up.

A few months later, we were expecting a staff assistance visit from SAC.  A staff ‘assistance’ visit is an inspection by another name.  The higher staff ‘assists’ you by nitpicking and second-guessing everything you do; and writes action items for you to complete by such and such time.  They are not fun.

The DO was obviously concerned about it because it is report card.  Bad grades affect your promotion opportunities.  As the staff assistance got closer, he decided to have a DO Commander’s Call for his staff.  As I was in a standardization and evaluation crew (Stan Eval) at the time, I was directly under the DO’s command.  In the Air Force duty days run from 0730 to 1630 hrs (7:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.). Commanders’ Calls, attendance is mandatory, are held by unit commanders to inform all unit personnel of various activities, recognize people, and such things.  I had never heard of a DO having a commander’s call—as this is a staff unit.  Whatever…

The DO Commanders’ Call was set for 1530 hours [3:30 p.m.].  At 3:00 p.m., we received a call saying that it had been moved to 4:30 p.m. because the DO was busy…

At 4:30 p.m., all of the DO staff gathered at the base theater [about 100 people] for the commanders’ call.  The DO began speaking telling us all how important this visit was and in order to inform everyone of what was going on, he tasked each DO division to brief us on its mission [oy vey…] I settled deeper in my seat…

For the next hour or so the meeting droned on an on with no end in sight.  Around 5:40 p.m., one of the division chiefs got up to brief.  He said he did not know what this was about, and had not prepared anything, so he had a pre-canned briefing of about 100 slides … [collective GROAN...]

I then noticed a young airman looking glumly at his watch…. “Airman, what time does the mess hall close?” I asked quietly.  “Six o’clock, sir” he responded…

There was no way we were going to be done by then… someone had to say something.

I stood up and said to the DO:  “Excuse me, sir.  The mess hall is going to close at six o’clock so we should excuse those who have to eat there.”  I expected him to be understanding… they had just forgotten the time.

His reaction was not what I expected.  “THIS IS IMPORTANT” he screamed almost hysterically. Then rambled something about how important the staff assistance visit was. I thought that our troops having dinner was important too.  I had made my point so I sat down and didn’t say anything further… And the briefing droned on…

About 10 minutes later, at 5:50 p.m., the DO grumbled “Those who have to eat at the mess hall may leave.”  Half of the audience left…  The briefing droned on for another 5 minutes or so.  “Enough of this” the DO said.  “We’re done.”  We never had another DO commanders’ call again… and yeah, we survived the assistance visit.

That night I wondered if I had a career still left, but no regrets.  Next day, some Tanker pilot whom I did not know came up to me and said:  “That took a lot of guts. I can’t believe how poorly he reacted…”

True story…