The role of the Navy officer can be a daunting one—no ifs, ands, or scuttlebutts about it. Whether new to the officer corps or to the Navy entirely, the absurdly large download of completely novel information can quickly leave even the most prepared ensigns (or so they thought!) reeling from a hard day’s work in which not only results are highly sought after, but learning is both paramount and measured. The mental game of having to ignore the good chance that you are the most experientially uneducated person in the room can be exhausting—but it is necessary to provide the clarity and confidence needed to accomplish the mission. Where junior officers sometimes get it wrong, however, is striving to have all the answers or be the most knowledgeable junior officer (JO) around the wardroom, ship, or flight line. Instead, what we should be doing (and what the best leaders on and above the deckplates are doing), is allowing the Navy to showcase its own investments. But how do we do this?

Let the Experts Be Experts

When we are too quick to point out the need to “lead from the front” and to “take charge,” we not only miss the opportunity to build more leaders, but also to see the full capabilities of our enlisted counterparts—the technical experts—first-hand in carrying out the more complex tasks their own jobs require of them. It is a wonderfully fulfilling thing to see your brand-new second-class petty officer come back to tell you “the bird’s back up” or “skipper’s in the air” after your only input into the matter was telling them to go do their thing. Yet, while we as junior officers are often just an intermediary when it comes to carrying out our CO’s vision or our XO’s strategies, it is humbling to be responsible for any level of mission success when you sometimes provide little more than the faith and confidence in the skills and expertise of the sailors around you.

First thought that would come to mind after reading such a thing is the old adage of “Trust, But Verify,” and there is plenty value to that. However, as with most things, moderation is key. The chief who has never let you down before—he or she’s got it. The airman who is already on his or her third turnaround inspection of the day and called out several issues on the last jet—that signature should mean a lot to you. There are so many things we interact with daily that can pose a legitimate threat of loss of life or limb that we must exercise superior cunning and discretion in everything we do—including how we manage our people (and ourselves).

A Practical Example

This is especially true when it comes to leaders like us; the ones who wear the shiny things on our collars and the gold stripes on our sleeve cuffs. Good results come from striking that balance between stepping up as the brass of the group while allowing those under our charge to show us what they are made of. Well, they are made of a lot, and they are keenly aware of it. What I look back on as a fortunate example of this is my most recent deployment as the detachment maintenance officer of a triad of MH-60S helicopters on board the USS Bataan (LHD-5) and the 30 aviation maintainers assigned to me.

When in charge of the readiness and operability of the lone Navy aviation assets on a ship filled with more Marines than sailors because of the Marine Expeditionary Unit on board, and more importantly when your aircraft are the designated search-and-rescue assets in the event of a man overboard or worse, you tend to take mission capability statuses a little more seriously. And when one of your three aircraft are hard down for a critical safety system, it dwells on you until that bird is up again and ready to get back in the fight. Aircraft 46, our “trouble child,” was completely non-mission capable because of a fire detector circuit breaker that would instantly pop the moment the helo went forward flight and that would continuously reset once back on the flight deck. With no ability to reset in the air, and without that circuit breaker remaining popped on deck, the fire detectors were inoperable. This made the aircraft unable to self-diagnose an engine fire in the event one sparked, and it was therefore deck bound until the discrepancy could be fixed. This went on for days, and then weeks . . . and without the ability to troubleshoot on deck, we were largely dead in the water absent a lucky break.

Then finally, after weeks of only two thirds of our aircraft being flyable, that lucky break came—and now it was time for the even harder work. The circuit breaker stayed popped on landing, and we could finally simulate the gripe and troubleshoot on the ground. With a contested strait transit looming on the horizon, we had exactly zero time to waste when my cadre of avionics maintainers came to me and told me all they needed now was deck space, and time. I trusted them to do what they do, and to get the job done.

In a compressed flight window, and conflicting requirements for the assortment of Marine aircraft oncboard that needed their own fly time and deck space, this is no short order especially when the MH-60S helicopter requires either a significant portion of the deck to itself because of downwash from other rotary aircraft or for its own blades to be folded and crutched. This quickly became a situation in which, if I could promise my chain of command three mission-capable aircraft by morning, I could give my sailors what they needed to make that happen.

I let the experts be experts, and the returns were worth many times over the risk of the leap of faith it took to get them what they needed. I came through because they came through, and vice-versa.

Looking to the Future

In today’s realm of Navy leadership and the day-to-day dealings of its junior officers, there is now an enhanced need to acknowledge the expertise of our subordinates—especially when they are in no uncertain terms our technical superiors so much of the time. When a sailor is hitting those high marks, they are aware of it more now than ever. What was once a humble, almost willful ignorance of their own capabilities has been replaced by a daring and, at times, fiery conviction within these men and women to take on the next big challenge—to conquer the next mountain. We as JOs realize that we must seek to capture that raw talent, and to nurture it. If we can successfully employ this type of new and invigorated leadership, we should expect our lethality as a fighting force to grow vastly in the years and decades to come.