“The habit of the arm-chair easily prevails over that of the quarter-deck; it is more comfortable.”
~Alfred Thayer Mahan, 1903[1]
In the May issue of Proceedings, Admiral Richard Macke, U.S. Navy (Ret.), laments the disappearance of naval warriors who once bestrode the world on ships of wood with nerves of steel. He is concerned that most of today’s warriors are “leaving the leadership of today’s military to those who have survived the tortures of the political world.”
His distress strikes a chord with those of us at the “pointy end” of the trident. The periodic Tomahawk strike into Syria aside, it can seem as though our Navy is choked with administrators, while the warriors depart in droves. I will admit that many in the strike-fighter community feel the same way. Every time I blaze through some PowerPoint “training” on one mundane topic or another, it reminds me of how much more appealing it is to launch into enemy territory with several thousand pounds of ordnance under my wings (a feeling exceeded only by returning without said ordnance).
The admiral’s plaints invoke some of the typical arguments: political correctness is killing the Navy, no one goes to the O-Club any more, admirals seem to be promoted for their ability to navigate the Pentagon, rather than navigate the high seas. As implied by Mahan’s quote, this lamentation has been prevalent in the Navy for at least a century, and the admiral finds himself in good company (i.e., Mahan, not this author, who has never considered himself “good company”).
Students of military history will recognize the push-pull between the administrator and the warrior as one of the constants of the profession of arms. History in general, and U.S. history in particular, is replete with such examples. Long before Grant’s triumph at Appomattox, McClellan organized a pristine Army of the Potomac that sat motionless despite the urgings of the Commander-in-Chief (furthermore McClellan epitomizes the political general, having run for the Democratic presidential nomination while on active duty during wartime). At the outbreak of World War II, Army Chief of Staff General George Marshall formed a committee with the sole mission to remove peacetime officers from the ranks to allow young(ish) warriors like Patton, Bradley, and Eisenhower to move up; their post-war “body count” to 700 senior officers.[2]
It is no surprise to me that current leaders are “peacetime” leaders, better at managing than fighting; after all, we are fundamentally at peace and have been for many years.
The Domain of the Administrator
“But wait,” you respond, “What about Iraq? And Afghanistan? And Libya? And Iraq again? And [insert faraway country name]?” To be sure, U.S. combat power is deployed abroad and employing deadly force daily, but the numbers of troops are small, the investment of U.S. society is marginal at best, and the focus of the U.S. military (most tellingly) is leveraged towards administrative matters, not combat.
One need only look at the revolving door of uniforms to observe the peacetime admiral’s fondness for dressing up his service. After a dozen years in service I have progressed through the following uniform changes: the removal of wash khakis, “Johnny Cash” blues, and utilities; khaki shirts for sailors; blue camouflage that melts in a fire; two or three styles of coveralls; several changes to flight suit rules for some reason; maybe bringing back dress khakis; removal of aviator greens; two new, different types of camouflage (one of which is lime green); getting rid of the melting blue camouflage; “gender neutral” uniforms (but actually just men’s uniforms for women); see-through physical training (PT) uniforms; a new track suit; not-quite-so-see-through PT uniforms; and now, maybe a return to a wash khakis and utilities-like two-piece seagoing uniform. This has cost millions of dollars in funding, allowances, and out-of-pocket expenses while combat operations wear out our aircraft and constant deployments wear down our ships and people. The Army and Air Force have had similar uniform-related drama. All at a time when we are allegedly “at war.”
Similarly, the focus on ancillary causes underscores our peacetime attitude. A friend of mine recently looked up his training record on one of the Navy’s myriad labyrinthine websites and found his total general military training amounted to nearly 200 hours over the course of his commissioned service. That translates to over a month of actual work (three weeks for surface warfare offices, am I right?) that he has spent learning about things like cybersecurity, records management, and sexual health. More germane to his and my line of work, that translates to about 150 sorties in our beloved (two-seat!) FA-18F. Cybersecurity, et al., are noble causes, but are they worth the equivalent of more than one year of flying?[3] I think not.
On a grander scale, former Secretary of the Navy Ray Mabus launched the Great Green Fleet initiative at a time when biofuels cost nine times as much as traditional fuels, fiddling as the combat fleet strained and finally broke under sequestration, reduced (optimal?) manning, and aging airframes. Energy independence is a laudable goal, and non-fossil fuels evince good environmental stewardship, but at what cost to our primary mission? (For the administrators out there, that mission is to first deter, and then fight and win our nation’s wars, everything else is ancillary. Don’t @ me; Mahan agrees.)
Do the Right Thing for the Right Reason
One of my personal heroes, Branch Rickey, once general manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers, integrated baseball when he signed Jackie Robinson to a major league contract. He did this inspired by his personal faith, knowing it was the moral and just thing to do; but also he knew that it would help him accomplish his dual missions as a baseball executive: win baseball games and make a ton of money.
“Whatever other result may be achieved, naval administration has failed unless it provides to the nation an efficient fighting body.”[4] In this vein, we must care for sailors’ health, well-being, and security; we must shepherd the resources of our nation; and we must reduce off-duty safety and alcohol related incidents—not because they are our primary mission, but because they increase our ability to accomplish our primary mission: to fight and win the nation’s wars.
A 17-year slow burn of conflict has blurred the lines between peace and war for the warriors. Men and women on the pointy end of the spear feel like they are at war. My last deployment was a whirlwind of combat operations, focused training, and one languorous month experiencing “war” from the Air Force’s perspective at the Combined Air Operations Center (CAOC). Even this experience, however, was a disconnect between wartime operations and peacetime administration. B-52 bombers launched on ten-hour missions into Iraq and Syria, while down the road airmen queued up at a fully-functioning Baskin Robins. There was a fountain in the base exchange, spraying water into the air, in the middle of the desert. Valley Forge it was not.
So, we find ourselves in the second decade of a not-war, where the deploying end of the Navy is at a steady clip of combat and deployed operations, a strain intensified by the long-term effects of sequestration, worn out aircraft, and people moving from one sea-going command to another, sometimes with disastrous results.
Meanwhile, the aircraft that was supposed to fix all our problems and get us into the “fifth generation” has been a 20-year boondoggle with aircraft only now finally arriving on the NAS Lemoore flight line (only six years behind schedule!). The “street fighter” “mission module” “surface combatant” is not any of those things, and our only hope is that it will be replaced by itself, in a feat of absurdity worthy of Kafka.
That also does not touch the lessons that junior and midlevel officers have learned from the Fat Leonard scandal. Namely: if you have a star, you’ll get a slap on the wrist, a pension, and a consulting gig. (Rear Admiral Robert Gilbeau, currently serving an 18-month prison sentence, may be the exception that proves the rule; five other flag officers retired “early” on a flag officer’s pension after non-judicial punishment or censure.)
Leaving aside the Zumwalt class, the “retreat from range,” and the aforementioned constellation of garbage websites for another day, it is easy to see the impacts of a peacetime administration on a warrior profession.
These stains on our profession are indications clearer than any slide deck at the CAOC that we are a peacetime Navy, functioning as administrators instead of focused on combat power; otherwise we would have seen an FF(X), a Block III Super Hornet, and massive changes to our administrative workloads long ago as we trimmed the fat to operate at the sharp end of the nation’s policies.
The Enduring Warriors
However, I come not to bury the warrior, but to praise him. I want to calm Admiral Macke’s fears and reassure him that deep beneath the problems that have plagued our Navy since the end of the Cold War, there is a core of warfighters who bide their time; Pattons and Grants, or more appropriately, Halseys and Nimitzes. I do not claim to be one of these, but I work with them, and the Admiral has precisely encapsulated their anxiety but he has missed the strength of their commitment.
Our officers and sailors around the world toil like Hercules, sharpening their spears for whatever may come. Even now, combat aviators and SEAL operators deliver precision fires ashore. Submarines sneak around wherever it is that they sneak around, doing whatever it is that they do while they sneak around, and return to port flying the Jolly Roger for reasons we will probably never learn.
Even the recent tragedies on board the USS John S. McCain (DDG-56) and USS Fitzgerald (DDG-62) have their silver linings. The heroic damage control efforts by those crews should reassure observers that our core source of strength: our enlisted force, can accomplish what seems impossible. To further praise our surface forces (don’t get used to it, shoes), it is safe to extrapolate some optimism from recent Tomahawk strikes into Syria. Certainly, we cannot derive wartime performance from peacetime accidents or deliberate strike operations, but there is a glimmer of promise in each of those things.
At TOPGUN in Fallon young lieutenants are formulating the next iteration of strike-fighter tactics and employment, working closely with junior officers in the test and development community. Also in Fallon: the O-Club is probably jumping right now; I wish I were there.
The surface community has recently adopted the TOPGUN model for producing tactical specialists, and I hope that they develop a cadre of steely-eyed killers who prioritize warfighting and reintroduce a fighting spirit in the surface force. The days of Savo Island and TAFFY 3 are long past, and potentially around the corner.
We must maintain these engines of the warrior spirit inviolate. Young officers and sailors must be encouraged to think, write, and operate outside the box; leaders must trim the administrative distractions, perhaps in defiance of the administrators who value compliance over performance; we must ask serious questions about how to attract, train, and retain thinking, lethal, expert warriors.
Until our naval force is engaged in major combat for a prolonged period, the warriors will continue to languish, and many will indeed leave the service. But those warriors each train a new generation, and when war begins the warriors will rise to the top if we have nurtured the seed in the meanwhile. Sadly, this cycle is the nature of warfare, and finding those warriors tends to involve peacetime leaders learning of their limitations through the loss of precious lives.
I wish I could provide concrete solutions to the push-pull strain between administrators and operators. The platitudes from the Pentagon about avoiding changes to the sea bag, reducing administrative distractions, and placing training responsibilities in the hands of commanding officers seem to be hollow promises so far. It can be disheartening.
However, not long ago I was launching from the front end of the carrier with my pilot and our wingmen, taking the fight to the enemy as our regional and coalition partners steadily pushed back the wicked men who had overrun Iraq and Syria. I witnessed acts of courage by Americans on the ground, and steady nerves and combat performance from my shipmates in the air.
Many of these men and women will leave the service, and that is okay. They have trained their replacements, relying on the experience that comes from delivering the fight to the enemy. Right now, on board the USS John Warner (SSN-785), USS Monterey (CG-61), USS Higgins (DDG-76), and USS Laboon (DDG-58), junior sailors are listening with rapt attention to those who launched missiles against Syrian targets and looking with envy and pride at the tomahawk symbols that (should) adorn the hull.
The warriors are out there, Admiral. And when the time comes, they will answer the call. It is up to the rest of us to grow that spirit and remember our mission in every task we undertake: to first deter, and then to fight and win the nation’s wars. Although the ease of the arm chair may exert its siren call across our current service, there are many who yet prefer the quarterdeck.
Endnotes
[1] Alfred Thayer Mahan, “The Principles of Naval Administration,” republished in 21st Century Mahan, ed. Benjamin F. Armstrong (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2013).
[2] Jonathan W. Jordan, Brothers, Rivals, Victors (New York, NY: NAL Caliber, 2011), 32.
[3] Note: That amount of online instructions coincidentally equates to the amount of flight time required to complete flight school.
[4] Mahan, “The Principles of Naval Administration.”
