I was sort of secretly hoping that you really were somebody worth admiring with a an experience-based opinion worth listening to but I've given you a week or so to answer and with no surprise to anyone, you had no answer to give.
Here's who I was/am: I joined the Marines at age 19 and after some effective but rapid training, I joined a 105mm artillery battery near Phu Bai, Vietnam. After about six months as an artilleryman, I volunteered to be an artillery scout observer with an infantry company because all of the previous members of those teams had been killed. I did fine with the infantry and survived longer than most. I even extended my time over there six months because I figured that I was good at what I did and I didn't want some new guy to have to take my place. I was severely wounded after 17 months in combat and spent nearly a full year recovering in different service hospitals. I made sergeant when I recovered and taught the .50 caliber machinegun to new people on their way over to Vietnam. I was discharged because I still had a long way to go to be fully recovered.
After almost 4 years, the Marine Corps asked me if I wanted to return as an officer and I attended OCS at Quantico. I was commissioned in 1973 and after TBS and artillery school, was assigned to a number of artillery billets and returned to Vietnam as a Forward Observer (again) until we finally left for good in '75. I spent the next 23 years commanding platoons, a headquarters battery and a 155mm battalion with numerous other assignments in between. During my career, I did the best I knew how to improve our combat effectiveness and to avoid the mistakes previous generations had made.
Anything careerist about that story? Any hints that I don't know what I'm talking about when I discuss fire support and its importance?
Now, let's hear all about you and your service history.
“...Now, let’s hear all about you and your service history.”
Glad to.
Signed on the dotted line at the depths of US involvement in Southeast Asia.
Spent four years at one of the federal service academies. Only spat upon once - that I know of. Accepted a commission.
Attained the aero rating of navigator. Served a number of years on combat crews for USAF heavy strike aircraft (the ones civilians call “heavy bombers”). Aviated over about half the globe, into areas more remote than any glance at a chart can reveal. Found myself toe-to-toe, figuratively, with adversaries, when none of us could guess what might happen next, and there wasn’t any way to consult with the higher-ups, for guidance.
Medically grounded after sustaining injuries in a landing mishap.
Earned a master of science degree in operations research from the School of Engineering at the Air Force Institute of Technology.
Spent the rest of my career, off and on, conducting operational testing at the major command and Joint levels, evaluating effectiveness and suitability of weapons systems for every US armed service and Combined organizations. Served my final tour as a scientific analyst in a Joint billet; retired from active duty over 15 years ago, after a couple months shy of 25 years of active commissioned service.
Encountered no hostile fire. Not that I’m sure of; in some spots where I chanced to find myself, it was very much an open question. Spent some head-scratching moments, attempting to unscramble the indications appearing on bank after bank of instruments in front of my nose, weighing the chances that our craft was being shot at.
There are witty ripostes I could make to Chainmail’s vexed comments, but after taking stock, I’m having none of it. I will point out that USAF aircrews are profoundly grateful for USMC: their prowess, their esprit, their fighting spirit are all honored. At bombardment wing dinings-in, toasts have been proposed, to the Marines who assaulted Iwo Jima, 70 years ago next month. If those stalwarts were not heroes, then I submit that the rest of the American military has yet to produce any.
But after 29 years of it, and a further 15 years of reflecting on what we did, I cannot help but conclude that it’s not about heroism, not about ego, not about politics nor bureaucratic rivalries. And it isn’t about the rearing and nurturing of fair-haired kids.
It’s about effectiveness. And everything I listed in the previous paragraph are constraints. Yet another unpalatable truism about life in the armed services is that while each factor I mentioned limits effectiveness, each is something we have to live with. They don’t go away just because they annoy us.
Heroism is what is needed, when the plan goes off track, the guns tie up, the equipment breaks down, vehicles stall out, the craft run out of gas, the supply lines are severed, the political hacks get cold feet. And then heroism can be needed badly.
So I would say this to Chainmail, assuming he is in a mood to accept anything short of abject grovelling: we need heroes and we need good leadership.
But the essence of both is that they are not available in a predictable fashion; we are not (yet) capable of producing them on an assembly line basis, compared to the relative ease with which we turn out arms and munitions, and every other implement of use, in conflict.
What’s more, the heroes frequently come to grief: stepping into unpleasant situations to salvage something from the mess is not without risk. Many don’t survive. Their loss does indeed trouble me a great deal (even the ones I never got to meet personally). In a larger sense, we cannot spare any; their abilities are needed elsewhere.
So in a still larger sense, I would submit that it should be our goal, in the long term, to organize, train, equip, deploy, and employ armed forces in ways that will reduce the risks the heroes have to run.