By the time I made 1st LT, I had been through a number of ARTEPs...platoon/battery level tac evals. I knew how the game was played, I knew what the evaluators were looking for. In essence, you could look like crap the first two days, but as long as you were showing improvement on the last day, you'd pass.
This particular tac eval, I had to wear two hats: Maintenance Officer (my regular job), and XO, as our XO was away at a training class.
First day wasn't too bad, second day was a disaster. One of our platoons was 30 minutes late on their mission time. The platoon leader just looked befuddled when I ripped into him...30 minutes late on your morning mission? That was almost enough to flunk us.
I spent most of the afternoon with my maintenance section. When I returned to the CP, my First Sergeant was distraught...he had 3 tours in Nam as an Infantry First Sergeant, so I knew something was wrong. Boy, was it: my Battery Commander improperly encoded coordinates for a platoon's mission, and the Platoon Leader failed to call him on it. It was such an obvious error, any competent Air Defense Artillery Officer would know it.
From that point on, the BC went catatonic, seeing the end of his career. Me? I just got angry, and let the Platoon Leaders have it in our evening meeting. I took 15 minutes to explain what their platoons would do the next day, down to the driver of their vehicles. It was unreal, I had "ring knockers" (West Pointers) and Airborne Rangers as Platoon Leaders, and they were all in a fog, along with the Battery Commander.
Unbeknownst to me, the chief evaluator heard every word. As I left the CP, he pulled me aside, smiled and said, "that was beautiful, LT." We passed, and for my efforts, I received a lousy efficiency report. I knew before that I wasn't hanging around for 20, so it rolled off my back. I ended up doing 8 years, got out when I was 30.
Regardless of service or country, it seems that rolling with the punches and getting on with it is the mission of junior officers.
As a fresh faced Sub-Lieutenant (Australian Navy rank equal to a 1st LT) I got posted to a ship that was something of a nightmare.
It was one of 2 ex USN LST’s (Landing Ship Tank) that the Australian government had purchased build up our amphibious capabilities. The idea was that we’d buy these ships on the cheap, give them a refit, and get busy doing amphib stuff.
Well, they were in terrible state so required a lot more work than planned, massive cost blow outs, and (important to the story) big contract problems. As the dockyard contractors finished each compartment of the ship (or room for my army friends) they would hand over ownership and responsibility over to the crew.
I posted on as a warfare officer and instantly got a bunch of other jobs dumped on me including physical security officer. A couple of days into the posting the XO tells me that the ship’s armory was to be handed over the next day and that delivery of all the ship’s small arms would be 3 days after that.
Oh, and the Fleet Security Officer would be on hand that day to assess the ship.
No pressure...
I head down to the armory and started regretting the day of my birth.
There was no locks on any of the doors in the armory. No secure weapon racks. Nothing but empty compartments.
I grab one of the contractors and politely ask him ‘where the f*** are the locks and weapon racks?’. He shrugged his shoulders, no one told them they had to install them.
I tell him to get his boss down here and asked his boss VERY politely ‘WHERE THE F*** ARE THE LOCKS AND WEAPON RACKS?’
The team boss shrugs his shoulders, they weren’t on the work order. I tell him to find the diligent servant of Satan who wrote the work orders and get them down to the armory as I have several very, VERY polite questions re: the whereabouts of said locks and weapon racks.
By the time Satan’s servant gets there I’ve got the CO and XO with me and they too would like a quiet word in the delicate shell-like ear of whoever is responsible for this ‘oopsie’.
Satan’s servant shrugs his shoulders and tells us that it’s not in the contract. In short order we are in an office going through the contracts. The contract described armory’s painting standards and requirements, ventilation standards and requirements, electrical standards and requirements... but no security standards or requirements.
At this point the CO, XO, and I would dearly love to know the identities of the contract writers as we would like them to stand still for a bit while we commit several war crimes upon their personages.
I ask the CO to delay the weapon delivery while this gets sorted out.
Nope. Subbie, you’ve got three days to get the armory ready.
No pressure...
I grab two of the smartest engineering sailors onboard and we read through the regulations on what security standards we should have and sketch out a rough plan on what needs to be done.
Over the next couple of days the engineers are designing, building and installing weapon racks and reinforcing the armory bulkheads and doors. I grab the ship’s Supply Officer and drag him and the ship’s credit card to a number of locksmiths all over the region to buy the specialist locks required.
The end result was ugly and wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Mad Max movie.
The weapons arrive as does the Fleet Security Officer. I walk around with him and when we get to the armory I explain what had happened, show him the designs of our work arounds and what regulations we used in coming up with them.
He completes his inspection and heads up to the CO’s cabin. 30 minutes later I get piped up to the CO’s cabin.
The assessment was ‘Not Ready’. There were a couple of other compartments (mostly stores and supply ones) which also lacked the appropriate security (again, not in the contract).
The armory, however, passed with flying colors. Ugly as sin? True. Met or exceeded the regulations? Also true.
He left me a list of defects and a promise to be back in two weeks for a final assessment. The CO praises me for getting the armory fixed, but then tells me that I’m not getting off the ship until the other defects are fixed (basically a 2 week stoppage of leave).
The life of a junior officer. One part tragedy, two parts farce, with a pinch of gallows humor.