• A commander must be in the field personally supervising and evaluating training. Otherwise, he will never know the true status of the training readiness of his unit, and how to structure future training for correcting both unit and individual weaknesses.Neither can a commander make an honest judgment on what his unit can or cannot do unless he knows the unit's training readiness — inside and out.
• Time is a commander's most crucial asset, and it should never be wasted — not a single minute.A training opportunity exists in everything a unit is required to do — no matter if it is mission-related or not — and it is the leader's responsibility to look ahead and identify these opportunities and take advantage of them. It could be guard duty, police call, burial details, or many other administrative activities. These should be performed by squads and conducted in a way that allows each individual and the unit itself to emerge better-trained and feeling good about their performance.For example, if transportation is scarce, many training opportunities — such as counterambush drills — are available during tactical foot marches to the designated training areas.Every officer and NCO in the chain of command must always have "hip-pocket training" ready for his unit in order to take advantage of unprogrammed and unanticipated time that could become available for training. For example: "The trucks that were supposed to show up will arrive thirty minutes late. Let's get in some mortar practice." Oftentimes, small-unit leaders fail to recognize and plan appropriately for these opportunities — a situation that requires leader training by the commander.Time lost can never be recovered.
• If a unit fails to meet the standard for a given training event, then the commander should adjust the schedule to keep the unit in the field until they get it right — no matter how long it takes. Don't ever say, "We'll correct the deficiency next time out." There may not be a next time before they are committed to battle.
• The responsible commander (brigade, battalion) should never be satisfied with "just" meeting the standard. He should keep "raising the bar," with an ultimate goal of maximizing the technical and tactical proficiency of every individual. For example: Every soldier in an infantry squad should qualify for the Expert infantry Badge, every medic should qualify for the Expert Field Medical Badge, every mortar crew member as Master Gunner, and so on. A great ancillary benefit also comes from this — unit pride, cohesion, and individual early promotions.
• Cross-training between skills is also very important, especially within crews of crew-served weapons that are vital to unit effectiveness in combat. Replacements are not always readily available on the battlefield.
Nothing I have said is new to any successful commander. We have lived by these principles and tenets in fulfilling our responsibilities for preparing those entrusted to us — the cream of America's youth — for success in battle. This responsibility is a sacred trust, directed not only toward success in battle, but also to the lives of the men and women we command. This includes bringing them safely back to their families, and having them feel good about themselves for what they have done for our nation.
Soldiers will unhesitatingly lay their lives on the line because of this trust in their commander and their fellow soldiers. They have no one else to look to.
This means, finally, that a commander's unit, no matter what kind it is, will be only as good as he is, a direct reflection of his principles and values, and of his dedication, his motivation, and his love and respect for his troops. A commander must therefore give it whatever it takes. No one else will do it for him.
During most of my Army career, I have been fortunate to serve in combat units where training and preparedness for no-notice contingency operations were an imperative — and for having had this opportunity I indeed feel privileged.
V
FEW ARE CALLED, FEWER ARE CHOSEN
Army posts are predictable places. Most of the time, you know what to expect — reveille in the morning, taps at night, squads, companies, battalions, PT, drills, marches, orders, regulations, tightly scheduled intense training, "sirs" and salutes — and wildlife management.
Most Army bases in the United States have game-conservation programs. On selected fields and training areas, corn, millet, sunflower, winter wheat, and other feeds arc planted so that doves, quail, grouse, turkeys, deer, and all manner of other wild creatures can mature and receive cover and protection from predators. As an added benefit, these same fields offer soldiers who like hunting splendid sites for game shooting. Every Saturday in season, you can find soldier-hunters out on some wildlife conservation area.
This particular Saturday, Captain Carl Stiner was at Fort Jackson, where he'd been assigned after completing the Advanced Infantry Course at Fort Benning, Georgia. He had served there for sixteen months. It was bright and warm, a fine day for dove hunting. Suddenly, out of the blue, a jeep came roaring up, blasting its horn and making a god-awful mess of the shooting. A pair of MPs leaped out and headed right for Stiner.
"Sir," the senior MP said, hustling up with urgency in his voice, "you have orders, sir, for reassignment, and you need to get back in to look at them. Right now, sir. You're going to have to move this weekend."
That was very unusual, so Stiner asked, "What's the nature of the orders?"
"We don't know, sir. We were told they're classified, and you need to come back in."
"Who sent you out here?" Stiner pressed.
They named a warrant officer assigned to the training center headquarters.
"Well, that explains it," Stiner said to himself; he knew the man well. The warrant officer was a famous trickster.
He said to the MPs, "Well, I'm not going back in right now. I'll come back after a while. Just tell him not to worry about it." So they left. . with visible misgivings. And Stiner stayed at the dove shoot.
Still, the MPs' message couldn't help but gnaw at his brain. He continued to agitate over what had just happened, until, some time later, the jeep returned. This time the MPs had no hesitation. "Sir, you have got to go back in. They're classified orders, and the post is preparing to move you and your family this weekend."
At which point, Stiner thought, Maybe nobody's playing a trick on me after all.
The reassignment was to Fort Bragg, North Carolina. He had a building number where he was supposed to report, but the MOS (Military Occupation Specialty) was indeed classified. Stiner had no idea what he was about to get into, but whatever it was, the Army had told him to move, so that afternoon, he and his wife, Sue, began to get themselves and their infant daughter, Carla, ready.
The next day they checked into a rental trailer near Fort Bragg, since no quarters were available, and on Monday Stiner reported in at the building he'd been given. When he showed up, a line of maybe fifty officers, most of them captains, but also a few first lieutenants, was there, all of them in the same boat. They had all been pulled in on short notice, and none of them had any idea what was going on.
Welcome to the Special Forces.
When Stiner was called into Special Forces, he knew very little about who they were or what they did. Their secretive, closed nature extended to the rest of the army. He did know the Special Forces were highly selective and highly trained, and that as army units went, they were small (in 1964, approximately 17,700 people, including PSYOPs and Civil Affairs). And he knew they were unconventional in their thinking, their organization, and their mission — even their headgear was unorthodox: green berets. The rest he would have to find out as he went along.