Its a Bittersweet Symphony

I would like to apologize to all of those two people who have been missing my posts and wondering when I will write again. I am sorry dad and mom.


It's March already. Holy crap. And, with the new month comes new responsibility: I have been put out to pasture, so to speak, as a platoon leader in this man's Army. I will be replaced by a great dude who has been wasting away on the staff of my unit as an assistant supply officer. When I told him the news, he literally danced in the hallway of our Squadron's command post... and, metaphorically so, directly on the grave of my platoon leadership. But I jest; he is a good dude: Ranger qualified, former gunner on a helicopter, and a number of things I am not (young, full-haired, etc.). I have no doubt that he will do a remarkable job as a platoon leader and take the Soldiers I have trained up and continue the mission we have here to great success.


But with my departure comes a whole lot of... sadness? It is certainly very, very bittersweet. I have been a platoon leader for over a year - by the time I "officially" move to staff, I will have been in the position nearly 15 months. I understand that as I progress in rank I will be expected to move away from old jobs and tackle new ones; in my branch, for example, a platoon leader is the lowest job a lieutenant can have. More importantly, I understand how leadership can grow stale: my Soldiers have gotten used to me over the past year and probably need an infusion of "new blood." But that does not dismiss the fact that I will miss these guys. I have devoted a year of my life to making sure they were as prepared as I could have possibly made them for this deployment. I have told their wives and girlfriends that I would bring them home alive and watched in January as they said goodbye, determined to fulfill that promise. Army leadership, and the bond between a lieutenant and his platoon, is something that people who have never been in the Army could ever understand.


But it is more than that. My platoon is as tight-knit a unit as I will ever serve in. Most of these guys would never have anything to do with me outside the Army: by and large they are under 22, high school graduates and little else, and people who had the option of working in the service industry or joining the Army. Most are the age of the kids I taught. More importantly, because of my position as their leader they are not supposed to be my friends; there is a breakdown in discipline when you become buddies with someone who is required by military code to call you "sir" on a daily basis. But they are the people I count on to make me look good: every good officer has great - not good, not average, but great - non-commissioned officers and Soldiers who are behind him 110%, making him look good because they are an extension of him. Any success I have had as a platoon leader I owe to them, and the reputation I bring to my new job is not mine, it is theirs.


Still, it is more than that. I have driven to their houses at midnight when they needed someone to take them to the hospital and I have woken up in the middle of the night because they were drunk and needed a ride home. I have counseled, prodded, and pushed these guys to become better Soldiers and, as a result, better men. I helped Soldiers get college credit and even taught a few of them how to play rugby. I have spent more than a few Saturday afternoons talking sports at their barracks and enjoyed more than a few cups of coffee while they laughed about weekend parties they had. This morning we were doing maintenance on our vehicles -- incredibly important, since we are rolling out into the city soon enough -- and before I had to tell them they had made a checklist of faults, had tried to get fluids filled, and were busy going about the mundane tasks associated with prepping vehicles to "leave the wire." When I showed up to see how they were doing, they presented me with the information I was going to ask for, updated me on statuses of our more... crappy... vehicles, and got back to work. All without being told. I just sort of stood there. I wanted to tell them how proud I was of them and how proud they made me. I wanted to talk to them individually and tell each one an anecdote about my time with them. I wanted to tell them how much I was going to value my time as a platoon leader. But I couldn't. I just looked at the paper in my hand and gave it to my boss, who seemed amazed that I had all the information already. He complimented me. And all I could think about was how I had been set up for success, once again, by the greatest platoon I could have ever asked for.