Every Marine is a Rifleman

The U.S. Marine Corps’ strong infantry-focused doctrine was best stated by Commandant Al Gray who said “Every Marine is a rifleman.” Al Gray, who was commandant of the Marine Corps when I first enlisted, is by all measures a Marine’s Marine. Everything he did was based on his deep commitment to the infantry Marine in the field. Even his official U.S. Marine Corps portrait tells this story. Rather than pose in full mess dress with an officially issued USMC rod up his ass, he chose to stand for his portrait in his cammies, in the field, complete with amphibious personnel carriers in the background. You can practically smell the cordite.

I have always admired the Marine Corps’ strong belief in this doctrine. Regardless of your military occupational specialty (MOS), whether it be public affairs, signals intelligence, avionics, or even cook, your first job is shooter. And this doctrine is even more important for officers. Even if you are a lawyer and wish to be a Marine JAG Officer, your path to that career first makes you an infantry unit leader. This means you will spend, say, ten weeks just getting your commission through the Officer Candidate Course (mostly basic infantry), then, assuming you’re given a commission, another six months in The Basic School (TBS), where you learn how to be a Marine infantry officer. Only then are you allowed to go to your respective–secondary–school to learn how to be a JAG Officer.

All of this is to ensure that, no matter what your Marine leadership role is, you can pick up a rifle and lead Marines into combat at any time, and if necessary, expertly send rounds downrange yourself. This attitude is often conspicuously absent in software management, and the quality of leadership suffers greatly for it.

Where Do Software Development Managers Come From?

In both the Marine Corps and the Army, many of the best leaders I’ve had were either NCOs or were Officers who had previously been NCOs. The common thread here is that these great leaders had earned respect by first proving that they could do the job of their subordinates. In turn, I also found that these leaders were always willing to recognize, consult, and trust their subordinate leaders (platoon sergeants, squad leaders, team leaders) to assist in the planning and execution of their missions.

This career path doesn’t always exist in software development. For one thing, many software developers have no interest in becoming managers, and some should be prevented from doing so outright. However, some software organizations take this observation to its illogical conclusion and decide that no software developers should become managers.

This practice yields managers who may have a great deal of management experience, but have little to no understanding of the practice of software engineering. This, by itself, is not necessarily a tragedy. A good Marine officer who transfers to an infantry command from, say, military intelligence, will rely on his senior NCOs to help him make decisions about the correct course of action. The officer thus relearns the art of infantry leadership through the guidance of his more experienced subordinates. This is crucial.

For there is a broad misconception that the practice of being an infantry Marine or soldier is easy. That it doesn’t require a great deal of intelligence or wisdom, and is best left to those that didn’t score so well on their entrance exams. This is, empirically speaking, utter crap. Many of the smartest men I’ve known were infantry leaders. Most were NCOs. A former First Sergeant of mine held a PhD. Yes, infantry leadership is physically demanding, but it also requires smart leaders who can quickly assess complex situations and make thoughtful decisions.

There’s also a similar misconception around software development, held by those who aren’t themselves developers. Like other engineering disciplines, software development requires an ability to construct complex structures from abstract thought. This is not bricklaying.

So why are software projects managed often managed by folks who aren’t themselves developers, and who are unwilling to consult those developers who might help them with the design and planning of the project?

If It’s Magic to You, Consult and Trust Your Magicians

If you want to lead a team of shooters, you should be a shooter yourself. If that’s not possible, then you should consult your shooters when making decisions. It’s as simple as that.

A warning: You may think you’re a shooter, but you may be wrong. A quick test: does your team view you as a shooter? No? Then you’re probably not a shooter. Not even if you spent a couple of Saturday afternoons playing paintball.

If you don’t understand what it takes to build a software component, then you have no business designing it, and you certainly have no business estimating how long it will take to build it. If it’s magic to you, then consult and trust your magicians. Your project will be better off, and your team will thank you for it.

Your First Thought Should Be Of Your Team

The sun was just starting to set as I made my way to the makeshift cave constructed of camouflage netting that served as the instructor’s tent. My class and I had just started Phase III of Officer Candidate School (OCS), and it was my turn to serve as platoon leader. Each of us had to lead our platoon through a simulated combat mission and receive passing marks on our conduct of the mission before we were allowed to graduate and receive lieutenant’s bars. If you failed to pass after your second try, you were done. Sent home as a non-hacker.

My platoon sergeant and I took a knee in the instructor’s tent, opened our notebooks, and prepared to receive the mission. The Special Forces Sergeant First Class (SFC) gave us that look of resigned disdain which NCOs specially reserved for officer candidates, and told us in his Alabama drawl that our platoon was to conduct an ambush along a tank trail located approximately 2km from our current position. Additionally, we had to be in position along that trail no later than 2330, just over three hours from now.

As we made our way back to the platoon area, I went over the math in my head. Given that our entire platoon had to conduct a tactical movement at night through heavily wooded terrain, we needed to step off relatively quickly. I made a quick decision to cut our planning and rehearsal time. After consulting the map of the area, I also decided that I would plan a direct route to the objective. However, this direct route would lead us through a low-lying swampy area, sure to be crawling with snakes, leeches, ticks, and mosquitos, and would have my platoon wading through knee-to-waist-deep muck for the majority of the movement.

But nothing would guarantee a no-go from the instructors faster than missing a time hack. So I made the call. I plotted a course through the swamp and briefed my squad leaders on the mission. Nobody was thrilled at the prospect, but they understood the time constraints, and went off to brief their respective squads. We ran a quick rehearsal, and stepped off ten minutes later than I’d planned.

After two and a half hours of slogging through the swamp we finally moved into our ambush position. The temperature never went below 80F, and the humidity was overwhelming. We all drank deeply from our camelbacks in silence, letting the mosquitos eat while we silently waited for the OPFOR to pass by. Just after Midnight, the enemy passed into our kill box, and we executed a successful ambush. We were out of the area within minutes, and I was feeling pretty proud of myself when I heard the instructors yell “ENDEX!” (end of exercise) from their hiding spots in the woods around us.

© Hugh MacLeod gapingvoid.com

As I walked over to the instructor to receive my review and grade, I was feeling supremely confident that I was about to receive a first-time go. After all, I had been an infantry NCO in the U.S. Marines prior to my entering OCS, and I felt that this experience was what led to this successful mission.

It was hard to tell from the faint red light that shone from the instructor’s flashlight, but he looked really pissed off. Before I had a chance to take a knee and remove my kevlar, the instructor told me to assume the front leaning rest (on the deck, in a push-up position). My mind raced as the sweat dripped off my face onto the dirt below–what did I do wrong? We met all the time hacks, the ambush was a success–what more did he want?

The SFC leaned forward, and I could smell the Red Man on his breath. “Why the f-ck did you just march your entire platoon through that swamp at night?” he asked. My arms were starting to shake as I constructed my answer.

“Our mission required that we have the ambush set up no later than 1130. I didn’t think that we had time to move around the swamp and still be there in time to meet the time hack.” What did he expect me to do, fly there?

The instructor sat for a minute, watching me sweat and squirm under the weight of my body armor. “You selfish dumbass,” he said. “Did it ever occur to you to ask for more time? I may not have granted it, but you never thought to ask, did you? Your entire focus was you, when your first thought should have been on your team. The mission always comes first, but your team’s welfare comes in a close second. You come in dead last. You will not leave my school until that is tattooed on your freakin’ brain.”

The instructor sat back and let this sink in. “I’m giving you a ‘go’ on this lane,” he said. “Not because of your glorious leadership, but because your platoon came through for you and succeeded despite your brokedick plan. Now get out of my AO.”

This lesson has stayed with me to this day. All leaders have a moral imperative to take care of their team, and need to take their welfare into account at all times.

Hard Work For a Good Cause

Of course, it’s not always possible to avoid sending your team through the swamp. The aggressive schedule to land a new client, the emergency production support issues that require late nights and weekends will always be there. And a good team will always come through for you in these cases (building a good team is a subject for another article). Hard work for a good cause will allow your team’s performance to shine.

However, leaders should not make the mistake of assuming their teams will follow them through any terrain, even if it’s due to poor planning or selfish motivations (e.g., getting that bonus). Your team will recognize this fact, and while they may go through some swamps for you, they’ll eventually leave you alone in that swamp, along with any remaining respect they once had for you.

Respect your team, and they’ll respect you. Hard work is one thing, hard work for your dumb mistake or moral failure is another. Publicly recognize their contributions and keep yours private. After all, it’s not you, but your entire team, that successfully navigated through that swamp.

And if you fail your team, you’re no leader.

From a presentation on the intelligence landscape in Afghanistan.  This stuff makes Ed Tufte cry.

What information is the author attempting to impart here, exactly?  Maybe this is the military intelligence version of Billy’s circuitous (but hilarious!) path home from the circus.

Wait.  It gets worse.

T.X. Hammes, retired USMC officer and author of the very fine book The Sling and the Stone, agrees.

So does Seth Godin.

It’s all oddly Edwardian.  My favorite quote from the article:

She grew up in a big stone house in Villanova, Pa., in a refined environment full of opera, formal teas and trips to Europe. Her mother, Suzanne Kaiser Lammers, is so Old World that she recently said: “I do not have a computer. I much prefer having a butler.”

Read the full article at your own risk.  It works great as an emetic.