Lumber said:
A junior enlisted member of the US army commented on a facebook post I saw (about what I can't even remember), but his comment read simply "Why do we even have Officers"?
I discovered the answer to that question in 1982, in Northern Ireland.
I was posted there fresh out of training and took over a platoon that was, well, p*ssed off, tired and a little bit scared.
The previous Pl Comd had been 'reassigned' for performance issues unknown to me, and they had been driven like cattle by an Acting Pl Comd, the Pl Sgt, who was a bully and had also, apparently, stolen the Platoon Fund. On a previous tour, a very busy one not too many months previously, a few had been blown up by a moderately sized RCIED (no serious casualties fortunately).
So I started off by going first and last. All the time. I went through every hedge first and got on every extract chopper/ covert vehicle pickup last. On permanent VCPs I was the first one to start picking up garbage left around by the locals ('could be booby trapped sir!') and basically shamed them into doing the same until the place started looking good. This also removed any possible obvious cover for IEDs. I took the crappiest shifts on patrol and search programs and, on route clearance ops, I was the first to clear any suspicious pieces of flotsam that looked a bit dodgy, and forced everyone to wade through rivers and swamps where they were less likely to be nailed by an IED. Pretty soon, no surprise, others took their turns going first too. I was the last one to go on leave (which wasn't such a big deal as I got there about three weeks late).
I ignored the Pl Sgt (when I finally got around to watching 'Platoon' I noted that he was the spitting image of Sgt Barnes) and led through the Section Commanders who were all very capable, experienced and ethical/honourable men. I elevated several of the best Private soldiers to 'brick commander', our standard four man team, and asked them and the other leaders for input before we issued the patrol programs or conducted other tasks, 99% of which were routine.
I don't know if they liked me or not and couldn't really care less. I tried not to play favourites, drove everyone pretty hard, made my fair share of mistakes and owned up to them and learned, and just kept moving forward.
No one died. No was injured. No one even got sick which, in the Northern Irish cow pastures/ rain forest, was more of a miracle than the IRA not trying us on. We accomplished every task we were handed. I even managed to talk the OC into letting me take the platoon on a hill walking adventure training exercise for a couple of days in the Mourne Mountains, a particularly surreal little excursion to undertake in the middle of a war (that required every soldier to already walk hundreds of miles as part of their daily jobs
).
I was 21 years old. I'm pretty sure most of my colleagues were doing pretty much the same thing as I was.
So that's how I figured out what Officers were for. Going first, and last, mostly.