Free Duty First by Ed Ruggero Page A

of the row of tents and watches her two prior-service new cadets show their classmates how to set up a tent. Other new cadets from her squad stand and walk by on their way to the latrine at the bottom of the hill. One is wearing a helmet, the other is not; the one with the helmet has his weapon, the other new cadet does not. They pass just a few feet in front of her as they walk happily down the hill, chatting amiably in the dusk, like kids at summer camp.
    This is a hazard of using trainers who are themselves just barely removed from basic training. If this had been Army basic training, the cadre would have been a drill sergeant with ten or more years in the service. If this had been army basic, the trainees would have learned a pointed lesson about never, never,
never
leaving your weapon behind.
    Darkness is falling, bleeding the color from the scene; soon everything is gray going to black. Olson and Turner, the Tacs, sit on a low concrete wall, a remnant of some long-gone storage shed. Olson calls Cadet Josh Gilliam, a junior and the harried First Sergeant of Alpha Company. “What’s your most precious resource right now?” Olson asks in his patient way.
    Gilliam pauses before answering. He is in a complete uniform, rifle slung over his shoulder, helmet on, chin-strap buttoned. This is as much because he hasn’t stopped moving as because he wants to set an example. “Daylight,” he answers.
    “Good. And what’s your most important mission right now?”
    Beside Gilliam about half the company is gathered in clusters on the slope. There are lots of people, including cadre members, standing around doing nothing more than enjoying a break. The other half of the company is still at the bottom of the hill, finishing supper.
    “My most important mission is to get everyone fed,” Gilliam says.
    “OK,” Olson answers. He doesn’t indicate whether or not he agrees.
    “You’ve got to prioritize, allocate resources, backwards-plan,” Olson says, ticking off on his fingers. He does not give Gilliam any more specific instructions than that; it’s up to Gilliam to figure out what to do. This is a learning environment, not a combat situation.
    “We’re not going to Bosnia tomorrow,” Olson says.
    Olson’s plan: It is more important for Gilliam and his cadet NCOs to learn their business than it is for the new cadets to have a perfectly laid-out bivouac. There are some things, however, that are not negotiable. Anyone involved in leader development must know where to draw that line. All the new cadets must eat, for one thing. And the cadre must know where every new cadet and all the company’s equipment is. The most sensitive items are the weapons.
    Ten minutes go by, and not much changes in the scene, nothing more gets done. Turner sighs, looks up at the sky; it is dark enough now so that facial features are beginning to disappear. Turner gets up and finds Gilliam, who is still running around. Turner points out that, in a very short while, rucksacks and tent poles and weapons willbecome invisible in the darkness, blending into the background of tall grass. Nothing will derail a training exercise faster than a lost weapon. Like safety issues, weapons accountability is a showstopper; a lost weapon can end the career of the commander or NCO who didn’t take proper precautions.
    This is an area in which the officers will make pointed suggestions, will give direct orders.
    “Why don’t you set up your own tent?” Turner says. “That way the platoon sergeants know where to find you. Tell them you want a report on weapons accountability; have them come to you.”
    “I’m not comfortable asking the platoon sergeants to come to me,” Gilliam says.
    This is another way West Point is not like the Army, another challenge to the Commandant’s plan to have cadets act in the capacity of NCOs and officers. In the Army, the First Sergeant would be senior to the platoon sergeants and would not hesitate to have them jump for such