My first day as a planner was memorable. Deep in the bowels of the old G-2 shack at Fort Campbell, we settled into our seats in the SCIF for an introductory “pep talk” from the division chief of staff, then-Colonel Mike Oates. He surveyed the group intently and said simply, “Who are my new SAMS guys?” A couple of us looked at one another, waiting to see who would be the first to speak.
I stood up and responded, “Right here, sir.” Famous last words.
Without missing a beat, his eyes lasered in on me and he delivered a verbal throat punch that I would feel for years to come: “Look here, Clausewitz, I don't want to hear about any of that shit you learned last year. You don't need to convince them how smart you are, you don’t need to convince me, and you sure as hell don’t need to convince the CG. If you just shut up and do your job, we'll all get along fine.”
As I soon learned, I was following the quintessential Blue Falcon in my position, someone known for spotlighting during briefings with the commanding general, purposely “tanking” planning sessions at the eleventh hour, and generally creating a lot of extra work in an already overworked plans staff. There are unwritten rules that guide the actions of the planners. He broke all of them.
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