Listen midshipman, this is your last shot to get out. After we're airborne you're in it for the long haul. Keep your eyes open, ask questions, and keep your lunch off the electronics." Gecko, the Marine pilot in whose F/A18 I was sitting, was effortlessly selling me on his service. Fifty minutes and six Gs later, I knew I would be wearing a Marine Corps uniform at graduation.
Ten days before my ride with Gecko I had arrived at Marine Corps Air Station Yuma, Arizona, known as Desert Talon, with little inclination to become a Marine. Instead, I thought this training was my best shot at a few joyrides in something fast and pointy. Navy pilot seemed like the best option for a newly frocked second-class midshipman who did not see eye-to-eye with the Corps' "every Marine a rifleman" mentality. As it turned out, however, I was lucky enough to get my joyrides and a life-changing outlook on my commission.
A Change in Plans
My short training that summer taught me more about the culture of the Marine Corps than I could hope to learn from any number of professional knowledge exams. I had spent the previous summer with a humble and amicable group of Sailors and expected more of the same. But the Marines I met at Desert Talon were completely different, and my first impression was not a good one. Our group of 20 midshipmen made camp under the blistering Yuma sun among a group of Marines who were exclusive, arrogant, and abrasive. But after a few days of mutual aversion, they let the awkward analog-camouflaged students in on their games. Sure, they were overbearing at times, but when they went to work they did so with a pride and skill I never witnessed on board the ship. Even the most junior Marines knew the fine points of their specialty and the importance of doing it well for their brothers in the fight.
A week into our stay, as I sat in my tent watching the thermometer rise, a smirking sergeant tossed me a 40-pound SAPI vest, handed me a Kevlar helmet, and sat me in the back seat of his Humvee. As the convoy exercise rolled out of camp, I began my indoctrination. Before I knew it, I was flexi-cuffing the opposing force and radioing for fire support to the Huey helicopters overhead. That night, while I recounted my experiences to my family, I couldn't help but notice the jargon that flowed out: "So you're all set to pick me up? Good to go." I experienced the capabilities of the Marine Corps and, more important, gained insight into its culture. A year-and-a-half later, making the decision to be commissioned a second lieutenant instead of an ensign was an easy one.
The Finest Fighting Culture
Service selection requires midshipmen to look beyond mere platforms and tactics and concentrate on the enduring qualities and culture of each service. After four years of interacting with officers in Annapolis and at duty stations around the world, I can confidently say that I have found no better fighting culture than that of the United States Marine Corps.
Fighting culture goes beyond guidelines and buzzwords. It penetrates the core values and daily practices of service, established through battle legends and constantly reinforced in training. The culture of the Marine Corps extends from Captain Henry Crowe's famous cry to his troops at Guadalcanal ("Goddamn it, you'll never get the Purple Heart hiding in a foxhole! Follow me!"), to the subtle precision with which a Marine wears his dress uniform. It is the culture of the Marine Corps-its traditions, pride, and drive to fight-that make it the sea services' finest combat force and my first choice.
If you've ever had the opportunity to observe a parking lot at a Marine Corps base, you might begin to understand the pride of the Marines. Every car in the lot will have a scarlet-and-gold bumper sticker; many will have three or four. The Marines who get out of those cars will have haircuts that look as if they had laid a hand on the top of their head and snapped at their barber, "Cut off every nasty hair you can see." Instead of exchanging appropriate expressions of greeting, they will bark motivation at each other. Marines love their service, and they want everyone within earshot to know it.
Pride Propels
By most accounts, pride is a vice. In the Marine Corps, pride is fuel. Pride allows Marines to spend hours on a uniform burning off every Irish pennant and ensuring that every crease is razor-sharp. Pride keeps aircraft well-maintained despite hours of overtime and a small budget. Most important, pride keeps Marines fighting when circumstances look their bleakest. Where did all this confidence come from? The pride of the Marine Corps stems from its tradition of excellence.
Like no other service, the Marine Corps worships its champions of past wars. Last summer, as I walked through the maintenance bay of a helicopter squadron at Camp Pendleton, I watched a lance corporal and a private first-class smile as they compared their favorite Medal of Honor stories. While some might view this exchange as corny, I think it is a fine example of how much influence tradition exerts on Marines. They know their history and will jump at the chance to recount (usually with hefty exaggeration) stories of Chosin Reservoir or Belleau Wood. The first day those Marines put on a uniform, someone told them about their responsibility to measure up-to serve in a manner that would maintain the honor of those who carried the pack before them.
Uniform Code
As a future Marine Corps officer, I feel the same obligation. I will wear a uniform with a blood stripe symbolizing the battle at Chapultepec, don a cover with a quatrefoil that distinguished officers during the American Revolutionary War, and carry a Mameluke sword like the one awarded to First Lieutenant Presley O'Bannon on the shores of Tripoli. It is important to learn the great achievements of those who came before so that I can reflect them proudly through my own actions. As a midshipman, I took satisfaction in my association with distinguished alumni. On graduation, I took on a classification that trumped everything I had done before. The high expectations that come with a tradition of excellence have imbued in me a new-found sense of selflessness. As Afghanistan veteran and West-Point graduate Craig Mullaney explained in a briefing to midshipmen, "You don't earn your salute until one of your men looks at you through the chaos and asks, 'Sir, what do we do now?' And you know the answer."
Junior officers in the Marine Corps have little concern with grand strategy. Their focus is on leading their heroically capable Marines to accomplish the mission at the lowest level. The operational culture is designed to achieve the mission while keeping the most junior Marines alive and effective. I learned this dynamic from my company officer during plebe summer. In the final days of summer training, midshipmen go through a grueling day of physical evolutions. Our company officer, Major David M. Fallon, was with us every step of the way. When it came time to break open our MREs, Major Fallon was handed a meal by one of the exercise detailers; but he paused. I watched him pace through his soggy and tired company with his hands on his hips, checking each plebe's status. He curtly asked about blisters, ensured we had the equipment for the next stage, and reminded us to keep hydrating. As we took our break, Major Fallon continued his work. With two minutes until we stepped off and his entire company's needs fulfilled, he peeled open a Powerbar-the Marine Corps officer's lunch.
Small-Unit Sense
The small-unit focus provides a unique challenge for junior officers to command a small, highly-trained element early in their careers. This structure is essential for the role that the Marine Corps plays in modern warfare. Despite advancements in technology, the role of effective junior officer leadership is as important to the Marine Corps as it has ever been. Today's key battles are not fought between great powers pitting two massive arsenals against one another. While a strong naval fleet remains vital to maintaining U.S. leadership around the world, the mission for stability in Afghanistan cannot be won with a cruise missile. Cracking the nut of a dispersed adversary requires effective small-unit leaders who can use their limited resources capably. The Marine Corps' focus on small infantry units is most suitable to the modern fight.
Unlike other services, which emphasize a vast network of roles to achieve joint success, the entire support structure of the Marines is directed to the infantry. The second lieutenant orchestrating his infantry platoon's attack is the ultimate incarnation of the "special trust and confidence" given by the President of the United States. As a Marine Corps pilot selectee, I understand that my future vocation is not about me. Marines do not maintain aircraft so their pilots can blaze into a dogfight and establish air supremacy. The spotlight remains on the grunts; pilots specialize in casualty evacuations and close air support. Squadrons deploy as one piece of a toolbox for the private first-class with 80 pounds on his back and a rifle in his hands. This self-sacrifice for country and brothers-in-arms is the cultural heart of the Corps. It is the most worthy sacrifice one can make, and the reason I do not classify myself as a future pilot, or a future officer, but as a future United States Marine.