This is part two of a three part essay exploring the roles and
responsibilities of the military in our republic, especially considering the
weighty decision to bomb Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
“Sir, what do I do,” asked the young
private as he handed me his cold child while his wife wailed, rocking on the
couch?”
“Go to your wife, comfort her,” I replied.
The young soldier shuffled over to his wife, sat down, and together they wept.
I carefully laid the dead infant in the crib, covering her with the soft
blanket. And in the dark German night the three of us mourned while we waited on
the krankenwagen (German for ambulance). For the next few weeks the platoon
rallied round the young soldier and his wife as they walked through the dark
night of mourning and into the gray fog of a changed life. Eventually they
managed to sort through the pain of a shattered life, putting together a
semblance of normalcy. After three years and a couple of promotions the couple
moved on to a new assignment and out of my life. I did hear that they had
another child. In ways unlike any other profession, the Army includes off-duty
hours.
Ask any leader, officer or NCO, and they
will relate such stories. My superiors held me accountable for those things
that my soldiers did while on duty and off. My soldiers’ familial challenges
became mine. I was expected to help them overcome such heavy challenges as
alcohol or drug abuse or relatively minor ones like an unmown lawn (particular
to military housing). I had to explain what I was doing to help soldiers deal
with children who acted out in school. More than once I was the grim faced
bearer of tragic news. The itinerant nature of the military drives much of
this; as well as, the legal effects of the Uniform Code of Military Justice.
As a commander, I exercised legal
authority over my soldiers twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and
sixty-five days a year any place on the globe. Once when civilian authorities
were unable prosecute an NCO for sex with a minor I stepped in, arrested him,
brought him to trial, and watched him shuffle off in an orange jump-suit and
manacles. As leaders we take our responsibilities regarding our soldiers
seriously. We rejoice at their successes, weep at their failures, and grieve
when they fall. One of the hardest tasks we must complete is the duty to inform
the next of kin that their loved one has fallen in battle. Not only do we
inform, the Army details someone of the appropriate rank to walk the grieving
family through the labyrinth of details regarding disposition of remains,
personal affects, and final pay and allowances. I had a subordinate who traveled
deep into Mexico to help the family of a soldier who had fallen. The young
sergeant had immigrated and enlisted. He’d become a U.S. citizen while serving,
giving his life for his new country. My captain, a Spanish speaker, did a
marvelous job of holding the hands of the bewildered grieving family. Not
because he was a particularly great officer, though he was, but because the
Army takes care of its own; for good or for ill. We do our best. Sometimes our
best is not good enough. Then we sit down and work out what a new best looks
like and strive for that.
Once while serving in CJTF-7
(Combined-Joint Task Force 7), COL Woody (Colonel, USMC), the JOC (Joint
Operations Center) commander stopped at my desk. His looming, six foot three plus, presence quickly
drew my attention. “Sir,” I asked?
“A moment of your time, MAJ (Major)
Robinson,” he rumbled?
“Yessir.” Over the next few minutes he
asked me quite detailed questions about one of my subordinates; some of which I
could not answer. You see, my original unit of assignment had departed from
Iraq and my next unit was due to arrive shortly. I was detailed to CJTF-7 to
await their arrival; a practice early on which would soon be discontinued. I
had only known my subordinate for a short time, a couple of weeks, and had not
had time to get to know him. In fact, technically I was not his commander. Still,
COL Woody expected me to develop a full relationship with him, take responsibility
for him, and considered my ignorance a failure. I quickly set about fixing that
particular shortcoming. Unlike any civilian job I’ve ever had, the military
expects leaders to concern themselves with all aspects of a subordinate’s life.
I’ve counseled soldiers on a wide variety of mundane tasks; balancing a
checkbook, purchasing and maintaining a car, appropriate discipline of their
children, and proper diet. When I was a Second Lieutenant in Germany, my junior
enlisted had to get my permission to marry. I’ve also walked with soldiers the
tortured path from chemical dependency to sobriety. I am by no means unusual in
this. The military is a tightly knit family with all the associated benefits and
responsibilities. We rejoice together and we weep together. We celebrate
promotions, births, graduations, and other important milestones. We grieve together
over our maimed and fallen. In my experience we are unique in this respect.
How, you might ask, does this pertain to the discussion over the bombing of
Hiroshima and Nagasaki?
The burden of leading men and women in
armed conflict presses down on leaders at all levels, including the president.
We almost always pass over this aspect of military life when discussing
President Truman’s decision to drop the atomic bombs. Yet, this is perhaps one
of the most salient portions of the discussion. President Truman, who’d
experienced the horrors of trench warfare as an artillery officer in World War
I, faced casualty lists in the hundreds daily. As the commander in chief the
ultimate responsibility for the dead and wounded rested on his shoulders. By
the time President Truman assumed responsibility for the prosecution of the war
the casualty roles topped 300,000. Facing the invasion of Japan, which had
shown no proclivity for surrender, he was presented the possibility of ending
the war quickly, with low risk of U.S. loss of life. We cannot underestimate
the appeal of such a prospect. A president must face families deprived of loved
ones with some level of surety that they have done their best to secure the
objective with a minimal loss of life. Given even optimistic casualty estimates
for an invasion of the Japanese homeland, the arithmetic of the nuclear option
would seem the best choice, even if horrible to contemplate. In a fallen world
where nations pursue war, often for spurious reasons, militaries are a fact of
life. When engaged in a conflict thrust upon us, we must consider every option
to end it in victory, and quickly. Those of us who enjoy the easy comfort of
civilian life, far from the pains, perils, and rigors of armed conflict should
never forget the burden we place on those who secure our ease. We should not
easily dismiss the heavy weight those in leadership, at all levels, bear. Thankfully,
it is a burden foreign to most.
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