“My logisticians are a humorless lot. They know if my campaign fails, they are the first ones I will slay.” – Alexander the Great
It was early spring at Fort Campbell, that time of year when the humidity is still low, and you can leave your windows open to catch a cool breeze. Although summer was still weeks away, the heat was building. Not on the thermometer, but around the desk in my office. We were rapidly approaching the monthly Logistics Readiness Council meeting – the bloodletting ceremony for unprepared logisticians – and one of our pacing items had crested the 30-day deadline mark. Having a piece of equipment inoperative for that length of time was always troublesome; having a mission-critical piece of equipment down that long was sure to bring down the wrath of the Assistant Division Commander for Support, who led the council.
Our challenge was seemingly insurmountable. Our armored recovery vehicle, the venerable M88A1, had blown a hydraulic cylinder but that part was unavailable. In one of those maddening mysteries of the military supply system, there were none to be had. It was coded as a depot-level reparable, meaning our only option was to return the cylinder to the depot for rebuild, a process that could run six months or more. We were, as we like to say in these moments, screwed. Even with a good explanation, we were going to take the brunt of the blame for something completely out of our control.
The hydraulic cylinder was sitting on my desk, tagged for turn-in. A small group of my warrant officers stood around the desk as we considered our options. “You know, ell-tee, we could always take it apart and try to fix it ourselves,” offered my senior engineer tech. “There ain’t much to them, really. A few seals. If we can’t fix it, we can still turn it in. If we can fix it, we’re back in business.”
It was an ethical dilemma of sorts. We weren’t authorized to repair the cylinder, that much was certain. If we did the right thing, the M88 would sit inoperable for months and I’d endure one butt chewing after another every 30 days. If we did the wrong thing, we might solve our problem, and no one would ever be the wiser. I might get into some hot water, but nothing worse than what I already faced. And, as my platoon sergeant often said, “If you’re not getting your ass chewed once in a while, you’re not doing your job.”
“Let’s do it,” I said. “Let me know what you need, and I’ll get it going.”
That night, after the shop floor cleared, we laid out the cylinder on a work bench and dismantled it. I ordered pizza while the warrants went in search of replacement seals. Before the last of the pizza was gone, the hydraulic cylinder was repaired, and we were back in business. It was a logistics miracle.
But it wasn’t a miracle that went unnoticed. I confessed to what we did and accepted responsibility for the decision. Some people were upset that I’d circumvented the system and thought I should be punished. Others – most of the leadership, in fact – had a different perspective and saw it as an example of initiative. I’d broken the rules, but for a good reason that produced a positive outcome.
The Unwritten Rules of Army Logistics
As a young logistician, I’d come to appreciate that innovation and initiative were tenets of our profession. As the years passed, I added that experience to a growing list of unwritten rules (which were truly unwritten because I never bothered to write them down) that guided my decision making in times where logistics were tight. I might have forgotten these rules altogether were it not for a recent series of posts from Aerial Resupply Coffee, my go-to source of all thing caffeine. The “unwritten rules of Army logistics” took me back to that spring day so many years ago, to a time when my own rules were just beginning to take form.
- If a lieutenant completed the inventory, the count is wrong 100% of the time. While not fair to all lieutenants, there’s enough to this rule that warrants confirming that count. Especially if they’re counting sensitive items, such as weapons.
- Ordering more of something won’t make it show up any faster. If there’s one immutable fact to logistics, it’s that people will always order more of something when it doesn’t arrive by the time they need it, possibly in hopes of the second order arriving sooner.
- If you have something, you’re almost out of it. Inventory management is as much art as science. Just because you have something today doesn’t mean you won’t have it (and need it) tomorrow.
- If you run out of something and don’t tell anyone, it’s the logistician’s fault. This rule is especially true when someone orders something after they need it. Then it’s your fault that it didn’t arrive before they needed it. Make sense of that, would you?
- If you receive something you didn’t order, never tell anyone. This is more than a rule. It’s a commandment.
- If it absolutely has to move today, without fail, something will break. I learned this lesson during the Gulf War, when we received a no fail transportation mission that required more assets than we had operational. And they continued to break down as fast as we could repair them.
- Nobody cares about you until they need something. This proves true for any service profession, but logisticians feel it more than most. Everybody’s your best friend when they need something from you.
- It’s better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it. Another lesson from the Gulf War. In combat, leave that Just in Time stuff at home. Logistics redundancy is how you win.
- Don’t invade another country unless your logistics will support it. You never want to culminate short of what you thought was the limit of your operational reach.
- Warrant officers will always save the day. Not all heroes wear capes. Some drink all your coffee and take three-hour lunches.
