Military leaders need dash, nerves of steel and oratorical flourish

What style of leadership is best suited for the Armed Forces? Difficult question. We have all seen some genial souls succeed. On the other hand, absolute tyrants also succeed. Professionally competent ones succeed and so do those whose IQ equals that of boiled potatoes. I guess nature loves equilibrium and the Armed Forces symbolize the same. A look at any strata of seniority shows us a perfect mix of mediocrity and brilliance existing in perfect harmony.

I, at some point in time happened to have served on a ship with a rather unique Commanding Officer (CO), let’s just call him Mr X. Mr X was a somewhat excitable individual and his communication style comprised, mainly, sprinkling colourful epithets with amazing lung power. Life on the ship therefore was one continuous saga of tinnitus and dogged survival.

But there was one thing that would instantly mellow down Mr X; and that was a Bravo Zulu (BZ) from the Fleet Commander. BZ, for the benefit of everyone, was an abbreviation, strangely, for ‘well done’ in ‘navalese’. A BZ would see Mr X become a genial soul for the next hour or so during which period he would joke, be at peace and generally become the very picture of an avuncular uncle.  Now it so happened that during one particularly complicated manoeuvre, the communications man shouted out – “from Fleet Commander (to our ship) – BZ”. Now, we on the bridge were a bit surprised as the manoeuvre we had performed had not gone particularly well, but then, why quibble! So, we enjoyed a good period of calm what with the warmth and geniality oozing from Uncle.

After a few minutes however, I could see the communications man hovering near me, looking as anxious as a mouse who inadvertently walks into a room full of cats. I raised a quizzical eyebrow towards him and he silently guided me to a corner of the bridge, well out of earshot of Mr X. What he said made my hair stand on end. “Sir”, he said, “it was not BZ, but Negate BZ”. Now again for the benefit of the uninitiated, Negate BZ is navalese for, loosely, “you blithering idiot”. Now I don’t know what the antonym of avuncular is, but I am sure that Uncle would become so should he hear about this; hence the situation needed careful handling. After a snap analysis of the situation, and quick decision-making being what I am known for, I quickly decided to agree with the wise bloke who had coined the term ‘discretion is the better part of valour’. So mum was the word.   

Mr X was of course ‘different’ in other ways too, his sartorial style, being one. I recall that I was the duty officer one fine summer morning, and whilst on duty I spied the FOO (Fleet Operations Officer. For sake of simplicity, let’s just say he was an important bloke) headed up our gangway at about 1100hrs. I gave him a smart salute and an apprehensive ‘good morning, Sir’. He asked me, “Is your Captain on board?” “Yes Sir” said I, and starting escorting him to the Captain’s cabin. I opened the Captain’s cabin door and announced ‘the FOO’. Now the Captain’s cabin had the Captain’s desk facing the door and I, a keen observer of human nature, noticed that the Mr X, though finely attired in sparkling whites that would inspire confidence, was looking somewhat startled, and if I may venture to add, extremely disinclined to make eye contact with the important bloke. The important bloke sat down on a sofa and beckoned Mr X to join him. Mr X, again surprisingly, hesitated and in a moment, as PG Wodehouse would say, the scales fell from my eyes. Mr X oozing awkwardness, rose, both hands across his groin to protect his modesty; dressed as he was, only in sparkling  white VIP Frenchies south of the sparkling white shirt. He did have his shirt tails tucked into his undies, Superman style, but whether it added gravitas to his appearance was debatable. He mumbled something and slinked of into the bathroom, looking as graceful as our handsome actor Dharmendra, attempting the tango.

However, leaving sartorial sense aside, Mr X was a daring soul (and daring is in my humble opinion, one of the most important traits that a Commanding Officer of a warship needs). He had dash, he had chutzpah, he had nerves of steel. Warships occasionally need to refuel at sea. This is a slightly complicated procedure as two ships need to steam adjacent to each other about 100 feet apart, all the while moving at normal speed. Doing so at night is even more tricky.

On one such occasion, our ship was due for fueling and we were accordingly positioned for the same at about 2100 hrs. The tanker already had one ship fueling on her right side and we were to position ourselves behind the tanker for simultaneous fueling. Fuelling astern (behind) is achieved by moving closer to the tanker, picking up a ‘floating marker’ with hooks and using ropes attached to the marker, hauling in the fueling hose and attaching it to the fueling points on the ship. As soon as the tanker indicated readiness, our daring Mr X went full throttle and approached the tanker in preparation for picking up the marker. And that is when the blasted marker started acting like a coy bride. Now we could see it bobbing playfully and then suddenly, we couldn’t. At about this time our ‘log’ (the instrument that measures a ship’s speed) also, in playful solidarity with the coy marker, went on the blink. We were stumped. So we went a bit closer to the tanker. The marker continued playing coy. Closer still. The tanker was getting antsy at our proximity and yelped. But we continued edging closer, till our nose was virtually between the two ships – just as autos jut their front wheel between two cars on Hyderabad roads. Finally, what with both the other ships with less dashing Captains panicking like hell, we aborted the run.

It would be an opportune time to remind you readers that I’m a thinking man. So I thought. Having thought, I suggested to Mr X that perhaps the marker couldn’t be sighted as we had inadvertently entangled it with our ‘log’. (Now readers, in those days, the log used to comprise a metal rod that was lowered about a metre below the ship’s hull, and apertures on the rod measured the ship’s speed due to the pressure caused by a moving ship.) As a reward for me mouthing my frank opinion (always a hazard in a steeply hierarchical organisation), I was given an earful by Mr X and thrown out of the bridge for the rest of the day.

We reached harbour the next day and as part of routine checks, the ship’s divers went underwater to inspect the ship’s appendages (this is done after all sailings). And there was our log, bent in a pitiable 90 degrees, entangled with the no longer coy marker. Aah! Mystery solved!

Finally, leaders need to be arresting orators. Think Churchill, think Nehru, think Hitler. As an example, please let me leave you with a mesmerizing flourish of oratory that some leaders in the Navy have a penchant for. One such expressive leader, when annoyed at the perceived lackadaisical attitude of the men he commanded, went thus – “Gentlemen, I get this sneaking suspicion that I am commanding 5000 tonnes of floating shit, manned by 51 nincompoops disguised as officers, each convinced that the sun shines through his arse. However, I am sure that if I was to throw a stone at Dhobi Talao, I would find better officers”. Perhaps he should have said 50, cause the ship’s strength of 51, INCLUDED the Commanding Officer!