Captain is relatively easy. The responsibility is a metric shitton, and it crushes some people. But otherwise the job is mentoring, monitoring, and instilling serenity and confidence in the crew, then pushing the nasty stuff down to your number two so you can keep a clear head.

So what was it, beyond handling the nasty stuff, that made a great chief mate? I truly didn't know.

Then I read The Mirror of the Sea by my favorite author, Joseph Conrad. Conrad (originally Konrad) was an actual ship captain before he was an author. Most of his books are fiction. This one is his lessons learned. //

I've written extensively that our admirals today are too nice. Killers get filtered out. Assholes get tossed. The people who pound on standards, readiness, and lethality don't make flag.

That's a serious problem. Patton wasn't nice. King wasn't nice. Halsey wasn't nice. MacArthur certainly wasn't nice.

But here's what I haven't written about: the particular type of asshole we should want as Deputy SecNav, as Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, as Vice CNO, as Vice Commandant.

It's the type Conrad writes about. It's Chief Mate B--.

It's the man who knows everything. Who is constantly watching for problems. Who is passionate about readiness to the point of paranoia. The man who wants everything perfect. The Cassandra.

That is the type who keeps a ship from sinking in the storm.

You don't want a paranoid captain. The captain needs a clear head. He can't fixate on every cloud shape and every small drop in the barometer. He needs to be optimistic, because his optimism is what the crew runs on.

But the captain can afford that optimism only because Chief Mate B-- exists. B-- holds the watch. B-- carries the worry and the dread for the entire ship so the captain doesn't have to. The optimism at the top is purchased by the paranoia one rank down.

Now look at how we build our flag and general officer corps.

The result is a chain of command in which everyone is the captain and no one is the chief mate. Everyone is projecting confidence. Nobody is grappling with the impending calamity at the table over the salt beef. The bad news has nowhere to go, because the second in command was promoted precisely for not being the kind of person who delivers it.

This is why our readiness numbers are fiction. This is why our shipbuilding programs slip for a decade before anyone in a deputy chair says the program is dead. This is why magazine depth, drydock capacity, and mariner manning all degraded in plain sight while every brief said green. The watchstander role was abolished by personnel policy. We optimized the second in command for comfort, and comfort is the one thing a number two is never supposed to provide.

The fix is unpleasant, which is why nobody will like it.

Stop promoting deputies for likability. Promote them for the trait Conrad hated and trusted in the same breath: the unrestful one. Find the officers who make their bosses uncomfortable. Find the ones with the uneasy eye, the ones everlastingly ready for the calamity, the ones whose determined silences imply the ship is not safe. Then put them one rank below the optimists, on purpose.

Find the ones insecure about our readiness.

It will be miserable. The captains will resent them, exactly as Conrad resented B--. Good. That friction is the system working. A deputy who never makes the principal uncomfortable is not doing the job. He is just a second optimist, and two optimists in a storm is how ships sink.