Nathan Wike is an officer in the U.S. Army, and an associate member of the Military Writer’s Guild. The opinions expressed are his alone, and do not reflect those of the U.S. Army, the Department of Defense, or the U.S. Government.

December 2012 I accepted a guidon. December 2014 I gave one back. November of 2012 I was frequently told that command would be the best experience of my career, and there is truly nothing like it. November of 2014 however I could not wait for the experience to be over. After two separate commands, there were few whom I would have wished the experience upon. Now having had time to think and reflect on my time as a commander my opinion has become more moderate and forgiving as I think back to those stressful, exhilarating, frustrating, rewarding days.

My two commands were certainly not standard for one of my branch in my brigade — at the time I was a field artilleryman in a brigade configured for security force assistance. Prior to my first command I was one of many field artillery captains waiting for one of the two batteries in the whole brigade to open up. I was first in the queue, so when a command suddenly opened just prior to deployment it was offered to me.

But it was not a battery. It was the Headquarters and Headquarters Company (HHC) of the Brigade Support Battalion. The previous commander was on the way out, and there was no backfill whatsoever. So it was requested that I take it, and on the advice of some mentors and for various personal and professional reasons, I took it thinking it would shape my future a certain way. I was eager to face the unknown, full of zeal and ready to begin a time where I had authority and I could shape a unit.

In January of 2013, I found myself — along with half of my company and a third of my equipment — in Afghanistan assisting in the withdrawal and realignment of US forces. The novelty of a field artilleryman taking an HHC as his first command in a logistics unit was never lost on me and there was an endlessly steep learning curve. My future was certainly shaped by this experience, though not in the way I expected.

Midway through the deployment, I was asked to take a second command. What an opportunity. There was a surplus of captains and a shortage of commands and I was being asked to take another — the forward support company (FSC) for the field artillery battalion. It seemed like the perfect idea, with me being an artilleryman who had been assimilated, kicking and screaming, into the logistics world. I was hesitant, however, because the HHC had opened my eyes to some realities. There is always someone higher ranking than you, soldier problems are your problems, and there is an unimaginable assortment of responsibilities. That is not even getting into the nuances of a headquarters company. Also, I had completed the more than the minimum of 12 months, and could have moved on to another assignment if I had asked. Regardless, I had been asked to command again, and I felt it was my duty, as well as a privilege to accept. Very soon after redeploying I had relinquished my first command in order to accept my second and was immediately immersed in rebuilding a company that had been part of the rear detachment. At least with an FSC I thought I would have more autonomy and more of a chance to make a difference than I had in the HHC.

So ended my naivete and ignorance. In both commands, even while deployed, there were simply never enough hours in a day. Something always came up. Phones always rang, inboxes overflowed, meetings were convened. Soldiers needed to be punished or rewarded or to be counseled for failing something. Leaders needed to be mentored. Mandatory training needed to be conducted, property needed to be accounted for. The Army’s digital training management system (DTMS) and medical protection system (MEDPROS) were my most stalwart foes. The training schedule overflowed — sometimes it had events I had planned on it. I was blessed to have good soldiers, and some truly outstanding NCOs and officers, so there were not many late-night calls or visits to the MP station as other units had. My wife, God bless her, was able to keep the family readiness groups (FRG) running, and more a pleasant diversion than an unwelcome distraction. This all was small consolation in the face of so much stress and frustration.

In the headquarters company the beast was the staff and command group — senior officers and NCOs who answered to higher powers than I, and who had legitimate staff functions that distracted them from all other efforts. In the FSC the beast was the maintenance program — an artillery battalion, even in a light infantry brigade has a lot of vehicles, and guns that must always be in working order. In both commands myself and my unit were slaves to mission requirements. Any creative, unilateral training event was sure to be frowned upon for example if it took away from the daily functions necessary to keep the battalion functioning. When my companies did deploy to the field, the jobs remained the same, except we lived and worked in tents. But in both units we were expected to maintain parity with other units in terms of PT, marksmanship, medical training, etc.

The days were long, the nights and weekends too short. There was always something else to do, and something that was not being done. A friend recently summed it up well: “in command its best to be a C at everything, because if you’re an A at one thing, you’re an F at something else”. Subordinates, peers, and superiors looked to me for one thing or another on top of everything else, just as I looked to them. I was physically tired from the burden of responsibility, some of which was completely outside of my control.

But I was the commander. For 24 months, in two battalions, I was one of only five people whose signature block contained the stately phrase “Commanding”. I was part of the inner circle — the power behind everything the unit did. I was responsible for hundreds of people, and millions of dollars worth of property. The battalion(s) relied on myself and my fellow commanders to make the unit function. When the brigade commander called a commander’s conference, I was one of thirty-something exclusive attendees. When the end finally came (without any investigations or loses) it was as if a great burden had been lifted off my shoulders. The pressure was off, I was nobody, I was back on staff.

A staff job as a post-command captain could not be more different than a staff job as a pre-command captain. When I was pre-command I was competing for a spot on a command slate, being groomed for that command position, and eagerly waiting for that position to open up so I could get started making the world a better place. The staff work at that point seemed overwhelming and an impediment. As a post-command captain, I have a new definition of overwhelming and staff work is mundane by comparison. For a few heady weeks I relished my new found freedom, especially while the unit tried to figure out what to do with me.

Gradually however, the unthinkable happened — I began to feel bored, under-utilized, unheeded, and realized I was just another captain among the surplus of captains. No longer was I getting called upon to solve a plethora of problems, or to execute multiple, conflicting missions. I was not missed when I did not attend meetings. My old companies lamented my departure as they broke in my replacements, but they carried on as good units are wont to do. Gone were the days were I had unfettered access to a battalion commander. To top it all off, I had successfully switched branches and suffered the not unexpected but still painful fallout.

I eventually made it into a fun, challenging job while waiting to depart for my next assignment. My free time afforded me the opportunity to write and reflect a little. Certain inspirational figures accepted my requests for mentors, and I even got accepted into a dynamic group of like-minded individuals. Most evenings I am home at a decent hour and getting a chance to bond with my family. I read for pleasure again, drink less, and have taken up painting as a hobby. Things are good, but there are times where I would like nothing more than to be back in command.