My platoon was out in the field on training exercises. We had been out there for about two weeks, so we all smelled kind of “ripe” at that point. One of the more senior officers in my battalion came to my unit’s area to see how things were going. This “gentleman” personified the term—he was an “officer’s officer” (vs. being a “soldier’s officer,” which we’ll explore in a moment).

He sauntered up to my 18-year-old driver (a brand-new buck private—the lowest ranking man in the army) and said, “Where’s Lt. Figliuolo?” My driver pointed toward our tank. A pair of boots was sticking out from underneath the vehicle. The officer in question became irked.

“No. Maybe you didn’t understand my question, private. Where is Lt. Figliuolo?”

“He’s under the tank, sir.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said he’s under the tank, sir.”

The senior officer barked, “Lt. Figliuolo!” I almost smacked my head on the underside of the tank because I was startled by his call. I quickly scrambled out and stood at attention before my superior.

 …