BY KYLE STARON MARCH 02, 2021
Published in Slate
The New Guy seemed dazed as he toured the office with his predecessor. Tall and hunched, like a pro athlete five years into retirement, the New Guy looked too old to be a captain.
It was 2012. I was a lieutenant in the U.S. Army, stationed at Camp Phoenix, working with a small team assigned to build police stations throughout Kabul for the Afghan National Police. We worked with police commanders to determine what physical infrastructure they needed to get ready for the supposed 2014 withdrawal of U.S. forces. It was a unique vantage point on a war already 10 years old and largely feeding on itself, like a terrarium in Thunderdome.
Our old boss, Luke, was an engineer in the Air Force. He would go out every day for meetings with Afghan police commanders, return to the office, and review blueprints and contracts for 12 hours. He spent his free time working on his Ph.D. When Luke introduced the New Guy, an Air Force reservist, as the new boss, we explained our jobs, dozens of projects. The New Guy had no questions; he just muttered “easy enough” or “that’s just some project management stuff,” with relaxed, breezy confidence.
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