And then he said, “I had really hoped you could wait him out.” Meaning the general had hoped I would simply stay quiet until Colonel Haas's change of command in a few weeks. I felt like the general was frustrated because he felt like I was putting him out by making him deal with an issue he had been hoping would just disappear after Colonel Haas left the depot.
Wow.
“I'm sorry, sir,” I said. “There was nothing else I could do. He said I was the worst lieutenant colonel he had ever encountered—he wrote it down and put it in my record. He told me he was giving me enough rope to hang myself.”
“I just think we could have worked this out,” the general said.
“We'll do an investigation,” he said.
I was relieved. I assumed that when Brigadier General Williams said he would do an investigation, he meant he would assign a senior officer to look into my complaints of a hostile work environment and gender bias. I naively assumed that once someone from outside of the regiment actually looked into the command-climate survey, he or she would see how flawed the execution had been, and sanity would prevail. I assumed that we would be able to finally get facts on paper about how I had tried to mentor, influence, and improve the performance of the Marines who made complaints against me. I thought that once a third-party officer reviewed the decades of graduation scores for male and female recruits, they would see firsthand how segregation limited the potential of the female recruits. I believed that there would be justice and that I would finally be able to refocus on continuing to improve the performance of my recruits.
I later found out that Brigadier General Williams had begun an investigation into my leadership on the same day that I requested mast, based on what he had seen in the command-climate survey. There would not be an investigation into the actions of Colonel Haas, nor would there be any effort to look into my complaint of a hostile work environment.
In the meantime, Joe's contacts were telling him about all of the meetings and briefings about my situation, which were taking place all the way up to the commandant level. He gathered that people were even asking about my medical status in these meetings, likely because they were looking for ways to get rid of me if they couldn't relieve me for misconduct. It seemed that they were playing out all of these options.
I thought, “What the hell? They're already talking about how they can get rid of me, and they haven't even investigated my request mast complaints?”
Here I was thinking that I was just a battalion commander fighting with her boss down in South Carolina.
A week and a half after I requested mast, I put in for my retirement. That had always been the plan—Joe and I figured we'd do our twenty years, and then we'd head off for a new adventure. It kept us honest, because we didn't have to keep our noses clean or play politics to move up in rank. It allowed us to be vocal about what we thought. I still planned to finish out my two-year tour at Parris Island, but I could buy a calendar and start counting down the days.
Short-timer.
Still, I had to submit my paperwork.
To whom? Colonel Haas.
I had just received the worst fitness report of my career—of anyone's career.
But I had already completed my forms and my letter resigning my commission, and I had already gotten the sign-off from Medical. I had it all lined up.
So I marched over to his office, just to get it over with.
As I walked up the stairs—his office was on the second deck of the regimental headquarters—I could hear him in the hallway, talking about me to his old sergeant major, who had just finished his tour.
All I wanted was for him to sign my paperwork. Instead, I heard, “Lieutenant Colonel Germano is mean to her Marines, and we've been getting a lot of complaints.”
Yet another fabulous example of leadership: standing in a hallway at headquarters, gossiping about one of your subordinates.
I kept walking up the stairs. When I got to where he was standing, I stopped for a second, and then I handed him my retirement package.
“Sir, I need your signature on this,” I said.
I'll never forget the look on his face. He knew I had heard everything.
The person described in the command-climate report was 180 degrees out from the person I had known for more than two decades.
This is Joe, popping in for a second to give you a reality check because, by now, you've got to be wondering whom you should believe—Kate's chain of command or Kate. I'm going to provide you with some background on who Kate is, as well as some context to better help you understand the culture of the Corps and what she was dealing with—more of a tapestry than a chronology.
Not only is she my wife, but we've served together in the Marine Corps since the beginning of our careers, and I've watched, from the very beginning, how differently she was treated even when she led the pack in achievements.
Let's get started.
The accusation that Kate might be moody or that her instructions might not be clear, or that she'd mark someone out for retaliation, or that she was disrespectful or mean makes no sense to me at all. If anything, Kate is clear, focused, and always fighting for what's right—and encouraging me to do the same. She's fearless, one of the bravest and most principled people I've ever known.
When we were stationed in Okinawa from 2004 to 2007, we had this fifth-floor apartment that looked out over the seawall upon the East China Sea. One Sunday morning, we were lying in bed, and we could hear the surf and there was this
