We often think of leadership as a lofty experience, like leading soldiers up a hill in battle, when in reality it’s all about doing the little things. I’ve worked with and met some of the bravest people in the world who have actually run up hills under bullets. But they say it doesn’t take such grandiose acts to be a good leader.
The best way to build trust with others is to lead by example, so that your words and actions are consistent and show others exactly what you expect from them.
We have arrived!
On June 8, 2005, I was operating with my platoon out of a small forward operating base (FOB) near the Pakistan-Afghanistan border at a location called FOB Shkin. That morning, we had been resupplied with ammunition by Chinook helicopter.
The moment we heard the distant “thump” of the Chinook’s double rotor blades going over the mountains, I jumped into the passenger seat of the Humvee and Luke jumped into the driver’s seat. As we were about to pull away for the LZ, my soldier, Emmanuel Hernandez, jumped into the back seat. He wasn’t supposed to be there, so I turned around to yell at him. But for a moment, I thought how much I appreciate this kind of work ethic. He was lifting heavy boxes and offering to help his team. Awesome! So I said nothing.
“When I turned around, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that he wasn’t wearing his helmet. I literally opened my mouth to scream at him, but then I realized I wasn’t wearing my helmet either. It’s hard for me to say something to someone else when I’m not doing the right thing myself. So I didn’t say anything.
When the helicopter landed, our group of 10 had to move to the side of the aircraft so they could unload the machine gun from the ramp at the rear of the aircraft and unload the ammunition. I turned my back on the group and guided my friend Luke in the Humvee a little closer to the rear of the helicopter. Then, BOOM!, everything went black. It was like I had been hit in the back of my head and collapsed to the ground. I lay there, disoriented and deaf. My first thought was that someone was joking, that the soldiers were having a blast. But then I opened my eyes and saw bodies and blood all over the ground.
My hearing gradually returned, and there was an eerie silence that lasted what felt like two seconds, but also like two hours, broken by an all-too-familiar whistling sound: a rocket. As rockets began to land on all sides, I quickly got up and ducked under a Humvee for cover. I quickly realized that it was the rocket that had landed next to us that had taken me down. When the barrage finally ended, I crawled out from under the Humvee and started to make my way back to the soldiers still on the ground. I didn’t know what I’d find.
As I was doing this, a Marine yelled from behind me, “He’s shot.” I didn’t feel any pain at the time, but I turned my head and saw that the back of my uniform had been torn open and blood was seeping out.
While my friend Luke bandaged him up, I watched as Supply Sergeant Michael Kelly, a native of Scituate, Massachusetts, who had recently been assigned to our unit, lay on an elevated stretcher while a local Afghan doctor (a very short guy) stood over a glass of red milk tea and administered CPR.
I walked around the clinic to see who else was injured, and it must have been no more than 45 seconds before I saw Michael regain consciousness, lower him to the ground, and put him into a body bag.
I ended up in a small room at the back of the infirmary where I found my soldier, Emmanuel Hernande: his head was bandaged and he was unconscious, but I could see his chest rising and falling so I knew he was breathing.
A helicopter rescue arrived and transported us to surgical teams scattered across the country. They removed some shrapnel from my back, but left some wounds that were too deep to get out. They stitched me up, bandaged me, and then I was sent to a landing zone to board another helicopter to Bagram Airfield for more advanced medical care. While I was waiting there, my commander, Major Howard, came up to me and asked how I was. I told him I was OK and asked about Emanuel. He told me I was OK, and I was so relieved.
He started to walk away, but after only four or five steps he turned around and, with tears streaming down his cheeks, said, “I’m sorry. I lied. Hernandez didn’t survive.” My knees trembled, and I fell to the ground, and Major Howard held me. Emmanuel was hit in the head by shrapnel and died. He died because I didn’t set an example. He died because I didn’t have the courage to do the right thing, to speak up.
Lead by example
On June 8, 2005, I broke the trust of my soldiers by not taking the initiative. We had a mutual trust to support each other, whether it was trusting the person in charge to stay up at night on guard duty or trusting to speak up if we noticed someone not doing something right, like not wearing a helmet. For a long time after this incident, I walked a dark path and blamed myself terribly. Obviously, I can’t change the past, but I’ve learned that I can use this story to inform my future.
I can say with confidence that if you’re not actively deployed in the military somewhere in the world, you’re probably not going to get hit by a rocket. Of course, not every decision has life-or-death consequences, and that’s a blessing. But the idea that consistently applying good leadership behaviors can inspire and influence those around you can’t be overstated.
Reprinted with permission from Patrick Nelson, author of Front-Line Leadership. Copyright © 2024 by John Wiley & Sons. All rights reserved.
