We often think of leadership as a grand experience, like leading soldiers up a hill in battle, but it’s really about the consistent application of small things. I’ve served with and met some of the bravest people in the world who literally climb hills with bullets flying, but they’ll tell you that it doesn’t take that kind of grandstanding to be a good leader.
The number one way to start building trust with others is by example. When we lead by example, it creates alignment between our words and actions and shows others what our expectations are.
Enter!
On June 8, 2005, I was on duty with our platoon at a small forward operating base (FOB) near the Pakistan-Afghanistan border at a place called FOB Shkin. That morning, we were getting a resupply of ammunition from a Chinook helicopter.
As soon as we heard the “thud-thud” of the Chinook’s twin rotor blades coming over the mountains, I jumped into the front passenger seat of the Humvee and Luke jumped into the driver’s seat. As we were about to pull away toward the landing zone, my soldier, Emmanuel Hernandez, jumped into the back seat. He wasn’t supposed to be there, so I turned around and was about to yell at him. But then I thought for a moment about how much I appreciated this kind of work ethic. He offered to come pick up some heavy boxes and help the team. Awesome! So I didn’t say anything.
As I turned around, I caught a glimpse of him not wearing a helmet. I actually opened my mouth to yell at him, but then I realized I wasn’t wearing a helmet either. It was kind of hard for me to say something to someone else if I wasn’t doing the right thing myself. So I didn’t say anything.
As the helicopter landed, a group of 10 of us had to step to the side of the plane so they could grab the machine guns from the rear ramp, and we could start unloading them. I had my back to the group so I could guide my buddy Luke in the Humvee to get him a little closer to the back of the helicopter. The next thing I knew, explosion! and everything went black. It felt like I was hit in the back of the head and fell straight to the ground. As I lay there, confused and unable to hear, my first thought was that maybe someone was playing a joke—just soldiers playing a joke. But then I opened my eyes and saw bodies and blood all over the ground.
My hearing slowly returned, and an eerie silence fell that felt like it lasted two seconds and two hours at the same time. But the silence was punctured by the familiar whistling sound of an incoming rocket. I quickly got up and ducked under the Humvee for cover as the rockets began to hit everywhere. I quickly realized that it was the rocket that had landed next to us that had knocked me down. When the barrage of gunfire finally ended, I crawled out from under the Humvee and began making my way back to the soldiers still on the ground, unsure of what I would find.
As I did so, a Marine shouted from behind me that I had been shot. I didn’t feel any pain at the time, but I turned and saw the back of my uniform was torn, with spots of blood seeping out.
As my friend Luke bandaged my wound, I saw Sergeant Michael Kelly, a supply sergeant from Scituate, Massachusetts, who had just been assigned to our unit, lying on a raised stretcher and the local Afghan doctor—a very short man—standing on a red milk bottle and performing CPR.
I made a quick run around the clinic to see who else was injured. Not more than 45 seconds later, I came back and saw that they had lowered Michael to the ground and were putting him in a body bag.
Eventually I found my way to a small room at the back of the clinic and that’s 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.
The medevac helicopter arrived and took us to the surgical team that was spread out across the country. They removed some of the debris from my back but left some memories there that were too deep to get out. They stitched and bandaged my wound and I was sent to the landing zone to catch another helicopter to Bagram Airfield for more advanced medical care. As I waited there, my commander, Major Howard, approached me and asked how I was doing. I told him I was going to be fine, and I asked him about Emmanuel. He told me he was going to be fine, and I felt a huge sense of relief.
He turned to leave but didn’t take more than four or five steps when he turned around, and with tears streaming down his cheeks, he said, “I’m sorry. I lied. Hernandez didn’t make it.” My knees buckled, and I sat down as Major Howard held me. Emmanuel died from shrapnel from the explosion hitting him in the head. He died because I didn’t set an example. Because I didn’t have the courage to do the right thing or to speak up.
Provide examples
I broke trust with my soldiers on June 8, 2005, by failing to lead by example. We trusted each other to have each other’s backs, whether that meant trusting the person in charge to be on guard in the middle of the night or trusting that we would speak up when we saw someone not doing the right thing, like wearing a helmet. For a long time after that incident, I walked a dark path and blamed myself deeply. I certainly can’t change the past, but I’ve learned that I can take that story and influence the future.
Unless you’re serving in the military somewhere around the world, I can say with great confidence that you’re probably not going to be shot at by rockets. Obviously, not every decision is going to have life-or-death consequences, and thank goodness for that! However, the idea that you can inspire and influence those around you through the consistent application of good leadership behaviors cannot be overstated.
Reprinted with permission of Patrick Nelson, author Front Line Leadership Copyright © 2024 by John Wiley & Sons. All rights reserved.
