This story is by Don Tackett and was part of our 2024 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
It was late fall, back in late 2000 when Major Zeringer slid my feedback form across his oversized desk. “You’ve done well enough this year, but if you want to get promoted, you’ll need a ‘Definite Promote’ endorsement.” He said. I knew that, and I wasn’t really listening; I was far too busy scanning my ratings. This wasn’t good. He had me rated in the middle of the pack in just about all areas. He must have noticed how large my eyes had gotten and followed up with: “You just need some opportunities to shine.”
After a 20-minute one-way conversation, I was allowed to leave. Then he pulled a ‘Columbo’ saying “Oh, one more thing. I put you in as the lead for the February deployment. It’s a three-tanker package to a Norwegian Air Base. You’ll get to play in your chem gear while generating sorties during a NATO exercise. Exercise evaluators will be there to rate your performance. Should be fun.” He said, grinning. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll start the planning this week.” I said while thinking ‘Winter in Norway in gas masks. Yeah!’
I didn’t get to hand-pick my team, they were assigned to me by virtue of being at the top of the deployment list. They were all good guys that I worked with daily, but none of them had any experience in planning, or executing an in-theater deployment. So we all had our ‘training wheels’ on. It was then I started to feel this little deployment wasn’t going to be much of a ‘plus’ in the promotion column.
Our team departed on three tankers on your typical English winter day: 42 degrees and raining. Three hours later, we jumped off the crew steps into a balmy 29 degrees, snow, and high winds. As one would expect with old aircraft, they landed needing a lot of fixing. Even after a 14-hour day, my team brought them back to health and put them to bed for the night. Meanwhile, my T-Shirt (nickname for a deployed ‘temporary’ 1st Sergeant) got them their rooms, bedding, and some boxed lunches.
The next morning, the first two sorties of the day launched on time. The tankers refueled six US F-16’s and some British Tornados playing in the exercise. We sortied one more tanker in the afternoon and called it a day. Surprisingly, there were no ‘war games’ that day, so we knew tomorrow wasn’t going to be pretty.
Tuesday belonged to Murphy. The morning sorties were canceled because the Norwegians mistakenly gave our de-icing slots to commercial airliners. Icy jets don’t fly well. At engine start for the second go, one aircrew called in a ‘Red Ball’ for hydraulics. ‘Red ball’ is a code word for maintenance to expedite repairs, so crews could make their mission window. As luck would have it, exercise evaluators initiated an ‘Alarm Red’ (a simulated attack) driving everyone to take cover. After five minutes, they declared an ‘Alarm Black’ (meaning go back to work and have fun of wearing a gas mask and chemical protection gear while you do your job). The Production Super called several times for the specialist truck to support the ongoing Red Ball, but got no response.
I decided to do his job and drove to the garage they dispatched from and saw their truck was still there. I went over and asked what the delay was. Through my slightly fogged up gas mask, I saw five guys in the back of the truck without their masks eating their boxed lunches. I was incensed. “What the hell! We’ve got a broken jet, an Alarm Black, and you’re eating lunch?” Sergeant Pease, the head Specialist, stared at me, dropped his sandwich into his cardboard box, then slowly donned his mask. I turned to the driver and asked, “Didn’t you hear the call?” “Yes Sir, but they were eating their lunch and…” I interrupted. “Lunch was at 1100; it’s now 1400—get out there!”
Things continued to go badly. The Specialists weren’t able to repair the jet and the sortie was canceled. The pilots were not pleased. What did fly the rest of the day came back very broke. Evaluators continued their simulated attacks throughout that afternoon and were successful at delaying our repairs and taxing our patience.
At the end of that miserable day, the chief evaluator took me aside and gave me a list of my folk’s infractions and suggested I ‘help’ them show more alacrity, or Maintenance could expect a marginal rating. After some unappealing chow, I dragged my butt to my room, where I was immediately intercepted by my ’T-Shirt’. “It’s been a crappy day, Carl; what’s up?” “Sir, I just got out of a meeting with the Specialists and I wanted to let you know their morale is low, and they’re upset with you.” “Yeah, well, I’m pretty upset with their performance too. We lost a sortie today.” I retorted. He ignored my foul attitude and went on. “Did you know that Pease was up all night with stomach issues? Did you know that the dining hall forgot everyone’s lunch orders, and they didn’t get lunches until 1400? And have you ever tried putting on small nuts and bolts on a power connector with rubber gloves on while being hounded by evaluators?” I was speechless, then contritely said, “I didn’t know.” “Because you didn’t ask, Sir.” I found my angry voice again. “Look, they know what to do and didn’t do it—sub-par!” “Sir, I think you’ve gotta show a little empathy here.” I wanted this conversation to end. “Well, I disagree, Carl. Anything else?” “No Sir.” He left me to stew in my thoughts.
I found no sleep that night. I rationalized my actions, ran different scenarios through my head to justify my actions, and formulated excuses to save face. Didn’t they know how important this deployment was to the squadron? My actions were righteous! No, that was beyond dishonest—I was driving them because the deployment was important to me and my promotion. It took me until 0400 to surrender to that truth. I couldn’t live with myself anymore—only one thing to do.
I arrived at their roll call at 0450 and asked to speak—they, of course, agreed. “Carl told me about your concerns. I spent last night thinking hard about it and came to the conclusion that my behavior yesterday was just wrong. I wasn’t being the leader you guys needed. There’s really no excuse. All I can say now is that I’m sorry and going forward, I promise to do better.” I felt like I opened up a wound and was waiting for someone to pour salt in it. Silence.
That morning, I decided to stop trying to do my Production Super’s job and took the focus off myself and put it where it belonged. I engaged the dining hall chief and made sure lunches were delivered on time; some days delivering them myself. Likewise, I told the exercise evaluators that the maintainers doing complicated work on aircraft would be removing their gloves; write me up if you had to. I raised hell when the heat went off in the barracks and got them new billets. I kept the aircrews off my people’s back. I did my J.O.B. and ‘whodathot?’, my people took care of the mission. We finished strong.
Before departing for home, our deployed commander called everyone into a briefing room to thank them for a successful deployment. He even thanked our exercise evaluators for ‘all their helpful input’. Prior to dispersing, he said, “Oh, Maintenance, you had something?” Sergeant Pease stepped on to the stage holding a paper bag and asked if I’d join him; I did, feeling very uncomfortable.
“Sir, we had a rough start, but on behalf of all us Maintainers, I’d like to present to you this token of our appreciation for your leadership.” He pulled out an expensive Norwegian Alpine ski sweater. “You know, we’ve never had a boss who actually apologized to us for what they did. You did and things turned around; we just wanted to say thanks.” I took the sweater, shook his hand, and returned his salute, barely managing to say thank you; I left the stage before choking up.
Back home I was less full of myself thanks to Carl’s boldness in telling me how ‘ugly’ my baby was that night. I had a bad case of narcissism—a fatal malady, especially in a leader. My folks could have relegated me to the stack of lost causes, but they gave me an opportunity to pivot from my selfishness; to become a better person and a better leader.
I’ve never been much of a sweater person. I’ve worn that thing maybe a half-dozen times over these past 24 years. It remains in my closet as a reminder of my first genuine apology and the life-changing power of second chances.
Leave a Reply