Memorial Day: A Moment for Pause

On April 15th, 1969, while flying a routine reconnaissance mission in international airspace over the Sea of Japan, a U.S. Navy EC-131 aircraft was suddenly and tragically shot out of the sky by two North Korean MIG fighters. This was not a combat engagement, but a routine flight in a peaceful arena. All thirty-one crewmembers onboard PR-21 perished. Only two bodies were ever recovered.

How many Americans have heard this story and know the fate of PR-21? How many Americans have perished in service to our country, in wartime and in peace, only to be forgotten in the annuls of time?

I am humbled to remember the sacrifices of so many Americans. Their willingness to pay the ultimate price for our freedom and our way of life cannot be forgotten. Veterans throughout the ages have understood all too well the dangers and risks of military service, both in battle and in eras of relative tranquility. And yet, they have not run in the face of peril, but stood their ground, side by side their fellow servicemen and women, regardless of politics, ideologies, ethnicity, religion, or social class.

While the realities of our country at war have become strikingly clear in the past decade, for many Gen-Xers, we recall a time in our lives without war.  I remember graduating from high school in the late 1980s, with my classmates, my peers…my friends. Little could I imagine that less than two years after crossing that stage, I would be making a far different walk…to a waiting aircraft, deploying in support of Operation Desert Storm – the first in a long string of deployments and real-world missions as an Army light infantry scout and later as a Russian linguist in the Navy.

I regularly think about the 1969 downing of PR-21. This account provides a stark example of our endangered American heritage, a story of heroism and sacrifice known to only a handful of Americans. The importance of Memorial Day lies here…in remembering and revisiting the sacrifices of those who have died in this country’s defense. For many Americans, the significance of Memorial Day is lost in the faceless identities of those who have served so willingly.

So how is it that I first came to know the story of the downing of PR-21?

In Misawa, Japan, each year, a small handful of sailors and marines pause to remember the crew of PR-21 – tolling thirty-one bells, one for each of the men lost that fateful day in 1969. I count myself proudly among those who recall this particular tragedy. For in the hours and days following each annual memorial service, we took to the skies on missions that mirrored that of PR-21 so many years ago.

It is my hope that each of us will take away from this Memorial Day weekend a renewed dedication to learning about those individuals who have not only put themselves in peril in service to this country, but have lost their lives so that the rest of us may live in freedom. Take the time to personalize your heritage. These thousands of Americans lived selflessly for the ideals that so many of us take for granted. It is not enough for us to live life in the present. We need to be mindful of those who have carved out our heritage over time. Through their willingness to serve and die in service to this country, each and every fallen service member proved that they, indeed, were “worthy of their heritage.” By honoring their memories, we can, in small part, be worthy of ours.

Empowerment and Trust: What the Shagris River Taught Me

I slowly waved my hand in front of my face in the darkness, but saw nothing. The Panamanian night enveloped us all in a shroud of tangled mangrove roots. Somewhere ahead, I knew the steep river bank would launch straight up from the oily water, but all I could do was slowly feel my way between the outstretched roots.

Five minutes earlier, I had stepped blindly from the ramp of a lumbering Chinook helicopter, following my three infantry scouts into the black night. Thirty feet above the dark water of the Shagris River, I was the last member out of the bird.

My entry into the water had been less than graceful and the chemlight attached to my chest was ripped from its lanyard. I had barely surfaced when I glanced around, trying in vain to locate the other scouts. I saw nothing and heard no one.

We’d each in turn stepped into the night sky with a two second lag between us. How on Earth had we been separated? Rather than ponder this further, though, I struck out to my right, knowing that the shoreline should lie roughly a hundred yards in that direction.

It was when my hands first struck the mangrove roots that I began to get pissed. If you’ve ever seen these fantastic trees, you’ll understand how difficult a task it would be to swim/crawl through their roots. Now imagine having a rucksack on your back, with gear and camouflage netting grabbing onto anything and everything imaginable as you moved. It took nearly ten minutes to navigate through the roots until my hand impacted the warm, squishy mud of the bank.

Now I was stuck. Feeling upward, I realized the bank was far taller than me, probably extending five feet over my head when fully standing. And it was a complete drop-off from the tangled jungle above. On top of that, the waterproof liner of my rucksack had ruptured on impact with the water. So now, my gear had doubled its weight with muddy jungle water. There was no way I could get out, and I hesitated to retrace my way through the mangroves. So, I sat there in the waist-deep water, my mind nicely reminding me of the population of cayman alligators that called this river their home.

Nearly three hours later, as the sun lightened the Central American sky and the dripping leaves of the encompassing jungle became visible, my team “rescued me.” As a group, they had remained together throughout the night. That I had been separated, we later discovered, was due to the speed of the current at precisely the spot I had jumped from the helicopter. The rest of the team had ended up in the merging (and much faster) waters of a tributary to the big river. Conversely, I had landed in an eddy, actually pushing me up-river several hundred yards. So, by the time we all got to shore, I was literally a quarter-mile of darkness away from them.

So, why do I tell you this story? Because it was one of the earliest examples of my realization of trust and empowerment I encountered as a young leader. At 22, I was by far the oldest of the bunch. I had three teenaged scouts under my command, and I was forced by the situation to completely rely on their abilities, judgement, and training without direction from me.

When I was finally hoisted out of the muddy water and had an opportunity to regroup and get debriefed by my soldiers, I was immensely proud. Not only had they remained together and not panicked at the loss of their leader. They had reached the objective, conducted the desired reconnaissance just as rehearsed before returning to find me. That I was not their first objective when they reached shore indicated their own trust in me to survive on my own until such time as we could regroup.

As leaders, we need to trust that the team we have built, and the training we have provided will suffice when it is needed. After all, leaders are meant to provide guidance to the point of competence, and then step out of the way. Empower your troops, and they will inevitably surprise you, just as my guys did on the Shagris River nearly two decades ago.

What is it about Cryptologists?

Civilian organizations take note.  You want to know what loyalty and culture can do to people in your organization?  How often have you ever run into someone from your organization, who knows exactly what you experienced, in a completely different environment?  It’s not unheard of, but it’s certainly not common.

This evening, amidst thousands in attendance at an international convention in Denver, I stumbled upon a fellow Navy veteran.  Not just a normal former sailor, but a veteran of the Naval Security Group, a Cryptologic Technician.  As a former CTI (Cryptologic Technician (Interpretive), a.k.a, a Russian linguist), I instantly saw the eyes light up in recognition of a deep bond formed in common experiences.  It’s not the first time it’s happened to me in the past decade, and certainly it won’t be the last.  But it got me thinking….

I took a count, and since graduating from college nearly 20 years ago, I’ve held positions in four major organizations.  And in none of those has there been the type of comraderie that I experienced in the military, the excitement and shared sense of sacrifice and purpose that I’ve felt in meeting other cryptologists.  Why is that?

Is it merely the commonality of military service?  I’m sure that’s part of it, but it only accounts for a portion of the bond experienced.  After all, before donning the Dixie Cup and Cracker Jack jumper, I spent five years as an Amry infantry scout/sniper.  I deployed during the first Gulf War in 1991.  I crawled through the swamps and jungles of Central America and conducted drug raids with some of the most dedicated and skilled soldiers anywhere.  Wonderful memories of shared sacrifice and challenge.  Yet, even that pales in comparison with the bond I feel when meeting other naval cryptologists.  So, it can’t be simply military service….

Perhaps it’s the nature of the service in the cryptologic community, a shrouded existence of top secret security clearances, classified missions and information, or the glamorous role of cryptologists in the Cold War.  Possibly it is in the quiet respect for the complexity and vitality of our roles that binds us to one another.  I’ve never been able to put my finger on it entirely….yet, it emerges whenever I happen upon another I-brancher, T-Brancher, O-Brancher, A-Brancher, or M-Brancher (those in NSG understand the nomenclature).

Regardless of the bonding source, there’s just something about the experience that seems to create instant connection.  I wish I could explain it fully.  If I could, I’m sure it would be worth millions in consulting fees and services to replicate it in other organizations.  For the time being, however, I will simply continue my internal exploration of this phenomenon, relishing in the feeling that inevitably sweeps over me in that moment of recognition when meeting another cryptologist.

Someday, perhaps, I’ll figure it all out….