“Failure. I am scared to death of
failure.” For years it had been drilled into Mike that failure was
not an option. Failure meant death or, at the very least, some sort
of mortal danger for people that did not need to be in whatever
position they were stuck in at the point of someones, Mike's,
failure. His platoon, his squad, his team, or maybe other people who
had been depending upon Mike's information would be in a position of
certain death. “Lives depended on my not failing.”
“Is that so?” What the doctor
really meant was had Mike been exaggerating in that answer.
“Yeah, that is so.” The doctor sat
there with a blank look on his face. He did not buy that as an answer
and that really rankled Mike. “I don't like being called a liar,
but I am afraid of failing, not being good enough.”
“We all are afraid of failure,
Michael.” The doctor looked at Mike. “Tell me about a time when
you were afraid of failure but did not fail.”
Mike was quiet for several moments as
he considered several and times that he was facing failure, but did
not fail. As he thought about it, the times he actually failed were
few and far between. “Bosnia.” The doctor was quiet, the silence
urged Mike to continue. “I had no idea what I was asking for when I
saw the slot open up, but I asked for orders since I needed the work.
When the approval came back I got nervous about it since I had no
clue what the job of 'field operator' was for Naval Intelligence.”
“I see, and did you ask anyone about
what that job might entail?”
Mike chortled in response, “Hell,
yeah,” shaking his head and looking down Mike continued, “all
that anyone would tell me is that it sounded like I would be
operating in a field environment. Then, they'd laugh quietly and walk
away.”
“Who was it that you were asking?”
“My leadership.” Mike continued,
“All I knew was that I was going into Bosnia, the war was still
technically going on, I was going to be working in the field and not
on base, and those that knew were having fun with me.” Mike paused
and looked at the doctor. “I hated not knowing anything about what
I had gotten myself into. I hated it because it scared me, it was the
unknown, and I can't plan for the unknown. I was so scared of failing
and I didn't even know what I was in for.”
“And, what were you in for?”
Mike told him the story. I was flown to
Pensacola, Florida to be processed onto Active Duty and into the
system for this task. I arrived late and there was no on to pick him
up. After getting my bags, I found the USO/Military Support Office.
Of course, they were closed. They closed two hours before my plane
landed. “Friggin' great, 10:30 at night. The USO is closed, I'm
basically stranded, and this gig has only just started.” I sighed
heavily.
There was a small sign on the floor
that caught my attention. I picked it up and saw that it had fallen
off the USO door as it had the Duty Officer's phone number at
Pensacola. “Sweet.” With the number in my phone, a renewed sense
of comfort which quickly turned into a late night cockiness, I strode
out into the muggy February night.
Once I called the Duty Desk and the
sailor on watch had assured me that a cab was dispatched to pick me,
and that the fare was going to be refunded through the travel office,
I lit a cigarette and relaxed a little. “Maybe things won't be so
bad.” I said it, but had no reason to believe it. Somewhere in my
mind I was already hearing that NCO voice taunting me, “Oh, you,
called the Duty Officer. Very nice! You want a medal for that? You
got a loooong way to go before this mission is even started, Sailor!”
I found out very quickly that, while
there were other groups going through the same process as I was, that
I had to go it alone while at the Naval Station. I was a group of 1.
I was the single point of failure or success on this stage. So, with
all the determination I finished my 4 day check list in less than 2
days. The Personnel office also gave me another day off so they could
finish the travel arrangements.
I had to stop in Naples. Italy for a
few days to get my weapon, a 9mm pistol, and my field gear. There was
a little more information regarding my coming tasks, but, still not
enough. I was scared, terrified about the unknown and my pending
failure.
I hitched a ride from Sarajevo Airport
to Camp Butmir as, again, there was no one there to get me. Every
night I was haunted by the question of what had I gotten myself into.
I still did not know and, here I was, in Sarajevo, checking in like I
knew what the hell was going on. I just kept telling myself to fake
it until ya make it.
I spent a little more than a month
there in Sarajevo learning about the job and the bare bones basics of
what I was going to be doing. Well, me and almost 30 other new guys,
that is. The month went fast and we got sent to 4 different places
around the country. Some stayed right there at Butmir, the rest of us
to one of 3 Company Headquarters. I went to Banja Luka.
From there, and the field offices that
I would run, I was going to chase down leads, identify, recruit, and
develop sources, maintain connections with old sources, and keep
everyone safe while doing it. It would be me, a partner, and an
interpreter. We had ourselves, 2 pistols, and nothing else if
everything went to hell.
I would find out that, one night, one
of my sources had part of their house blown up. At the time, I was
convinced that I had put him and his family at risk. Never mind the
fact that he had been meeting with our Operators for years. The
attack happened on my watch, so it was my fault and my
responsibility.
That night, after the ass chewing from
my commander, everyone got the same email from said commander. He was
asking about our sources that were reporters or otherwise involved in
the news cycle. He wanted to know how many we had and what sort of
access they potentially had.
“Nina? You think you could set up a
meet with some Gebrijela Ivancic, Teha Crnic, Ilija Kovacic, or
Davorka Bacic for tomorrow?” After reading that email, there must
be something hot that the commander or the heads at Sarajevo were
deeply interested in. There was nothing directly pointed at in the
email, but at the last meeting the boss, that is, the commander, was
pushing hard for information on smuggling networks and persons
involved.
Nina set up the last minute meetings
for the next day as I had asked. It was really nice of her to do
that, and really great of the sources to bend their schedules to
accommodate us, or so I thought.
The next day, after the meetings, and
the hours of paperwork, transmitting the paperwork, and filing the
plans for the next day's meetings, I took a few moments to sit back
and relax. I felt good, really good. Here I was, taking the
initiative, running with it, and doing damn good work. The boss, even
as negative as he was, had to say something positive about this. That
was about when the secure phone rang.
“Petty Officer Thompson spea ...” I
didn't get to say anything else but “Yes, Sir.” The commander was
pissed. I swear that I could feel the spittle spraying out of his
mouth as he screamed into the other end of the phone.
“What the fucking hell is wrong with
you?! All of you out there? Huh? What are you idiots thinking?”
“Sir? I don't understand.”
“I sent you all an email saying that
you are to avoid all media
sources
not go out and meet with as many as you can! The very next fucking
day each and every goddamn one of you are out there having meetings
with them! Letting them collect against us based on what you're
asking them!”
“Begging
your pardon, Sir, but I didn't get any email like that.”
“BULLSHIT!
I sent out the batch email yesterday just as everyone was sending in
their reports so I KNOW that EVERYONE GOT THE GODDAMN EMAIL!”
I
was silent, trying to recall any email like that. “Sir. I am
looking through the emails from yesterday and there isn't … “
“BULLSHIT!!
YOU'RE FIRED! I am taking you off of that post, out of this country,
sending your ass back! Your source's house was blown up the other
night! Today you went and violated a direct order from the GENERAL!”
With that, he slammed the phone down.
“Did
you get fired?” The doctor's question rather snapped me back into
the room.
“No.
No, actually, nobody got into any trouble.” I thought about it,
“Maybe he did, because, after all the emails were checked, it was
shown that he did not, in fact tell us to avoid anyone.”
“How
did all that make you feel?”
“Shit,
I was low. Real low. I sat there in that little office, my ears still
ringing from the ass chewing. The house that got blown up. Now this.
I couldn't handle it. I was as shattered as I had ever been in my
life.” The doctor's office went as silent as a mortuary, it was
deathly quiet. “I picked up my pistol, chambered a round,” Mike
heaved a deep sigh, “I put that damn pistol into my mouth.”
Nothing, the room stayed quiet. Mike looked up to see if the doctor
hadn't been teleported out or something like that. “I was ready to
kill myself over that failure.”
“But,
it wasn't your failure.”
“I
figured, if I was going to pull the trigger, I was going to do so
after sending back the last email I got from that jack-ass.”
“How
did your time in Bosnia turn out after all?”
“It
was a great time, actually. I lead my team in bringing in a1 person
indicted for a war crime, had several officials who were impeding the
peace process removed from office, slowed some human trafficking, and
did a few other general good deeds along the way.” Mike sat back,
breathed a little, and said, “That monumental task, which I knew
nothing about before jumping in with both feet, was more than
manageable, it was a point of major success for me.”
“What
can you learn from that? From what you just said?”
“That
I can handle huge things. That great challenges bring great rewards.”
“Both
are true, but I want you to remember the one on handling huge things.
You can handle huge things. You did in Kosovo, and you did in Bosnia,
too, only with you, one partner, and an interpreter, right?”
Mike
nodded, “Yeah, I did, didn't I.” He smiled at the realization.
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