SGT. 1ST CLASS BRYCE BEUTLER
Headquarters and Headquarters Company
4th Battalion, 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (Airborne)
Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Washington
Many of the articles in Risk Management magazine tell a story about a less-than-smart decision a co-worker, leader or subordinate made at some point in the author’s career. We read about how this person did not listen to the author or how the author gained enlightenment from the mistakes of others. In this story, however, I am the happy idiot who made the mistake and taught the entire platoon an important lesson.
I was a young buck sergeant stationed at then-Fort Lewis, Washington. At 25 years old, I was certainly of the age where I could have been thinking clearly but chose not to. On the day in question, I was surrounded by many others also making poor decisions, but that does not excuse me.
A 15U Chinook repairer by military occupational specialty, I had somewhat recently transferred from the maintenance platoon to a flight company. I went through initial Basic Mission Qualification (BMQ) training, did three TDY training events and even deployed as a crewmember. Still a BMQ, I was one of the lowest-ranked Soldiers on the company totem pole, despite being an NCO.
It was a beautiful summer day in Washington, and we assembled as a company in the “back forty” of the installation for vehicle training with High-Mobility Multi-Wheeled Vehicles (HMMWVs), Gators and Light Medium Tactical Vehicles (LMTVs). Our commander and master drivers were present, at first. Halfway through the training, however, something occurred back at battalion headquarters and they were called away. This left us with a platoon sergeant who had a penchant for recklessness and section sergeants who blindly followed suit.
When I say it wasn’t long before Soldiers were zooming through the woods in LMTVs and intentionally jumping HMMWVs, I mean it took only minutes. Of course, I thought nothing of it and decided to have fun as well. I hopped in a Gator I was not licensed to operate with a private first class who was new to the company in the passenger seat. I began racing through the woods like everyone else, but before long, disaster struck. Going down a slight hill in a curve, I lost control and rolled the Gator. Fortunately, we wore our Kevlar and seat belts, in contrast to everyone else, which is what probably saved us from being seriously injured. We were just a little shaken but otherwise all right.
After the rollover, we almost had enough adrenaline to right the vehicle. But when our strength failed, we realized we couldn’t do it alone. We headed toward where we heard other activity, but thinking we would be in huge trouble, we were apprehensive to ask for help. What we saw, though, was the platoon sergeant’s HMMWV high-centered and trapped on a log. At that point, we knew we’d be fine, administratively speaking. We got help flipping the Gator back onto its wheels and everyone eventually returned the vehicles to the motor pool in still-serviceable condition. Most importantly, no one was injured.
A few months later, the motor pool chief noticed the damage on the Gator I flipped. I explained the whole story, thinking once again that I was in serious trouble. Lucky for me, my honesty was appreciated. Instead of getting punished, the battalion leadership had a sit-down with my entire chain of command about proper discipline and training of Soldiers.
Looking back, I could have seriously injured myself and the young private that day. Also, I let the entire platoon go crazy even though I was an NCO who knew better. Six months after my discussion with the motor chief, I attended a local training course and became a master driver. During my two years in that position within the flight company, I took my job seriously, trained Soldiers properly and never let a situation get out of control. I realized just how lucky we’d all been that day to walk away safely, and I was not going to let my teammates put themselves in that kind of danger again while I was around.