Never the Weakest Link Again

“You’re the weakest link.” My platoon sergeant looked me in the eyes when he said it. He wasn’t wrong.

During Desert Storm, I was reassigned to a mortar platoon for a weapon system I had never even seen. My original job—11H TOW gunner—was gone. The unit reorganized, and suddenly I was on the base gun, responsible for preparing live rounds for a 4.2 mortar system I didn’t know how to operate.

Everyone around me knew their job. Gibson was solid. Psycho was intense but locked in when it mattered. SGT Green trained me hard—no favors, just standards. Even SPC Swano, not in my squad, took time to help me learn. Quietly. No ego. I was surrounded by competence. And I was the gap.

They made sure I understood what that meant. Before we rolled out, they’d run unmasking drills—sometimes without warning. They’d grab my weapon and force me through it on the spot. The logic was simple: if a nerve agent were present, it would kill the weakest link first.

That was me. At night, I had the same dream: the enemy attacks, I have to fire—and I freeze because I don’t know how.

So I decided in that desert: I would never be the weakest link again. For the rest of my career, I trained like it was life or death—because once, it was.

The people I led later didn’t always understand that. We weren’t in combat anymore, but I pushed them like we were heading into it the next morning. I expected more than what made sense on paper. They were training for Tuesday. I was preparing them for a day they hadn’t lived through yet.

Looking back, I can see it now—I could have explained more. Not to lower the standard, but to share the reason behind it. The pressure didn’t come from ego. It came from knowing what happens when someone isn’t ready.

I’d still train hard. But I’d talk more, too.