Not every suggestion resulted in a workable idea. But as Park sees it:
If just one of the ideas out of that 10 percent of the budget succeeds, people will have an acknowledgment of their success and we will have a better boat for it. It could be a completely outrageous idea that nobody's tried before. I think it's important to allow that. It enhances creativity and allows people more involvement in the boat. People might come up with something that nobody else has thought of. And that's a huge upside.
I asked Park if he could recall any new ideas that were especially interesting. He responded: “Yup, I can think of three specific things right now.” When I asked him what they were, he replied, “I can't tell you. We don't think anybody else has come up with them.” I suspect he was right, and I understand why he had no interest in disseminating his innovative ideas to his competitors.
Keep learning in the heat of the battle
One dark night in Vietnam I was standing at the opening of my sandbagged bunker, listening to radio messages that were being broadcast on a variety of tactical frequencies. Most of the messages were routine, but the urgency I heard in the voices during one exchange caught my attention.
I had a small reel-to-reel tape recorder, and, for reasons I can't fully explain, I decided to tape the radio conversation. Three radio call signs were the most active: Klondike, used for a Marine observation squadron equipped with armed “Huey” helicopters; Switch, used by the helicopters designed for troop transport; and Duckbill, the call sign of a ten-man reconnaissance team.
The initial exchange that I heard was as follows:
KLONDIKE: Duckbill, this is Klondike, over.
DUCKBILL: Go ahead, Klondike.
KLONDIKE: Be advised if we can get one bird in there the ceiling may come down again and we will be unable to get the rest of your team out. Will this be acceptable to you? We'll stay in the area all night if we have to, but they may be left there for a period of time until we can get another straight shot in.
After a short pause, the recon team responded: “This is Duckbill. If you could kick some M-60 out the door we could definitely use it, over.”
This short sentence told me everything I needed to know about the situation. Klondike was trying to execute a night extraction of a reconnaissance team. The team, Duckbill, was in contact with the enemy. They were so low on ammunition for their M-60 machine gun that they wanted the gunship to kick some ammunition boxes out the door. They were in danger of being overrun. All ten Marines could be killed in a matter of minutes.
Klondike responded: “I'll give it a try, if you can use the M-60 ammo…. We're about out of it now but…I'll tell you what…I think we can use it better than you can right now…. If worse comes to worst, we'll go back and get some more and bring it out for you.”
The recon team responded with a terse “Roger,” and the extraction helicopters maneuvered to get in position to bring out the team. The pilot in the gunship, Klondike, was orchestrating the whole operation. I could visualize the scene.
The recon team was using a strobe light cupped around a cap to provide a directional beam of light that would guide in the extraction helicopters. Klondike would lead the way in with the two extract choppers following behind. The message exchange continued.
KLONDIKE: Okay, fine. I'm heading straight in toward the strobe light…now on heading of about 180 from my present location. Okay, let me have hot guns, please. You got the strobe light, Switch?
SWITCH: Yeah.
KLONDIKE: Okay, I'll get my door gunners to shoot.
DUCKBILL: Guide on the strobe light, Switch. We got you coming in.
The extraction helicopter made two unsuccessful attempts to land on the hillside where the recon team was located. But it was dark, visibility was limited by the fog, and the helicopters were taking ground fire from the attacking enemy.
Klondike continued to coordinate the confusing situation and to provide encouragement: “Okay, fine, Switch. Third time's a charm if you want to try it.”
The extraction chopper agreed to try it once again, and Klondike continued his narration.
KLONDIKE: I'm going to be holding a tight orbit. What I want to do this time is let you go in first and have your door gunners fire forward and down on the way in. My ammo's getting pretty low. I'd like to put a couple rounds of 2.75 [rockets] in ahead of you…from behind you…. Don't worry, I'll miss…. But I think that might be a little more impressive to those gents that are shooting at us.
It was now clear to me that all the helicopters were taking fire from the ground and that Klondike had kept his lights on so that everyone could see where he was located. But this made him a sitting duck and a clear target.
In spite of the fact that Klondike was taking fire and running low on ammo and fuel, he continued his relaxed and encouraging tone: “Okay, have you got a base of fire down there, Duckbill? I know Switch would appreciate it.”
I was sure that the extraction helicopters would indeed appreciate suppressive fire from the recon team. I had been in a number of dangerous situations with people who were cool under fire, but Klondike's calming presence was exceptional. He could have been on a golf course on Nantucket instead of a mountainside in Vietnam. Whoever Klondike was, he was orchestrating this dangerous and complex operation without the slightest bit of frustration or anxiety.
Once more, Klondike attempted to get the extraction helicopters into the recon team's landing zone.
KLONDIKE: All right, I'm going to lead you in this time. I'll have my door gunners shoot for a while. I'll bank off to the left. As I bank off, I'll give you the word and then you can use your door gunners to fire forward. I'll come around behind you for one rocket in. I'm on my way in right now. Do you have me?
Switch replied, “Affirmative,” and the Klondike pilot continued to orchestrate the operation, directing the extraction helicopter to the strobe light. Things appeared to be going well, and Klondike kept up his encouragement saying, “You're looking good, you're looking good.”
I then heard sounds of shouting and yelling from the recon team. I didn't know what had happened, but I knew it wasn't good. Their next transmission told the story: “Switch, this is Duckbill. Switch just shot right into our position.”
The door gunner from the extraction chopper had accidentally fired right into the position of the recon team. Everyone wanted to know what happened, and the transmissions continued:
KLONDIKE: Duckbill, this is Klondike. Can you still talk to me?
DUCKBILL: That's affirmative, I can still talk.
KLONDIKE: Okay, how are you making out down there?
DUCKBILL: We have one man wounded from that last pass. Other than that…Correction…Two people hit.
It is impossible to exaggerate the level of tension, anger, and frustration that surrounded the mission. The extraction helicopters were taking fire and had trouble finding the recon team. The recon team was about to be overrun. The door gunner from one of the helicopters had just wounded two Marines. It was clear that this mission could end in complete disaster.
The next transmission from the recon team was terse: “Klondike, inform Switch that the strobe light is friendly, over!”
The Klondike pilot knew that something had to be done to straighten out this mess. Once again, he transmitted a matter-of-fact, calm message: “Duckbill, I'd like a little discussion on what happened that time please…. So we can try to remedy it this time in.”
I had seen a lot of things in Vietnam, but this was one of the most unusual. It was a difficult mission to begin with, and everything had gone wrong. The recon team was taking enemy and friendly fire, and not a single member of the team had been extracted. Fuel was getting low, and some support aircraft were leaving the scene with a bingo fuel state—the minimum amount needed to return safely to base. Still, the pilot coordinating the mission stayed calm, simply asking for a little discussion about what happened so we can try to remedy the problem.
The faces of the Marines
in my bunker were grim as we listened to the back-and-forth transmissions among Klondike, Switch, and Duckbill. Was it possible that after all this they could simply have a conversation about what had gone wrong, then develop a solution while continuing to engage in a firefight?
They developed a new plan. The door gunners on the extraction chopper would not fire on the way in, and the recon team would pop a parachute flare just before the Switch chopper touched down.
KLONDIKE: Switch, I've got you in sight. I'm on my way in. I'll have my door gunners shooting a bit on the way in and I'll put two rockets in ahead of you.
KLONDIKE: Okay, let's have your flare now. Flare now, Duckbill.
DUCKBILL: Be advised we don't have any more flares. We popped them in that last pass, over.
The Klondike pilot wasn't fazed by this latest problem. He contacted Bushrose, a C-130 flare ship that was circling overhead, and continued the mission.
KLONDIKE: Switch, I'm going to put one rocket in behind you. That's going to be me making noise back here. I have you in sight. No sweat. Go straight ahead now. Straight ahead. Okay, Bushrose your flares are good. Don't let them die out this time, though.
BUSHROSE: We won't.
KLONDIKE: Okay, straight on up, Switch. You're looking real good. Don't be afraid to wave it off if you get in trouble. We're right on top of you. Okay, Duckbill, let's have some fire out of the zone. Good, good, good. Okay, you're looking real fine, Switch.
DUCKBILL: Forward and to your left, Switch.
KLONDIKE: Left, left, left.
DUCKBILL: Little bit more, a little bit more. Put her down.
KLONDIKE: Looking real good. This is Klondike. How are you making out? You're shooting right underneath me now. Give me a call prior to you coming out. Call coming out, please.
SWITCH: Do we have everyone?
KLONDIKE: This is Klondike. You're going to have to decide that. Take a count. Still taking fire out here. And we're still taking fire.
About twenty minutes later, the final transmissions of the operation were sent.
KLONDIKE: Bushrose, much thanks for the flares and the lights down here. They were a big help finding holes in the clouds. We're all through. We got everybody out and thanks much for your work.
BUSHROSE: Okay, good job. You did a real fine job. Looked good from up here.
KLONDIKE: Okay, fine. We'll see you later.5
With that, the mission was over. Though two men had been wounded, all ten Marines in the recon patrol had been flown to safety. What could have been a tragedy ended as a successful extract.
When I got back to the States, I played the tape for a colorful Marine pilot named Crash Kimo who had gotten his nickname after being shot down five times. His ability to survive, combined with his never-give-up attitude, had made him something of a legend. Even after his helicopter had run out of rockets, Crash was known for continuing the fight by sticking his .45 pistol out of the cockpit.
As soon as Crash heard the tape, he knew exactly who it was. “That's John Arick, no question about it,” he said. I eventually found John, who had retired from the Marine Corps as a Brigadier General. For his actions that night, he had received a gold star—in lieu of a third Distinguished Flying Cross—for his “superior aeronautical skill, fearless determination, and steadfast dedication to duty under extremely adverse conditions.”
I spoke with John at his home in Texas, and he was as unassuming in that conversation as he had been in Vietnam. But I've never forgotten what happened that night, and how it's possible to learn—even under the most adverse circumstances. All it takes is a simple statement: I'd like a little discussion about what happened that time, please—so we can try to remedy it this time in.
Navigation Points
1. Does your team discuss things that go wrong as well as things that go right?
2. Do all team members feel free to speak up about problems without fear of reprisal? Do they feel free to comment on decisions and actions of the team leader?
3. Does the team extract learnings from mistakes and use them to prevent future errors?
4. Are people encouraged to come up with new ideas and new ways of thinking? Are they rewarded for innovation?
5. Does the team have a continuous learning process that enables them to have a little discussion about things that are going wrong—while the team is in the heat of the battle?
35
Calculated Risk
Strategy #5
Be willing to sail into the storm.
Danger lurks everywhere. At least that's a common perception, according to a Wall Street Journal article that describes how a fixation on risk—fed by labs, law, and media—haunts the United States, a comparatively very safe society.1 But it's impossible to read the newspaper or listen to a news broadcast without sensing danger.
The threats are described in vivid detail. One headline, for example, reads “Furniture Tip-over Kills Two-Year-Old.”2 The article goes on to describe how a young child was crushed by a dresser when it fell over and punctured his heart. He had been trying to reach a drink when the accident happened. Each year about a dozen children die and almost 15,000 are treated for injuries caused by tipping furniture and televisions. (The problem can be prevented with a tip restraint that can be purchased at a hardware store.)
For those who don't have small children, there are other things to worry about. A New York Times article about a bizarre and tragic elevator accident got my attention. An executive at one of Manhattan's most prominent advertising firms stepped into an elevator. It suddenly lurched up with its doors still open, killing the trapped executive.
The article mentioned that there were about 60,000 elevators in New York City and fifty-three elevator accidents. The piece went on to say that only three of the accidents were fatal.
The article was on my mind as I stepped into an elevator in New York City during a client visit. The office building was modern, and the elevators were well maintained. At least I assumed they were well maintained. But the phrase three of them were fatal kept running through my mind. Somewhere between the first and thirty-eighth floor, the elevator abruptly stopped, bounced for about a minute, then hung motionless.
Everyone in the elevator looked around and laughed nervously. As I stood there surveying the situation, I remained calm and made some humorous comment. But I was relieved when the doors finally opened. Some people got out, deciding to take another elevator. Others opted to continue their upward journey on the elevator that had just stopped. I was in the first group, figuring that there was no downside to avoiding an elevator that had just engaged in questionable behavior.
I knew that the elevators in this building were newer than the creaky ones that had killed the advertising executive. But those older elevators had passed safety inspections, and there were no violations relating to the tragic accident. How did it happen? And what about the other two fatalities? Were they in more modern elevators, like the one that had just stopped unexpectedly with me in it?
I've had a fair amount of exposure to risk and danger. I have survived automatic weapons, snipers, recoilless rifles, IEDs, a lightning strike, leopard seals in Antarctica, sharks, barracuda, poisonous cone shells, and the Sydney to Hobart Race. But when I read a Time magazine article that says, “It would be a lot easier to enjoy your life if there weren't so many things trying to kill you every day,”3 I nod my head. There's a lot of scary stuff out there.
The reality is that life is filled with threats of various kinds. There are serious, life-threatening risks. And there are hazards that may not be life-threatening but are still significant: running out of money, having a password hacked, or having your reputation damaged. As long as people are alive and engaged in deliberate goal-directed efforts—such as running a business or a race—there will be danger. The challenge is to understand what to worry about, how to mitigate risk, and which risks are worth taking.
Tactics for Teamwork at The Edge
Know what you are getting y
ourself into
There were six fatalities in the 1998 Sydney to Hobart Race, bringing the total number of people who died in the history of the race to eight. The Hobart is one of the most challenging ocean races in the world—the Mount Everest of sailing. It is a tough, brutal event. But thousands of sailors have raced for over half a century, and the overwhelming majority have made it safely to Hobart.
On Mount Everest itself, more than 200 people have died since the first recorded fatalities in 1922. In 1996—the most deadly year, chronicled by Jon Krakauer's Into Thin Air—nineteen people died. For every successful summit attempt, about four people die, and the odds of not coming back alive are about 1 in 20.4
Each sport has some inherent risk, but some are more dangerous than others. There are also differences in the potential consequences when things go wrong, and choices to be made about safety precautions. If you're going to do the Sydney to Hobart Race, do you wear a life jacket? Do you tether yourself to the boat? And if you're climbing Everest, will you do it with or without supplemental oxygen? These are all choices that change the odds.
The financial meltdown that began in 2008 is a prime illustration of the risks associated with different businesses. The inherent dangers encountered by teams dealing with the subprime mortgage market were significantly greater than for the traditional real estate mortgage industry. And teams aggressively trading credit-default swap positions were doing more than climbing Everest without oxygen. They were the wing-suit flyers of the financial world—soaring past cliffs in Batman suits. Wing-suit flying may provide an adrenaline rush, but it is one of the most dangerous of extreme sports.
Beyond legal prohibitions, there are no rules governing what people are allowed to do in the world of business and in the world of some sports. But it is important to understand what you're getting yourself into and to decide what measures—if any—you will take to mitigate the inherent risks.
Into the Storm Page 23