My Combat Engineer company was poised near the border of Iraq, waiting for the attack order. Once it was given, we would cross at an unguarded location, drive north through barren country, then turn east and hit the Iraqi army on their blind side.

The order was given. A mile into Iraq, we halted for one last pre-battle check to make sure all vehicles and equipment were prepared for the long drive and the onslaught. A five-ton dump truck pulled out of line and parked off by itself. A sergeant ran over to see what the problem was.

He found the driver in tears. The guy was a private, just out of high school. He had joined the Army to be a truck driver, had gone to basic training and to driving school. He then found himself assigned to a combat unit that was shipping out for Saudi Arabia as part of Desert Shield. Now Shield had turned into Storm and there he was, some place he’d never imagined, in a combat zone headed for trouble.

The kid was shaking and sobbing. “I can’t do it,” he said over and over.

The sergeant didn’t yell at him, the way sergeants tend to do.

He didn’t say, “Listen, private. Stop being a sissy. You’re a disgrace to the Army. You get this truck back into formation or I’m going to kick your skinny, green butt.”

The sergeant didn’t say anything like that. He spoke kindly and reasoned with the kid.

“It’s okay to be scared. We all feel the same way you do. Most of us have never been in combat. But you can’t stay here. You can’t. It’s too dangerous. A single truck will be an easy target.

“You will be safer coming with the company. I know you’re scared. But you need to pull your truck back into line.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. Take some deep breaths. I’ll sit here with you as you pull back into formation. You’re going to be okay.”

And the kid did it. His nose was running and his hands were shaking, but he put the truck in gear and pulled back into line, rejoining the convoy. When we moved, he moved with us.

Over the years, I’ve thought a lot about fear. And the gumption it takes to face it.

In our day to day lives, fear makes us pull over and weep. It makes us say, “I can’t do it.”

What do we fear? Change. The unknown. Failure.  Being unfriended. Or misunderstood. Not being smart enough. Or strong enough. Or talented enough. And the list goes ever on.

Steven Pressfield, in his book, The War of Art, explained that rather than being deterred by fear, we need to press on in spite of it.

“The amateur,” he said, “believes he must first overcome his fear; then he can do his work. The professional knows that fear can never be overcome. He knows there is no such thing as a fearless warrior or a dread-free artist.”