systems that they had failed. Meanwhile, he set up trial units as models of decentralization, and then he compared the two. Once the hard data had proved the superiority of decentralized systems, he began to put those systems in place throughout TAC.
He reshaped the basic building blocks from vertical to horizontal, and broke up the “functional fiefdoms.” Flight line maintenance, for example, was organized and integrated into product-oriented squadron teams (and smaller), in which electricians, aircraft mechanics, and hydraulics specialists all worked together. Members of one specialty were given elementary training in other specialties, so they could help their colleagues out, when needed, and would also have a better sense of the
The squadron teams each set their own goals and devised their own schedules. Each made its own decisions, all of them aimed at the final product — planes in the air.
Finally, each fighter aircraft now had a “dedicated crew chief,” whose name was painted on the side of the aircraft. That aircraft was now “his” or “hers.” They “owned” it. It was up to them to be responsible for decisions — including mistakes — rather than waiting for orders from headquarters. While they would surely help one another out if needed, and the various technical specialists within the squadron teams were available to help, their performance was judged on how their jet or flight or squadron unit performed. At the same time, they were given what they needed, including more training, to make their jet perform well.
In time, Creech’s decentralizing led to real ownership and empowerment, real teamwork, clear-cut accountability (poor performance was now easy to track), and a system in which people were able to operate as humans and not as functions in some machine.
Problems began to be solved by the people closest to them, to be cut off at the source. The problem solvers were freed both to do it right and also to make mistakes. Mistakes
More practically, he attacked the root causes of TAC’s lack of readiness: He closed sick units so there would be enough trained people and parts to make the better units healthy. He kicked the senior NCOs out of their air- conditioned offices, where they had migrated under the centralized style of management, and placed them out on the flight lines, where they were truly in charge. He expected combat flying proficiency from his colonels and generals, so confidence in combat leadership began to be restored among the warriors. He ruthlessly rooted out and destroyed procedures and processes designed to maintain control for its own sake. He dictated goals and standards, then built visible and understandable scorecards that rated what actually mattered (such as sorties flown or aircraft in commission). As he slowly moved to decentralized leadership, he raised the goals and standards ever higher, as each day the men and women who worked for him proved they could exceed even his expectations.
He also made sure these changes were built on a foundation of absolute truth. Lying, shading of the truth, and making excuses were completely unacceptable. To make that point clear throughout TAC, Creech made a number of highly visible “public executions.”
Here is one example:
Before Creech, the great game among commanders was to tell higher headquarters they could accomplish what was asked of them, when in fact they knew they could not, either because they didn’t have the training or the resources, or because the mission was impossible. In fact, any commander who told the truth was likely to be fired. Under these conditions, the best promised as little as they could get away with, and through their own individual efforts made their units perform adequately; and in that way they didn’t have to shade the truth overly much. On the other hand, the worst commanders simply lied and juggled the books. Some commanders spoke up and told it like it actually was. If they were very intelligent and savvy, they were actually listened to, and some changes were made. Others, not so savvy, were fired for not being team players in what Chuck Horner calls “the grand hoax.”
In the F-4D, for instance, there was a computer-based bomb-release system, called the Dive Toss System, that supposedly allowed the aircrews to drop bombs from high altitude and thus to stay out of most visually aimed ground fire. The problem was that the Dive Toss System didn’t work.
Nevertheless, the training rules called for F-4D aircrews with this system to achieve bomb scores of a certain average — say, CEP (Circular Error Probable) of fifty feet. The aircrew would fly the aircraft out to a bombing range and drop a bomb using the Dive Toss System, the range crew would then score their bomb impacts, and that data would be amassed at the wing and reported to TAC. Unless a certain percentage of the crews achieved the desired CEP or higher, the wing was not judged combat-ready. Yet, achieving a satisfactory CEP was usually a gamble, either because crew training was often inadequate, or worse, because the bomb-release computer in the Dive Toss System was more often than not malfunctioning. That left the aircrews faced with a no-win situation: since the system was incapable of giving them a fifty-foot average CEP, everyone up to the wing commander had to lie, or else the wing commander would be fired (though sometimes the wing commander would fire the squadron commanders and the chief of maintenance instead).
That meant that a crew would roll in on the target and call the pass: “Two’s in for a Dive Toss”; but they would set their switches for a manual release, get the proper sight picture for the dive angle, airspeed, and wind condition, then release the bomb and make an abrupt pull-up so their friend on the ground scoring the bombs would see a Dive Toss, and not a manual dive, maneuver. Often they would drop a bomb with an even smaller CEP, which made the wing look very, very good. The commander would duly be promoted. The only thing that suffered was integrity. The crews called the event Dive Cheat.
Meanwhile, the generals thought they had a superior combat capability in the Dive Toss System, a system that just got better and better the more it was used because as the crews dropped more and more manual bombs, they grew more and more accurate.
One day, one of the F-4D captains suffered an attack of conscience and sent an anonymous letter to Creech that described the Dive Cheat situation. As a result, Creech sent the TAC Director of Operations, Major General Larry Welch, to investigate.
When Welch arrived, everyone in the wing except the wing commander told the truth. However, the wing commander claimed he knew nothing about what was really going on, even though he was current in the jet, and knew how he was getting his own bomb scores and certainly how everyone else was getting theirs. Not only that, he tried to throw the blame on others. He might possibly have survived what followed if he’d at least said something like: “Yes, sir, General Creech, my guys cheated, and I cheated, but that is what you wanted us to do, and we hate you and ourselves for doing it.” But he didn’t. In consequence, Creech had him fired in view of all corners of TAC. Afterward, everyone got the message that there was a new way of doing business that depended on telling the truth, that bad news was acceptable if you had done your best and still failed, and that lying or shading the truth to look good were far worse than failing.
? All of this restored pride. But that wasn’t enough. Creech also insisted on raising standards of appearance. Pity the poor commander whose base was not clean and painted. If he had to, he went downtown and bought his own tools and paint. He paid attention to color — no Easter eggs, but earth tones pleasing to the eye, yet businesslike. He paid attention to military dress. Combat uniforms were fine, but they better be properly worn, neat, and clean (unless soiled from hard work). It wasn’t just looks that a commander watched out for. He paid attention to his people, he moved among them and listened to them, learning from all ranks as they figured out how to do their jobs more efficiently and quickly. He paid attention to families, too (family support centers and child-care facilities, for instance), so that people could concentrate on their work. Most of all, he paid attention to discipline. Discipline is fundamental to the good order needed to succeed in combat, and fundamental to pride. Hard tests were given in the air, on the flight line, and in all the multitude of areas that are required to carry out wartime missions. There were no excuses: If you failed, it was because you needed training, and you got it. If you needed resources, they were found. If you were overextended, you were given time to grow. But if you lacked the necessary desire, leadership, or integrity to be in the new military, you were given the opportunity to succeed in civilian life.
