The Way Forward

By SSG Ben Betts

Unless you’ve lived it, the bond between soldiers is hard to explain. We aren’t just colleagues. We’re family. And for us, family runs deeper than blood. Every one of us accepts the risk of death in combat. We train for it. We prepare for it. We understand that the price of our service may be a flag-draped coffin. The Army spends billions to ensure we are ready for war, but what it cannot prepare us for is the war that begins once we come home.

That war is silent, but it is killing us. Between 2019 and 2025, Department of Defense data shows 2,126 service members lost to suicide—and the numbers for 2024 and 2025 aren’t even complete. To put that in perspective, 2,465 service members were killed over two decades of combat in Afghanistan during Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Freedom’s Sentinel. Twenty years of war claimed nearly the same number of lives that suicide has taken in just six. And that doesn’t even account for the veterans who once stood shoulder to shoulder with us. The scope of this crisis is staggering. We owe it to every one of them to do better.

Think of it like a river. The current is fast, the water is deep, and just downstream a massive waterfall thunders into oblivion. Our soldiers are floating toward it, struggling to stay above the surface. Leaders on the banks do what they can—they pull a few out, but most are carried over the edge. This is the Army’s current approach: valiant, but reactive. We are spending all our energy pulling people from the water when we should be asking the harder question—how did they fall in at all?

As a young NCO, I lived this reality every week. After a long weekend, my greatest fear was not seeing a soldier at formation. Knocking on a door, I would think, “Is this the time I find him? Has he reached the point of no return?” Every month we heard of another attempt or another death, and the question burned in me: “Is it going to be my soldier this week?” That fear became my fuel. I knew I had to act.

Together with another NCO, we built a program designed to shift prevention upstream. We targeted the leaders closest to the fight—sergeants, the E-5s. These are the ones in the barracks, in the motor pool, in the foxhole. They know their soldiers’ struggles before anyone else. They hear it all. If they could be trained to spot risks early and act quickly, maybe we could keep soldiers from falling into the river at all.

In the second stanza of The Creed of the Noncommissioned Officer, we proudly proclaim: “My two basic responsibilities will always be uppermost in my mind: the accomplishment of the mission and the welfare of my soldiers.” Our program was built on that promise. We focused on four common risk factors—substance abuse, broken relationships, financial stress, and declining resilience.

We didn’t try to turn NCOs into subject-matter experts. That isn’t their role. Instead, we empowered them to fulfill the role they already swore to uphold: protecting their soldiers. We trained them to recognize the early warning signs, to know the resources available, and most importantly, to build trust within their squads. Because when soldiers feel safe speaking up, they reach out before the crisis point. And the cost of this training? Nothing but time.

The results were immediate. They were powerful. NCOs stepped up in ways that saved lives. One intervened not just in his own formation, but even across battalion lines, connecting a struggling soldier with mental health support before he attempted suicide. No award, no recognition—just a life saved because someone cared enough to act. For the NCOs, the program gave them purpose. It gave them a chance to live out the Army value of Selfless Service in the most profound way possible: protecting their soldiers.

As we expanded, we brought senior leaders into the fold. First Sergeants and Commanders learned to spot burnout and fatigue—not just in their soldiers, but in themselves. Working with Risk Management, we used Unit Risk Inventories to identify patterns of behavior and tailor training to seasonal and unit-specific needs. Prevention became focused, not generic. Leaders gained tools to meet their soldiers where they actually were, not where a PowerPoint said they should be.

But leadership in a formation is not defined by stripes alone. It is also found in young soldiers trusted by their peers—those who make a difference outside the spotlight, without rank or recognition. They are the ones who step in when the official chain of command isn’t immediately present, carrying the thankless burden of lifting up their brothers and sisters in moments of struggle. Recognizing this, we began training Specialists nominated by their peers to act as advocates—bridges between soldiers in crisis and the resources they desperately needed.

This program succeeded because it is simple, adaptable, and cost-free. It doesn’t require a new contract, millions in funding, or a massive bureaucracy. It works in any unit, in any setting, with the resources we already have. And it doesn’t stop with the Army. Civilian agencies—mental health providers, financial counselors, family support services—must also be part of the solution. Soldiers don’t live in a vacuum. They live in families, communities, and cities. By linking NCOs and peer advocates to civilian partners, we can build a stronger safety net than the Army could ever provide alone.

The Army has spent decades—and billions—trying to pull soldiers out of the river. We’ve proven there’s another way. We can stop them from falling in. We’ve seen it save dozens of lives. The question is no longer whether it works. The question is whether we will scale it.

Picture yourself back on that riverbank. The faces in the water aren’t strangers. They’re your brothers, your sisters, your family. They are being swept away. You have a choice: pull out a few, or stop them from falling in at all.

This is not a question of how—we already know what works. It is not a question of when—the time is now. And it is not a question of who—it is us.

If we call ourselves guardians of freedom, then the fight starts here. Upstream. With prevention. With leadership. With courage.

Our soldiers deserve nothing less.

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