nominated targets and therefore he will lose the war. YGBSM.[68] Chris Christon gives his spiel, and there is more discussion with the national leaders around the table. I end the meeting with as much guidance as I feel safe to give. Most of it is very general, as I am looking for what they think, not what I think. I want people offering up their own insights, not guessing at mine, and then offering that up as their own.
The day shift clears out by 2000, and the night shift moves into action; Reavy and Harr get spun up; Crigger and Volmer get ready to take off. Joe Bob Phillips has his tactics team formed and around the map table behind my chair. They are talking about what-ifs we may face tonight, primarily Scuds.
? 2030 I meet Buster upstairs by the front door. He is always running late, getting the master target list built and ready for the evening briefing at MODA. And as always, he comes racing up the stairs, with maybe Tolin or Deptula chasing after him with last-minute bits of information.
Now the second most important meeting of the day occurs. I sit in the front of the car with my driver, and Buster sits in the back with his notes and charts. As we drive to MODA, we plan the strategy for the meeting. The goal is to get through it with our air campaign intact and the CINC pleased — knowing that he will change the Army-nominated targets all around. We do not wish to incur his withering temper (which we’ve managed to avoid since the war started). Though we are not trying to be cunning or manipulative, there is no reason not to make a successful sales pitch. Buster is a master at thinking on his feet, and I reserve for myself the role of peacemaker. E.g., the CINC questions some assumption or decision of Buster’s, and I jump in with, “You’re exactly right; we will take a closer look at it, and I will let you know.” We even plant a few questionable items in the briefing so other items look more acceptable. In some ways, we have it tough, because we are the only game in town. When the land forces start doing something besides moving west and talking about getting ready, then sitting in this meeting will be pure joy. We’ll be home free, knowing we’d done our job as advertised, and they will be subject to the CINC’s judgment that they are screwing up.
We arrive at MODA in time for Buster to rush downstairs to set up his charts, and I drop by to talk with some of the CENTCOM staff — sometimes with Bob Johnston, the harried chief of staff; sometimes with Cal Waller, who is full of himself; sometimes with Brigadier General Jack Leide, CENTCOM J-2 (Intelligence), who is really helping us; sometimes with the RSAF chief in the C3IC, Colonel Ayed Al-Jeaid, who is my conduit into Khaled and one of the sharpest men I have ever worked with.
Five minutes before nine, I wander into what the CINC calls the war room. It’s a conference room with maps and telephones that holds about twelve people at a table in front. For the CENTCOM staff and key onlookers, there are built-in tables, raised up amphitheater-style about the sides and back of the room. I sit to the left of the CINC. Usually Sir Peter de la Billiere or Bob Johnston is to
The CINC usually strides in on time. He may be in a good mood. He may be in a foul mood. For me it is not important what mood he is in. My job is to sell him another day of airpower the day after tomorrow, and that is what I am focused on. After the CINC sits down, the rest of us take our seats, and the usual briefings follow.
Often Jack Leide takes some hits. His job is to provide estimates of what is going on in Baghdad. But since no one knows that for sure, his opinions are always open to criticism — especially when these differ from the CINC’s reading of the tea leaves. Moreover, the CINC often wants answers that are simply not available. So when he asks, and Jack can’t answer (nobody could, except the enemy), he gets a needle from Schwarzkopf (who thinks that will make Jack work harder — an impossibility, as he is working as hard as he can). Despite the needles, he is bulletproof and barely flinches when he’s roared at. The man has style.
There also may be briefings about such things as how the Army is doing on its march to the west. Interesting, but not very important to me. I make sure I say nothing, but look intelligent, interested, and respectful. A J-3 staffer briefs the air war, and does a pretty good job at it. He should, since my people gave him everything he is briefing and made sure he didn’t say the wrong things or otherwise light a fuse under the CINC. (The good thing about his temper: people listen when you tell them how to avoid it, and they are grateful. Of course, the bad thing about it is that most will not tell him anything substantial. Why get chewed out when you’ll all be going home in a couple of months? Best to hang in there silent.) I avoid his temper because it might force him to make a bad decision that I would have to live with or somehow get changed. This is serious business — but then, it should be, and we are big boys.
Finally, Buster gets up and briefs the forthcoming air campaign. This goes well, because that is the way it should go. A lot of thought and effort have gone into our planning and presentation. If either Buster or I sense we are heading toward a possible train wreck, we avoid it by softening the briefing.
Toward the end, we come to the KTO targeting. At this point, Buster takes out a notebook; we know we are going to get new guidance. Without any bluster (other than to ask who was the dumb SOB who nominated these targets, at which John Yeosock winces), the CINC turns to a map on his right and points to the Iraqi divisions he wants struck. Not a problem, as they are all in the same general locale, and the flyers are going to strike what is hot anyway, based on Killer Scouts, Joint STARS, or newer intelligence.
The meeting finishes with a swing around the table, to give each of the top commanders a chance to speak. And then Schwarzkopf does some schmoozing with the foreign officers — a reinforcing-the-Coalition sort of thing.
If I need to discuss anything with him, I will ask for time in his office after the meeting. If it is a small matter, we take care of it in quiet whispers right there. This drives the staff crazy, because they want in on what I am telling him; but I have learned never to talk to him in front of anyone, as it forces him to agree, or worse, disagree. Once it is public, you have great difficulty walking the cat back.
After the meeting breaks up, Buster often stays behind to work with the CENTCOM staffers. He has spies in place there gathering information that will concern tomorrow night’s presentation. This is serious business, and we take it seriously.
? 2230 Back in the TACC. Deptula is already working the changes from the CENTCOM meeting. He probably had them reworked before the meeting took place, as we have become good at anticipating the CINC, and feed in those decisions we want changed, so the ones we don’t want changed will not suffer.
Now it’s fun time. The Iraqis are on the move, relocating their vehicles, scaring the Army strung out along Tapline Road, or shooting Scuds. The place heats up.
“Intel, what do you have?”
“Nothing.”
“No signals?”
“No.”
“AWACS, do you see anything [such as helicopters]?”
“No.”
Twenty minutes of “What the hell is going on?” follow, until we realize that it is some of our troops who went sightseeing into Kuwait to check out the wire and mine fields and decided to come home another way (which is code for they got scared and lost, but managed to find a way out).
They attack four large vehicles with 500-pound bombs and CBUs, and the targets blaze in the night sky. It all probably means that four Jordanian families have lost their fuel-truck-driving fathers on the highway between Baghdad and Amman. Sorry, but they need to stay off the road. It’s dangerous out there.
