by Bob Woodward
Cheney didn’t give much of a response.
Powell started jotting down some notes. He felt that containment or strangulation was working. An extraordinary political-diplomatic coalition had been assembled, leaving Iraq without substantial allies—condemned, scorned and isolated as perhaps no country had been in modern history. Intelligence showed that economic sanctions were cutting off up to 95 percent of Saddam’s imports and nearly all his exports. Saddam was practically sealed off in Iraq and Kuwait. The impact could not be measured in weeks, Powell felt. It might take months. There would come a point a month or six weeks before Saddam was down to the last pound of rice when the sanctions would trigger some kind of a response.
Paul Wolfowitz, the undersecretary for policy, told Powell that he felt strangulation was a defensible position as long as it meant applying sanctions indefinitely. Saddam had to know he was facing strangulation forever. To adopt a policy that said, or implied, that sanctions would be in effect for one year or 18 months would give the Iraqi leader a point when he could count on relief. He would have only to tell his people to hold out another so-many months. Wolfowitz said he thought it was a hard call; probably 55 percent of the merit was for one side, 45 percent for the other.
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Powell went to Cheney to outline the case for containment. He had not reduced his arguments to a formal paper; there was no memo, no plan, nothing typed up. All he had were his handwritten notes. Until they were sure sanctions and strangulation had failed, it would be very difficult to go to war, Powell said. If there was a chance that sanctions might work, there might be an obligation to continue waiting—at least to a certain point. To do something premature when there was still a chance of accomplishing the political objectives with sanctions could be a serious mistake.
“I don’t know,” Cheney responded. “I don’t think the President will buy it.” Cheney thought that containment was insufficient, and did not see any really convincing evidence that the sanctions were going to guarantee success. The President was committed to policy success. Containment could leave Kuwait in Saddam’s hands. That would constitute policy failure. It would be unacceptable to the President.
Powell wanted another dog in the fight. He was concerned that no one was laying out the alternatives to the President. Bush might not be hearing everything he needed to hear. A full slate of options should be presented. Several days later Powell went back to Cheney with an expanded presentation on containment.
“Uh—hmm,” Cheney said, noncommittal. “It certainly is another way to look at it.”
Powell next went to see Baker to talk about containment. The Secretary of State was Powell’s chief ally in the upper ranks of the administration. They thought alike on many issues. Both men preferred dealmaking to confrontation or conflict. And both worked the news media assiduously to get their points of view across and have them cast in the most favorable light. Baker was very unhappy about the talk of using or developing an offensive military option. He wanted diplomacy—meaning the State Department—to achieve the policy success. He informed Powell that he had some of his staff working on an analysis of the advantages of containment. This should force a discussion of containment within the Bush inner circle, Baker indicated, or at least it would get out publicly.
But no White House meetings or discussion followed. Powell felt that he’d sent the idea up the flagpole but no one had saluted or even commented. He could see, all too plainly, that the President was consistent and dug in, insisting that Kuwait be freed. Bush had not blinked, and frustrations were obviously mounting in the White House. After more than two months, neither the United Nations resolutions, nor diplomacy, nor economic sanctions, nor rhetoric appeared to be forcing Saddam’s hand. Powell had too often seen presidential emotions drive policy; Reagan’s personal concern for the American hostages in Lebanon had been behind the Iran-contra affair. Powell decided to go see Scowcroft in the White House.
Scowcroft indicated he was having a difficult time that Powell, as a former national security adviser, would understand. He was trying to manage and control an incredibly active President. Bush was out making statements, giving press conferences almost daily, up at dawn making calls, on the phone with one world leader after another, setting up meetings. Scowcroft found himself scrambling just to catch up. On a supposedly relaxing weekend Bush talked with or saw more people related to his job than most people did in a normal work week.
After listening sympathetically, Powell turned to the question of the next steps in the Gulf. He said he wondered about containment and strangulation, the advantages of economic sanctions.
Scowcroft knew Powell’s attitude because Cheney had hinted at it. But now Powell was indirect. He did not come out and say, in so many words, this is my position.
“The President is more and more convinced that sanctions are not going to work,” Scowcroft responded. He made it clear that he had a solid read on the President. Bush’s determination was undisguised and he had virtually foreclosed any possibility that his views could be changed.
Powell could see that Scowcroft agreed with Bush, and was strongly reinforcing the President’s inclinations. As national security adviser, it was his job. As the overseer of the administration’s entire foreign policy, he had to mirror the President. But the security adviser also had a responsibility to make sure the range of alternatives was presented.
Scowcroft was substantially more willing to go to war than Powell. War was an instrument of foreign policy in Scowcroft’s view. Powell did not disagree; he just saw that instrument much closer, less a disembodied abstraction than real men and women, faces—many of them kids’ faces—that Powell looked into on his visits to the troops. In the West Wing of the White House where Scowcroft sat, the Pentagon seemed far away, and the forces even further away. Powell knew that. He had been there.
Powell told Scowcroft that if there was an alternative to war, he wanted to make sure it was fully considered. If there were any possible way to achieve the goals without the use of force, those prospects had to be explored.
Scowcroft became impatient. The President was doing everything imaginable, he said.
Powell left. He had become increasingly disenchanted with the National Security Council procedures and meetings. Scowcroft seemed unable, or unwilling, to coordinate and make sense of all the components of the Gulf policy—military, diplomatic, public affairs, economic, the United Nations. When the principals met, Bush liked to keep everyone around the table smiling—jokes, camaraderie, the conviviality of old friends. Positions and alternatives were not completely discussed. Interruptions were common. Clear decisions rarely emerged. Often Powell and Cheney returned from these gatherings and said to each other, now what did that mean? What are we supposed to do? Frequently, they had to wait to hear the answer later from Scowcroft or the television.
The operation needed a field marshal—someone of the highest rank who was the day-to-day manager, Powell felt. The President, given his other domestic and political responsibilities, couldn’t be chief coordinator. It should be the national security adviser. Instead, Scowcroft had become the First Companion and all-purpose playmate to the President on golf, fishing and weekend outings. He was regularly failing in his larger duty to ensure that policy was carefully debated and formulated.
Sununu only added to the problem, exerting little or no control over the process as White House chief of staff.
As a result, the President was left painted into a corner by his own repeated declarations. His obvious emotional attachment to them was converting presidential remarks into hard policy. The goal now, more than ever, was the liberation of Kuwait at almost any cost.
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“Why don’t you come over with me and we’ll see what the man thinks about your idea,” Cheney said to Powell on Friday. Cheney had a private Oval Office meeting scheduled with the President. It was time reserved for the key cabinet members—“the big guys,” as Powell privately referred to th
em. These included just Bush, a cabinet member and Sununu or Scowcroft. Normally, Powell was not included.
At the White House, Cheney and Powell went to the Oval Office to see Bush and Scowcroft. At this meeting Powell made his pitch for containment but pulled away from the brink of advocating it personally.I
• • •
Powell’s thoughts that containment had not been fully shot down by Bush were soon corrected. Within days, Scowcroft told Cheney that Bush wanted a briefing right away on what an offensive operation against Saddam’s forces in Kuwait might look like. This planning was being done by Schwarzkopf and his staff in Saudi Arabia, so Powell passed the word to Schwarzkopf to send someone to Washington.
Over the Columbus Day weekend of October 6–8, Army Chief Carl Vuono flew to Saudi Arabia to see Schwarzkopf. They’d been friends since they were teen-aged cadets together at West Point in the 1950s. Schwarzkopf had been a class ahead, but Vuono had been promoted a little faster, so on three occasions during their careers Schwarzkopf had worked for Vuono. Vuono considered Schwarzkopf one of the most difficult, stubborn and talented men in the Army.
When they went off for a private talk, Vuono could see that Schwarzkopf was upset. The CINC, all 6 foot 3, 240 pounds of him, seemed about to explode out of his desert fatigues. He was precisely halfway through the 17 weeks he’d told the President he would need to put the defensive force in place. Now Washington was beginning to talk offense. Les Aspin had said publicly that the administration was “looking more favorably on an early war option.” The New York Times had reported that the word around the Pentagon was that the offensive would begin on October 15. Worse, Powell had just told Schwarzkopf in a secure phone conversation that Bush wanted a briefing right away on what an offensive operation against Saddam’s forces in Kuwait would look like.
Schwarzkopf was furious. They had to be kidding. He was not ready to present such a plan. He had received no warning, and he didn’t want to be pushed prematurely into offensive operations. Now he was afraid some son-of-a-bitch was going to wake up some morning and say, let’s get the offense rolling. He had two more months’ work to do on defense, and he had told the President in August it would take 8 to 12 months to be ready for offense. That meant next March, but now in October they wanted an offensive plan that they could carry out right away.
Powell had told him that everyone understood it would be a preliminary plan. He gave the Central Command about 48 hours to get someone to Washington with a briefing. Schwarzkopf couldn’t leave Saudi Arabia so he would have to send a subordinate.
After listening to Schwarzkopf for four hours, Vuono felt as if he’d been through a psychotherapy session. He could see that his old friend felt very lonely and vulnerable. Vuono promised to do what he could.
On Wednesday morning, October 10, Powell received Schwarzkopf’s chief of staff, Marine Major General Robert B. Johnston, at the Pentagon. In the afternoon, Cheney, Wolfowitz, Powell, the other chiefs and Kelly went to the Tank. They were all in the most restricted group cleared for top-secret war plans. It was absolutely essential that word not leak out that the Pentagon was considering an offensive operation. It might be an invitation for Saddam to attack before the full defensive force was in place.
Johnston, a stiff, deferential, buttoned-down Marine with extensive briefing experience, began by reminding them that the Central Command had deployed its forces in accordance with the President’s deter-and-defend mission. But if the President tells us to go on the offense tomorrow, he said, here’s what we would do. Though we haven’t had a lot of time to think this through, and we’re not prepared to say in detail this is the right plan, this is our best shot at it.
The plan was broken into four phases, he explained. The first three were exclusively an air campaign, and the fourth was a ground attack.
Phase One would be an air attack on Iraqi command, control and communications, attempting to sever Saddam in Baghdad from his forces in Kuwait and southern Iraq. Simultaneously, airpower would destroy the Iraqi Air Force and air defense system. In addition, Phase One would include an air attack to destroy Iraqi chemical, biological and nuclear weapons facilities.
Phase Two would be a massive, continuous air bombardment of Iraqi supply and munitions bases, transportation facilities and roads, designed to cut off the Iraqi forces from their supplies.
Phase Three would be an air attack on the entrenched Iraqi ground forces of 430,000 men, and on the Republican Guard.
The phases would overlap somewhat. As early as a week after the beginning of the first air phase, the Phase Four ground assault would be launched on the Iraqi forces in Kuwait. One of Johnston’s slides was a map with three large arrows showing the three attack points where coalition forces would hit the Iraqis. One arrow represented U.S. Marines in an amphibious assault from the Gulf; another was the U.S. Army on the ground attacking directly into Iraqi lines; and the third was an Egyptian ground division, also going straight into enemy forces, while protecting one of the U.S. flanks.
Cheney, Powell and several of the others asked question after question. Could they count on the Egyptians to protect the American ground troops? What about back-up forces if the Iraqis counterattacked?
Powell and Vuono wanted to know if it was possible to move the U.S. forces out to the west along the Iraqi border and then come up on the Iraqi Army from the side and behind. Could the U.S. forces be repositioned fast enough so the Iraqis would not know?
The initial terrain analysis showed that the Iraqi desert was too soft and wet for the support vehicles to carry the necessary supplies, Johnston said.
Kelly was sure that the straight-up-the-middle plan briefed by Johnston was not going to cut it and would not survive a serious review. Two of the main rules of war were “Never attack the enemy’s strength” and “Go where they are not.” The plan needed mobility.
Cheney felt pretty good about the three phases of the air campaign. The planning looked detailed and complete. Even after the Dugan firing, the Air Force was basically saying they would take care of it all. Cheney didn’t believe it, but he could see airpower would have a tremendous advantage in the desert. In addition, the plans anticipated that targets missed on the first run would be hit again and again as necessary.
The Phase Four ground plan, however, looked inadequate to Cheney. The offensive U.S. Army and Marine units would be sent against a potentially larger defensive Iraqi force, depending on what remained of Saddam’s troops after the bombing. Even to a civilian like himself, Cheney reflected, it looked unwise.
Cheney remarked that many of the U.S. forces like the 18th Airborne Corps were lightly armed and might have to fight heavily armored tanks. There were no reserve forces for back-up. He also questioned whether the U.S. ground forces could be kept supplied with food, fuel and munitions for a long period.
He noted that the ground plan called for the U.S. forces to make their assault straight into the Iraqi entrenchments and barricades, the Iraqi strength. Why go right up the middle? he asked.
Johnston deflected most of the questions. The plan was preliminary, he reminded them, and the questions reflected the caveats from Schwarzkopf that were listed in the last slide. By the time Johnston reached the last slide, however, the Phase Four plan was pretty much shredded. That slide said that Schwarzkopf felt an attack now on the Iraqi force twice the size of his, even with U.S. air, naval and technological superiority, was loaded with problems. “We do not have the capability on the ground to guarantee success,” Johnston said. Schwarzkopf felt that he would need an additional Army Corps of three heavy armored divisions for a proper offensive option.
Cheney concluded that an attack with the U.S. forces now in place and based on this plan would be a risk of a high order.
Johnston said there was a window of opportunity of some six weeks, from about January 1 to February 15, when offensive action would be most desirable. After that, the weather and Muslim religious holidays would conspire to make combat more difficult. He
avy rains would begin in March and the temperatures could rise to 100 degrees or more. But they could work around the weather. It could not and should not determine their timetable, he said.
On March 17, the Muslims would start the observation of Ramadan, one month of fasting from sunrise to sunset, and in June would be the annual pilgrimage to Mecca, Johnston noted. The timing could present another complication for Arab states in the anti-Saddam coalition.
Cheney recognized that he had an obligation to present this brief to President Bush. The President needed to know exactly where Schwarzkopf was, the status of the deployment, and what might happen if offensive operations were ordered. The President, Scowcroft and Sununu at least had to be educated on the magnitude of the task. Cheney did not want to walk over to the White House one day, months down the road, to say, “Here’s the plan, bang, go.” The President had to comprehend the stakes, the costs and the risks, step by step.
By now Cheney had come to realize what an impact the Vietnam War had had on Bush. The President had internalized the lessons—send enough force to do the job and don’t tie the hands of the commanders. In a September 12 speech in California, Cheney had said, “The President belongs to what I call the ‘Don’t screw around’ school of military strategy.”
Though this perhaps was inelegantly stated, Cheney was certain that the President didn’t want to screw around. That meant a viable offensive option.
Schwarzkopf, in Saudi Arabia, was unhappy that he would not be there when the President was briefed on a subject of such paramount importance.
The next day, October 11, Johnston made the presentation to Bush at the White House. In the Situation Room, Johnston laid out the same plan. The meeting took nearly two hours. Bush was interrupted several times. He and Scowcroft had many questions on various subjects, such as minefields and weapon systems. When Johnston said Schwarzkopf would need a full corps of three additional heavy divisions to have the capability to attack on the ground, he was asked how long it would take to move that many divisions.
