Delta Force (13 page)

General Camm was a hard guy to figure, and Kingston and I didn't like him very well. Now we began to see him in a new light. Bill DePuy liked the idea because it carried an added bonus. By using someone from his own staff, he got the proposal out of the Special Forces arena and made it somehow less Green Beretish. If an officer wearing the TRADOC shoulder patch did our briefing, he would subtly carry with him DePuy's approval and clout.

The officer chosen was an engineer who'd never served a day in Special Forces. Although you couldn't have filled a thimble with what Lt. Col. John Devens knew about Special Ops, he was, we were told, a wonderful briefer—and he was ours. A nice-looking fella and very intelligent, at first we might as well have been speaking Urdu to him. But he had the ability to memorize everything we explained, and he wasn't afraid to ask questions if he didn't understand something. We found Devens to be truly silver-tongued. Then it was show time again.

The briefing room at Fort Monroe was growing familiar. Our briefer stepped forward and adroitly did his thing. The slides and graphics were very professional. I gotta tell you, it went well. “Well, I'm not totally satisfied,” DePuy said, “but I think we're probably as far down the road as we can go. I'm going to go with it like it is. The packaging is good, so let's move it forward. By the way, what should we call the unit?”

“Delta,” I said. “Call it 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment—Delta [SFOD-Delta]. We have an A Detachment commanded by a captain, a B Detachment commanded by a major, a C Detachment commanded by a lieutenant colonel; so why not have a D Detachment commanded by a colonel?” I wanted to establish that right away and try to get my oar in the water.

“Fine,” General DePuy said, “I have no problem with Delta. What's the SAS commanded by?”

“A half colonel.”

“Well, we'll use a full colonel.”

Maybe DePuy knew more than I did—maybe he knew I was going to get command of Delta—but in any event he never let me in on any of that. I just had high hopes.

Then General DePuy said, “What we have to do now is brief FORSCOM [Forces Command]. I'll call Fritz and make the appointment.” It was nervous time again.

Gen. Frederick “Fritz” Kroesen commanded all the Army Combat and Combat Support Forces in the United States: all the rifle companies, battalions, brigades, divisions, and Special Forces stationed in this country—are responsible to him, DePuy, who commanded the Army's schooling, and Kroesen both wore four stars, so they talked to each other. I was nervous because another barrier had been put in our way. The thought was we'd go directly, now, to the Chief of Staff. But we realized, the manpower pool Delta would draw on would have to come from FORSCOM, so having their support was vital. Without it the unit had nothing.

One morning in early May 1977, Kingston, Henry, John Devens, and I went to Fort McPherson, which is in Atlanta and is FORSCOM's headquarters.

I was very familiar with Fort McPherson as I had grown up just two miles from its main gate and had visited it often. There were few Sundays that I missed seeing the polo games at Fort Mac. Being a very small post I knew exactly where Patton Hall was, the location of General Kroesen's headquarters and where our brief would be presented.

Arriving, we were surprised to learn that we would be required
to deliver a prebrief that afternoon for the benefit of FORSCOM's operations staff.

The briefing room at FORSCOM is not very fancy. From the furniture, which was Army functional, you could tell this was a working area.

The atmosphere was much less formal than at TRADOC. It was obvious to the party that had just arrived from the JFK Center that the purpose of the prebriefing was a rubber stamp affair to prepare key FORSCOM officers with information so they could respond to General Kroesen's questions the following morning. They were wrong.

Maj. Gen. Robert Haldane, Kroesen's deputy for operations (G-3), ran this session, which also included FORSCOM's G-1 (Personnel) Maj. Gen. Phillip Kaplan, and Haldane's deputy, the guy who looked out for the Ranger battalions, Brig. Gen. Guy S. Meloy III. There were also two colonels in attendance. One was G. G. Thomas Jr., an airborne officer and another big Ranger fan, and the other, a Colonel Spinks, I recognized as a “yes, sir, no sir, three bags full” type of officer. Our silver-tongued briefer got under way beautifully. By this time I knew the brief by heart. Haldane was paying close attention. He has only a small amount of white hair around his ears. Notwithstanding, I felt he must have been a ball of fire when a young officer. “Sandy” Meloy, a nice-looking small man who, having just returned from a trip, was wearing a smart-looking blue blazer, gray flannel slacks with a crease that would cut your hand, white shirt, and tie. Unlike the other officers in the room, Meloy seemed uncomfortable.

The briefing was slick. On its completion, General Haldane said, “I'm not qualified to make comments on this. I understand what you're trying to do, but I lack the background experience to make relevant comments.” Haldane was a conventional soldier and was not trying to cop out. “Therefore, I'm going to yield to members of my staff. Any comments, Sandy?”

Meloy sat up and said, “I'm not at all comfortable with this briefing.” General Kingston jumped up. “What in the hell makes you uncomfortable, General?”

Kingston has a bad temper and he was angry.

Meloy said, “I don't think, General, you can get the kinds of people you're looking for to fill the organization. Based on your criteria I don't believe you'll be able to find those kinds. The two Ranger battalions are having trouble finding people to maintain their strength.” General Kaplan, FORSCOM's Personnel man, whom Kingston had prepped earlier, spoke up. “I believe we can find in our command the people needed.”

Kingston turned to Meloy again. “What else makes you feel uncomfortable?” Meloy said, “It looks like you're duplicating Ranger functions in some areas.” Kingston said, “General, you just didn't listen.” The two of them went at it tooth and nail. But the argument was between a two-star general and a one-star general. Kingston was sure to win. Finally, Haldane interrupted, “Well, I've heard enough. We'll continue this tomorrow when you brief General Kroesen.”

It was after dinner when we met to discuss the day's proceedings. Kingston was worried. He'd known Meloy would be protective of the Ranger Battalions, but the degree of resistance to the Delta Plan had been unexpected. It was obvious General Meloy thought we should be involved in a high-visibility counterterrorist activity that included an illuminated night attack involving a Ranger battalion-size force that had either parachuted or rappelled into the target area. We were speaking another language. Our concept of a low-visibility counterterrorist action was viewed as a nonilluminated night attack involving a company-size force (Delta) which infiltrated the target area in civilian clothes with unique weapons and equipment. Delta had come so far, but perhaps now they were going to turn off our lights. Without FORSCOM's concurrence, Delta could not proceed to Washington. There was just no way we could approach the Chief of Staff of the Army and say, “We have people out there who don't believe in the proposal.”

Our briefing was scheduled for 10:00
A.M
. At 9:00, Sandy Meloy, who I saw as a conniver, gave a classified Ranger briefing to General Kroesen. Neither Tom nor I was allowed in the brief. Ostensibly it was a status report on an exercise
that one of the Ranger battalions had conducted and done well in, but the suspicion lingered that the timing of this report, one hour before Delta's, was intended to stonewall us.

Our briefing began on time. Our salesman, the lieutenant colonel who didn't know the difference between a parachute and a pillowcase, was beautiful. He pointed out that nowhere in the United States armed services was there a small force of handpicked volunteers who were thoroughly trained for the counterterrorist job they were expected to undertake. Normally, in any infantry unit, makes no difference if it is Ranger or Airborne, the smallest integral force is a 40-man platoon, which is broken down into squads. Delta advocated a unique organization that used as its building blocks 4-man patrols. This was David Stirling's thesis when he designed the Special Air Service for the British during World War II. He argued for a 16-man troop flexible enough to permit it to be broken into two 8-man patrols, four 4-man patrols, or eight 2-man patrols. The secret, the key, was modules that could change easily within any situation. John Devens deftly described the number and variety of skills Delta required, particularly in terrorist scenarios: people who could get into buildings or planes held under siege, shooters and snipers, explosives experts, locksmiths, medics, electricians, drivers, men who could hot-wire a Ford or a Ferrari, soldiers with skills to climb mountains or buildings, men who spoke other languages, men with resolve who could operate decisively in the absence of orders. The void was pointed out. There was no unit in the military that could, with these unique characteristics and skills, act in the event of hostage situations or aircraft hijackings.

A single factor that sold the future Delta Force more than any other was terrorism. The unit was dedicated to coming to grips with it. One of the weaknesses in other organizations is that they are only part-timers in this field. Semipros or gifted amateurs, no matter what their individual abilities or potential are can be no match for international terrorists. It takes full-time professionals, who spend as much time on the subject as the enemy does. In fairness—and following General DePuy's guidelines—our briefer acknowledged that the Rangers were
primarily a commando-raid-type organization and were young in age. What was needed, he suggested, was not youth but mature professionals. Also, staff structure and intelligence-collecting mechanisms would be designed to handle terrorist incidents. Devens began to really warm up.

Suddenly—the briefing wasn't half over—General Kroesen interrupted, “I've heard enough.” Oh, God, I thought. Sitting next to G. G. Thomas, I could see every note he had written was either negative or derogatory. Here we were, dead in the water. Kroesen turned to Kingston, “Bob, you should have been doing these things long ago.” Oh,
wow
! I thought. General DePuy's representative said, “My instructions, sir, are to ask if you will support this proposal when it's taken to the Army Chief of Staff.” General Kroesen stood up. “Absolutely,” he said as he walked out of the briefing.

Round Two was over. One more to go. Meloy's staff officers tore up their notes and left the room.

SEVENTEEN

DELTA ENTERED A
critical period now. General Depuy had to make an appointment to get on the Chief's calendar. You just didn't do that tomorrow.

We finally received word that that briefing was scheduled in the Pentagon for 2 June 1977.

I wasn't sure what my role in Delta would be. As a once-passed-over colonel, my chances at command ranged from slim to nil. But, hell, I was as happy as I could be. The team's batting average was 1.000. Everyone was floating.

Chuck Odorizzi, Major Buckshot, and I spent many nights sketching out a proposed Table of Organization and Equipment (TO&E) as well as skills which Delta needed to acquire. One evening, it had to be near nine o'clock, the weather was unusually warm even for spring and the windows were open, we began again to discuss skills. Chuck, who'd been going nearly fifteen hours, thought we should visit some large manufacturing operations to see the various skills they utilized. He thought we might equate some of these civilian skills with ones we could use.

Buckshot asked him for an example.

Off the top of his head Chuck said, “Well, why don't we go up to General Mills and see what various skills are involved in making cereal.”

“Chuck.” I said, “We ain't making no goddamn cornflakes here.”

Buckshot nearly broke a gut laughing.

After that when anyone would complain that a course was too tough or a skill too difficult, someone else was bound to say, “Well, you know, we're not making cornflakes here!”

The end of May approached. We were days away from doing what we all fervently hoped would be our last successful brief when the world took a full turn.

All of a sudden a requirement surfaced in U.S. Forces Korea for an operations officer (G-3). Two generals had been contacted and because they refused to move their families, both were turned down for the assignment. On the first day of June the word reached Bragg. Maj. Gen. Robert Kingston was ordered to report to Seoul, Korea, no later than the 7th of June. Kingston was disappointed, because he believed the formation of Delta was vital to our country and he wanted to be involved with it. He discussed the matter with General Meyer, but eventually, being a good soldier, he accepted the assignment.

I was as upset as he was by this change. Why now, when we were so close? No one could predict what would happen to Delta at this juncture. Jack Mackmull, a major general who I didn't know, a former ADC (assistant division commander) to the 101st Airmobile Division, was nominated to replace Kingston as the new JFK Center Commander. It made sense for General Mackmull to attend the Pentagon briefing of Delta, and he was invited.

I spent the next few days with General Bob—he lived just across the street—helping him sort through his belongings. Once we left for Washington, he would not return to Bragg but fly directly to Korea. Katherine and I promised Bob's wife, Jo, we would help her clear quarters.

I had peeked into the Chief's briefing room at the Pentagon a month or so earlier. Along with the familiar battle paintings that ring the walls, there are portraits of men who fill America's military pantheon. The space is larger than any similar facility I've seen anywhere else. The room at that time had been empty. Today, June 2, 1977, it was full of general officers. General Meyer was there, so were Generals Kroesen and Meloy from FORSCOM. A small group from TRADOC led by General DePuy already sat around the large rectangular
table. Tom Henry and I sat out of the way against the wall near the door. Pershing and Patton were hanging next to each other on the opposite wall.

This briefing was for the Army's Chief of Staff (CSA). I'd seen him in photographs, but this was the first time I saw him in person. A Rhodes scholar, Gen. Bernard W. Rogers has pure white hair and looks like the officer Central Casting would have sent over to fill the role of CSA.

General DePuy stood up. The room became very quiet. “What I want to do is describe and reflect on a void I believe exists in the Army.” He nodded to John Devens, who walked to the podium. I said a little prayer. It was a variation of one I had used many times before in other crisis situations: Oh, Lord, we have worked so hard and come so far. What we propose we believe is right, and if You can see yourself clear, help us obtain approval. If You will help me today. I'll make tomorrow on my own.

When Devens had finished, General Rogers spoke right up. “This is all very illuminating. I had no idea we had this void….” He went on for a little while, he thanked General DePuy for bringing the issue to his attention, before he got to the moment of truth. “We have, I can see, a real problem here. We have the Rangers, we have the Special Forces, and now we have a need for this capability. Rangers, you know, are damn good men. I've been out and looked at them. On the other hand, they're expensive.”

General DePuy saw things were getting off the track. “General Rogers, for the past forty-five minutes we've pointed out an existing problem having nothing to do with the Rangers or with Special Forces. I agree the problems you raise are real but they should be addressed at a later date. What we need to do today is address the problem of the void as presented to you. We could sit in here the rest of the day and talk about it. But there's one officer in this room who knows more about the kinds of operations we have briefed you on than anyone else, and he knows more about the British Special Air Service Regiment than anyone else in the Army.”

General Rogers asked, “Who is it?”

“Col. Charlie Beckwith.”

General Rogers looked around the room. “Please stand up, Colonel.” I stood up. He looked me over and I sat down. It was like being in another world. It had to be a dream. I then flashed on the number of years it had taken to get to this point. I quickly counted the fourteen years I'd been pushing to get the Army to recognize it had the void.

I learned later why my name had been brought up. When DePuy was told that Kingston had been assigned to Korea, he and Bob had discussed who it should be then that ran with the ball. I had been agreed on as the logical choice and to give me the clout to go along with the responsibility General DePuy had introduced me to the Army's Chief of Staff.

General Rogers spoke to General Meyer. “O.K., Shy, what I want from you now is to tell me how we're going to get this together and how much it's going to cost.”

I didn't know it then, but it was General Meyer who all along had orchestrated the plan. It was Meyer who early on had seen a need for a counterterrorist force; it was Meyer who Kingston had taken my paper to; it was Meyer who had chosen DePuy to manage the movement and development of the proposal; it was Meyer who had decided they needed Fritz Kroesen; and it was Meyer who had understood the politics and plotted the moves. DePuy and Kingston had been vital, but General Meyer had made it all happen.

After the briefing, General Meyer asked Kingston and me to his office. General Bob immediately asked General Meyer to get the Chief of Staff to change his orders. “Let me stay here and help with the formation of the unit. This is so important.” Meyer would have none of it. He was sympathetic but it was not his decision to make. The die had been cast. Kingston was going to Korea. Before we left, General Meyer asked me to complete a cost estimate and a proposed TO&E within ten days. This had already been done. Now it would be a matter of double-checking it.

Kingston and I went over to a friend's apartment. After pouring ourselves some Jack Daniel's, we laughed for joy. We cried a little, too. This was good-bye. Bob Kingston believes
there is more to friendship than just paying it lip service. He believes there is a responsibility involved and I agree with him. I've had many fairweather friends, but few real friends. Now, one of them was leaving. Had he stayed, had he been able to mother it along, this infant unit would have gotten on its feet a lot faster. If Bob Kingston had remained at the JFK Center, Delta wouldn't have had half the problems I was soon to learn it had.

“You have the responsibility now, Charlie, to complete this assignment. If you have any problems talk to Shy. God bless you. I wish I could be here to help you, but I can't. You're going to have to fight some tough battles and you're going to have to really use your head.”

I didn't know then how much there was to do. Not only wasn't Delta in the ball game, it wasn't even in the park.