Delta Force (20 page)

Later I learned the cost of repairing the building was nearly $5,000. I don't think General Meloy realized what was going to happen or he might have stopped it.

The action had been sudden and swift. Most of the role-playing terrorists had been frozen by the violent manner in which Second Troop had entered the building. One role-player never had had a chance to move off a bed and another fell victim to one of the operators who in springing through a window landed on his back.

Both targets had gone down around 0400 hours. By the time we returned to the exercise headquarters, the sun was just lighting the eastern sky. The critique began shortly afterward.
The conference room was packed. Maybe seventy or eighty people stood or sat wherever they could. Delta officers and senior NCOs were still in their combat gear and carrying their weapons. There had been no opportunity, either, to wash the camouflage off their faces. In addition to these familiar painted faces, I noticed a lot of what I call straphangers. The room was filled with cigarette smoke and the rich odor of sweat. General Meyer, who'd flown down the night before to observe the aircraft assault, sat nearly inconspicuous amongst the troops.

General Warner began. “That was the most professional cross-country movement I have ever seen. Never heard a person say a word. Had the targets been real, I believe Delta Force would have been successful.” Standing in a corner, General Meloy watched and said nothing. He used his colonels, particularly G. G. Thomas, to castigate us.

In the shooting phase of the validation, some of the guys had done well, but others hadn't. General Warner remarked. “Work on this, Colonel. You don't want to be known as the unit that can't shoot straight.” Finally there was nothing more to say and General Warner announced that Delta had passed the evaluation. Looking at me, he asked, “Do you have anything you want to add?” “Yes sir,” I said, “I do!”

I stood up and looked around the crowded room. “I hadn't realized the Army had so many experts in what I do. You know, there's not a single one of you, except for General Mackmull, who ever attended a day of my training. So, I don't know what makes you think you know so much about this business. I consider this whole thing a setup, and I don't appreciate your comments.” I spoke my mind. I said my piece. “Some of the shooting stations were totally unrealistic. If you had read our paper you would have known what we could do.”

I was really emotional by then. I had good reason to be angry. To get to the plane we'd had to march through a swamp, carrying aluminum ladders. Realistically, that wouldn't have happened, instead they would have arrived in small vehicles. We were, I thought, being evaluated the way
a Ranger battalion would be. We were better, more sophisticated than the Rangers. Dragging long aluminum ladders through a swamp… We'd done it very, very professionally, but it was stupid and all so rudimentary. We were so far past that type of action. It gave me a chance to blow off some steam.

Colonel Thomas spoke up, “I'm sorry now I gave Delta Force as many points as I did. I wish I hadn't.” Colonel Spinks also spoke up. Some strong words were exchanged.

It was then up to General Meyer to wrap up the proceedings. He thanked General Warner and extended his appreciation to everyone in the room who helped make the evaluation run as smoothly as it had.

The meeting broke up, people talked in groups, there was some laughter across the room, some handshakes, and congratulations were passed on. I heard someone say. “You know, we're not making cornflakes here.” Bright morning sunlight filled the room. I found myself in a cluster of generals. General Meyer said to me, “Charlie, I'd like to see you in private.”

In one of the many metal prefab buildings that are found all over the Fort Bragg reservation, we found an empty room. The day was going to be another scorcher.

General Meyer sat back. “O.K. What's on your mind?” A few days before the evaluation I'd sent him a message asking to talk to him. I answered, “I sort of sensed Delta would come out of this the way we did. But I need to do some more blocking and tackling. I need more time. I need the rest of my two years.” He understood that. “Charlie, you've got to understand, it's only fair to check you out periodically. We need to see if you've kept on the right track. Everyone has to be checked every now and then, even me. What's next?”

“Do I have the authority to send people overseas to see an actual incident if one should occur? I gotta be able to see for myself. I gotta talk to people. There's only so much I can do at Bragg.”

“I don't know,” he said, “but I'll check.”

He was writing all this down. I asked him some more questions
and he told me to see his deputy, General Faith, about them.

Blue Light seemed now, after our evaluation, to be redundant. Delta Force had filled the gap and we could be put on alert. If anything went down, we were ready to handle it. “There's really no more need for Blue Light, sir.” General Meyer agreed. Mountel left Fort Bragg shortly after that. Went to India, I think.

Then General Meyer said, “Let's just talk for a few minutes, Charlie. How are you doing? How's your family? You look tired.” He made me feel good. Put me at ease and gave me a lot of confidence. He knew how to do that well. This only took a few minutes. He stood up. “I'll see you later.” And he slapped me on the back.

A few days after the evaluation I received a phone call from one of General Warner's aides. Could the general, he wanted to know, some morning take PT and run with Delta? I explained to the aide that for security reasons Delta never conducted its PT program in a formation—as did other units on the post. We never ran as a body. Physical fitness, I explained, was an individual responsibility in Delta, and the men ran at various times of the day and probably not more than two at a time. I was told that General Warner was angry when his aide gave him the message.

TWENTY-SIX

MONTHS BEFORE, WHILE
we were working in the Pentagon trying to get Delta's TO&E finished and pushed through TRADOC before it was turned over to Department of the Army for further massaging, a staff officer had asked the big question: “Who's gonna command this here Delta?” I had picked up the phone and called General Mackmull. “Who's going to command Delta?” He'd laughed, sort of. “You are. That's what I think.” Hanging up the phone I'd gone up to where the staff officers were putting the final touches on the TO&E. “Put in there ‘Colonel Charlie Beckwith' where it asks for the commander.”

You can see how unique this was. MILPERCEN had meetings to decide who would and who would not be put on the command list. Then from this list another board decided who got command of battalions, brigades, and so forth. My name hadn't been on any command list. A lot of people used to kid me, saying once I learned the Army didn't have a unit for me to command I went out and built my own.

But it would be wrong to suggest I did this building on my own, that I received no advice, that no one helped this poor ol' boy out. The fact is I received help and guidance from several people.

On one of the nights I couldn't sleep, one in which all my troubles kept surfacing, I decided to go over and see Gen. Sam Wilson, who was to be the Special Forces School guest speaker the following morning and who was staying on post
at the Normandy House. A retired lieutenant general, General Sam had a reputation for being one of the best intelligence officers the Army ever had. In Burma where he'd served as a young lieutenant during World War II, he commanded an intelligence and reconnaissance platoon with Merrill's Marauders. I woke him up.

“Sir, I really apologize for bothering you, but I need to talk. I need to talk to someone.” General Sam invited me in. “You're not bothering me. Sit down, and let's talk.” He knew of me, and I had heard him speak several times and was impressed with what he'd said. General Sam realized the importance of units like Merrill's; small free-ranging units unhampered by fixed ties with their bases. I told him I needed someone to talk to about my command and control arrangements and about the problems I was then having with the JFK Center. We decided to meet the next day when I would lay out the whole story.

Sam Wilson proved to be a good listener whose advice was always carefully thought through and laced with wisdom. For the cost of a tank of gas, which he used whenever he drove from his farm in Virginia to advise Delta Force, we got a blue chip consultant. The arrangement had nothing to do with anything I'd checked out beforehand with the Army or General Mackmull. It was simply between General Sam and me.

I also had three other people I went to. Bob Kingston was sorely missed; General Meyer was way up in the stratosphere; and my subordinates were too close to the issues to be objective. So I contacted Art Simons, who had led the Son Tay raid, and asked him to come up from Florida and help us with our sniper program. He spent several days. It was good for us, and it was good for him. Colonel Simons helped Delta develop the precise loads and projectiles on which snipers depend. Additionally, he helped set up our loading room where we loaded our own ammunition. I learned to confide in him. His advice was always realistic. “Be careful, Charlie, how you fight the bureaucracy. You're in a no-win situation. Colonels doing business with generals… they'll throw you to the wolves and not think twice about it. Continue to do your homework
before you act.” Another time, he said, “What you're doing, Charlie, is so important it would be stupid to stumble because you acted too emotionally. Rather than always sharpening your sword and charging into battle, sit back sometimes and say, ‘It's not worth worrying about.' ” Art Simons was someone I learned I could go to.

Another was Butch Kendrick, Col. R. C. Kendrick, an old boss of mine at CINCPAC I have a great deal of respect for. When he retired from the military he went and ran a bank. He knew me, he knew my emotions, my dynamics, and he always gave me sound counsel and pointed me in the right direction.

On some weekends Buzz Miley—who had picked me out of the gutter my first week back at Fort Bragg after I'd returned from England—and I would go bass fishing. He knew the Special Forces community, and I shared many of my problems with him. He did a lot of interpreting for me and offered suggestions on how issues could be handled.

Because they were too far away from the problems and the pace which had to be maintained, I didn't always take their advice. But knowing they were there and having their support and encouragement made me feel more secure.

Of course, they were very concerned with the recent validation and how it had gone. As godfathers they shared a lot of my emotions during that period. They, too, were elated with the results.

It was another unreal hot and soggy summer, and August brought with it some additional heavy weather.

After the validation, Delta had gone back to its scrimmaging.

Then Lieutenant Colonel Whitman called.

“We're going down to Corps tomorrow. FORSCOM is going to make one more pitch to grab you.”

“Oh, shit, not again. What a waste of time.”

“Yeah, I think you're right, Colonel, but the boss has gotta go through the ritual.”

“See you tomorrow.”

This was August 7, 1978.

The briefing room was up at XVIII Airborne Corps. General Warner's large office was filled with stars. It was like a Delta class reunion. General Meyer was there, along with General Warner, General Mackmull, and General Haldane. Haldane, I remembered, had presided over the Delta brief at FORSCOM where General Meloy and General Kingston had gotten into a battle royal over the subject.

I found a seat to one side of General Meyer, and Lieutenant Colonel Whitman found one on the other side of him. Across from us sat Generals Haldane and Warner. General Meyer chided General Haldane, asking him if he still had the action officer who had screwed up a previous brief. General Haldane smiled. When this particular major walked in, Meyer said, “Yes. I see you still have him.”

After the major found a seat and the laughter had died down, General Haldane began the briefing.

“What we've done, General Meyer, is taken a good look at the situation and want to present our position. We believe we can help Delta Force. We can help them in personnel, intelligence, operations, and logistics.” That was the whole ball of wax. “We have carefully analyzed each area and now want to show you how our support can help Delta be a dynamic, viable force within the United States Army.”

The FORSCOM action officer cleared his throat, it wasn't every day someone briefed the Deputy Chief of Staff of the Army. “General Meyer, after close scrutiny it is FORSCOM's belief that Delta would be a stronger entity if we became involved in their personnel selections.” He didn't get any further. General Meyer came back immediately. “Come on, how in the hell can FORSCOM help Delta when they are being serviced directly by General Heiden and MILPERCEN? There's no way you can do the job better than those people. Why do you want to get in their system? Delta has Department of the Army looking out for it in the people business. Really, I'm not interested in this. It's no help. Let's go to the next point.”

I peeked a look at General Haldane. Surely he had to be feeling, “Hey, I'm in a no-win situation here. FORSCOM's really got nothing to offer. Who in the blazes sandbagged me
into doing this?” General Warner sat staring straight ahead. Yet he must have been uncomfortable. Surely he wanted to cross or uncross his legs, or fidget just the smallest amount.

The briefing continued. “This is how we can help Delta Force in gathering and interpreting intelligence.” General Meyer spoke up again. “What are you talking about. All the intelligence FORSCOM handles is for training. Delta receives its intelligence directly from the appropriate intelligence agencies in Washington. I'm sorry. This will not wash.” There was now an edge to his voice. “What's next?”

General Warner was becoming less stoic and more and more frustrated. Obviously he was one of the framers and backers of the planned takeover.

The staff briefer, before he even began the logistics presentation, was stopped by General Meyer. “There's no way FORSCOM can help Delta in the logistical business. Theirs works very well. What else have you got to offer?”

No one spoke.

“O.K.,” General Meyer said, “there are some areas in here where you can really help. One is flagging airplanes and making arrangements for Delta to get their air hours in.”

That's the way the briefing went. Shy Meyer stopped the takeover cold. But he was wise. He recognized General Warner was a senior field commander, had XVIII Airborne Corps, so he treated him like one. “What I really need, Volney, is for someone to do what you did on the evaluation. Go over to Delta every now and then and look over Charlie's shoulder. See if he has any problems and try to help him.”

I spoke up. “I don't really need any help from Forces Command, and I don't need any help from Corps.”

That really made General Warner mad. “I agree with Colonel Beckwith,” he said, “and I don't want to go to Delta, nor do I want to be involved.” If General Meyer had been angry with me, he would have said, “Shut up, Charlie,” but he didn't.

The briefing broke up and I left with Lieutenant Colonel Whitman.

Turning around I saw Haldane, Warner, Mackmull, and General Meyer still sitting around the table. The door closed
behind me. Whitman was grinning. This didn't make sense.

“What the hell are they talking about now?”

“You. Remember when you were not selected for permanent colonel?”

“Yeah, I remember. So what. The money's the same, so's the command. All I gotta do as a temporary colonel is leave the Army after twenty-eight years. Hell, I don't even know if I'll be alive by then.”

“You don't understand, Colonel. This has come to the old man's attention. There are some people who are pissed about it, so he's in there getting things straightened out.”

“In other words, someone's afraid they're going to be embarrassed and the word's gonna get out that a passed-over temporary colonel down here's running a shit-hot unit.”

“You got it, Colonel. Now the boss wants to tidy up the battlefield. He thinks you've earned it, too.”