“The stakes are high,” Musharraf told me. “We are with you.”
Our relationship with Pakistan would prove complex. But in four days we had turned Afghanistan’s pivotal neighbor from a supporter of the Taliban to a partner in removing them from power.
The next presentation came from the military. Don Rumsfeld called on Joint Chiefs Chairman Hugh Shelton, an Army Ranger in his final month on the job, and Vice Chairman Dick Myers, the Air Force general I had nominated to take his place. They walked me through three options.
The first was the Pentagon’s contingency plan, the preexisting strategy to be used in an emergency. It called for cruise missile strikes on al Qaeda camps in Afghanistan. The plan could be executed immediately, with no risk to American troops.
The second option was to combine cruise missile strikes with manned bomber attacks. This would allow us to hit more targets, while exposing our pilots to limited risk.
The third and most aggressive option was to employ cruise missiles, bombers, and boots on the ground. This was mostly a theoretical option; the military would have to develop the details from scratch.
General Shelton stressed that it would take time and delicate diplomacy to insert our forces into a mountainous, landlocked country. We would need basing rights, overflight permission, and search-and-rescue capability—not to mention good weather and good luck.
A wide-ranging discussion followed. George Tenet warned that a retaliatory strike on our homeland was likely. “We can’t deter them if they’ve already planned a second round,” he said. “I expect they have some chemical and biological weapons,” he added ominously.
Dick Cheney worried that the war could spill over into Pakistan, causing the government to lose control of the country and potentially its nuclear arsenal. As Deputy National Security Adviser Steve Hadley rightly put it, that would be “the nightmare scenario.”
At one point, Deputy Defense Secretary Paul Wolfowitz suggested that we consider confronting Iraq as well as the Taliban. Before 9/11, Saddam Hussein’s brutal dictatorship was widely considered the most dangerous country in the world. The regime had a long record of supporting terrorism, including paying the families of Palestinian suicide bombers. Saddam’s forces fired routinely at American and British pilots patrolling the no-fly zones imposed by the United Nations. And Iraq had defied more than a decade’s worth of UN resolutions demanding that it prove it had destroyed its weapons of mass destruction.
“Dealing with Iraq would show a major commitment to antiterrorism,” Don Rumsfeld said.
Colin cautioned against it. “Going after Iraq now would be viewed as a bait and switch,” he said. “We would lose the UN, the Islamic countries, and NATO. If we want to do Iraq, we should do it at a time of our choosing. But we should not do it now, because we don’t have linkage to this event.”
George Tenet agreed. “Don’t hit now. It would be a mistake,” he said. “The first target needs to be al Qaeda.”
Dick Cheney understood the threat of Saddam Hussein and believed we had to address it. “But now is not a good time to do it,” he said. “We would lose our momentum. Right now people have to choose between the United States and the bad guys.”
I welcomed the vigorous debate. Listening to the discussion and divergent views helped clarify my options. I wasn’t going to make a decision on the spot. That would come the next day.
Sunday, September 16, was a day of reflection. Laura and I went to services at Camp David’s beautiful Evergreen Chapel. Started during the Reagan administration and finished during Dad’s, the chapel was a special place for my family. The first wedding performed there was between my sister Doro and her fine husband, Bobby Koch.
At 10:00 a.m. that first Sunday after 9/11, late summer light streamed through the serene woods and into the chapel. Navy and Marine Corps personnel and family members joined us in worship, as did members of the national security team who had stayed over from the meetings the day before.
Camp David was blessed to have a fine pastor, Navy Chaplain Bob Williams. His sermon that Sunday was touching and comforting. He asked the questions so many of us had struggled with: “Why? … How could this happen, God?”
Bob said the answer was beyond our power to know. “Life is sometimes a maze of contradictions and incongruities,” he acknowledged. Yet we could take comfort in knowing that God’s plan would prevail. He quoted a passage from St. Ignatius of Loyola: “Pray as if it all depends upon God, for it does. But work as if it all depends upon us, for it does.”
After the service, Laura and I boarded Marine One for the flight back to Washington. By that afternoon I had reached one of the defining decision points in my presidency: We would fight the war on terror on the offense, and the first battlefront would be Afghanistan.
My decision was a departure from America’s policies over the past two decades. After Hezbollah terrorists bombed our Marine barracks and embassy in Lebanon in 1983, President Reagan withdrew our forces. When terrorist warlords in Somalia shot down an American Black Hawk helicopter in 1993, President Clinton pulled our troops out. In 1998, al Qaeda’s bombing of two American embassies in East Africa prompted President Clinton to launch cruise missiles at al Qaeda sites in Afghanistan. But the training camps had been largely abandoned, and the long-distance strike came across as impotent and ineffectual. When al Qaeda blew up the USS Cole off the coast of Yemen, America mounted almost no response at all.
My predecessors made their decisions in a different era. After al Qaeda killed nearly three thousand people in the United States, it was clear the terrorists had interpreted our lack of a serious response as a sign of weakness and an invitation to attempt more brazen attacks. Al Qaeda messages frequently cited our withdrawals as evidence that Americans were, in the words of bin Laden, “paper tigers” who could be forced to “run in less than twenty-four hours.”
After 9/11, I was determined to change that impression. I decided to employ the most aggressive of the three options General Shelton had laid out. Cruise missile and manned bomber attacks would be part of our response, but they were not enough. Dropping expensive weapons on sparsely populated camps would not break the Taliban’s hold on the country or destroy al Qaeda’s sanctuary. It would only reinforce the terrorists’ belief that they could strike us without paying a serious price. This time we would put boots on the ground, and keep them there until the Taliban and al Qaeda were driven out and a free society could emerge.
Unless I received definitive evidence tying Saddam Hussein to the 9/11 plot, I would work to resolve the Iraq problem diplomatically. I hoped unified pressure by the world might compel Saddam to meet his international obligations. The best way to show him we were serious was to succeed in Afghanistan.
The next morning, I convened the National Security Council in the Cabinet Room. “The purpose of this meeting is to assign tasks for the first wave of the war on terrorism,” I said. “It starts today.”
Shortly after 9/11, Denny Hastert, the reliable and steady speaker of the House, had suggested that I address a joint session of Congress, as President Franklin Roosevelt had done after Pearl Harbor. I liked the idea but wanted to wait until I had something to say. Now I did. We scheduled the speech for September 20.
I knew the American people had a lot of questions: Who attacked us? Why do they hate us? What will the war look like? What is expected of the average citizen? The answers would form the outline of my address.
I decided to invite a special guest to join me for the speech, British Prime Minister Tony Blair. A few hours before I left for Capitol Hill, Tony came to the White House for dinner. I pulled him into a quiet corner of the State Floor to give him an update on the war plans, including my decision to deploy ground troops. He reiterated that Great Britain would be at our side. America’s closest ally in the wars of the last century would be with us in the first war of a new century.
As the moment to deliver the speech approached, Tony said, “You don’t seem the least bit nervo
us, George. Don’t you need some time alone?” I hadn’t thought about it until he mentioned it. I didn’t need to be alone. I had taken time to make a careful decision, and I knew what I wanted to say. Plus, I appreciated the company of my friend.
In the Blue Room with Tony Blair. White House/Eric Draper
The environment in the House chamber felt different from the National Cathedral on September 14. There was a mix of energy, anger, and defiance. I later learned that more than eighty-two million people were watching on TV, the largest audience ever for a presidential speech.
“In the normal course of events, presidents come to this chamber to report on the state of the Union,” I began. “Tonight, no such report is needed. It has already been delivered by the American people. … My fellow citizens, we have seen the state of our Union—and it is strong.”
I ran through the questions and answers—the identity of the terrorists, their ideology, and the new kind of war we would wage. “Our response involves far more than instant retaliation and isolated strikes,” I said. “Americans should not expect one battle, but a lengthy campaign, unlike any other we have ever seen. It may include dramatic strikes, visible on TV, and covert operations, secret even in success. … Every nation, in every region, now has a decision to make. Either you are with us, or you are with the terrorists.”
I laid out an ultimatum to the Taliban: “They will hand over the terrorists, or they will share in their fate.” We had little hope that Afghanistan’s leaders would heed it. But exposing their defiance to the world would firm up our justification for a military strike. As I approached the conclusion, I said:
[In] our grief and anger we have found our mission and our moment. … We will rally the world to this cause by our efforts, by our courage. We will not tire, we will not falter, and we will not fail.
It is my hope that in the months and years ahead, life will return almost to normal. We’ll go back to our lives and routines, and that is good. Even grief recedes with time and grace. But our resolve must not pass. Each of us will remember what happened that day, and to whom it happened. We’ll remember the moment the news came—where we were and what we were doing. Some will remember an image of a fire, or a story of rescue. Some will carry memories of a face and a voice gone forever.
And I will carry this: It is the police shield of a man named George Howard, who died at the World Trade Center trying to save others. It was given to me by his mom, Arlene, as a proud memorial to her son. It is my reminder of lives that ended, and a task that does not end.
I will not forget this wound to our country or those who inflicted it. I will not yield; I will not rest; I will not relent in waging this struggle for freedom and security for the American people.
The next day, September 21, I immersed myself in the war planning. Dealing with the military as commander in chief was a new experience. The officers’ dress uniforms with the rows of ribbons highlighted their military expertise, which was a whole lot more extensive than mine.
Seven months earlier, Laura and I had held a dinner at the White House for military leaders and their wives. I hoped to break down some of the formality and get to know the generals and admirals on a personal level, so they would feel free to give me candid opinions and I would feel more comfortable asking for them.
One of the commanders I met was General Tommy Franks, who came to the White House with his wife, Cathy. Tommy had a chestful of medals, including multiple Bronze Stars and Purple Hearts from Vietnam. As a one-star general, he had commanded troops in the Gulf War. In 2000, he assumed the top post at Central Command, a theater stretching from the Horn of Africa to Central Asia, including Afghanistan.
“General, I understand you’re from Midland, Texas,” I said.
“Yes, Mr. President, I am,” he said with a warm smile and a West Texas drawl.
“I hear you went to high school with Laura,” I added.
“Yes, sir, graduated one year before her,” he answered. “But don’t worry, Mr. President, I never dated her.”
I let out a big laugh. That was an interesting thing to say to your new commander in chief. I had a feeling Tommy and I were going to get along just fine.
At the ranch with Tommy Franks. White House/Susan Sterner
Tommy made clear the mission in Afghanistan would not be easy. Everything about the country screamed trouble. It is remote, rugged, and primitive. Its northern half is home to ethnic Tajiks, Uzbeks, Hazaras, Turkmen, and others. The southern half is dominated by Pashtuns. Tribal, ethnic, and religious rivalries date back centuries. Yet for all their differences, the people of Afghanistan have a way of banding together against foreigners. They drove out the British in the nineteenth century. They drove out the Soviets in the twentieth century. Even Alexander the Great failed to conquer the country. Afghanistan had earned a foreboding nickname: Graveyard of Empires.
Tommy’s war plan, later code-named Operation Enduring Freedom, included four phases. The first was to connect the Special Forces with the CIA teams to clear the way for conventional troops to follow. Next we would mount a massive air campaign to take out al Qaeda and Taliban targets, and conduct humanitarian airdrops to deliver relief to the Afghan people. The third phase called for ground troops from both America and coalition partners to enter the country and hunt down remaining Taliban and al Qaeda fighters. Finally, we would stabilize the country and help the Afghan people build a free society.
I viewed my role as making sure the plan was comprehensive and consistent with the strategic vision—in this case, removing the Taliban, denying sanctuary to al Qaeda, and helping a democratic government emerge. I asked Tommy a lot of questions: How many troops would we need? What kind of basing would be available? How long would it take to move everyone? What level of enemy resistance did he expect?
I did not try to manage the logistics or the tactical decisions. My instinct was to trust the judgment of the military leadership. They were the trained professionals; I was a new commander in chief. I remembered the Vietnam-era photos of Lyndon Johnson and Defense Secretary Robert McNamara poring over maps to pick bombing targets for routine missions. Their micromanagement had an impact throughout the chain of command. When I was in flight school, one of my instructors who had flown in Vietnam complained that the Air Force was so restricted that the enemy could figure out exactly when and where they would be flying. The reason, as he put it, was that “the politicians did not want to piss people off.”
One area where Tommy needed help was in lining up support from Afghanistan’s neighbors. Without logistical cooperation from Uzbekistan and Tajikistan, we would not be able to move our troops into Afghanistan. I didn’t know the leaders of these former Soviet republics. But Russia still had tremendous influence in the region, and I knew Vladimir Putin.
Putin and I had met for the first time that June in a Slovenian palace once used by the communist leader Tito. My goal at the summit had been to cut through any tension and forge a connection with Putin. I placed a high priority on personal diplomacy. Getting to know a fellow world leader’s personality, character, and concerns made it easier to find common ground and deal with contentious issues. That was a lesson I had picked up from Dad, who was one of the great practitioners of personal diplomacy. Another was Abraham Lincoln. “If you would win a man to your cause,” Lincoln once said, “first convince him that you are his friend.”
At Camp David with Vladimir Putin. White House/Eric Draper
The summit with Putin started with a small meeting—just Vladimir and me, our national security advisers, and the interpreters. He seemed a little tense. He opened by speaking from a stack of note cards. The first topic was the Soviet-era debt of the Russian Federation.
After a few minutes, I interrupted his presentation with a question: “Is it true your mother gave you a cross that you had blessed in Jerusalem?”
A look of shock washed over Putin’s face as Peter, the interpreter, delivered the line in Russian. I explained that the story had caught
my attention in some background reading—I didn’t tell him it was an intelligence briefing—and I was curious to learn more. Putin recovered quickly and told the story. His face and his voice softened as he explained that he had hung the cross in his dacha, which subsequently caught on fire. When the firefighters arrived, he told them all he cared about was the cross. He dramatically re-created the moment when a worker unfolded his hand and revealed the cross. It was, he said, “as if it was meant to be.”
“Vladimir,” I said, “that is the story of the cross. Things are meant to be.” I felt the tension drain from the meeting room.
After the meeting, a reporter asked if Putin was “a man that Americans can trust.” I said yes. I thought of the emotion in Vladimir’s voice when he shared the story of the cross. “I looked the man in the eye,” I said, “… I was able to get a sense of his soul.” In the years ahead, Putin would give me reasons to revise my opinion.
Three months after our meeting in Slovenia, Putin was the first foreign leader to call the White House on September 11. He couldn’t reach me on Air Force One, so Condi spoke to him from the PEOC. He assured her that Russia would not increase its military readiness in response to our move to DefCon Three, as the Soviet Union would have done automatically during the Cold War. When I talked to Vladimir the next day, he told me he had signed a decree declaring a minute of silence to show solidarity with the United States. He ended by saying, “Good will triumph over evil. I want you to know that in this struggle, we will stand together.”
On September 22, I called Putin from Camp David. In a long Saturday-morning conversation, he agreed to open Russian airspace to American military planes and use his influence with the former Soviet republics to help get our troops into Afghanistan. I suspected he would be worried about Russia being encircled, but he was more concerned about the terrorist problem in his neighborhood. He even ordered Russian generals to brief their American counterparts on their experience during their Afghanistan invasion in the 1980s.
Decision Points Page 23