Duty: Memoirs of a Secretary at War

by Gates, Robert M

  In December, Mullen and I met again with the people in Defense working on the wounded warrior problem to discuss what initiatives we might suggest to the new presidential administration. I said that I had reached out to the new veterans affairs secretary, Eric Shinseki, who was eager to work with us on the disability evaluation issue. There were two choices: either Defense and VA worked this problem out together or we would go the legislative route. Mullen noted that we needed to improve support for families of the wounded, and I responded that we needed legislative relief to reduce their financial burden. Finally, I said we needed to make sure the National Guard and Reserves were provided for in any legislation. We knew that the legislative path would be tough because of the veterans organizations.

  I greatly admire the VSOs for their work on behalf of veterans, for their patriotic and educational endeavors, and for their extraordinary efforts to help military families. That said, again and again they were a major problem whenever I tried to do something to help those still on active duty—for example, my attempt to bring about the changes in the disability evaluation system as described above. The organizations were focused on doing everything possible to advantage veterans, so much so that those still on active duty seemed to be of secondary importance, especially if any new benefits or procedures might affect veterans. The best example of this was their opposition to legislation implementing some of the excellent recommendations of the Dole-Shalala commission. That was unforgivable.

  Another example: Senator Jim Webb authored a new GI Bill that was immensely generous in its educational benefits for veterans. I felt the benefits were so generous they might significantly affect retention of those on active duty. I wanted Congress to require five years of service to qualify for the benefits so we could get at least two enlistments out of troops before they left the service. When I called House Speaker Pelosi to press for this change, she told me, “On matters such as this, we always defer to the VSOs.” (When I visited Fort Hood in the fall of 2007, a soldier’s wife suggested to me that a service member ought to be able to share his or her GI Bill education benefits with a spouse or children. I thought it was a great idea and suggested it to President Bush, who included it in his 2008 State of the Union Address. There was little enthusiasm for it on Capitol Hill, but we were able, ultimately, to get it included in the final GI Bill—a benefit I saw as somewhat offsetting our inability to require five years of service to qualify for the education benefit.)

  I found it very difficult to get accurate (and credible) information from inside Defense about whether we were making progress in helping wounded warriors and their families. The bureaucrats in the personnel and readiness office would regularly tell me how well we were doing and how pleased our troops and families were. Meanwhile I was hearing the opposite directly from the wounded. I insisted that we get more comprehensive and accurate feedback from the wounded, other troops, spouses, and parents. “I want an independent evaluation of soldiers and families and a list of programs where you need money,” I said.

  I would never succeed in cracking the obduracy and resistance to change of the department’s personnel and health care bureaucracy, both military and civilian. It was one of my biggest failures as secretary.

  THE WAR ABOUT WAR

  In the spring of 2008, the vital issue of the military services’ preoccupation with planning, equipping, and training for future major wars with other nation-states, while assigning lesser priority to current conflicts and all other forms of conflict, such as irregular or asymmetric war, came to a head. It went to the heart of every other fight with the Pentagon I have described. In my four and a half years as secretary, this was one of the few issues where I had to take on the chairman and the entire Joint Chiefs of Staff.

  Their approach, it seemed to me, ignored the reality that virtually every American use of military force since Vietnam—with the sole exceptions of the Gulf War and the first weeks of the Iraq War—had involved unconventional conflicts against smaller states or nonstate entities, such as al Qaeda or Hizballah. The military’s approach seemed to be that if you train and equip to defeat big countries, you can defeat any lesser threat. I thought our lack of success in dealing with the Iraqi insurgency after 2003 disproved that notion. I didn’t disagree with the importance of preparing for war against other nations. While that kind of conflict was the least likely, it would have the most significant consequences if we were not prepared. However, I thought we also needed explicitly to budget, train, and equip for a wide range of other possible adversaries. It was never my purpose to relegate state-to-state conflicts and the sophisticated weapons to fight them to second-level status compared to the wars we were currently fighting, but rather to ensure that we maintained our nontraditional capabilities. I wanted them to have a place in the budget and in the Defense culture that they had never had.

  In short, I sought to balance our capabilities. I wanted to institutionalize the lessons learned and capabilities developed in Iraq and Afghanistan. I didn’t want the Army, in particular, to forget how to do counterinsurgency—as it had done after Vietnam. I did not want us to forget how we had revolutionized special operations, counterterrorism, and counterinsurgency through an unprecedented fusion of intelligence and combat operations. I did not want us to forget that training and equipping the security forces of other nations, especially developing nations, might be an important means of avoiding deployment of our own forces. My fights with the Pentagon all through 2007 on MRAPs, ISR, wounded warriors, and more made me realize the extraordinary power of the conventional war DNA in the military services, and of the bureaucratic and political power of those in the military, industry, and Congress who wanted to retain the big procurement programs initiated during the Cold War, as well as the predominance of “big war” thinking.

  As mandated by law in 1986, the president must produce a National Security Strategy, a document that describes the world as the president sees it and his goals and priorities in the conduct of foreign affairs and national security. The secretary of defense then prepares the National Defense Strategy, describing how Defense will support the president’s objectives through its programs. The NDS provides a framework for campaign and contingency planning, force development, and intelligence. Given finite resources, the NDS also addresses how Defense would assess, mitigate, and respond to risk, risk defined in terms of “the potential for damage to national security combined with the probability of occurrence and a measurement of the consequences should the underlying risk remain unaddressed.” Finally, drawing on the NDS, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff prepares his own document, the National Military Strategy, providing even more specific guidance to the military services and combatant commands in terms of achieving the president’s goals.

  Each of these three documents takes many months to write, in part to ensure that every relevant component of the government and the Defense Department can weigh in with its own views on the drafts. There is a high premium on achieving consensus, and countless hours are spent wrangling over the texts. The disputes are occasionally genuinely substantive, but more often they reflect efforts by each bureaucratic entity to ensure that its priorities and programs are protected. Ironically, and not atypically, the practical effect of the content of these documents is limited at the most senior levels of government. Personally, I don’t recall ever reading the president’s National Security Strategy when preparing to become secretary of defense. Nor did I read any of the previous National Defense Strategy documents when I became secretary. I never felt disadvantaged by not having read these scriptures.

  The NDS became important to me in the spring of 2008 in part because my name would go on it, but also because I wanted it to reflect my strongly held views on the importance of greater balance between conventional and unconventional war in our planning and programs. The key passage in the draft concerned the assessment of risk:

  U.S. predominance in traditional warfare is not unchallenged, but is sustainable for the me
dium term given current trends.… We will continue to focus our investments on building capabilities to address these other [nontraditional] challenges. This will require assuming some measure of additional, but acceptable, risk in the traditional sphere [emphasis added]. We do not anticipate this leading to a loss of dominance or significant erosion in these capabilities.

  This passage, and especially the italicized sentence, led to a rebellion; the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the secretaries of the Navy and Air Force, and the chief of staff of the Army all refused to agree to that language. There was “no margin to accept additional risk in traditional capabilities to invest in other capability areas,” they argued.

  I met with the Joint Chiefs and combatant commanders in mid-May. I asked how they differentiated between “risk” associated with current wars and “risk” associated with our ability to respond to future threats. “Why do you assume that state competitors will rely on traditional capabilities to challenge us?” I asked. I did not disagree with them on the need to prepare for large-scale, state-to-state conflict, but I was not talking about moving significant resources away from future conventional capabilities. I just wanted the defense budget and the services formally to acknowledge the need to provide for nontraditional capabilities and ensure that the resources necessary for the conflicts we were most likely to fight were also included in our budgeting, planning, training, and procurement. I was moving the needle very little. But even that was too much, given the threat it posed to the institutional military’s modernization priorities.

  Ultimately, I agreed to somewhat water down my language in the NDS, but I would continue to advocate publicly for more balance in our defense planning and procurement. This may seem abstract and like prosaic bureaucratic infighting, but these matters, which rarely engage the general public, have very real consequences for our men and women in uniform and for our national security, especially when budgets are tight and hard choices must be made.

  At the end of September 2008, at the National Defense University in Washington, D.C., I summarized the issues and concerns that had been at the root of my war with the Pentagon for nearly two years.

  The balance we are striving for is:

  • Between doing everything we can to prevail in the conflicts we are in, and being prepared for other contingencies that might arise elsewhere, or in the future;

  • Between institutionalizing capabilities such as counterinsurgency and stability operations, as well as helping partners build capacity, and maintaining our traditional edge—above all, the technological edge against the military forces of other nation-states.

  I do not want to leave the impression that I fought my wars inside the Defense Department alone. With the exception of the NDS and one or two other issues, Mike Mullen was a steadfast ally. Most combatant commanders and all field commanders engaged in Iraq and Afghanistan obviously were supportive. On many issues, especially those involving wounded warriors, the senior military leadership was either right beside me or well in front of me, once the problems were identified. Senior civilians in the department like Edelman, Young, Clapper, and those who worked for them, provided critical support and leadership. My adversaries were those with a traditional mind-set, the usual opponents of any idea “not invented here,” those fearful that what I was trying to do threatened their existing programs and procurements. Moreover, the size and complexity of the department itself made doing anything differently than had been done in the past a huge challenge. My wars inside the Pentagon in 2007–8 had been to address specific problems and shortcomings in supporting those fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan. The broader, bigger issues I had addressed only rhetorically. But when I found out I would remain as secretary under President Obama, I began to plan how I would actually begin to implement my ideas in the budget. As Gordon England put it, “We do what we fund.” And I would, for the first time, take charge of that process.

  THE BLAME GAME

  In Washington, everyone wants a scalp when things don’t go right. But, in truth, there isn’t a simple answer as to who should bear responsibility for the failure to act earlier in the areas I have been discussing. When I sought to fix the problems I have described, I came to realize that in every case, multiple independent organizations were involved, and that no single one of them—one of the military services, the Joint Chiefs, the undersecretary for acquisition, the comptroller—had the authority to compel action by the others. The field commanders had been talking about withdrawing troops from Iraq throughout 2005 and 2006. If that was to be the case, why would the Army’s civilian and military leaders take money away from future programs to buy a new kind of armored vehicle for use in a war that presumably was ending? The Air Force had never liked the idea of aircraft without pilots—why invest heavily in them at the expense of other programs? No one anticipated the huge influx of grievously wounded soldiers and Marines, nor the repeated tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan that would take a heavy toll on their bodies, their minds, and their families. Walter Reed hospital was scheduled to be shuttered as part of the base realignment and closure process. So why spend money for upkeep and facilities for outpatients or add administrative staff to work there?

  There never was intentional neglect of the troops and their well-being. There was, however, a toxic mix of flawed assumptions about the wars themselves; a risk-averse bureaucracy; budgetary decisions made in isolation from the battlefield; Army, Navy and Air Force focus in Washington on the routine budget process and protecting dollars for future programs; a White House unaware of the needs of the troops and disinclined to pay much attention to the handful of members of Congress who pointed to these needs; and a Congress by and large so focused on the politics of the war in Iraq that it was asleep at the switch or simply too pusillanimous when it came to the needs of the troops. A “gotcha” climate in Washington created by investigative committees, multiple inspector general and auditing organizations, and a general thirst for scandal collectively reinforced bureaucratic timidity and leadership caution. All this translated into a ponderous and unresponsive system, the antithesis of the kind of speed, agility, and innovation required to support troops at war.

  In my mind, what blame there is to be apportioned for failure to support the troops should be directed at those in senior positions of responsibility who did not scream out about these problems, and those who had authority but failed to act.

  In the first category must be counted the field and combatant commanders; the service secretaries and chiefs of staff whose troops were at risk; the chairmen and vice chairmen of the Joint Chiefs; civilian political appointees at all levels in Defense; and the Armed Services Committees of both houses of Congress.

  In the second category must be, principally, the secretaries and deputy secretaries of defense. Only they had the authority to ignore every organizational boundary and parochial budgetary consideration and force action. Only they, by taking ownership of problems, could remove risk from individuals and organizations. Only they could sweep aside with the stroke of a pen most bureaucratic obstacles and ponderous acquisition procedures and redirect budget resources. Secretary Rumsfeld did this successfully when he created the Joint Improvised Explosive Device Defeat Organization, the counter-IED organization. He did not act on other issues that I found critically important. I failed in some key respects in my efforts to transform the care of wounded warriors, especially providing administrative and financial support over and above that given others in uniform, and in fixing an outdated, complicated, and opaque disability evaluation system. I’m sure I fell short in other areas as well.

  Secretary Rumsfeld once famously told a soldier that you go to war with the army you have, which is absolutely true. But I would add that you damn well should move as fast as possible to get the army you need. That was the crux of my war with the Pentagon.

  CHAPTER 5

  Beyond Iraq: A Complicated World

  No president, not even in wartime, has the luxury of being able to foc
us on just one problem. Bush 43 was no exception. Indeed, during the last two years of his administration, while fighting two major wars, we faced serious challenges with Russia, Syria, Iran, Israel, Pakistan, China, North Korea, NATO, Eastern Europe, Georgia, and, of all things, piracy. These problems collectively would take as much, if not more, of the president’s time, and that of his senior national security team, than the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. And several of them would provoke serious disagreements among us.

  The world had changed dramatically since 1993, when I retired as CIA director. At that time, the United States had routed Saddam Hussein’s army—then the fourth largest in the world—in less than one hundred hours during the Gulf War. Eastern Europe had been liberated, Germany was reunified, the Soviet Union had recently collapsed, and China was quiescent, its leaders focused on economic growth and developing trade. As victor in the Cold War, the United States stood supreme, the only surviving superpower—a political, military, and economic colossus.

  What we did not realize then was that the seeds of future trouble were already sprouting. There were early stirrings of future great power rivalry and friction. In Russia, resentment and bitterness were taking root as a result of the economic chaos and corruption that followed the dissolution of the Soviet Union, as well as the incorporation of much of the old Warsaw Pact into NATO by 2000. No Russian was more angered by this turn of events than Vladimir Putin, who would later say that the end of the Soviet Union was the worst geopolitical event of the twentieth century. China, seeing the USSR’s collapse, as well as America’s military prowess in the Gulf War, resolved to expand its own military power. Al Qaeda’s first attack on the World Trade Center in New York was launched in February 1993, and other attacks would follow throughout the 1990s. Meanwhile other nations increasingly resented our singular dominance and our growing penchant for telling others how to behave, at home and abroad. The end of the Soviet threat also ended the compelling reason for many countries to automatically align with the United States or do our bidding for their own protection. Other nations looked for opportunities to inhibit our seeming complete freedom and determination to shape the world as we saw fit. In short, our moment alone in the sun, and the arrogance with which we conducted ourselves in the 1990s and beyond as the sole surviving superpower, caused widespread resentment. And so when the World Trade Center came down on September 11, 2001, many governments and peoples—some publicly, many more privately—welcomed the calamity that had befallen the United States. In their eyes, an arrogant, all-powerful giant had been deservedly humbled.