Journey

by Norty Schwartz

  The saving grace was the extraordinary group of officers with whom I worked. Dick Myers was the chairman and Pete Pace was his vice. I worked extensively with Pete, and he coached me along the way. Being a former J-3 himself, he was fine-tuned to my challenges and I sought out his counsel frequently. John Abizaid was the director of the Joint Staff for the first few months until George Casey (eventually Army chief of staff) moved across the table from his J-5 (strategy, plans and policy) slot to become director. Hoss Cartwright was the J-8 (force structure, resources, and assessment). Air Force Maj Gen Glen Shaffer was the J-2 (intelligence) initially and then Army MG Ron Burgess stepped in. BG Stan McChrystal was my vice—he’d already been there for a few months when I arrived, and he would move on to become Commanding General of JSOC in September 2003. Former Secretary of Defense Bob Gates called Stan “perhaps the finest warrior and leader of men in combat I have ever met,” and he certainly served me well as my vice. The truth is that I was grateful to work side by side with all these exceptional officers from across the service branches. It’s a good thing, since I’d see far more of them than I saw of Suzie. But she understood the mission, and as difficult as it must have been for her, she never uttered a single complaint. Coincidentally, about a month after we arrived, Ron and Valerie Keys moved into the general officer quarters immediately next to ours—affording us the opportunity to have frequent talks and family gatherings on the patio.

  By the time I arrived in October of 2002, the preparations for war were already well underway. There’d be no time for me to come up to speed with this job; I’d have to dive in head first. Boxes would be left unpacked, pictures unhung. In my first few weeks:

  • CENTCOM was in the midst of a war game for the demise of the Iraqi regime.

  • Fourteen hundred U.S. Special Operations troops, along with personnel from Jordan, Oman, Kuwait, and Great Britain, were in Jordan honing their skills in EXERCISE EARLY VICTOR ’02.

  • While the hunt for UBL (that’s how we in the DoD commonly referred to Osama bin Laden) was in full force, other al-Qaeda operatives gained prominence and demanded our attention and resources. Al-Jazeera broadcast an audiotape from al-Qaeda’s Ayman al-Zawahiri in which he claimed responsibility for the April synagogue bombing on Djerba Island, Tunisia, as well as the May 11 suicide car bombing in Karachi.

  • The chairman (General Myers) issued the planning order for air and ground operations from Turkey.

  • Two Kuwaiti gunmen (trained by al-Qaeda in Afghanistan) opened fire on U.S. Marines during maneuvers on Kuwait’s Falaika Island. One marine was killed and another wounded before fellow marines leveled both attackers.

  • Both the House and Senate approved resolutions authorizing President Bush to take military action against Iraq.

  Force planning was largely led by CENTCOM and its commander, General Tommy Franks, but a good deal of work on that front was also taking place in the Pentagon. On October 31, 2002, General Franks published (within the Pentagon) OPLAN 1003V, the (then classified) battle plan for the invasion of Iraq. Carefully conceived and comprehensively charting fresh approaches to a large-scale, major theater war plan that had been on the shelf since 1998, the plan still required much work to be done before the president would deem it worthy of sending hundreds of thousands of our sons and daughters into harm’s way. That was J-3 business, and the bulk of my time was spent in the ramp-up to the war, hashing out the battle plan with my counterpart at CENTCOM, Air Force Major General Gene Renuart. (Gene would go on to earn his fourth star and command NORAD and USNORTHCOM.) Finalizing the forces required to execute that plan was a major focus, but not my exclusive one. Afghanistan continued to percolate, and that was within my purview; I also had responsibility for the nuclear deterrent, security for domestic airspace, and every current U.S. military operation/mission anywhere in the world.

  One of those functions entailed my presenting the SECDEF (Rumsfeld at this time) with every set of deployment orders or execute orders that required his signature. It’s important to understand that the chairman doesn’t own forces and cannot deploy a single troop overseas in his own name. Every order to transfer forces and change command relationships must be signed by the secretary of defense. It’s the very essence of civilian control of the military, and yet another precious doctrine conceived by our founding fathers that makes this country great.

  The mechanism we used to obtain the secretary’s authorization for these actions was a Friday afternoon meeting where the J-3 would walk the orders upstairs to the secretary’s office and secure the SECDEF’s signature on a written authorization called a deployment order (DEPORD), which would then be issued by the chairman. The process usually began weeks—if not months—earlier as the highly skilled action officers would interface with the service branches to identify force sourcing, deployment timetables, geographics, rules of engagement, and a multitude of other details that would be folded into the order. As J-3, I would have the staff consolidate this material into a big black notebook we called the Secretary of Defense Operations Book, or simply “the Book” for short. Once approved, we would copy the contents and assemble about a dozen identical black three-ring binders for distribution to all those in attendance at the meeting—the goal being to thoroughly brief the SECDEF on the requested orders and walk out the door with his signature for delivery to the chairman, who had already signed the orders prior to our presentation. It was my responsibility, or my vice’s in my absence, to talk through the purpose, who was involved, why it was the right thing to do, whether the White House had indicated approval, State Department position, and other pieces of information we deemed instrumental in helping the secretary gain a full understanding of what he was being asked to sign. The request could just have easily been for a two-person detachment as it was for a twenty-thousand troop combat division. Regardless of the size, location, purpose, or command authority, there was one fact that was indisputable: attempting to present to Rumsfeld (on this or any presentation) without a total understanding of every aspect of the matter at hand was akin to a 35,000-foot HALO (High Altitude Low Opening) jump, without the benefit of a parachute. There were typically many questions, scrutiny of every detail, and questioning of long-standing assumptions and strategies. It was never dull, seldom what I would call fun, but always intellectually stimulating. In looking back, I believe it was a process that worked. While not necessarily an approach that I would use, it did keep us on our toes and ensured that we did everything in our power to afford our brave warriors every possible opportunity to succeed.

  There are few places that I find more beautiful than Washington, DC, in winter, when the freshly fallen snow blankets the similarly toned monuments and landmarks. On the other hand, there are days like this particular Friday afternoon in December 2002. The record-breaking bitter cold had been supplanted by a warming trend—not warm enough to want to spend any time outside, but just enough to turn the snow into slush, and ensure that the steadily falling rain wouldn’t turn to ice until the temps dropped back down after dark—right around the time I’d be ready to drive home. This was one dreary gray day that I was glad to be spending inside, using my brief break for lunch as an opportunity to take one final pass at the Book before presenting to the secretary that afternoon.

  I didn’t know it at the time, but while I was munching on my turkey sandwich at my desk, the secretary was downtown with a National Guard audience when someone stood up and essentially said that one of his units had received only five days’ notice for a mobilization to the Middle East. Can you imagine? Only five days to handle all your personal affairs at home, with your wife or husband, with your kids. Many of these men and women would be deployed for over eight months at a time, so arrangements had to be made. Who’s going to pay the bills? Prepare and file the tax returns? Set contingencies in place in case the worst were to occur? These are America’s finest heading off to war. The reality was that some would never come back, and those arrangements would have to be made up front.
Five days for all this? Clearly unacceptable. When Rumsfeld found out about it, he was not pleased.

  By the time he made it back to the Pentagon, we had already assembled in his conference room. I was seated directly adjacent to the head of the table where Rumsfeld would sit, since I’d be doing the presenting that day. Immediately across from me was the chairman, and Pete Pace to my right two removed. Those present varied from week to week, but this day’s included the usual suspects: Paul Wolfowitz, DSD (deputy secretary of defense); Stan McChrystal, my vice; Doug Feith, the newly appointed undersecretary of defense for policy; Stephen Cambone, later the first undersecretary of defense for intelligence; Jim Haynes, general counsel; John Craddock, who had recently taken over for Ed Giambastiani as secretary of defense military advisor (SDMA); and finally Jack Keane, vice chief of staff of the Army. Stan was filling me in on a call he had just received when the door burst open and a red-faced Rumsfeld made a beeline to his seat and engaged.

  “Five days’ notice?!” he barked in a raised voice. “What did you know about this? How could this possibly happen?” While the words were directed at me, there was little doubt that the communication was intended for the others as well, through me. I just happened to be the lightning rod of the moment. “You alerted a Guard unit to mobilize to Iraq with just five days’ notice?!” Someone else at the table began to speak, but he was drowned out by the secretary slamming his fist onto the table and continuing to gesture. “This is a steam-driven industrial age process. A steam-driven industrial age process!” He was beside himself. “This is nonsense. Totally unacceptable!”

  Chairman Myers tried to explain. “You’re right that five days is unacceptable, but this is an anomaly and in no way representative …”

  Rumsfeld spun around to the chairman and banged his fist again. “Steam-driven industrial age!”

  General Pace spoke up. “What the chairman is trying to say is that this was a deviation …”

  “You say it’s a deviation, I say it’s systemic!”

  What he failed to realize was that we presented the orders to him in a timely way. Once he signed those orders, we immediately turned them over to the appropriate service branch for implementation. In this case, the DEPORD was the trigger for the National Guard mobilization, but the process of orchestrating the deployment was an Army function, entirely independent from the Joint Staff.

  There was no dispute that the Army had to improve its process. And later on I’d work closely with all the branches to facilitate that improvement, but at that moment, the Army wasn’t the target of Secretary Rumsfeld’s displeasure—I was.

  I shot a glance across the table at Jack Keane, hoping that the four-star vice chief of staff of the Army would step up and take responsibility—or at the very least say something to deflect some of the heat. But the truth is, as much as I respect Jack, I observed him silently thumbing through the thick black binder, as if doing his best to become invisible. In his defense, he was not alone. With the exception of Dick Myers and Pete Pace, the rest of the esteemed assemblage was doing their best to blend into the woodwork. It was not an unwise approach; this was not the time to argue the issue. Would the chief of the Army, Ric Shinseki, have spoken up had he been there? He had never been shy about speaking his mind to the boss on other issues. But getting a word in edgewise when someone is this agitated? Almost impossible.

  I drove home that night with the realization that my time as J-3 had ended, and I wondered if I’d bear the distinction of serving the shortest term in history. If the fates were kind, it was possible that I’d be transferred to another position—that is, if there were any three-star assignments in need of filling. More likely, I’d be thanked for my thirty years of service, and forced to retire—and at the worst possible time. We were on the brink of war and I passionately believed that I had more to contribute. On the flip side, it sure would be nice to get to spend time with Suzie again. I pulled into the garage and thought about how to break the news.

  “How can he fire you for something that’s not even your doing?” Suzie demanded, more miffed about “her boy” being disrespected than upset that my career might have just ended.

  “Because he really doesn’t even know me, yet,” I explained. “I’ve only been there for a few months and it’s conceivable that at the moment he sees my greatest value to him is the example my firing would be to the rest of the staff.”

  “But there’s nobody more loyal than you, or smarter!” Suzie declared, so distraught that I halfway thought she might jump into her car and confront Rumsfeld directly.

  “Unfortunately, this occurred before any trusting relationship had the opportunity to mature.”

  “When do you think you’ll hear?” she asked, barely completing the question before the ring of the kitchen phone seemed to provide the answer to her question.

  “So who do you think drew the short straw, General Pace or General Myers?” I asked, trying to defuse the tension.

  “Does it matter?” Suzie sarcastically retorted as I picked up the handset to learn my fate.

  It was the chairman. “You are very lucky,” he began. “Pete intervened with the boss after everyone else left the room. Good thing you had the Marines on your side.”

  “He’s been in my shoes, so he understands,” I said. “But that doesn’t diminish my gratitude. And that goes for you, too, sir. I’m sure that you had some say in it, as well. So I thank you.”

  “Yes!” exclaimed Suzie, as she enthusiastically pumped her fist.

  “Please tell the cheerleader beside you that you’re far from out of the woods. In fact, you’ve been banished to the penalty box. You are still persona non grata in the eyes of the secretary—at least for now.

  “But what about running the Book?” I asked, fully understanding that it was an important—yet very time-consuming—task for the J-3. The last thing I wanted to do was shirk my responsibility and let down the team.

  “No longer a part of your job description. In the morning I’ll tell George that he’s to take it over. I’m sure that he’ll be thrilled,” he deadpanned.

  He was referring to General George Casey, who at the time was director of the Joint Staff. For a J-3 to lose access like that, not to mention having this key function taken away from him, was unprecedented—and frankly, somewhat humiliating. But as bad as it was for me, I think it was even worse for George. As DJS during the ramp-up to the war, the last thing he had time for was to take on my chore. And he hated it.

  For the next three weeks, every time he would see me, he’d shoot me a dirty look. I felt awful. My guess is that at some point he went to the chairman and said, “This is nonsense. This is Norty’s work, and that whole business about the mobilization glitch wasn’t his doing, anyway. You’ve got to talk to the SECDEF and tell him that enough is enough. He’s more than made his point. But now we’ve got to get back down to business.”

  By then, the secretary had calmed down and it all returned back to normal. I was back on the team. But none of us would ever forget what became known as the “PNG Event,” the time that I became persona non grata.

  Over time, I believe that trusting relationship with Rummy developed, and I think he would tell you today that perhaps in some ways I wasn’t his cup of tea, but that I was always a trustworthy, good, hardworking, dependable officer. Was it a cakewalk? No. But I believe that I served him well.

  KOREA

  Leave it to the North Koreans to throw a wrench into the Schwartz family holiday festivities. Envision the glittering Disneyland Christmas parade on steroids, and you’re still not coming close to the magical transformation that takes place at our house every year, thanks to the unbridled imagination of my wife. She spends months designing, unpacking, assembling, wiring and erecting boxes of Christmas treasures she has accumulated from all over the world. While the exterior would be the envy of Chevy Chase in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, it’s the wonderland she creates inside that prompts jaws to drop and even the most ace
rbic of scrooges to exult in holiday cheer.

  It had only been a few months since the Defense Information Systems Agency team had come by to install a “red switch” phone—the NSA-approved encryption devices that would allow me to conduct classified communications through the Top Secret / SCI level with the Pentagon, any of our unified commands, bases, or other similarly connected facilities around the world. Located upstairs in my office adjacent to the bedroom, I didn’t have to go too far to receive the time-sensitive notifications that would invariably deny the luxury of an uninterrupted night’s sleep over the next two years. That’s the phone whose distinctive tone I heard while lying on my back and attempting to erect Suzie’s world-famous “upside down Christmas tree.” I untangled myself and made it upstairs to the phone before its fourth ring.

  “This is General Schwartz,” I said, a little out of breath.

  “Sir, this is ADDO Colonel Latimer at the NMCC. I’m calling to advise you that the Yongbyon nuclear reactor has just gone hot.”

  I resisted the temptation to respond with, “Bah, humbug!” and instead merely thanked him and wished him a happy holiday.

  The Yongbyon Nuclear Scientific Research Center was North Korea’s main nuclear facility, and the reactor was its central element. Located a little over fifty-five miles north of Pyongyang, the center contained a short-term spent fuel storage facility and a fuel reprocessing facility that recovered uranium and plutonium from spent fuel. The plant had been inactive since 1994, when it was shut down in accordance with the U.S.-North Korea “Agreed Framework,” a nonbinding political commitment that was intended to replace North Korea’s nuclear power plant program with more nuclear proliferation–resistant light-water reactor power plants. The agreement had been troubled from the start, but it completely broke down in late 2002. The fact that the reactor had just been reactivated had very significant implications.