My Share of the Task (49 page)

In truth, suddenly cutting a chunk out of a larger force package was complex business. Ensuring that the reduced force has all the necessary capabilities, yet stays within a specified number, is more difficult than it would appear. Brigades are not self-sustaining units: They require “enablers,” additional units that provide aviation, logistics, intelligence, and medical support. These enablers are like overhead in a business—they are not needed in direct proportion to the number of brigades whom they deploy to support. Yet to those unfamiliar with the arcane system and often complicated math, it would seem like a basic, fair request to ask the military to tell exactly how many soldiers it was deploying, and what each of them would do. As I confided in Charlie Flynn that spring, “This is, after all, our
profession
—they have a right to be upset.”

*   *   *

O
n the morning of Friday, March 27, 2009, President Obama, flanked by his national security team, took to a podium inside the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. His morning address followed another intensive White House assessment of Afghanistan, this time led by Bruce Riedel. Its conclusions formed the basis of a “comprehensive, new strategy for Afghanistan and Pakistan,” which the president outlined that morning: The United States' goal in fighting the war in Afghanistan was to “
disrupt, dismantle, and defeat Al Qaeda and its safe havens in Pakistan, and to prevent their return to Pakistan and Afghanistan.” To do so, the United States would pursue the terrorists directly, but it would further require “executing and resourcing an integrated civilian-military counterinsurgency strategy in Afghanistan.” The counterinsurgency's focus would be to secure the most contested terrain in Afghanistan—in the east and south—while mentoring the Afghan army and police so they could “
take the lead” and, in time, fight the insurgency without Americans by their side.

Noting the “situation is increasingly perilous,” President Obama announced the deployment of four thousand American troops to train Afghan soldiers and policemen—the troops the military had most recently requested.

Although President Obama did not say so in the speech, in the Pentagon we understood we had strong guidance from the White House to deploy and employ the forces on operations as rapidly as possible. We also understood that a decision on the final part of McKiernan's request would be delayed until after the August elections.

Watching from my office in the Pentagon, I thought the speech was powerful as the president evoked a strong sense of mission to help Afghanistan craft its future.

For the Afghan people, a return to Taliban rule would condemn their country to brutal governance, international isolation, a paralyzed economy, and the denial of basic human rights to the Afghan people—especially women and girls. The return in force of Al Qaeda terrorists who would accompany the core Taliban leadership would cast Afghanistan under the shadow of perpetual violence.

I used the words from this speech and the National Security Council's Strategic Implementation Plan for Afghanistan to craft my understanding of the mission President Obama was defining for America in Afghanistan. We would prevent the resurgence of Al Qaeda in Afghanistan and, through a counterinsurgency strategy, defeat the Taliban's effort to topple the government of Afghanistan and retake the country. Simultaneously, we were to help develop Afghanistan's capabilities so that it could eventually resist the Taliban and protect its own sovereignty. This was the lens through which I testified during my confirmation hearings that June, and then later used to guide my own strategic assessment.

From a White House perspective, with this decision, President Obama had given the military almost all that it had recommended, and had publicly announced troop increases twice after the military had to come back with an additional request. Indeed, ultimately President Obama would make difficult decisions that tripled U.S. forces in Afghanistan. And I understood that for an administration that needed to factor domestic support into its strategic calculus, it could seem like taking unnecessary political pain to announce, in the spring of 2009, the deployment of troops who could not physically deploy to Afghanistan before the election that August. I also understood the appeal of not deploying additional forces until the first tranche of troops arrived and their impact could be assessed.

The view from the Pentagon, which I shared, was different. Forces are shaped and deployed in packages to ensure they have every capability required. Also, military leaders, many of whom were students of counterinsurgency, recognized the dangers of incremental escalation, and the historical lesson that “trailing” an insurgency typically condemned counterinsurgents to failure. From a military planner's perspective, incremental decisions to provide forces over time are not the same as a clear decision up front that facilitates effective force employment.

From ISAF headquarters in Kabul, there was likely another perspective. A commander analyzes the mission his team has been given; assesses the situation; crafts a strategy to accomplish the mission; and then identifies the resources, including time, needed to achieve the mission. Receiving only part of the forces, or even getting them in a series of decisions, requires a commander to modify his campaign strategy. If that threatens his ability to accomplish the assigned mission, the commander must request that mission be changed.

In the end, the rising mistrust was disappointing. As an experienced soldier, I knew that any perceptions of military incompetence or manipulation were unfounded, and I believed that the intentions of leaders in the White House and across the government were equally focused on what was best for the nation. I saw good people all trying to reach a positive outcome, but approaching the problem from different cultures and perspectives, often speaking with different vocabularies. I hoped time working together would create more trust and a common picture.

*   *   *

D
uring the second week of May 2009, Chairman Mullen asked me to his office, an unconventional space I'd spent many hours in. Instead of the dark polished wood of Pentagon tradition, his office included a half-moon desk of white wood, a set of canted bookshelves evoking a sensation of being in a ship tossed at sea, and a small conference table. As usual, he came from behind his desk, and we sat at the table.

“Stan, the secretary has decided to make a change in Afghanistan,” he began. “General McKiernan will be replaced. You will assume command of ISAF. Rod will go, initially as your deputy at ISAF, and then he will take command of a new three-star-level headquarters as soon as we can stand it up.”

I had conflicting feelings. I was still interested in Afghanistan, and had hoped to replace Dave McKiernan in the summer of 2010 at the end of his standard two-year term. I was also happy to be paired with Rod. At the Joint Staff, I had kept a note in my desk that he had sent a young sergeant to give to me late one evening when we were both in Afghanistan in 2007. It quoted a line from a letter Sherman, in command near Memphis, wrote to Grant on March 10, 1864: “
I knew wherever I was that you thought of me, and if I got in a tight place you would come—if alive.” Returning to Afghanistan, Rod would command the day-to-day battle, while I focused on strategic-level issues. I would also be a commander again, which I preferred.

But I was uncomfortable with replacing Dave McKiernan—an officer whom I liked and admired, and whose command I felt had suffered from years of relative neglect due to requirements in Iraq. I'd developed a relationship with him over the previous year, trying to shepherd through the Pentagon's bureaucratic maze actions he needed.

I also knew I was taking command of an increasingly difficult and unpopular war. Given all the factors involved, I wasn't sure a successful outcome was achievable, no matter what we did. Nations had dispatched more talented generals than I—Jean de Lattre de Tassigny, Creighton Abrams—to command faltering wars that many thought were past saving. I knew many felt the same about Afghanistan. I'd watched the decision-making process that had transpired in D.C. over the past ten months, and knew it had been awkward at best. At worst, it reflected deep conflicts in U.S. policy toward Afghanistan and Pakistan. After eight years of combat, and a much improved, but still tenuous, situation in Iraq, I saw little enthusiasm among policy makers for what I sensed was going to be needed in Afghanistan. In the weeks before deploying, Rod and I talked nightly about the challenges ahead, often gauging our chances at fifty-fifty, and only then if we made serious changes.

Finally, there was Annie. I'd left her in 2003 for what had turned out to be most of five years. Now, for the past year, she'd been paralleling my job as director of the Joint Staff by helping to bring together the Joint Staff team. She held regular Friday-night dinners at our quarters for small groups of younger staff officers and their wives, functions that competed for any time we had away from work. But being together again was magic. On weekend mornings we'd both run separately and then meet somewhere for coffee. There, for a precious hour or sometimes two we'd talk. As I thought of those moments, I knew they were finite. We were no longer young and I had told myself that to do this job right, I needed, and planned, to commit to commanding ISAF for at least three years.

It was a lot to ask of Annie, but I never had to. There was no cautious conversation in which I broke the news to her, or asked her permission—I didn't need to. I knew that for as long as I wore the uniform, whatever I had to do, Annie would support me.

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O
n May 19, 2009, I was taken to the White House to meet President Obama. We'd met once before when he'd visited the Pentagon during his first week in office, but as DJS I'd been in a collection of other civilian and military leaders, so it was unlikely he remembered the man who would soon command his military effort in Afghanistan.

I'd been in the Oval Office before with President George W. Bush, but the atmosphere in the West Wing in the final and opening months of administrations differed perceptibly. Although it was four months into Obama's term, there was still a feeling of newness to the people, who moved with an air of excited purpose through the hallways. When the president was available, the door opened and Obama walked to the entrance to greet me into the room. The meeting was short, but cordial. The president offered no specific guidance but locked his eyes with mine and thanked me for accepting the responsibility.

*   *   *

S
enate confirmation was required and it was easier than it had been coming out of TF 714 the year before, although I again addressed questions surrounding Corporal Tillman's death. I appreciated concerns raised by the Tillman family and others, but after multiple investigations and testimony the year prior, I knew I had already provided full and forthright insights on my role and all I had observed.

On June 2, 2009, I testified in front of the Senate Armed Services Committee. I knew the hearing, while focused on the nominees, was also a venue for the senators to voice their own opinions on the war and the administration's handling of it. In the background was General McKiernan's still outstanding request for ten thousand additional troops. But it also offered a chance for me to offer my own statement of the war as I saw it.

“
In Afghanistan, despite impressive progress in many areas since 2001, the situation is serious,” I began. “Afghans face a combination of challenges: a resilient Taliban insurgency, increasing levels of violence, lack of governance capacity, persistent corruption, lack of development in key areas, illicit narcotics, and malign influences from other countries. Together, these challenges threaten the future of Afghanistan and regional stability.”

To prevent Al Qaeda's reemergence, to maintain stability in a region where Pakistan's fate was linked to Afghanistan's, and to provide Afghans, “battered by thirty years of almost unbroken violence, an opportunity to shape their future,” I told the committee, “
we must succeed.”

I also stressed the importance of NATO protecting the Afghan population. Despite NATO's efforts, the previous year, 2008, had been the deadliest yet for Afghan civilians. The Taliban
killed the vast majority of Afghans—largely through their IEDs—but the NATO Coalition was also responsible for a troubling number of those civilian deaths.

Fresh in my mind was an air strike that had occurred a few days before it was announced I'd take over in Afghanistan. On May 4, in Farah, western Afghanistan, insurgents had attacked Afghan troops and the American trainers embedded with them. After air support from F-16s,
the gunfight subsided. While Afghan and American ground troops held their ground, waiting for helicopters
to evacuate two wounded, a B-1 bomber pursued Taliban who were maneuvering from the fight and dropped
8,500 pounds of bombs on compounds in a small rural village.

The situation was confusing, and the Afghan government claimed
nearly 140 Afghan civilians were killed. A later independent investigation
estimated roughly 90 civilians died in the incident. In the days afterward, Afghans rioted in the provincial capital after men from the village drove into the city and parked a truck, loaded with fifteen bodies of dead Afghans,
in front of the governor's house. Their shouts
—“
Death to America . . .
Death to the government . . .”—caused anguish in Kabul, and serious reflection in the Pentagon.

“
Our willingness to operate in ways that minimize casualties or damage, even when doing so makes our task more difficult, is essential to our credibility,” I testified. “I cannot overstate my commitment to the importance of this concept.”

I would soon find in the villages and office parlors of Afghanistan voices confirming just how critical this point was. What I only partially understood that day in the Senate, and would soon come to grips with, was how monumentally difficult it would be to change how we operated.