The Home Front
There is a saying in the Marine Corps that if the Marines wanted you to have a wife, they would have issued you one. There used to be a two-year ban on getting married for Marine recruits, and while that regulation was eventually done away with, in the mid-1980’s any Marine under the rank of Sergeant had to secure the permission of his battalion commander before he could get married. The reason for these restrictions was that in the competing demands of serving the needs of the Corps and those of a spouse (with or without children), the Corps always won.
The demands of service did not distinguish between ranks. I had met Heidi while attending Franklin & Marshall College, and by the time we graduated, we were discussing marriage. We decided that it would be best if we waited until I completed by initial training, and had received orders for my first assignment, before tying the knot. By the time we were married, in August 1985, I had been assigned to the Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center, 29 Palms, California, where I served initially in the G-2 (Intelligence ) staff of the 7th Marine Amphibious Brigade, and later as the S-2 (Intelligence Officer) for 5th Battalion, 11th Marines, a field artillery unit.
Life in the Fleet Marine Force in the 1980’s revolved around one thing—training. The Marine Corps was a combat-oriented organization, and in times of peace this meant preparing for war. The operational tempo was intense, and I spent nearly two-thirds of my time either deployed, in the field, or away at school. This meant that my young bride was left home alone, in the middle of the Mojave Desert, with no family or friends to support her.
Things did not improve when I was reassigned to Washington, DC as part of the On-Site Inspection Agency (OSIA), a Department of Defense organization created for the purpose of implementing the Intermediate Nuclear Forces (INF) treaty that entered into force on July 1, 1988. I was tasked with helping install and operate a monitoring facility located outside a Soviet missile assembly plant near the city of Votkinsk, located some 900 kilometers (750 miles) east of Moscow, in the foothills of the Ural Mountains.
While assigned to OSIA, I had the honor and privilege of serving with the best Russian Foreign Area Officers, or FAOs, in the US military. A FAO is a subject matter expert who advises senior policy makers on the issues pertaining to his or her area of geographic specialization. Given the reality of the Cold War, Russian FAOs were called upon to do so much more, serving in frontline intelligence positions at the US Embassy in Moscow, and patrolling the fields of East Germany as part of the Military Liaison Mission assigned with monitoring the Soviet Group of Forces stationed there. The James Bond-like romanticism attached to the MLM position made it one of the most sought after positions a Russian FAO could have, and it was my dream to one day be able to ride in one of the olive green Mercedes G-Wagon 4-wheel drive vehicles, eluding East German and Soviet soldiers that tailed the MLM patrols, and taking covert photographs of sensitive Soviet military equipment.
But the MLM position was for a Russian FAO holding the rank of Major; I was but a mere First Lieutenant. To get to Potsdam, I would have to successfully complete my tour as an inspector in the Soviet Union and then get accepted into the FAO program. Given the fact that I knew next to nothing about Soviet missiles or arms control, and the Russian FAO program was one of the most selective of the armed forces, I had an uphill battle if I were to attain my goals.
I poured myself into my work. From mid-June 1988, when I deployed to Votkinsk as part of the advance team of inspectors sent to prepare for the treaty entering into force on July 1, 1988, through December 31, 1989, I spent 353 days away from home, working in the Soviet Union. The first six months of 1990 saw me being deployed for another 110 days in the Soviet Union, and nearly 30 days in other destinations related to the OSIA mission. Heidi was left to fend for herself on the home front. Whereas the Marine Corps tried to build a support network centered on the other officer’s wives who would gather and commensurate over the deployment of their husbands, there was no similar structure with OSIA—husbands left to parts unknown, and the wives were, literally, abandoned.
In October 1989, shortly after I returned to Votkinsk for yet another deployment, I received a letter from Heidi (mail was sent via the US Embassy in Moscow.) It was a short yet emotional note informing me that she was going to be seeking a divorce when I returned. She was not happy, and she saw no evidence that the quality of her life was going to improve by staying married to a Marine who was singularly focused on the needs of the service.
It is not easy to receive such a letter while deployed; the “needs of the service” does not factor in down time for dealing with personal issues. I had to bury my emotional trauma into the locked recesses of my mind and get on with the job, which at that time centered around resolving the complications surrounding the installation of a multi-million-dollar giant X-ray facility known as Cargoscan which intended to inspect Soviet missiles exiting the factory to ensure they were treaty compliant. Our failure to get this job done on time was putting the treaty at risk. Saving the world from nuclear annihilation took precedent over saving a floundering marriage.
Marriages are supposed to be a lifetime commitment, through “better or worse”, and upon my return to the United States, Heidi and I did our best to try and repair our relationship. We spent the Thanksgiving and Christmas/New Years holiday period reconnecting and attending marriage counselling. But “the job” always loomed in the background and come early January 1990 I was ordered back to Votkinsk, where I remained until early March. When I returned home, I was dispatched to participate in a series of inspections of SS-25 missile bases in the Soviet Far East. And in June and July, when Heidi and I were supposed to be preparing to transition back to the Marine Corps, I was pulled back to Votkinsk because of personnel shortages.
The last deployment hit Heidi hard. We were still walking on eggshells over the “divorce letter” and were looking forward to the relative calm of “headquarters duty” and the opportunity it provided to get our personal life back in order. A Navy Commander named Chuck Myers was my commanding officer in Votkinsk on my final rotations and was fully appraised of the seriousness of my situation on the home front. Unsolicited, he wrote Heidi a letter trying to provide some perspective on the role I was playing when it came to arms control in hopes that this would somehow mollify her.
“I know you are unhappy,” Chuck started the letter, “as you have every reason to be, that Scott is separated from you once again.” Noting that there was nothing he could do to change this, Chuck stated that “I would like to share with you a few thoughts about his role in our work.”
As you know, Scott was with me on the Votkinsk advance party. Our schedules have often coincided since then. No one else has worked so hard to make this endeavor a success. Starting with essentially no background for the tasks he had to accomplish, he has made himself the most successful, the best INF inspector.
Not many people lead well from a leadership position. Scott has had to lead from below, demonstrating what he developed to often skeptical superiors and stealthily enticing them to do it right. He is a truly fine officer, and whatever his future assignment may be, he will continue to be much in demand.
Scott has probably described to you our over-designed monitoring system here in Votkinsk. The politicians who specified it know that OSIA does not think highly of it. In an attempt to ridicule our preference for manual methods and human involvement, they have sometimes referred to our preferences as the “two Marines and a clipboard” approach. (This is neither a reference to specific Marines, nor an intent to compliment them.) If Scott’s work were better known, they would have to find a new expression. He has done more personally to support verification of Soviet compliance with the treaty than all that the politicians and engineers have come up with. Two Marines like him would be tough to beat.
General Lajoie has told me that he would like me to start up the next portal monitoring facility. Perhaps fortunately Scott and I will be leaving OSIA well before that event occurs. But I have told Scott, and I would like you to know, that there is no one I would rather have with me if I were doing it.
Heidi shared the letter with me when I returned home. “Don’t even think about doing this kind of work again,” she said, handing me the letter.
I think Chuck’s intent was lost in translation.
On my last day with OSIA, General Lajoie presented me with the Defense Meritorious Service Medal for my work in Votkinsk.
Heidi did not attend the ceremony.
Heidi and I had planned a grand European vacation to mark my departure from OSIA. Given the intensity of the workload associated with installing and operating the Votkinsk portal monitoring facility, I had not been able to take any personal leave during my two-and-a-half-year assignment. As such, I arranged it so that I would have a full 30-days of leave between separating from OSIA and beginning my stint as a student at the
Given the deterioration of our relationship, it was touch and go whether Heidi and I were going to make the trip. By this time, we were barely on speaking terms. Her concerns about my follow-on assignment were somewhat mollified when I received orders to attend the Amphibious Warfare School (AWS), the career Captain’s course for Marines, in Quantico, after which time I would enter the Foreign Area Officer training pipeline, which meant assignments in Monterey, California and Garmisch, Germany—two very nice duty stations.
Between AWS, Russian language training and graduate studies at the Naval Post Graduate School, in Monterrey, California, and a year studying at the US Army Russia Institute, in Garmisch, Germany, we were looking at four to five years of “soft” duty; yes, I’d be studying a lot, but I’d be home every night for dinner. Heidi’s big concern was what would happen after that. She wanted to start a family, but made it clear she was not interested in having children with what she termed “an absentee father.”
The fact that I could not answer the question about what my assignment would be after training bothered her a lot.
In the end, we decided to take the trip, and we flew to Zurich, Switzerland, where we rented a car and began our tour of central Europe. We made our way through the Alps, and on to Geneva, enjoying the scenery more than we enjoyed each other’s company. It is not that we were fighting; that was not our style. We just did not talk to one another beyond that necessary to get through the day. The resulting silence was, in many cases, much worse.
By the time we arrived in Paris, both of our nerves were frayed to the breaking point. We checked into our hotel, then went out to dinner, before strolling down the streets of Paris, ending up at the Eiffel Tower. We took the elevator to the top, where we stood on the observation deck, admiring the lights of the city before us. Paris in known as the “City of Love”, and for good reason—how could a couple not fall back in love looking out over such beauty?
Heidi and I opened to each other that night, standing there on the top of the Eifel Tower, doing more talking in the space of an hour than we had done the previous week combined. If there were a time and place for us to rekindle our marriage, this was it. But in the end, when we looked into each other’s eyes, and into our own hearts, the flame was no longer there.
I drove Heidi to the airport the next morning and put her on a plane back to the US. I then drove the rental car back to Zurich, turned it in, and caught a plane back to Washington, DC the next day. When I arrived at our home on Campbell Drive, the house was empty—Heidi had packed up and left for her parents. Our marriage was, for all intent and purpose, over.
I started AWS with every intention of graduating and getting on with my career. However, my separation from Heidi hit me harder than I thought possible. I took stock of my current situation and came to the realization that, in my time with OSIA, I had probably had the best tour of duty any Russian Foreign Area Officer could have ever asked for. Following the reunification of Germany, the Military Liaison Mission in Potsdam had closed, and with it my dream assignment.
With the Cold War coming to an end, there was not likely to be a high demand for my skill set unless I was willing to get back into the on-site inspection business. Heidi had made it clear that this was her “red line”. She had also made it clear that the Marine Corps lifestyle was a “red line” as well—I had spent nearly as many days in the desert while in 29 Palms as I had deployed while serving in OSIA. She was right—the Marine Corps was no place to try and start a family. Even if I avoided another OSIA-like arms control assignment, life in the Fleet Marine Force would be no less hectic or stressful, with lengthy separations a matter of course.
Heidi and I had informally separated, but we had not taken any formal steps toward the dissolution of our union that could not be undone if we were willing to try. I figured it was up to me to try and create an environment conducive to getting our marriage back on track, and so I submitted a letter of resignation from the Marine Corps to Colonel Kispert, the Director of the Amphibious Warfare School, citing “personal hardship which have arisen due to my service” which made “marital relationships with my spouse…untenable.” I noted that “this action is being done for personal reasons and without malice toward the Marine Corps.” I concluded by citing the “current international situation”, referring to the Iraqi invasion and occupation of Kuwait, and the ongoing deployment of US military personnel into the Persian Gulf in response.) “I desire to let it be known,” I wrote, “that I possess experience and skills which may be of service to the Marine Corps and the United States. Despite my decision to resign, I volunteer my service in whatever capacity the Marine Corps may see fit.”
Colonel Kispert called me into his office and talked to me about my decision. He asked me to sleep on the matter and come back in the morning. I did, and after we discussed my personal situation in some depth, I indicated my decision stood. Colonel Kispert accepted the letter and forwarded it to Headquarters Marine Corps with a recommendation that my request be granted. “Captain Ritter has performed superbly in the short time that he has been a student at Amphibious Warfare School,” Kispert wrote. “His resignation from the Corps is strictly for personal reasons and his willingness to perform any duties assigned, including service in Southwest Asia, is indicative of his honorable service to date.”
I had originally planned on commuting from my home in Herndon to Quantico, but when Heidi came back from her hiatus with her family, the animosity that existed was unbearable, and I moved into a hotel in Triangle, just outside the Marine Corps base. This was unsustainable from a financial standpoint, however, and after discussing situation with John Sartorius and Anne Mortenson, two former co-workers from Votkinsk who had just gotten married and had purchased a home in nearby Chantilly, they offered me the use of a spare bedroom in their house until which time I sorted out my situation.
Heidi and I had agreed that we would manage our separation and possible divorce through mediation, as opposed to hiring lawyers. By the time I had submitted my resignation letter, we had attended several mediation sessions. I was preparing to inform Heidi of my decision to resign to save our marriage, only to return from Quantico to find I had been served with legal papers from a law firm she had retained accusing me of “abandonment”. This was, for me, the last straw. The die had been cast, my marriage was over, and I would have to figure out on my own what my life would be like once I left the Marine Corps.
Rumors of War
In the Spring of 1990, while I busy carrying out inspections in the Soviet Union, the Iraqis were deploying elements of the Al Hussein Missile Force into western Iraq to support possible combat operations against Israel. As part of this effort, the Technical Support Battalion for Unit 224 surveyed some 30 possible launch positions along two axes, from Al Qaim to Ar Ratqa (the northern axis) along Highway 10 from Kilometer 160 [Wadi Amij] to Rutbah (the southern axis.)
The Al Hussein Force dispersed 27 Al Hussein missiles to storage sites located in Ramadi, Summaykah and Abu Ghraib, and missile fueling sites were also established at Ramadi and Abu Ghraib (Ramadi served as the primary fueling location, with Abu Ghraib designed to handle any overflow traffic). Guidance and control preparation and warhead fitting operations were also to be carried out at these locations. The nine MAZ 543 launchers belonging to Unit 224 dispersed, constantly moving among hide sites located to the east, north and west of Baghdad, and changing their locations every two days.
Command and control for the Al Hussein Force was moved out of its headquarters facility at Taji to mobile field locations. A command post was established at Ramadi for the commander of the Al Hussein Force, Lieutenant General Hazim Ayubi. Regimental command posts were established at Kilometer 160 (for the southern axis) and Al Qaim (for the northern axis). These command posts were connected by coaxial communications cable to Ramadi, and from there to the General Headquarters in Baghdad.
The Al Hussein Force was also integrated into the air defense early warning network, a critical information node required for the safe movement of mobile missile launchers and the conduct of launch operations. High frequency radio also connected the various headquarters to each other. Provisions were made for the use of commercial telephone and microwave communications as necessary, and a well-staffed system of couriers was likewise established.
A preliminary target list was prepared, with a total of six specific locations designated in the Tel Aviv area (covering commercial, military and political targets), two in the Haifa area (one commercial and one military) and a separate target designator each for the Zakariya Missile Base, King David Airfield, and the Dimona nuclear facility. These targets were developed using intelligence gathered because of a significant aerial reconnaissance effort. In July of 1989, Iraqi Air Force Mirage F-1Es, based out of Jordan, began flying reconnaissance missions along Jordan’s border with Israel. The Iraqi Mirage aircraft were outfitted with externally mounted OMERA/Dassault HAROLD long-range reconnaissance pods which could penetrate Israeli territory to depths of about 100 kilometers. The Israeli Air Force took note of these flights, and the Israeli Government sent the Jordanian Government some not-to-veiled warnings which led to the cessation of the Iraqi reconnaissance flights, but not before a significant amount of Israeli territory had been imaged.
While these preparations were underway, the Iraqis were undertaking additional efforts other efforts to enhance their ballistic missile strike options against Israel. In mid-April 1989, the Iraqis were looking to make an even longer-range version of the Al Hussein missile that would provide them with greater strategic reach and operational flexibility. Project 144 was tasked with producing a single prototype of what would be known as the Al-Abbas missile.
This did not represent a major problem, since the initial modification involved only the fuel and oxidizer extensions, a procedure well practiced by the workshops of Project 144. On 25 April 1988 the first Al Abbas prototype missile was launched. Its intended impact point was west of the city of Basra, near Jabal Salam, a total expected range of 900 kilometers. However, the missile disintegrated during re-entry, scattering pieces between Nassariyah and Jabal Salam, with the warhead reaching a range of 760 kilometers, the furthest any piece flew. The estimated altitude of the break-up was at 10-15 kilometers. No piece of the engine cover (not even the fins) was recovered, and the engine nozzle had melted during re-entry. The fuel and oxidizer tanks broke up into several pieces.
As with Al Hussein tests, Unit 224 provided scouts to assist in locating the impact point of the Al Abbas; some 1000 personnel were utilized in this role during Al Abbas tests. The missile was so widely scattered that it took the scouts three days, with the assistance of helicopters, to find the warhead impact area.
The other test results were likewise not heartening, but some useful data was obtained. The Iraqi engineers at Project 144 determined that the reason for the Al Abbas not reaching its target was that the incorrect number of impulses were imputed. Likewise, it was determined that the reason for the missile disintegration lay with instability caused by the shift in missile center of gravity crossing the missile center of pressure; for that reason, the engineers of Project 144 decided that on future Al Abbas missiles they would move five of the six air pressure bottles from the tail section (where they resided per the original 8K14 design) to the nose, being situated on an Iraqi-manufactured frame which extended above the guidance and control section in a tapered manner, fitting into the cavity created by the reduced warhead explosive mass. Of note, this design feature was incorporated into the Al Hussein missile as well to help stabilize that missile’s flight characteristics.
Based upon the results of the 25 April test, the leadership of Project 144 decided to conduct a series of flight tests of the Al Abbas to determine the precise number of impulses required to achieve a range of 900 kilometers. Project 144 was tasked with preparing three Al Abbas prototypes for these tests. These missiles were identical to the original prototype except for the shifted air bottles. The three prototypes were completed in mid-June and transported to the Tall Afar launch site, in northwest Iraq west of Mosul, where a fixed-arm launcher had been constructed for the sole purpose of supporting Al Abbas missile test launches.
On 27 June 1988 the first of three test launches took place at Tall Afar, with the Iraqi flight engineers increasing the number of pulses imputed to the 1SB12 of the Al Abbas. The results of these tests enabled the Project 144 Al Abbas team to determine the number of pulses required to achieve a range of 900 kilometers. However, the extensive break up, at altitude, of the Al Abbas indicated that something was wrong with the basic design of the missile.
The traditional brainstorming approach to problem solving that worked so well during the development of the Al Hussein missile was a detriment now. All parties in Project 144 concurred that the problem most likely resided in the calculations being made concerning the center of gravity and aerodynamic coefficients. There were several methods of calculating these factors—Russian, Yugoslavian, and western approaches derived from open literature—and the engineers of Project 144 made use of them all, reflecting their diverse educational backgrounds. However, each method yielded a different result. Another flaw lay in a weakness in calculating the aerothermodynamics (load forces) on the jet vanes. As a result, further development of the Al Abbas was held up due to internal differences of opinion.
Both the MIMI Bureau of Research and Engineering Applications and the leadership of Project 144 believed that to progress further down an expensive flight test program without the benefit of precise calculation support would be wasteful and ultimately unproductive. For that reason, a special Research and Development Group, known as Group 144/6, was established to develop the ability to make such calculations through computer-enhanced support.
Group 144/6 analyzed the flight test results of the Al Abbas accumulated up to that time and determined that basic design modifications had to be made to reduce the aerodynamic stress on the airframe. Based upon the inputs of Group 144/6, the Al Abbas was significantly redesigned, with the guidance and control compartment being removed entirely. The guidance and control components, together with the air bottle cluster, would still fit into the cavity of the warhead. Modifications to the “L” ring of the missile airframe had to be made to mate the warhead, but this was a simple matter.
When Group 144/6 adjusted their calculations based on the changes to the design of the new Al Abbas, it was determined that the optimum range of this system would be 870 kilometers, and the number of pulses required to achieve that range was calculated by Group 144/6. On 12 February 1989 Project 144 test launched two modified Al Abbas variants. The test was considered only partly successful, because the missiles continued to disintegrate upon re-entry.
Between February and August 1989 Project 144 and Group 144/6 continued to refine their design concepts for the Al Abbas. However, no major breakthroughs were had in calculations except to theorize that the missile break-up upon re-entry was caused by in-flight instability which occurred when the fins ripped off. For that reason, it was decided to reinforce the leading edge of the missile fins with a stainless-steel blunt edge which was hoped would help reduce the stress on the fin and keep it from “melting” or breaking off.
On 21 August 1989 Project 144 test launched its seventh Al Abbas, using the leading-edge reinforcements and, for the first time, a live warhead. The results were somewhat heartening to the Iraqis, as the missile exploded over the target area (an event witnessed by the design team) at an altitude of 8-10 kilometers. The designed range for this test was approximately 920-930 kilometers. The design team attributed this explosion to the friction and resulting heat that the warhead was subjected to during re-entry. While the design team did not believe that the Al Abbas airframe was now so stable as to avoid breaking up during re-entry, they did believe that, like the Al Hussein, the missile would stay together long enough to enable the warhead to impact in the target area. For that reason, the remaining Al Abbas flight tests were to be dedicated to solving the warhead heating problem.
Between August 1989 and May 1990, the Al Abbas design team at Project 144 concerned itself with the problems of insulating the warhead to help it survive the thermal loads during re-entry. The design team finally developed to solve this problem was to add approximately 3 millimeters of asbestos and 1 millimeter of steel to the shell of the warhead to provide better insulation. On 8 May 1990 the eighth Al Abbas was tested using this new warhead design, with a test range of 920-930 kilometers. Once again, the missile exploded in the air during re-entry, but this time at an altitude of only three kilometers. The onset of crisis resulting from tensions with Israel in the spring and summer of 1990, combined with the new reality which emerged following the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in August 1990, put continued development of the Al Abbas missile on hold.
New missiles weren’t the only innovation that the Iraqi Military Industrial Commission (MIC) was pursuing. In June 1989 MIC engineers initiated an ambitious program for the installation of a series of fixed missile launcher bases in western Iraq specifically designed to target Israel. The concept behind these fixed launchers was simple—the circular error of probability (CEP) of the Al Hussein missile was estimated to be somewhere close to 900 meters. The MIC engineers believed that any first strike against Israel would have to be decisive, since the reality was given the inevitability of a devastating Israeli counterstrike, they most likely wouldn’t get a second chance (the Al Hussein Force did not share this pessimistic assessment, believing that the mobile nature of its operations would ensure its survivability.)
From the perspective of the MIC engineers, the 900-meter CEP of the Al Hussein was extremely undesirable, especially when dealing with single-missile launches. However, if Iraq could fire a salvo of six to eight missiles from a single location at a single target, then there would be an increased likelihood of a missile hitting the intended target. Iraqi guidance experts also believed that they could increase a missile’s accuracy by up to 30% by repeatedly calibrating the gyroscopes of each Al Hussein, finding the mean deviation of error for each.
Under normal combat conditions, such a time-consuming procedure would not be practical. But in the deliberate efforts that would take place prior to a surprise mass missile attack against Israel using fixed-base launchers, such calibrations could take place, thus improving the CEP of the Al Hussein missile to approximately 600 meters. While such a CEP might not be accurate enough to guarantee a destructive result against a hardened point target such as the nuclear reactor at Dimona, it would raise the chances that area targets such as the Zakariyah missile operating base (home to the Jericho-2, Israel’s prime long-range counter-strike weapon), King David Airfield (the premier air force base for Israel’s nuclear-capable aircraft), and the Kirya (Israel’s equivalent of the Pentagon) might be decisively struck.
The fixed-arm launcher concept, however, was not embraced by the Iraqi Army, which did not want to have its missile assets tied down to fixed launchers which were viewed as excessively vulnerable to interdiction. The MIC engineers sought to overcome this resistance by presenting the Iraqi High Command with a fait accompli by constructing, on speculation, a vast network of fixed launchers which would then be marketed as providing Iraq strategic depth vis-a-vis Israel.
The initial attempt at manufacturing a fixed-arm launcher, however, ended in failure. A single fixed-arm launcher was installed at Saddam Airfield, also known as Qayyarah Airfield West, located in northern Iraq approximately 300 kilometers north of Baghdad, to support Al-Hussein missile test launches. Serious problems were encountered with the launch arm hydraulics, which had been cannibalized from the erecting mechanisms of commercial cranes, as well as with fixing the hydraulic cylinders used for raising the launch platform to the concrete base. After numerous failures during operational testing, the Saddam Airfield fixed-arm launcher was abandoned.
A second fixed-arm launcher was installed at Tall Afar, in north-west Iraq, to support Al-Abbas missile test launches. While possessing a somewhat longer launch arm to support the extended Al-Abbas air frame, the Tall Afar launcher was basically the same design as the Saddam Airfield model, with some design modifications incorporated that overcame the problematic hydraulic issues of the latter. During launch operations, a commercial crane was parked next to the fixed launcher, and its on-board power pack was used to operate the hydraulic erection mechanism.
Based on the success of the Tall Afar fixed-arm launcher, a final prototype for the fixed-arm launcher was constructed at Taji Military Facility, to accommodate a static display of the fixed-arm launcher for an unmodified SCUD and Al-Hussein missile during the December 1989 Baghdad Military Fair. By this time Iraq had concluded a contract with a German company, Rexroth, which provided Iraq with high-quality hydraulic cylinders which could be used for erecting the launch arm. The Rexroth devices were incorporated into final fixed-arm design. To support the operation of the fixed-arm launchers during the Baghdad Fair, the Iraqis loaded a power generator into the cab of an East German “Eva” truck which was used to enable the mechanical functioning of the Rexroth hydraulic cylinders.
MIC planned for a total of 40 operational fixed-arm sites to be constructed in western Iraq, situated among five operational sites (H-3 airfield, Wadi al-Jabariyah, Wadi ar-Ratqa, Wadi Amij, and Qasr Amij). Twenty other so-called “stand-by” sites were to be constructed (consisting only of the concrete platform and cable raceway, these sites in theory could be rapidly activated through the installation of pre-positioned launch arms and hydraulic systems stored in warehouses in the western zone). MIC, together with Project 144/5, engaged in a massive civil works effort, pouring the foundations for the fixed-arm launchers through the spring and summer of 1990. To support this effort, Project 144/5 imported ten 50-ton trailers from another West German company, Goldhofer, which were used to transport cranes and other heavy support equipment needed to operate missiles from the fixed-arm sites.
The MIC plan for the fixed-arm launchers called for Unit 224 to establish forward missile storage and support locations in the western zone, one at Al Qaim (to support the Wadi al-Jabariyah and Wadi ar-Ratqa sites) and one in the vicinity or Ar Rutbah (to support the H-3, Wadi Amij and Qasr Amij sites). At each fixed-arm launch site a perfectly flat horizontal concrete pad was constructed for the purpose of assisting in the fueling of the missile prior to mounting on the fixed-arm launcher. According to this concept, the Iraqi Army would preposition heavy cranes and support equipment in warehouses at Al Qaim and Ar Rutbah which would deploy to the various fixed-arm launch sites as required.
If a decision were made to strike Israel, MIC envisioned that the Iraqi Army would deploy missile airframes (mounted on transport trailers), fuel and oxidizer vehicles, warheads and warhead mating equipment, guidance and control support elements, and heavy cranes to the launch site. There, the missiles would be fueled on the concrete pad, the guidance and control components uploaded, and the warhead mated. Then, using the heavy crane, the missile would be loaded onto the fixed-arm launcher. A launch control vehicle would then position itself next to the cable raceway of the launch site, and hook itself up to the launcher power, air, and electrical control outlets. The missile would be erected, charged with starting fuel and compressed air, the appropriate impulses would be loaded into the guidance and control system per the desired target, and final adjustments made to the launch table depending on meteorological data (the Al-Hussein missile had an inherent deflection deviation which was affected by cross winds; adjustments in the deflection angle of the missile therefore had to be made prior to launch based upon current meteorological data or the resultant error would result in a huge degradation of accuracy for an already inaccurate missile.)
The Iraqis had planned for a single launch-control vehicle for every ten fixed-arm launchers. While not all ten launchers would be utilized at the same time, it was envisioned that mass launches of 4-6 missiles would occur. As such, missiles were to be prepared and loaded in sequence, with the launch control vehicle moving from one fixed-arm launcher to the next until all missiles had been fired. At that time, all support vehicles and equipment would be evacuated from the launch site to avoid detection and destruction from any retaliatory air attack.
The onset of the Gulf crisis precipitated by the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait forced an acceleration of the fixed-arm launcher program. In the end, a decision was made to construct 28 operational fixed-arm launchers, as well as two decoys consisting of damaged and rejected parts. As summer turned into fall, the MIC engineers were hard at work, trying to complete their tasks before the crisis turned into a war.
While MIC was working on perfecting its fixed-arm launcher concept, the Iraqi Army was pushing for the development of an indigenously produced transport-erector launcher that could replicate the performance of the Soviet MAZ-543. The engineers of Project 144/5 named this vehicle the Al Waleed, after the sixth Umayyad Caliph, Al Walid ibn al Malik ibn Marwan, who ruled from 705-715, and was renowned for his many architectural achievements.
Work on the Al Waleed began in 1989, utilizing a discarded 60-ton Goldhofer flatbed trailer (part of a purchase of 100 such trailers from Germany in 1982). Originally belonging to the Ministry for Housing and Construction, the trailer in question was broken down and had been discarded for scrap. Short on funds, this trailer was purchased cheaply by the engineers of Project 144/5, the institution responsible for producing the Al Waleed, during the beginning of 1988. To eliminate vibration, which would be potentially devastating for the electronics and hydraulics of a launch arm system, Project 144/5 engineers reduced the stiffness of the trailer platform by removing the inner rear axle, reducing the overall capacity of the trailer to 40 tons.
The Al-Waleed was designed to be a reverse-engineered model based upon the MAZ-543. As such, extensive use was made of items made available from group set (ZIP) spare parts for the MAZ-543 which were provided by Unit 224. In addition, the launcher arm and launch table were cannibalized from an operational training launcher (the 11th MAZ-543 launcher, received from the Soviet Union in 1979) and incorporated into the Al-Waleed system.
The initial model of the Al-Waleed was completed in February 1989. Despite the incorporation of proven Soviet components, the Al-Waleed was hampered by some basic design anomalies, primarily in the field of pneumatic, hydraulic and launch control electronic system support. A good pneumatic system on a mobile missile launcher is required for the fuel purging system (utilizing pressurized air stored in on-board air pressure vessels, the system flushes the fuel valves at engine cut-off to insure even, predictable and complete thrust termination, essential for achieving any semblance of accuracy), to fuel the missile with 35 kilograms of TG-02 starting fuel, and to provide the 1.8 bar pressure required to activate the on-board battery which provides in-flight power.
Iraqi Army requirements called for a system to be totally independent during combat operations (that is, to mimic the MAZ-543 in every way, being able to be uploaded with a launch-ready missile, to travel to the launch site, and to prepare and fire the missile without any outside assistance). During the early stages of the Al Waleed development, Iraq had not yet procured a foreign-supplied pneumatic system, and the Iraqi Army did not wish to totally cannibalize its 11th launcher (Project 144/5 was busy reverse engineering the launcher arm and launch table so that the original equipment could be returned and refitted onto the 11th MAZ-543, which was needed for instructional purposes at the surface-to-surface missile school located in Abu Ghraib). As a result, to serve in any operational capacity, the initial prototype of the Al Waleed had to be slaved to a support vehicle which would provide the required pneumatic assistance.
Likewise, the engineers of Project 144/5 were forced to utilize hydraulic units from commercial cranes. These crane hydraulics, while capable of erecting the launch arm in static events, were not manufactured to military specifications, and as such subject to failure after any exposure to vibration caused by road or cross-country movement. Despite the flexibility gained through the removal of the third axle, the Goldhofer platform remained exceptionally stiff. It lacked an adequate suspension system, and would become easily damaged during movement, especially if carrying a fully fueled missile. Likewise, the Al Hussein missile itself would become seriously damaged when transported aboard the Al Waleed—during early transportation tests, the Iraqi engineers noted that the missile airframe would experience considerable deformation because of bending that occurred due to the rough ride of the Al Waleed. The Iraqi Army requirements for an independent mobile launcher were not going to be met utilizing this early design.
A final obstacle was that of launch control electronics, used to test the missile’s systems prior to launch, and to input the desired range (in the form of “impulses” loaded into the guidance and control system, in specific the 1SB12 accelerometer, which measured velocity to determine engine cut-off speed), and to affect the actual launch of the missile itself. In mid-1988 the Research and Development Group 144/4 initiated work on developing indigenously produced launch control electronics. This involved the reverse engineering of the original Soviet systems, and the design and manufacture of indigenous components. Such a system was eventually fielded in the fall of 1990, but not in time to support the Al Waleed program. As a result, the initial Al Waleed prototype had to make do with slaved electronic support from slaved support vehicle.
Despite the shortcomings of the initial prototype of the Al Waleed, it was successfully utilized to launch a single Al Hussein missile on 27 July 1989. Although slaved to a MAZ-543 for pneumatic, hydraulic and launch control electronic support, the launch arm and launch table of the Al Waleed performed successfully, validating the basic design of the system. However, serious problems were encountered when the Iraqis tried to stabilize the Al Waleed prior to the launch. The Soviet MAZ-543 utilizes a three-point stabilization system built into the MAZ vehicle. This system is relatively simple to stabilize and level. The Al Waleed, however, utilized a four-point system which was levelled manually, using standard Soviet bubble levels. This was a much more difficult process that often would lead to the “warping” of the launch arm and platform, causing the hydraulic system to “freeze”, or lock up. This experience led the engineers of Project 144/5 to reject the dual-boom design of the Soviet MAZ-543 in favor of their own single-boom design then under development.
The failure of Project 144/5 to produce an operationally viable Al Waleed launcher led the Military Industrial Commission to task Project 144/5 with the construction of a simpler mobile-erector launcher (MEL) based upon the design of the fixed-arm launcher mounted on 50-ton flatbed trailers. A total of eight of these MELs, to be named the Al-Nida, were to be built, with production starting in August 1990. By September 1990 the first Al-Nida had been finished. However, the Iraqis were experiencing considerable difficulty in aligning the heavy launcher arm on the trailer, the weight of which caused the flatbed trailer to twist out of shape, causing difficulties in the operation of the hydraulic system while erecting the launcher arm. As a result, the Iraqis were only able to produce six Al-Nida MELs, of which only four were eventually made operational.
To deter Israel from any preemptive strike against Iraqi facilities (especially the nuclear sites at Tuwaitha and Tarmiya), Iraq undertook an intensive effort to develop and produce a chemical capability for its Al Hussein missile force. As a political bluff, senior Iraqi officials made public reference to the existence of a “binary weapon”, as well as threats to burn “half of Israel” if any attack should take place. These comments only served to inflame Israel, which undertook measures to launch the very pre-emptive air attack the chemical weapon was supposed to deter.
The primary work on the Al Hussein chemical warhead was conducted by the Muthanna State Establishment, the organization in Iraq responsible for all aspects of chemical weaponry, to include delivery systems. One of the key considerations for choosing the Al Hussein was its long range, a capability only matched by aircraft. Once the decision was made to go forward with the Al Hussein chemical warhead concept, Muthanna personnel contacted Project 144 in March of 1990 for technical discussions, during which Project 144 confirmed that the warhead for the Al Hussein could be modified to carry chemical agent.
The chemical agent chosen by Muthanna for the Al Hussein was Sarin (GB/GF), due to its effectiveness and psychological effect when used against Iranian troops during the Iran-Iraq War. The concept involved a primitive binary munition in which an alcohol precursor would be loaded into each warhead. Prior to launching, a GB/GF agent would be added to the alcohol, which would be mixed by hand to produce Sarin.
Five test warheads were constructed by Project 144, with initial testing taking place at the Muhammadiyat test range located south of Baghdad. Three static tests were conducted, consisting of ground events which involved the detonation of the booster charge to see how effectively the liquid would spread. Each munition tested was filled with an oil and water mixture which replicated the viscosity and density of the Sarin agent. The ground tests were considered successful, achieving the desired contamination goal of seven grams of agent per square meter, with a total planned contaminated area of 2 hectares per warhead.
Two of the warheads were used in flight tests involving the Al Hussein missile. Initial studies indicated that the best results could be achieved by a warhead exploding above the ground. To achieve this effect, however, the fusing system for the Al Hussein would have to be changed. No proximity fuse was available in Iraq which could operate effectively at the high speeds associated with the re-entry of the Al-Hussein warhead, nor could one be procured in a timely fashion. Therefore, the decision was made by the Iraqi engineers involved to retain the existing fuses used in the conventional Al Hussein, resulting in the chemical warhead detonating on impact, significantly reducing its planned effectiveness and lethality.
Despite this obvious shortcoming, permission was given to initiate production of the chemical warhead. Some eighty containers for chemical agents were manufactured, 40 each from stainless steel and aluminum. However, only 75 warheads were produced. Of the 75, 32 represented modified Russian 8F44E warheads and 43 were indigenously produced Iraqi warheads. The Russian warheads were modified by Workshop 144/1 at Taji and Al Qa’ Qa’, while the Iraqi manufactured warheads were produced solely at Taji. The warheads were produced in several batches, with the final delivery being made in September of 1990. All warheads were filled and stored at Muthanna.
Forty-five of the warheads were filled with alcohol and dispersed to holding sites, while thirty warheads remained at Muthanna. Of these, 16 were filled with Sarin agent and considered to be in “ready” status, and the other 14 were filled with alcohol and placed in “standby” status (up to 11 Iraqi workers were killed while preparing these warheads, their deaths were attributed to the crude technique utilized by the Iraqis for filling the warheads, which involved the mixing by hand of GB/GF precursor with isopropyl alcohol.)
No unit of the Al-Hussein force was trained in the handling of chemical munitions. Instead, Muthanna maintained a special team which would supervise the transport and handling of the warheads if a decision was made for their use. According to the plan for utilization of a CW warhead for combat purposes, the launcher, technical battalion personnel, and a fueled missile with guidance equipment installed would rendezvous with the Muthanna team at a pre-determined location nearby (some 2-3 kilometers) from the ultimate launch site. At that time, the Muthanna team would oversee the uploading of the chemical warhead onto the Al-Hussein missile. Once uploaded, the launcher would proceed to the launch site for normal launch operations. The chemical warheads for the Al-Hussein were never intended as a first strike weapon, but rather a weapon of retaliation, something borne out by the Iraqi operational methodology for CW utilization with the Al-Hussein Force.
Plans
My letter of resignation had been sent to Headquarters Marine Corps for processing. However, until which time a final disposition had been reached, I was still a student attending the Amphibious Warfare School. I anticipated that I would be given a year to transition out of the Marine Corps, and so I poured myself into my studies, determined to finish my time with the Marines the way I came in—as a professional. Each morning began with a series of lectures before the students would break up into their “discussion groups”—teams of around ten Captains, headed by a Major who served as the instructor/facilitator, who would tackle various “problems” designed to further their knowledge of the art of war.
By September 1990 it was clear that the United States was headed toward a military confrontation, and as such most of the “problems” assigned to the discussion groups were geared toward a potential shooting war against Iraq. During one such discussion over tactics, I brought in a paper I had written while serving as the S-2 of 5th Battalion, 11th Marines, about Iraqi defensive tactics during the Iran-Iraq War. Major Duncan, who headed up the discussion group I was assigned to, brought the paper to the attention of the AWS senior faculty, and soon I found myself standing in front of Colonel Kispert’s desk.
“The Marine Corps has decided that, given your personal situation, you are to be released from active duty effective the end of November of this year. As such, you will not be graduating with your classmates.” The Colonel held a copy of my paper in his hands. “I and the other instructors have found this paper to be of great interest. So has Major General Caulfield, the commanding general of the Marine Warfighting Center. He has asked that you be transferred from the school to his office, where he has a project that will keep you busy up until the time you separate from service.”
Later that day I found myself standing in front of General Matt Caulfield, a highly decorated veteran of the Vietnam War. General Caulfield was held in high esteem by all Marines. During the battle for Khe Sanh, on the night of January 20, 1968, then Major Caulfield was serving as the Operations Officer of 3rd Battalion, 26th Marines when the North Vietnamese Army attacked Kilo Company. At 2 am Caulfield received a frantic call from 1st Lieutenant Jerry Saulsberry, the last standing officer of Kilo Company. “We’re being overrun! Command group is all down!” Saulsberry shouted into the handset. Caulfield’s reply was one for the history books: “A Marine unit doesn’t get overrun. Now calm down and tell me what is really happening?” After learning that much of Kilo company leadership had been hit, Caulfield worked to calm down the panic-stricken Saulsberry. “Now Jerry,” Caulfield calmly said, “I know you can do this. I want you to take that ball and run with it.” Saulsberry and what was left of Kilo Company held their ground. Caulfield received the Legion of Merit with a rare combat “V” for valor for his actions on Hill 881.General Caulfield asked me to take a seat and began questioning me in a manner which suggested he was assessing the depth of my knowledge and insight about Iraq and the Iraqi military. While serving with the G-2 of the 7th Marine Amphibious Brigade, I had been given the additional duty of tracking the Iran-Iraq War. During the heavy fighting around Fish Lake, north of Basra, in early 1986, the US was concerned about a possible Iranian breakthrough which would not only threaten the city of Basra, but also Kuwait and its oil fields. My job was to keep tabs on the battlefield situation, and provide daily situation reports which were used by the commanding general and his senior staff to assess the probability of the 7th Brigade being deployed to the Persian Gulf. From this experience, I became knowledgeable of Iraqi defensive tactics, logistics and command and control.
General Caulfield then took the conversation to a more philosophical direction, asking me about the root causes of the crisis. I told him I believed that the Iraqis had a grudge against Kuwait that was linked to the ongoing theft of Iraqi oil resources using slant drilling techniques that allowed the Kuwaitis to tap into Iraqi oil fields, stealing billions of dollars of Iraqi oil. The General asked me if I believed the Iraqis were justified in invading Kuwait. “I can’t answer that, Sir,” I replied. “That’s a political question above my paygrade. But I will say this—the Iraqis are some of the hardest working Arabs you will ever meet. They don’t farm out their work to foreign laborers, unlike the Kuwaitis, who won’t get their hands dirty. If you ask me, we’re fighting the wrong Arabs.”
That comment caught the General’s attention. “So, you would have a moral issue if called upon to go to war against Iraq?” he asked.
“Not at all,” I replied. “I would do my duty. But you asked me a question, Sir, and I answered it as honestly as I could.”
General Caulfield smiled. He picked up his phone and placed a call. Soon two Marine Colonels entered the room. “This is Colonel Martin Steele,” General Caulfield said, pointing to one of the Colonels, “the Deputy Director of the Warfighting Center, and this,” he continued, “is Colonel Forrest Lucy”, pointing to the other. “I’ve put Colonel Steele in charge of an ad-hoc study group to develop concepts for the employment of Marine forces against Iraq. The Commandant (General Al Gray) is not comfortable with how General Schwarzkopf (the US Army commander of US forces assigned to confront Iraq) is planning on using the Marines under his command. The Commandant has tasked me with coming up with some options which best make use of Marine Corps amphibious warfare doctrine. And I’ve tasked Colonel Steele with preparing a briefing for the Commandant that spells out these options. Colonel Lucy heads up the Marine Corps Intelligence Activity. I’ve asked him to provide intelligence support to Colonel Steel. And I’m assigning you to work with Colonel Steele and Colonel Lucy as the Iraqi subject matter expert.”
And, just like that, I was pulled out of the theoretical environment of the Amphibious Warfare School, and into the real-world of planning for war.
I was a Captain in a group consisting of two Colonels and three Lieutenant Colonels. However, I was shown a great deal of deference, especially when it came to the question of how the Iraqi Army performed in combat. We had been asked to examine several scenarios, including one which had a Marine division enter western Iraq from Jordan to prevent SCUD missiles from being fired into Israel. Another concept had a Marine Division enter northern Iraq from Turkey. And yet another called for an amphibious assault on Kuwait City. I prepared pro-con assessments for each, but on my own volition developed two additional scenarios for consideration. One involved a battalion-sized raid into the Al Zubair logistics base that serviced all Iraqi forces in Kuwait. The idea was to use Marine heavy-lift helicopters to transport Marine light armored vehicles (LAV-25’s) into the Iraqi rear area, and destroy as much of Iraq’s supplies as possible, before being withdrawn, again by helicopter. The helicopter raid was doctrinal, and the target seemed hand made for such an operation.
The other option was an amphibious assault on the Al Fao peninsula by a corps-sized (two divisions) element of Marines, who would then advance to the Al Zubair logistics base and seize it, crippling Iraq’s ability to sustain its forces in Kuwait. The primary goal of this operation was to put the Iraqi Republican Guard in the horns of a dilemma. The Al Fao assault was to be timed in conjunction to a planned US Army attack west of the Wadi al Batin, where the Republican Guard was dug in. If the Republican Guard moved to counter the Marine attack, it would expose itself to the Army advance. Likewise, if the Republican Guard responded to the Army attack, the Marines would hit them from behind. And if the Republican Guard stayed put, they would be pounded by air power.
One of the more innovative concepts I came up with to support the Al Fao operation was to combat load Marine units onto roll-on, roll-off ships, which would then form a causeway over which the Marine assault formations would assault the beach and move inland.
I briefed these concepts to the ad hoc study team, and then to Major General Caulfield. General Caulfield was intrigued and took the ideas to the Command and Staff College, where the majors and lieutenant colonels there were tasked with fleshing the concepts out. While this was happening, General Caulfield ordered Colonel Steele to brief the Commandant and his senior staff. I was tasked with putting this briefing together, but at the end of the day it was decided that I was too junior to do the actual briefing, which would instead be done by Colonel Steel.
While General Caulfield and Colonel Steele were very enthusiastic about both the helicopter raid and the Al Fao assault, the other members of the ad hoc study team were less so. One of the officers assigned to the ad hoc study group was Colonel Edward Seiffert, a veteran CH-53 pilot who had commanded the helicopter detachment during the aborted Iran rescue mission back in April 1980. Colonel Seiffert listened respectfully as I briefed the merits of the helicopter raid, but in the end voted it down. “I’ve seen what happens when helicopters come up short on a mission”, he said, drawing from his own experience. “I don’t think we should be risking the lives of this many Marines to execute a raid when the same amount of damage could be done with air-delivered ordnance.”
My appeal to doctrine and audacity fell on deaf ears.
My Al Fao concept ran afoul of Colonel Lucy, the Director of the Marine Corps Intelligence Activity. He and his staff had produced a series of cautionary assessments which postulated the Iraqi military putting up one hell of a fight. My “horns of a dilemma” argument was not convincing to Colonel Lucy and his staff, who believed that the Iraqis would be able to adjust and counterattack before adequate force could be brought ashore, endangering the landing force.
Initially I was not going to be invited to attend the briefing to the Commandant—I was simply too junior. But Colonel Steele, appreciative of my authorship and the amount of work I had put into preparing the briefing slides, invited me to come along to flip the vu-graphs used to illustrate the briefing. This did not please Colonel Lucy, who viewed me as a loose cannon. On the day of the briefing, as we walked the corridors of Henderson Hall toward the Commandant’s office, Colonel Lucy pulled me aside. “You’re just flipping slides, Captain,” he said. “Leave the grand strategy concepts to the adults in the room. Am I clear?”
I shrugged my shoulders, “Yes, Sir.”
Colonel Lucy had an impressive resume, including tours in Vietnam as an artillery forward observer. Later he spent a considerable amount of time in the Middle East, including tours of duty as a Military Observer with the United Nations Truce Supervision Organization (UNTSO) in 1974-75, G-2 and J-2 for the Multi-National Force and Joint Task Force Lebanon immediately following the bombing of the Marine barracks in Beirut, 1983-84, and on the staff of the Commander, Middle East Forces in the Persian Gulf, from 1986-87.
He was not a man to be trifled with.
General Al Gray was a living legend, known for his no-nonsense approach toward problem solving. In Vietnam then Major Gray crawled through an enemy mine field to rescue two Marine who had been seriously wounded after one of them stepped on a mine. For this action he received the Silver Star—the nation’s third highest award for heroism in combat. Gray was a veteran of the Korean conflict, where he had been wounded three times and was awarded the Bronze Star four times for valor. He was the father of maneuver warfare, and his “warfighting” philosophy is considered to the “second renaissance” of the Marines, after General John Lejune’s embrace of amphibious warfare back in the 1920’s.
I first met General Gray back in 29 Palms, when he inspected the Marines of 5th Battalion, 11th Marines. I was serving as the Headquarters Battery Executive Officer at the time and was the officer in charge of the formation being inspected. The pride of my Marines was discernable as their commandant walked the ranks. When General Gray found out one of my Marines was from Guam, and hadn’t been home in years, he invited the Marine to fly with him that night, since Guam was the next stop on the Commandant’s tour. This act cemented the love and respect my Marines had for their Commandant.
I entered the Commandant’s office last and quickly took a seat next to the Vu-Graph projector, slides in hand. General Gray was joined by the Assistant Commandant, General John Dailey, and a bevy of three- and two- star general officers—a veritable constellation of Marine Corps leadership.
Major General Caulfield introduced the members of the Ad Hoc Study Team to the Commandant and his staff, before turning the briefing over to Colonel Steele. The Deputy Director of the Warfighting Center quickly ran through the various scenarios that had been examined by the group, before turning to the intelligence preparation of the battlefield slides I had prepared. Here is where the core argument in favor of amphibious operations was spelled out, focusing on Iraqi vulnerabilities and the real probability of paralyzing their command and control, opening the Iraqi forces to being systemically destroyed by coalition air power. I had spent a lot of time on these slides, and was expertly flipping them around, making sure the right image was being projected based upon what Colonel Steele was saying.
The briefing quickly turned into a question-and-answer period, with the Commandant taking the lead. He first addressed the helicopter-borne LAV-25 raid, but Colonel Seiffert repeated his opposition and given his status as the helicopter task force commander of the failed Iran rescue mission, his argument carried the day. Next, we moved to the Al Fao operation. Colonel Steele made a forceful argument in favor of this concept but yielded the floor to Colonel Lucy once General Gray began asking questions about the combat capability of the Iraqis. Colonel Lucy was a proponent of the “ten foot tall” Iraqi, focusing on the recent combat experience of the Iraqi military in the Iran-Iraq War, the “elite” status of the Iraqi Republican Guard, and the superiority in firepower the Iraqis enjoyed.
General Gray paused and then turned to me. “It seems I am being briefed by people who are reading from a script written by someone else. I look around the room and wonder who the author could be. And then I look at you, Captain, and ask myself why you are here. And I think the answer is because you’re the one who put this presentation together. Am I correct?”
I looked over at Colonel Steele, and the General Caulfield. Both were smiling. Colonel Lucy, on the other hand, was drilling a hole in my head with his glare.
“Yes, Sir,” I replied.
“So why did you go through the trouble of putting together this amphibious option, if, as Colonel Lucy suggests, it has no chance of success?
“Because my assessment of the situation is different, Sir.”
All eyes were now on me.
“Go on,” the Commandant said.
“The Iran-Iraq War showed that the Iraqi Army can be a formidable foe on the battlefield,” I said. “But it also showed that if you neutralize their leadership and suppress their communications, then the Iraqi Army has a tendency to collapse.”
“Collapse?” General Gray asked.
“Chieu Hoi”, I answered, using the Vietnamese word for defecting or surrendering. “The reality is, Sir, that we are going to hit the Iraqis like they have never been hit before. Their command and control will be non-existent. And we are going to end up processing far more prisoners than we are going to kill Iraqi soldiers.”
You could have heard a pin drop. All eyes were now on General Gray, who was pondering my words while taking a sip of coffee from his trademark camouflage coffee cup.
“I agree,” he finally said. “This is exactly what maneuver warfare is all about. This is what we have been training to do these past few years.”
General Gray stood up, signaling that the briefing was over. He turned to General Caulfield. “Turn this into a product we can take to Norm Schwarzkopf and Walt Boomer (Lieutenant General Walter Boomer, the commanding general of I Marine Expeditionary Force, the Marine component of Schwarzkopf’s coalition forces.) I’ll make some phone calls. Great job,” he said, looking around at the ad hoc study team members. He locked eyes with me. “Bravo Zulu.”
Bravo Zulu, Naval vernacular for “well done.”
I was on cloud nine as I gathered up the slides, and pushed my chair in, waiting for the constellation of Marine generals to exit the room. General Caulfield stopped and shook my hand. “I’ll see you back in Quantico,” he said.
I had visions of travelling to the Persian Gulf as part of the Commandant’s briefing team running through my head. But as soon as I exited the Commandant’s office, I was locked up in the hall by Colonel Lucy. “What the hell did I tell you, Captain? You were ordered not to say a thing!”
I looked the Colonel in the eyes. “With all due respect, Sir, I was asked a question by the Commandant of the Marine Corps. He outranks us both. And when a four-star general asks a question, any Captain worth his salt had better answer. If you have a problem with anything I said, I respectfully suggest you take it up with either General Caulfield or the Commandant.”
Colonel Lucy did just that.
The briefing was given on a Friday. When I came back to work on Monday, I was called into General Caulfield’s office. “Great job with the briefing,” General Caulfield said. “Colonel Lucy and his team at MCIA are going to take over polishing it up for General Schwarzkopf.” He looked at me. “Politics.”
General Caulfield picked a piece of paper off his desk and handed it to me. It was a message from General Boomer, the gist of which was the Marines had been given the job of launching a frontal assault on prepared Iraqi defenses, part of what General Schwarzkopf was characterizing as a “fixing attack” designed to pin the bulk of the Iraqi Army down while the mechanized forces of the US Army outflanked the Iraqis from the west. Boomer called it a suicide mission and was asking General Caulfield for some help in modifying the mission in order to save Marine lives.
“This message is back channel”, General Caulfield said, “which ties my hands regarding what I can do officially. But since you’re now unemployed, I’d like to have you turn your attention to coming up with an answer for General Boomer.”
The Warfighting Center purchased a JANUS computer-based wargaming system in the summer of 1990. Developed for the Army, JANUS allowed for realistic force-on-force simulations. General Gray wanted to integrate it into the more advanced courses being taught as part of the Marine Corps University. The computer was set up in a building adjacent to the Command and Staff College. General Caulfield ordered me to report for duty the next day. It was early November. I had until the end of the month to come up with something that would be useful to General Boomer.
I knew nothing about either JANUS or computerized simulations. Fortunately, I had a team of enlisted Marines who were knowledgeable, and they had been using JANUS to exercise the students at the Command and Staff College. Even so, JANUS was still new for the Marines. The US Army had been using JANUS since 1983, including to conduct simulations in support of the US invasion of Panama in 1989. It was also used in designing General Schwartzkopf’s planned attack on the western flank of the Iraqi defenses. However, the Marine experience with JANUS began only in August of 1990, and then only in support of training. My assignment represented the first ever Marine Corps operational use of JANUS in support of a real-world scenario.
After being briefed by my team about the various inputs that would need to be programmed into JANUS to run the requested scenarios, I set about collecting detailed aerial photographs from the CIA so we could build accurate terrain maps of the defenses the Marines would be tasked with breaching. I also got the NSA to provide me with a detailed order of battle of the units occupying the defenses, including reports on their combat history, performance, and leadership. I tasked my Marines with collecting similar data on the Marine units expected to lead the assault. We then carefully programmed the JANUS computer and hit “enter.”
The result was a disaster—the Marines were annihilated before they ever reached the Iraqi defenses.
I sat down with my Marines and dissected the data. Two things became apparent—we had over-programmed the Iraqi capabilities, and under-programmed Marine suppression actions. But I wouldn’t simply allow the system to be “gamed.” I worked with my Marines to define what actions would have to be taken to reduce Iraqi capabilities, and to define the resources needed by the Marines to suppress the Iraqis while accomplishing their assault breaching tasks. For the next three weeks, my team ran the simulation repeatedly, each time pausing to evaluate the lessons learned, before undertaking the time-intensive task of properly programming the data into the JANUS system. Finally, in early November, we had a solution that produced the desired result—a decisive Marine breakthrough. Major General Caulfield oversaw the final “proof of concept” JANUS simulation. Afterwards, he ordered me to prepare a report, which he then sent to General Boomer.
One of the things I’m most proud of in my military career is the fact that the Marine assault breaching operations done during Desert Storm unfolded almost exactly as my team and I had predicted in the JANUS simulation. After the war, General Caulfield credited my team and I with playing a major role in designing the successful Marine attack and, in the process, saving hundreds of Marine lives. We achieved this result by adhering to basic principles of professionalism and integrity, refusing to cut corners for the sake of expediency and being realistic about the amount of military combat power that would be needed to be applied over time to achieve the desired result.
But this was unknown to me at the time. What I did know was that my time as a Marine Officer was rapidly coming to an end. Earlier that month I attended the Marine Corps Birthday Ball, held at the Washington, DC Sheraton Hotel. I had run into several faculty and students from the Amphibious Warfare School, but I was under strict orders not to discuss any aspect of the work I had done or was doing, and since I was no longer a fellow student, we had little to talk about. I left the ball early, went home, and took off my dress blue uniform for what I believed would be the last time.
I was working long hours on the JANUS project, and by the time I made it up to Herndon, I was dead tired. But I was about to become unemployed, and as such was sending letters out looking for potential job offers. I received a letter from H. J. Heinz, of Ketchup fame. They were looking to build a series of food processing plants in the former Soviet Union, starting with a baby food plant in Pyatigorsk, a city in southern Russia nestled in the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains. They liked my experience installing the Portal Monitoring Facility in Votkinsk and were interested in having me sign on as a project manager to oversee the construction of the Pyatigorsk factory.
I also was looking at dipping my feet into the world of academia. To do this, I would need to get both my Master’s degree and PhD, a daunting task both in terms of time and money. I had, by this time, published two articles in prestigious academic journals (Soviet Studies and The Journal of Contemporary History), and was finishing up an article for Problems of Communism. I had previously written a paper on the violence that had broken out in Sukhumi, in the Soviet Republic of Georgia, in the summer of 1989. I had cleared it for publication but struggled on where to submit it.
I finally settled on Diaspora: A Journal of Transnational Studies. The editor liked what he had read but believed that I had drawn too much on the mainstream Soviet press. He wanted me to access local sources of information from both the Georgian, Russian and Abkhazian sides. To do this, I would need to travel to Sukhumi, Georgia, something that was an impossibility while I served in the Marine Corps. But with civilian status staring me in the face I became creative. I wanted to do some basic reconnaissance of southern Russia and the Caucasus region before committing to the H. J. Heinz offer. I could go to the Soviet Union as a tourist, but I felt that I would be too constrained while operating under the watchful gaze of my Intourist guides. One way around this was to be invited to visit the Soviet Union by a host family, individual, or organization.
When I was an inspector working in Votkinsk, one of the Soviet translators who worked for the Votkinsk Factory was a young Georgian lady named Marina Khatiashvili. Marine graduated from the elite Moscow Institute of Languages in May of 1988 and was recruited to serve in Votkinsk as part of her obligatory two-yea service owed for her free education.
And she was from Sukhumi.
I found out from John and Anne, my housemates who still rotated back and forth into Votkinsk, that Marina had returned home after finishing her two-year service obligation. They were able to get me her contact information, and I began writing her letters to get her family to agree to sponsor me for a visit to Georgia. I figured I could do the required research to re-work my article and become familiar with the regional “ground truth” when it came to the Pyatigorsk project. It was agreed that I would plan on travelling to Georgia after the New Year, sometime in mid-January 1991.
Because I was still on active duty and had been read into highly classified intelligence programs (I no longer had access to Top Secret intelligence as a student at the Amphibious Warfare School but could still be read-in if needed), I contacted the local Special Security Officer (SSO) for guidance on how to proceed. I informed him of my intent to contact Marina Khatiashvili and explained my interest in publishing an article and gaining useful employment. The SSO wrote a memorandum for the record regarding our conversation and approved me to proceed as planned.
Then fate intervened.
I had submitted my report to General Caulfield right before the Thanksgiving Holiday. I was scheduled to begin my out processing from the Marines the following Monday. Instead, I was summoned to General Caulfield’s office. By this time Colonel Steele was in the Persian Gulf, trying to convince the Navy and Marines there to buy into the Al Fao plan. But it was too late—the die had already been cast regarding the final war plans. Instead, Colonel Steele was ordered to remain in the region as the G-3 for I MEF. Colonel Lucy, too, had left Quantico for the Persian Gulf, where he was assigned as the G-2 for I MEF.
I was ready to hang up my uniform, a fact that depressed the hell out of me. I had skin in the game, or so I believed, having helped author the Al Fao plan and perfect the Marine assault on the Iraqi defenses. But it looked like the Marines had other plans.
I was wrong.
General Caulfield asked me how my marriage was. I informed him that we were separated, and heading toward a divorce. He expressed his condolences, and then, once again, picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. “General Boomer loved your report on how to breach the Iraqi defenses. He has asked that you be attached to his staff for the duration of the crisis. I have orders here extending your service for another six months.”
General Caulfield looked at me and extended his hand. “Congratulations, Captain. You’re going to war.”
I spent the first half of December getting my affairs in order. I contacted H. J. Heinz and informed them that my separation from service was on hold, and that I would be deploying to Saudi Arabia. “You stay safe,” the H. J. Heinz executive told me. “We’ll be here waiting for you when you get back.”
I also tried to get in touch with Marina, but to no avail. I had been given permission to take some leave before deploying, and so I spent the Christmas holiday with my parents in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Following my Christmas sojourn, I flew to MacDill Air Force Base, in Florida, home to the Headquarters of the United States Central Command (CENTCOM). I had been sent to MacDill for a week of administrative in processing before I headed off to Saudi Arabia. This included re-qualifying on my service weapon (I shot expert on the 9mm pistol). I was then issued the distinctive “chocolate chip” desert camouflage uniform, and then “read in” on several sensitive intelligence programs considered essential for my anticipated duties as an intelligence analyst in the upcoming conflict with Iraq.
I had been unable to get through to Marina while I was in Santa Fe (making a call from the United States to Georgia in 1990 was no easy task) and was still trying to make contact when I arrived at MacDill. I made several calls, always getting in contact with a Georgian operator in Tbilisi who was unable to complete the connection; the last attempt was made the morning of my scheduled departure.
I was scheduled to deploy to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia on January 3, 1991. Prior to boarding the waiting C-141 Starlifter, I had been designated as a classified courier, issued a loaded .45 caliber pistol, and handed a package of Top-Secret documents to be delivered to CENTCOM headquarters in Riyadh. Before the plane could take off, however, I was pulled from the flight, had my weapon and the classified material taken away from me, and escorted to an office in the terminal, where an agent from the local Army Criminal Investigations Division (CID) read me my rights. “We can try and clear this up by having you cooperate,” the CID agent told me, “and that way you can be on your way to the Middle East. Or you can ask for a lawyer, in which case you’re never getting on that aircraft.”
I told the CID agent I had nothing to hide and asked what the problem was. “Why were you placing phone calls to Moscow?” he asked.
I laughed. “I wasn’t calling Moscow”, I said. “I was trying to place a call to Sukhumi, in the Republic of Georgia, through the Tbilisi switchboard.”
The CID agent looked down at his notes and pieced together the fact that what I said was accurate. “Ok,” he responded, “why were you trying to call Georgia?”
I explained to him the situation regarding Marina, the article I was planning on writing, and my post-war employment plans with H. J. Heinz. “I was supposed to arrive in Georgia sometime in the middle of January,” I told the CID agent. “Obviously with the war on, I’m not going to be making that trip, and I was trying to contact Marina and let her and her family know.”
The CID agent remained skeptical, however, until I informed him how I had closely coordinated these plans with my SSO, adding that when I was told that I would be extended on active duty and deployed to Saudi Arabia, I had informed my SSO that I needed to make contact with Marina to inform her of my change in status, and that he approved my making the phone call.
The CID agent made a quick phone call to Quantico, Virginia, where he spoke to the SSO in question to confirm what I had told him. When what I said checked out, the CID agent returned my weapon and the classified package with an admonition not to try and make any calls from Saudi Arabia. “They won’t be as understanding as I am,” he said.
My arrival in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia was marked by chaos and confusion. I had in my possession orders to CENTCOM, but I was operating under the presumption that someone from General Boomer’s staff would meet me and take me where I needed to go. Instead, I was greeted on the tarmac by an airman who was calling off names from a list, directing people to different buses that would take them to their respective destinations, depending on their orders. My name was not called. I approached him and showed him my orders. “You’re not on the list,” he said. “Nothing I can do about that now. Get on this bus,” he said, pointing to one marked “Eskan Village”, “and they will put you up for the night. In the morning you can check in with admin and they’ll straighten you out.”
Eskan village was a failed Saudi social experiment, a giant self-contained housing project built in 1983 expressly for Bedouin nomads. The Bedouin, however, were loath to settle down, and the complex remained empty, thereby providing the perfect billeting for the horde of American servicemembers that were descending on the Saudi capital. I was given the keys to an apartment complex that already housed a full complement of military personnel, so I laid out my sleeping bag in the common area and got some sleep. This spot on the floor would, with rare exception, serve as my bed for the rest of the war.
The next morning, I caught a shuttle bus to the Ministry of Defense and Aviation (MoDA) headquarters in downtown Riyadh, where CENTCOM had set up its headquarters in an underground bunker. I reported to the J-1, who sagely announced the obvious. “You’re not on our manifest. I don’t know where to place you.” I asked for a phone, and placed calls to MARCENT headquarters, in Dharan, to see if I was listed as belonging to them; I was not. I was literally an orphan, but not for long. The J-1 placed a few calls of his own, and soon I was turned over to a Navy Commander who led me down a hallway to a room full of empty desks. On the door was a handwritten sign that read “BDA”.
“Welcome to the Battle Damage Assessment cell,” the Commander said. “You’re the first one here, so make yourself at home. Things will get more organized as the others arrive.”
I soon learned that BDA was an essential element of a modern wartime intelligence collection and management plan. I was given responsibility for tracking Iraqi command and control nodes, air defense sites, naval forces and surface-to-surface missile affiliated targets, including Iraq’s mobile SCUD force.
On January 14, the Top-Secret operations plan for Operation Desert Storm was published, along with the initial target deck for the first night’s strikes. I did my due diligence, reading all the intelligence I could find on each of the targets I was responsible for covering. I familiarized myself with the available imagery and coordinated with the targeting cell to identify the aim points and destruction criteria for each covered target. Once the fighting started, I would be responsible for sifting through the pilot reports and initial imagery coverage to determine if the target had, in fact, been destroyed, or if it would need to be resubmitted for re-attack.
There was no manual or set of instructions for what I was doing—I was literally making the job up as I went along. At the time of the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait, the CENTCOM intelligence organization was an empty shell, with few trained personnel, no intelligence collection assets under its direct control and no joint intelligence architecture of substance to guide the buildup of in-theater intelligence capabilities. While it is impractical to fully staff every combat command in peacetime, it is not unreasonable to demand that the chief function of the shell should be to know how it will expand to meet the demands of a crisis or conflict. But the CENTCOM J-2 did not possess anything remotely resembling a wartime architecture, deploying to Saudi Arabia on August 7, 1990, with a staff that numbered less than ten. CENTCOM had to rely upon the goodwill of the services and national intelligence agencies to loan or chop intelligence collection systems as well as personnel to it. Thus, CENTCOMIJ-2 was an empty shell to which people and collection systems were to be attached in the event of conflict. There was no rational and precise doctrine for conducting BDA under wartime conditions.
And yet here I was, surrounded by fellow BDA analysts, none of whom were trained for the job they were getting ready to do. The United States was on the cusp of executing the largest military combat operation since the Vietnam War. A critical component of this war was the strategic air campaign, designed to knock Iraq out of the fight. And the people who were supposed to monitor the effectiveness of this campaign literally had no idea what they were doing.
Great read ...thankyou
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