“Have at it,” I replied.
Those soldiers needed to learn how their friend had let them down. They had made a mistake involving loyalty. Undoubtedly, he had desperately sought out character witnesses among his closest friends who had in turn sought their buddies of similar rank. But they had made their judgment based on their limited professional knowledge of the veteran NCO as they saw him perform his duty in the battalion, not as the private person off duty, off post, where strong North African hashish and kif (marijuana) were so prevalent among the German counterculture. The staff sergeant was a popular and effective NCO, his witnesses had all testified. How could he also be a drug user? They had judged the man, not the event: the stark evidence of the positive urinalysis.
Their bond of loyalty was closer to their friend and colleague than to the Army. We call such bonds unit cohesion, and they are very important in the Army. Indeed, they are often considered the glue that holds an organization together under the most trying circumstances, the stress of combat. But there has to be a transcendent loyalty to the institution's higher values. Otherwise you have a gang, with little more than brutal, atavistic values, not a disciplined army. At My Lai, the men of 1st Platoon, Charlie Company, certainly were loyal to each other as they took revenge for their dead and maimed comrades, but displayed absolutely no loyalty to the Army's values, the precepts of the Geneva Convention, or to the basic values of civilized behavior.
The principle of transcendent loyalty is also vital in institutions such as the police, where the notorious Blue Wall of Silence, by which few officers ever inform on their peers, contributes to corruption and brutality in departments in many of our largest cities. In these organizations, leaders permit their police to be more loyal to their fellow officers than to the citizens they are all sworn to protect.
After the news that the staff sergeant had failed his second drug test spread through the battalion, the NCOs who had delivered sworn testimony on his behalf were chagrined that he had misused their loyalty. They had put their trust in the wrong person.
But there was a positive side to this potentially disillusioning experience. This was a case that could have caused sharp divisions in the battalion along which people developed strong partisan feelings for or against the staff sergeant and the chain of command that was prosecuting him. Before the second drug test, I knew it was important to resolve these lingering issues. If the man were truly innocent, his reputation should be restored. But it was also important for the entire battalion to know that soldiers did not receive unfair or arbitrary treatment and that their commander maintained the Army standard of not using drugs.
Weeks later, the staff sergeant came up for a third drug test, this time a random urinalysis based on his Social Security number. He again tested positive. This time he did not contest his Article 15 or even mount a defense. Everyone in the battalion viewed him as a discredited soldier and wondered why he had not used the first test as an opportunity to reform, or why he had not taken to heart the drug counseling resulting from the positive second test. The second Article 15 hearing was brief. I found him guilty and administered the maximum punishment, reducing him in grade and fining him heavily. His career in Military Intelligence had ended.
Years later, I realized that the situation with the staff sergeant might have been one of the irritants that started to sour my relationship with Colonel Simerly. Certainly the colonel was not pleased that the Augsburg installation found it necessary to involve itself in our brigade's business. But the Army had assigned me to command this battalion, not to be the subaltern of my brigade commander. And to be an effective commander, I had to be true to my own values and those of the Army. Ultimately, steady loyalty to institutional values is inherently more important than meeting short-term performance goals—such as quickly disposing of disciplinary actions—by whatever expedient necessary.
As a leader, another important lesson I learned from this difficult episode was not to run roughshod over soldiers' vital bonds of loyalty to one another, but to guide them toward their loyalty to the Army's higher values. And the soldiers of the battalion also learned a lot about the intricate web of loyalty that connects us all. They gained a renewed awareness that there was a process that worked well to build and maintain the institution we all sought: a sober, hardworking, honest group of soldiers whose word could be trusted.
Fairness and Equality
I
n the fall of 1996, I was a major general, serving in the Pentagon as the Assistant Deputy Chief of Staff for Intelligence. I was well satisfied with my professional position and hoped that I would reach three-star rank and be considered for the Deputy Chief of Staff for Intelligence (DCSINT) before retiring. I thought that service in that position would allow me to meet several goals that I considered critical to Army intelligence, including strengthening the foreign language program and helping the Army revitalize its intelligence doctrine and equipment.
My optimism about this productive future stemmed from the professional advice I had received upon being promoted to brigadier general four years earlier. I was one of the most junior colonels on that year's list. The expectation for the list's most senior colonels was that this would be their last promotion. But for those of us who were the most junior, it was probable that we would continue to serve as general officers for several years and retire after additional promotions. With this in mind, I had been asked whether I would prefer my last job in the Army to be Deputy Chief of Staff for Personnel or DCSINT, both three-star assignments.
I was not prepared for this discussion, having hardly adjusted to the news of my selection as a brigadier general. So I simply said that I'd prefer my first position as a general officer to be in Military Intelligence. After that, I would serve where the Army needed me. But when I was assigned as Assistant Deputy Chief of Staff for Intelligence, I had renewed confidence that I would retire as the Army DCSINT.
This would mean I'd be the first woman in the Army to earn the rank of lieutenant general. I couldn't think of a better way to round out a deeply satisfying career than by having the authority to pursue my long-standing goals for Army intelligence.
That fall, my staff received a call from the office of Brigadier General Larry Smith, who was serving as the manager of the Saudi Arabian National Guard Modernization Program, requesting an appointment when he visited Washington from overseas. The meeting was scheduled for Friday, October 11, 1996.
I had first met Larry Smith when we were colonels serving together on a selection board, but he was no more than a nodding acquaintance at that time. In 1993, when I'd been assigned as the FORSCOM director of intelligence at Fort McPherson near Atlanta, I had moved into the Army quarters next to Larry Smith and his wife, Ann. Larry Smith was an Armor officer and helicopter pilot with combat experience in Vietnam who had served as both a battalion and a brigade commander later in his career. The Smiths were very kind, often inviting me for supper at their house on the spur of the moment; Larry prepared my lawn mower for winter storage in the garage. In turn, I had helped with the arrangements of keeping a car for their son, who was away at school, and had turned it over to him when he returned. This was a typical Army neighbor relationship: One doesn't know the other well, but is ready to help when needed, especially when a family is being reassigned.
So I certainly anticipated nothing unusual during Smith's office call on October 11. Like all professional officers, he was prompt, arriving exactly at the appointed time. We sat across from each other at a coffee table in my office with the door open. The discussion was purely official business, other than a brief initial social exchange about his family. Smith had served in his assignment to Saudi Arabia for over a year and was able to recount a great deal about the military and political leadership, as well as the often complex decision-making dynamics of the region. I found his perspective helpful and planned to have one of our regional analysts call on him and officially obtain his assessment.
Then, when Smith rose to leave my office, he suddenly committed an act of inappropriate contact that two attorneys on different occasions have informed me constituted sexual assault and battery. (In May 2000, the Army Inspector General substantiated that Smith's act was an “assault consummated by a battery.”)
I have decided not to discuss in detail the nature of this act. As one might imagine, it is unpleasant for me to dwell on the event. Also, I do not want that incident to become the focal point of this book, which I hope young people will read as they consider their professional options. But it is important to clarify that, even though the incident fell within the legal definition of sexual assault and battery, people should not conclude that I was deeply affected either physically or emotionally.
It is an understatement to say, however, that I was shocked. More accurately, I was very angry. Smith had absolutely no right to do what he did. His act occurred without provocation on my part. The fact that the incident had taken place in my Pentagon office with the door open made his behavior even more inexplicable.
After he had left, I weighed my options. Over the weekend I carefully considered whether to report the incident to Army authorities. I had complained of a similar, though less egregious situation involving another officer several years earlier at Fort McPherson. That complaint resulted in an Article 15 investigation of that officer during which two of his women subordinates had come forward to disclose acts on his part that were far more serious than his actions toward me. That officer had received nonjudicial punishment, was fined, and retired early. So I knew that when someone behaves in this manner once, it often turns out to be a part of a behavior pattern.
In my mind, reporting Smith's actions now did not seem necessary. I outranked him and I could control his future access to me now that I knew he could not be trusted. The matter was something I could deal with individually, so I decided to tell no one in the Army about it either officially or unofficially at that time. Although I had no proof that Smith had acted improperly in the past, I was aware that I might be failing in my duty to protect more junior women by not reporting the incident. What I did know with complete certainty was that he had assaulted me and that I could protect myself from him in the future. Additionally, I was concerned that the Army would not find my report credible and that my complaint would somehow harm the cause of women soldiers of all ranks who came forward to report sexual misconduct.
There was another reason influencing my decision. For several weeks, the Army leadership had been concerned with a growing scandal at the Ordnance Center and School at Aberdeen Proving Ground, Maryland. Although details had not yet publicly emerged, it was evident that NCO drill instructors and one officer were under criminal investigation, charged with multiple counts of sexual abuse of young junior enlisted women trainees. From the reports I had heard, it appeared several drill instructors had systematically preyed on young women assigned to them. When the story broke, I knew the Army would have a serious public relations problem, so I made the decision not to distract from the Aberdeen investigation by reporting the Smith incident.
What had happened in my office was not on the same scale as the situation at Aberdeen. Yet I knew the news media would have found an incident in which one general officer accused another of sexual misconduct to be so explosive that the resulting publicity would have been a major embarrassment at a time when the Army was already engaged in damage control and trying to correct the underlying leadership problem.
There was also little chance I would see much of Smith during my remaining Army career. Although my anger remained, I decided to try to put the incident behind me.
Less than three weeks after the incident with Larry Smith, the situation at Aberdeen burst into the headlines. Army Chief of Staff General Dennis Reimer called a press conference to announce that the Army would thoroughly investigate every allegation of sexual misconduct at training bases. General Reimer also stated that the Secretary of the Army, Togo D. West, Jr., would appoint an advisory panel to examine the prevalence of sexual harassment and abuse Army-wide. He reiterated that the Army had a “zero tolerance” policy toward sexual harassment of any kind and that “consideration of others is a fundamental principle upon which the Army operates.”
The Chief of Staff cited the Consideration of Others Program that Major General Robert Foley, the commander of the Military District of Washington, was instituting in his command. General Foley, a Vietnam War Medal of Honor winner, had helped create the program while commandant of cadets at West Point in the early 1990s. A major feature of the Military Academy's four-year curriculum, the program formed an important part of future Army leaders' education and professional development. General Reimer cited it to show the deplorable situation at Aberdeen lay far outside acceptable Army norms.
As the investigation proceeded, other instructors faced sexual misconduct charges. The events at Aberdeen did prove truly appalling. On November 15, 1996, the Army announced court-martial charges against two drill instructors and an officer at the Ordnance Center and School. Captain Derrick Robertson, a training company commander, was charged with rape and other forms of sexual abuse of a female soldier. Staff Sergeant Delmar Simpson, a drill instructor in Robertson's company, faced nine counts of rape and multiple counts of forcible sodomy, assault consummated by battery, and related charges, involving a total of eight young women soldiers. Another drill instructor, Staff Sergeant Nathaniel Beach, faced lesser charges. The victims, whose average age was twenty-one, were provided with counseling through the Aberdeen Community Health Clinic and the chaplain. In the wake of the revelation, the Army established a toll-free number for military personnel who were victims of sexual abuse. Almost 2,000 calls were logged within days; over 200 were referred to investigators. Of these, fifty-six involved Aberdeen Proving Ground.