Those were the jewels the British wanted to acquire when they decided to procure sixty-seven Apache Long Bow helicopters in 1996. The purchase was a direct commercial sale involving the British corporation GKN Westland in partnership with the American Apache contractors, McDonnell Helicopter Company (now part of Boeing), General Electric, and Martin-Marietta (now Lockheed Martin). Because the sale represented substantial sums to be spent in several critical congressional districts, high Pentagon officials involved with defense procurement supported the contract. But instead of hammering out a Memorandum of Understanding detailing exactly which technology the British would and would not have access to, these officials merely exchanged letters with their British counterparts that stated that the U.S. government supported the sale, which would include such data as required to field the system, in “accordance with our laws and regulations.” However, the American letter did explain that there were certain categories of support that would require government-to-government arrangements, not purely commercial accommodations.
As the procurement moved forward, the contractors worked closely together and maintained contact with the Army Apache Long Bow project manager, an Aviation Branch colonel assigned to Redstone Arsenal, Alabama, the center for Long Bow R&D. But the British developed the perception that the U.S. Army was not supporting the commercial procurement in the spirit of the original exchange of letters at the Pentagon–Ministry of Defence level. Their displeasure was based on the fact that the Army did not grant British officers or technical representatives full access to the most advanced Apache Long Bow technology emerging from the labs at Redstone, which was by law reserved for the U.S. Army.
As DCSINT, I had been opposed to granting
any
foreign representatives access to such technology. This was not a personal decision, but rather one based on decisions made by the National Disclosure Policy Committee, under the Arms Export and Control Act. Without question, the British were our friends and close allies, but they were not the only country to which we were selling the Apache Long Bow. Israel and Singapore had also contracted to buy the attack helicopter. If we acceded to the British request and allowed their LNO virtually unlimited access to Redstone, in the absence of a negotiated, detailed Memorandum of Understanding, the Army position would be precariously outside the limits established by law.
But the British pressed their case in order, I believe, to determine how much technology they could obtain under the rather vague original procurement agreement. Security, legal, and other elements of the Army staff dug in, maintaining that the British should gain the access they wanted only after they had negotiated a Cooperative MOU that clearly delineated exactly what technology they were entitled to examine. Simultaneously, we did approve almost all their requests for on-site visits to Redstone. And we even shared with them new “First Article Test” data on ultra-advanced components of the Long Bow system concurrent with delivery of that information to our own Army. You couldn't get any more cooperative than that. However, the British requested even more access.
But every foreign representative at U.S. Army installations needed to operate under the provisions of an MOU that made clear the level of access to which he was entitled. Under many ad hoc arrangements, these foreign military officers were operating with vague ground rules. They might have access to the part of a system to which their own countries' laboratories contributed and then be denied access to a purely American, but closely related, component.
As foreign arms sales increased in the 1990s, the situation became more confused when the Pentagon created a new position, the Deputy Undersecretary of the Army—International Affairs, through whom all foreign liaison activities were to be coordinated. In theory, this relieved the DCSINT staff from much of the often frustrating negotiations over technology transfer. But we still had the responsibility of maintaining the security of our secret technology.
Because the lines of Pentagon authority were still unclear, I requested that the Inspector General conduct a very thorough review of the entire foreign disclosure procedure. As I expected, the IG's report concluded that most of our relationships with foreign liaison or exchange officers were too vague. And, from the DCSINT perspective of wanting to balance arms sales with protecting our most critical technology, the situation had not been settled. So, while we addressed and resolved the specific issues concerning the Apache Long Bow that the British had raised, we helped facilitate the negotiation of a detailed Cooperative MOU with them to augment the vague terms of the original commercial agreement.
But that was only one of a series of battles that I waged to moderate arms sales with security safeguards. I knew that this caused ripples of reaction in the staff of the Secretary of Defense. Word reached me that I had too often taken an “obstructionist” position on technology transfer and that I did not seem capable of striking the proper “balance” on these complex (i.e., politically charged) issues. Some in the OSD even referred to my stance on security as tantamount to wanting to give the DCSINT “veto” authority. This was more Pentagon Hardball, a game in which it helped to have sharp elbows and a thick skin. My sense was that the leadership did not need me to be “balanced”—that was
their
role. My role was to provide expert security advice.
Eventually, this was discussed with senior Army leaders. I believed the Army should separate the decisions on disclosing technology to foreign governments from the staff elements responsible for foreign military sales, for reducing the cost of new weapons, and for furthering the U.S. strategy of engagement and enlargement through such overseas arms sales. “We have a higher responsibility to protect our Army's lead in advance technology over and above the benefits we gain from closer association with foreign allies as well as U.S. businesses,” I said. I noted that those in the OSD who suggested that the DCSINT “doesn't get the point” of our arms sales program had themselves “failed to consider the broader responsibilities of the Army leadership in providing for the national defense and avoiding the perception by the public of an inappropriate bias toward foreign military sales.”
I wanted to frame a course of action that protected my country's best interests. The Army eventually established a formal Memorandum of Understanding structure governing the access to our technology for all foreign liaison and exchange officers at our installations.
Ironically, as I was most deeply involved with Pentagon disputes about technology transfer, as well as fulfilling my other duties, I was also aware of sniping from detractors who were simply unable to accept the idea of a woman lieutenant general serving as DCSINT. In March 1999, I spoke to a conference of Military Intelligence Command (sergeants major and sergeants major) at Fort Huachuca, Arizona. It was a pleasure to be back at the post, where I had attended the MI Officer Advance Course as a young captain, and years later had been the deputy commander of the Military Intelligence Center and School. I addressed the senior Military Intelligence NCOs for about forty-five minutes, briefing them on a variety of issues, including shortfalls in the projected Army budget, and other updates that had been presented at a recent conference of Army four-star generals. I also presented a detailed analysis of Military Intelligence operations in the future, “Intelligence XXI.” At the very end of my presentation and following the instructions Army Chief of Staff General Dennis Reimer had given all general officers, I made two points about the Consideration of Others program. My brief comments were that the program was more effective if discussions were held in small groups and that these groups should retain the same membership over the several discussion periods in the program.
But in mid-April, the Army's Office of Congressional Liaison received a letter from influential South Carolina Republican Congressman Floyd Spence concerning a complaint by one of his constituents, a retired Army colonel. In that retired officer's rather muddled letter, he referred to a speech I had purportedly made to the “Sergeant Majors Academy at Fort Bliss, Texas,” that had “set the e-mail circuits alight.” Allegedly the soldiers called this my “This Ain't Your Father's Army” speech. The officer admitted he had not seen my comments in their entirety, “but excerpts make me wonder if one of the Army's top intelligence officers does not have more to do right now than worry about ‘Coos’ [sic] training.” In his final paragraph, the retired colonel's thread of thought seemed to unravel: “Concern [sic] of Others Training (Coos or Co2) AKA TF Touch-Feely training seems to be a major concern as we conduct combat operations in Serbia while being prepared to defend the rest of the world. Congressman, s you [sic] office COOS Qualified?”
Neither the Congressional Liaison people nor my staff could ignore Representative Spence's query. He was an important member of the House Armed Services Committee. So I replied explaining the true nature of my briefing to the senior NCOs at Fort Huachuca. Unfortunately, the intentionally distorted version was already out there on the Internet. Only recently, I understand, have retired officers made an effort to clarify the point that
I
did not create the Army's Consideration of Others program. Rather, as mentioned earlier, retired Major General Robert Foley, one of our most respected Medal of Honor recipients during the Vietnam War, conceived of this innovative program.
Sometimes during these months of Pentagon infighting over “program builds,” operational and policy “defense,” and a schedule that extended for sixteen hours a day, I would return home to Quarters 21 at Fort Lesley J. McNair with very little energy. But my enlisted aide, Master Sergeant Wayne Smith, had always prepared an appetizing, well-balanced meal for me to warm in the microwave, and I thoroughly enjoyed this luxury.
My quarters on the second and third floors of the stately tan brick house were of historic interest. The sixteen-foot ceilings with high windows (some still holding the wavy old glass of the nineteenth century) made it a unique residence. The post itself was a quiet refuge, with a view of the Anacostia–Washington Channel waterfronts, and a mall shaded by graceful old hardwoods. My living room and dining room had served as the courtroom for the trial of the conspirators in the assassination of Abraham Lincoln in 1865. After they were convicted, they were hanged that July in the area of the mall that was now the post tennis court. One of the conspirators was Mary Surratt (the first woman to be hanged by the U.S. government), and it was she who was reputed to be the particular ghost of Quarters 20, next door.
That was all part of the Army adventure.
The Future
I
n my final year in the Pentagon, the DCSINT staff participated in one of the most revolutionary organizational changes in recent military history: the transformation of the United States Army to face the challenges of defending our country in the mid-twenty-first century.
When General Eric Shinseki became Army Chief of Staff after well over thirty years of service in June 1999, he decisively ended a long period of weighing options and experimentation about the shape of the post–Cold War Army. It had been obvious that the Army no longer needed—nor could depend on—all the “heavy” divisions centered on the M1 Abrams tank and the M2 Bradley fighting vehicle. These massive tracked armored vehicles had been designed to counter similarly equipped Soviet forces in Europe. Cold War doctrine did not require the Army to rapidly deploy the bulk of its heavy forces in the event of war: They were already on the ground in Germany or in South Korea, the other most likely flashpoint.
But just as the Cold War ended in 1990, the Army was called on to rapidly deploy its heavy divisions to the Middle East for the Persian Gulf War. The logistics challenge of the buildup in Saudi Arabia had been formidable. This conflict was quickly followed by a series of unanticipated operations in the Balkans, Africa, and Haiti. It became clear that the lumbering, but lethal, Armor and Mechanized Infantry divisions that had held the line against the Warsaw Pact in West Germany for almost fifty years were not agile enough to fight the brushfire wars now flaring across the world in the wake of the long American-Soviet conflict.
But what kind of Army would be needed in the next five years, the next ten, or even the next thirty to forty when we might expect serious challenges to our status as the world's sole superpower? One lesson we had learned in Somalia and Kosovo was that the new Army had to be rapidly deployable, yet retain the unparalleled war-fighting “lethality” and survivability of the last few decades.
Leading the top Army uniformed team, General Shinseki helped develop a three-pronged plan to completely transform the Army by 2030, while retaining its ability to fight and win ground wars worldwide during this challenging process. The plan calls for a Legacy Force based on the existing traditional heavy divisions to be modernized while an Interim Force of Brigade Combat Teams equipped with new lighter air-deployable combat vehicles comes on line and assumes increasing responsibilities for the Army's core war-fighting mission. One possibility under consideration for the major equipment of the Interim Force is a basic wheeled (rather than a tracked) armored vehicle that can be carried directly to forward airstrips by the Air Force's rugged workhorse transport, the C-130. This wheeled vehicle could be fitted with a variety of missile or gun systems to make it almost as lethal as much heavier tanks.
Meanwhile, an Objective Force equipped with revolutionary new weapons (many remotely operated) and based on new fighting doctrine will pass through the science and technology, research and development, and procurement phases to become the Army of the future. What General Shinseki and his staff have set in motion is nothing less than a revolution from within. It is an example of a huge, complex organization reinventing itself while simultaneously retaining all of its global responsibilities and capabilities.