It Doesn't Take a Hero by Norman Schwarzkopf

Author:Norman Schwarzkopf [Schwarzkopf, Norman]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-76499-7
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-04-03T16:00:00+00:00

The next thing I knew I was on an airplane bound for Barbados. The task force staff that filled the cabin were all Navy and Marine Corps officers—the entire Army contingent consisted of me, my two assistants, and a junior liaison officer from the 82nd Airborne. We reached Barbados in midafternoon and it was obvious that word had gotten out about the possibility of U.S. military action: the press was at the airport in force. Admiral Metcalf ordered us to stay in the airplane as we waited for helicopters to take us to the fleet. After about thirty minutes two big Navy helicopters showed up. We climbed aboard and headed out to sea.

Soon there was nothing but ocean in every direction, which made me very uneasy: if the helicopter had suddenly lost power, it would have been just us and the fish. The officers in the cabin did not seem like men on their way to war—no one really believed we’d fight, and the trip felt more like an excursion. After about an hour I spotted a little postage stamp way ahead on the ocean. It turned out to be the helicopter carrier Guam, which would be Admiral Metcalf’s flagship. The minute I set foot on the gently rolling deck, I sent one of my officers inside to find me some seasickness pills.

By now it was 5:30 in the afternoon. We went below and got cleaned up, and almost immediately dinner was announced. The admiral’s mess turned out to be a large room with a single long table and a spanking white tablecloth. We ate a soup appetizer and had just started on the turkey main course when Admiral Metcalf’s chief of staff came in and announced, “It’s a go.” There was a stunned silence. “It’s a go,” he repeated. “We’re going. H-hour has been bumped back one hour. It’s a go at 0500.”

Everyone sat for a moment, poking at their food. “Jeez, I’d better get busy,” somebody said. One by one, people got up and left, until I was the only person in the room. I didn’t have anything to do, so I just sat in front of my half-finished meal, trying to take in what was happening. After a while I climbed the stairs to the command center behind the bridge, where directives were streaming in from Norfolk and Marine commanders were issuing terse last-minute orders to their units. I felt in the way and finally stepped outside to the platform that ran around the bridge. It was now pitch dark, and I realized that by this time tomorrow, we’d be at war. I had misgivings about whether we should be sending troops to Grenada. Were we being committed to another war that the American public wouldn’t support? The question wasn’t strategic or political; it was personal. I had to remind myself that I’d thought this all through when I’d come home from Vietnam and decided to remain in the military. My job now was not to question the judgment of our leaders or the wisdom of our mission.

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