My Share of the Task(105)

                The same applied to us. We first tended to use the vantage offered by ISR to observe ongoing operations, which was valuable but not game changing. But by 2004, we had integrated ISR into F3EA, learning to weave together information from detainees and human sources with expanding communications intelligence and then use aerial assets to build an understanding of a target’s behavior and potential links to the insurgency. This “target development” lay at the heart of the F3EA process and enabled vastly faster and more successful raids. So that our strike forces could be used each night, we employed part of our ISR each day to develop future targets and used another chunk to support ongoing raids. After asking our staff to analyze the likely impact of increasing our ISR assets, I briefed General Casey that if our ISR capacity were doubled, our output, or the number of enemy targets we could hit, would more than double: Since Big Ben we had organized and trained ourselves to get more out of every hour of ISR flight time. With consistent support from Generals Casey, Abizaid, and Brown, the ISR available to TF 714 increased and my claim proved true.

                I knew, however, that much of the military resented our disproportionate piece of the ISR pie. While not apologetic for our share, I reminded our teams that we needed, day in and day out, to prove why we deserved these tools. I used the O&I one afternoon that winter to make the point.

                “Okay, so we’ve got twenty-four hours in the day,” I said, addressing a member of the operations staff. “What is the maximum amount of time the plane, as a piece of machinery, can be in the air? Forget the human component—let’s find out many hours it needs for maintenance and refueling.”

                “Yes, sir,” he answered, and told me how long it took to refuel and rekit one of the drones.

                “So out of the remaining hours, how many can we push the live video feed to our operations center?”

                The officer knew immediately and answered.

                “All right,” I said. “So my directive is simple. If it’s not flying and pushing the feed that many hours, every day, I need to know why.”

                This tone was becoming familiar to those in the force: As 2004 ground into 2005, I was leaning hard on TF 16 to ratchet up the number of raids we conducted. In the O&I and personal interactions with our force, I’d articulate the need to pressure AQI as much and as rapidly as possible, before it could expand its hold on the Iraqi people. Operators understood how sacred their lives were to us, but they also understood the importance of their role in a fight that would be won by slim margins.

                Our increasing operational tempo prompted me to send a more sober message to General Casey. Termed a Personal For, or P4, it was designed for point-to-point communications between senior officers, avoiding the normal route through staffs. I used these communiqués sparingly but did so when I felt it was important my message not be lost or delayed. As we increased the pace and precision of our targeting, we correspondingly captured more and higher-ranking members of Al Qaeda in Iraq. Yet our capacity to interrogate them lagged. In my message, I reemphasized my concern that we suffered from a shortage of trained interrogators. I told him flatly that I could not ethically send my force on dangerous raids to capture enemy leaders if we could not adequately question them. Without more interrogators, I wrote, TF 714’s ability to strike targets was limited.

                The interrogator shortage wasn’t George Casey’s fault or a problem he could solve, and I knew that. He was one step up the pipeline from me. The problem lay in the slowness of the government bureaucracy to adapt to the requirements of the war on terror, particularly in Iraq. Half a dozen corners of the military—from the Pentagon to the services to training centers—had a part in producing and fielding a professional interrogator, so following up on urgent manpower requests often felt like punching a cloud. On 9/11, our shortage was understandable. By 2005, it was indefensible. At wit’s end and desperate for a way to help Casey get us the needed personnel, I wanted my stark message to be ammunition he could use to press for more interrogators. In the years ahead our shortages decreased, but the situation was never close to good enough.