COUNCIL OF WAR

COUNCIL OF WAR

A H i s t or y of t h e J oin t C hi e f s of S t aff

1942 – 1991

By Steven L. Rearden

Published for the Joint History Office

Office of the Director, Joint Staff

Joint Chiefs of Staff

Washington, D.C.

2012
Opinions, conclusions, and recommendations expressed or implied within are 

solely those of the contributors and do not necessarily represent the views of the 

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First printing, July 2012

Cover image: Meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff on November 22, 1949, in their 

conference room at the Pentagon. From left to right: Admiral Forrest P. Sherman, 

Chief of Naval Operations; General Omar N. Bradley, Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff; 

General Hoyt S. Vandenberg, U.S. Air Force Chief of Staff; and General J. Lawton Collins, U.S. Army Chief of Staff. Department of the Army photograph collection.

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Cover image: Meeting of 

on November 22, 1949, in 

at the Pentagon. From left 

P. Sherman, Chief of Nav

Omar N. Bradley, Chairm

General Hoyt S. Vandenb

of Staff; and General J. La

Chief of Staff. Department 

collection.
Contents

Foreword. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .ix

Preface. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .xi

Chapter 1. The War in Europe. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

The Origins of Joint Planning. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2

The North Africa Decision and Its Impact. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9

The Second Front Debate and JCS Reorganization. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12

Preparing for Overlord. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

Wartime Collaboration with the Soviet Union. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18

Chapter 2. The Asia-Pacific War and the 

Beginnings of Postwar Planning. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29

Strategy and Command in the Pacific. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29

The China-Burma-India Theater. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33

Postwar Planning Begins. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38

 Ending the War with Japan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43

Dawn of the Atomic Age. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46

Chapter 3. Peacetime Challenges. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59

Defense Policy in Transition. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61

 Reorganization and Reform. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64

War Plans, Budgets, and the March Crisis of 1948. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69

The Defense Budget for FY 1950. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76

The Strategic Bombing Controversy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81

Chapter 4. MILITARIZING THE COLD WAR. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95

Pressures for Change. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95

The H-Bomb Decision and NSC 68. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98

Onset of the Korean War. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102

The Inch’on Operation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105

Policy in Flux. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108

 Impact of the Chinese Intervention. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111

MacArthur’s Dismissal. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113

 Europe—First Again. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116

Chapter 5. Eisenhower and the New Look. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133

The 1953 Reorganization. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134

 Ending the Korean War. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137

A New Strategy for the Cold War. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140

Testing the New Look: Indochina. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146

v

 the Joint Chiefs of Staff 

n their conference room 

t to right: Admiral Forrest 

val Operations; General 

an, Joint Chiefs of Staff; 

erg, U.S. Air Force Chief 

awton Collins, U.S. Army 

t of the Army photograph 
vi

Confrontation in the Taiwan Strait. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149

The “New Approach” in Europe. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 152

NATO’s Conventional Posture. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 156

Curbing the Arms Race. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 158

Chapter 6. Change and Continuity. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173

 Evolution of the Missile Program. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 174

The Gaither Report. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177

The “Missile Gap” and BMD Controversies. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179

 Reorganization and Reform, 1958–1960. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183

Defense of the Middle East. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190

Cuba, Castro, and Communism. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196

Berlin Dangers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199

Chapter 7. Kennedy and the Crisis Presidency. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211

The Bay of Pigs. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213

Berlin under Siege. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216

Laos. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221

Origins of the Cuban Missile Crisis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224

Showdown over Cuba. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228

Aftermath: The Nuclear Test Ban. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233

Chapter 8. The McNamara Era. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245

The McNamara System. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245

 Reconfiguring the Strategic Force Posture. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247

NATO and Flexible Response. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251

The Skybolt Affair. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253

Demise of the MLF. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255

A New NATO Strategy: MC 14/3. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 258

The Damage Limitation Debate. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261

Sentinel and the Seeds of SALT. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 267

Chapter 9. Vietnam: Going to War. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277

The Roots of American Involvement. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277

The Road to an American War. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 281

The Gulf of Tonkin Incident and Its Aftermath. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 284

 Into the Quagmire. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 292

Chapter 10. Vietnam: Retreat and Withdrawal. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 305

Stalemate. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 305

Tet and Its Aftermath. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 310

Nixon, the JCS, and the Policy Process. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 313
vii

Winding Down the War. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 316

Back to Airpower. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 321

The Christmas Bombing Campaign. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 324

The Balance Sheet. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 326

Chapter 11. Détente. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 335

SALT I. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 336

Shoring Up the Atlantic Alliance. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 342

China: The Quasi-Alliance. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 347

Deepening Involvement in the Middle East. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 351

Chapter 12. The Search for Strategic Stability. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 365

The Peacetime “Total Force”. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 365

Modernizing the Strategic Deterrent. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 367

Targeting Doctrine Revised. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 371

SALT II Begins. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 375

Vladivostok. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 378

Marking Time. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 381

Chapter 13. THE Return to Confrontation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 391

Carter and the Joint Chiefs. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 391

Strategic Forces and PD-59. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 394

SALT II. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 397

NATO and the INF Controversy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 400

The Arc of Crisis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 403

 Rise of the Sandinistas. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 407

Creation of the Rapid Deployment Force. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 408

The Iran Hostage Rescue Mission. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 411

Chapter 14. The Reagan Buildup. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 421

 Reagan and the Military. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 421

Forces and Budgets. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 425

Military Power and Foreign Policy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 429

The Promise of Technology: SDI. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 432

Arms Control: A New Agenda. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 438

Chapter 15. A New Rapprochement. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 449

Debating JCS Reorganization. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 449

The Goldwater-Nichols Act of 1986. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 454

NATO Resurgent. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 457

Gorbachev’s Impact. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 459

Terrorism and the Confrontation with Libya. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 462
viii

Showdown in Central America. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 464

Tensions in the Persian Gulf. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 467

Operation Earnest Will. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 469

Chapter 16. Ending the Cold War. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 479

Policy in Transition. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 479

Powell’s Impact as Chairman. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 481

The Base Force Plan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 485

Operations in Panama. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 489

The CFE Agreement. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 493

START I and Its Consequences. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 495

Chapter 17. Storm in the Desert. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 505

Origins of the Kuwait Crisis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 505

Framing the U.S. Response. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 508

Operational Planning Begins. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 510

The Road to War. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 515

Final Plans and Preparations. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 518

Liberating Kuwait: The Air War. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 522

Phase IV: The Ground Campaign. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 525

The Post-hostilities Phase. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 528

Chapter 18. Conclusion. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 537

Glossary. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 549

Index. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 555

About the Author. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 585
ix

Foreword

Established during World War II to advise the President on the strategic direction of 

the Armed Forces of the United States, the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) continued in 

existence after the war and, as military advisers and planners, have played a significant 

role in the development of national policy. Knowledge of JCS relations with the 

President, the Secretary of Defense, and the National Security Council is essential to 

an understanding of the current work of the Chairman and the Joint Staff. A history 

of their activities, both in war and peacetime, also provides important insights into 

the military history of the United States. For these reasons, the Joint Chiefs of Staff 

directed that an official history of their activities be kept for the record. Its value for 

instructional purposes, for the orientation of officers newly assigned to the JCS organization, and as a source of information for staff studies is self-apparent.

Council of War: A History of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1942–1991 follows in the 

tradition of volumes previously prepared by the Joint History Office dealing with 

JCS involvement in national policy, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War. Adopting a broader view than earlier volumes, it surveys the JCS role and contributions 

from the early days of World War II through the end of the Cold War. Written from 

a combination of primary and secondary sources, it is a fresh work of scholarship, 

looking at the problems of this era and their military implications. The main prism 

is that of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, but in laying out the JCS perspective, it deals also 

with the wider impact of key decisions and the ensuing policies.

Dr. Steven L. Rearden, the author of this volume, holds a bachelor's degree 

from the University of Nebraska and a Ph.D. in history from Harvard University. 

His association with the Joint History Office dates from 1996. He has written and 

published widely on the history of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Office of the 

Secretary of Defense, and was co-collaborator on Ambassador Paul H. Nitze’s book 

From Hiroshima to Glasnost: At the Center of Decision—A Memoir (1989).

This publication has been reviewed and approved for publication by the Department of Defense. While the manuscript itself is unclassified, some parts of documents 

cited in the source notes may remain classified. This is an official publication of the 

Joint History Office, but the views expressed are those of the author and do not 

necessarily represent those of the Joint Chiefs of Staff or the Department of Defense.

—John F. Shortal

Brigadier General, USA (Ret.)

Director for Joint History

xi

Preface

Shortly after arriving at Fort McPherson, Georgia, in 1989, to head the U.S. Army 

Forces Command (FORSCOM), General Colin L. Powell put up a framed poster of 

the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., a present from Dr. King’s widow, in the 

main conference room. On it were inscribed Dr. King’s words: “Freedom has always 

been an expensive thing.” Dr. King had in mind the sacrifices of the civil rights movement, of which he had been a major catalyst, in the 1950s and 1960s. But to Powell, a 

career Army officer who would soon leave FORSCOM to become the 12th Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Dr. King’s words had a broader, deeper meaning. Not 

only did he find them applicable to the civil rights struggle, but also he felt they spoke 

directly to the entire American experience and the central role played by the Armed 

Forces in preserving American values—freedom first among them.1

For the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS), the defense of freedom began with their 

creation as a corporate body in January 1942 to deal with the growing emergency 

arising from the recent Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Thrust suddenly into the 

maelstrom of World War II, the United States found itself ill-prepared to coordinate 

a global war effort with its allies or to develop comprehensive strategic and logistical plans for the deployment of its forces. To fill these voids, President Franklin D. 

Roosevelt established the JCS, an ad hoc committee of the Nation’s senior military 

officers. Operating without a formal charter or written statement of duties, the Joint 

Chiefs functioned under the immediate authority and direction of the President in 

his capacity as Commander in Chief. A committee of coequals, the JCS came as 

close as anything the country had yet seen to a military high command.

After the war the Joint Chiefs of Staff became a permanent fixture of the country’s 

defense establishment. Under the National Security Act of 1947, Congress accorded 

them statutory standing, with specific responsibilities. Two years later they acquired a 

presiding officer, the Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff, a statutory position carrying statutory authority that steadily increased over time. While often criticized as ponderous in 

their deliberations and inefficient in their methods, the JCS performed key advisory 

and support functions that no other body could duplicate in high-level deliberations. 

Sometimes, like during the Vietnam War in the 1960s, their views and recommendations 

carried less weight and had less impact than at other times. But as a rule their advice, representing as it did a distillation of the Nation’s top military leaders’ thinking, was impossible to ignore. Under legislation enacted in 1986, the Joint Chiefs’ assigned duties and 

responsibilities passed almost in toto to the Chairman, who became principal military 

advisor to the President, the Secretary of Defense, and the National Security Council. 

But even though their corporate advisory role was over, the Joint Chiefs retained their 

statutory standing and continued to meet regularly as military advisors to the Chairman.
xii

The history of the Joint Chief of Staff parallels the emergence of the United States 

in a great-power role and the growing demands that those responsibilities placed on 

American policymakers and military planners. During World War II, the major challenge was to wage a global war successfully on two fronts, one in Europe, the other in 

Asia and the Pacific. Afterwards, with the coming of an uneasy peace, the JCS faced 

new, less well-defined dangers arising from the turbulent relationship between East and 

West known as the Cold War. The product of long-festering political, economic, and 

ideological antagonisms, the Cold War also saw the proliferation of nuclear weapons and 

soon became an intense and expensive military competition between the United States 

and the Soviet Union. Though the threat of nuclear war predominated, the continuing 

existence of large conventional forces on both sides heightened the sense of urgency and 

further fueled doomsday speculation that the next world war could be the last. A period 

of recurring crises and tensions, the Cold War finally played out in the late 1980s and 

early 1990s, not with the cataclysmic confrontation that some people expected, but with 

the gradual reconciliation of key differences between East and West and eventually the 

collapse of Communism in Europe and the implosion of the Soviet Union.

The narrative that follows traces the role and influence of the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff from their creation in 1942 through the end of the Cold War in 1991. It is, 

first and foremost, a history of events and their impact on national policy. It is also 

a history of the Joint Chiefs of Staff themselves and their evolving organization, a 

reflection in many ways of the problems they faced and how they elected to address them. Over the years, the Joint History Office has produced and published 

numerous detailed monographs on JCS participation in national security policy. 

There has never been, however, a single-volume narrative summary of the JCS role. 

This book, written from a combination of primary and secondary sources, seeks to 

fill that void. An overview, it highlights the involvement of the Joint Chiefs of Staff 

in the policy process and in key events and decisions. My hope is that students of 

military history and national security affairs will find it a useful tool and, for those 

so inclined, a convenient reference point for further research and study.

Like most authors, I have numerous obligations to recognize. For their willingness to read and comment on various aspects of the manuscript, I need to thank Dr. 

Samuel R. Williamson, Jr., former Vice Chancellor and Professor of History Emeritus 

of Sewanee University; Dr. Lawrence S. Kaplan, Professor of History Emeritus of 

Kent State University; Dr. Donald R. Baucom, former Chief Historian of the Ballistic 

Missile Defense Organization; Dr. Wayne W. Thompson of the Office of Air Force 

History; and Dr. Graham A. Cosmas of the Joint History Office. I am also extremely 

grateful to the people at the Information Management Division of the Joint Chiefs 

of Staff, in particular Ms. Betty M. Goode and Mr. Joseph R. Cook, for their help in 
xiii

the documentation and clearance process. I am especially indebted to Molly Bompane and the Army Heritage and Education Center for their outstanding pictorial 

support. I would like to thank Richard Stewart of the Center of Military History for 

the use of the Army’s art. The production of this book would not have been possible 

without the able advice and assistance of NDU Press Executive Editor Dr. Jeffrey D. 

Smotherman and Senior Copy Editor Mr. Calvin B. Kelley. 

I am also deeply indebted to Dr. Edward J. Drea and Dr. Walter S. Poole who 

contributed in more ways than I can begin to enumerate. Both are long-standing 

friends and colleagues whose unrivaled knowledge, wisdom, and insights into military history and national security affairs have been sources of inspiration for many 

years. I want to thank Frank Hoffman of NDU Press for his faith in and support 

of this project. My heaviest obligations are to the two Directors for Joint History 

who made this book possible—Brigadier General David A. Armstrong, USA (Ret.), 

who initiated the project, and his successor, Brigadier General John F. Shortal, USA 

(Ret.), who saw it to completion. They were unstinting in their encouragement, 

support, and human kindness.

Lastly, I need to thank my wife, Pamela, whose patience and love were indispensible. 

—Steven L. Rearden

Washington, DC

March 2012

Note

1 Colin L. Powell, with Joseph E. Persico, My American Journey (New York: Random House, 

1995), 399-400.
British and American Combined Chiefs of Staff with President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Churchill at the Second 

Quebec Conference, September 1944. (front row, left to right) General George C. Marshall, Chief of Staff, U.S. Army; 

Admiral William D. Leahy, Chief of Staff to the Commander in Chief; President Franklin D. Roosevelt; Prime Minister 

Winston S. Churchill; Field Marshal Sir Alan F. Brooke, Chief of the Imperial General Staff; Field Marshal Sir John Dill, 

Chief of the British Joint Staff Mission to the United States; (back row, left to right) Major General Leslie C. Hollis, 

Secretary of the Chiefs of Staff Committee; General Sir Hastings Ismay, Prime Minister Churchill’s Military Assistant 

and Representative to the Chiefs of Staff Committee; Admiral Ernest J. King, Chief of Naval Operations; Air Chief 

Marshal Sir Charles Portal; General Henry H. Arnold, Commanding General, Army Air Forces; and Admiral Sir Andrew B. 

Cunningham, First Sea Lord.
Chapter 1

The War in Europe

During the anxious gray winter days immediately following the Japanese attack on 

Pearl Harbor, Franklin D. Roosevelt confronted the most serious crisis of his Presidency. Now engaged in a rapidly expanding war on two major fronts—one against 

Nazi Germany in Europe, the other against Imperial Japan in the Pacific—he welcomed British Prime Minister Winston S. Churchill to Washington on December 

22, 1941, for 3 weeks of intensive war-related discussions. Code-named ARCADIA, 

the meeting’s purpose, as Churchill envisioned it, was to “review the whole war 

plan in the light of reality and new facts, as well as the problems of production and 

distribution.”1

 Overcoming recent setbacks, pooling resources, and regaining the 

initiative against the enemy became the main themes. To turn their decisions into 

concrete plans, Roosevelt and Churchill looked to their senior military advisors, 

who held parallel discussions. From these deliberations emerged the broad outlines 

of a common grand strategy and several new high-level organizations for coordinating the war effort. One of these was a U.S. inter-Service advisory committee called 

the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS).2

ARCADIA was the latest in a series of Anglo-American military staff discussions dating from January 1941. Invariably well briefed and meticulously prepared 

for these meetings, British defense planners operated under a closely knit organization known as the Chiefs of Staff Committee, created in 1923. At the time of the 

ARCADIA Conference, its membership consisted of the Chief of the Imperial 

General Staff, General Sir Alan F. Brooke (later Viscount Alanbrooke), the First Sea 

Lord, Admiral of the Fleet Sir Dudley Pound, and the Chief of the Air Staff, Air 

Chief Marshal Sir Charles Portal. They reported directly to the Prime Minister 

and the War Cabinet and served as the government’s high command for conveying 

directives to commanders in the field.3

 Prior to ARCADIA nothing comparable to Britain’s Chiefs of Staff Committee existed in the United States. As Brigadier General (later General) Thomas 

T. Handy recalled the situation: “We were more or less babes in the wood on the 

planning and joint business with the British. They’d been doing it for years. They 

were experts at it and we were just starting.”4

 The absence of any standing coordinating mechanisms on the U.S. side forced the ARCADIA participants to improvise 

if they were to assure future inter-Allied cooperation and collaboration. Just before 

1
Coun c il of War

2

adjourning on January 14, 1942, they established a consultative body known as the 

Combined Chiefs of Staff (CCS), composed of the British chiefs and their American “opposite numbers.” Since the British chiefs had their headquarters in London, 

they designated the senior members of the British Joint Staff Mission (JSM) to the 

United States, a tri-Service organization, as their day-to-day representatives to the 

CCS in Washington. Thereafter, formal meetings of the Combined Chiefs (i.e., the 

British chiefs and their American opposite numbers) took place only at summit 

conferences attended by the President and the Prime Minister. Out of a total of 200 

CCS meetings held during the war, 89 were held at these summit meetings.5

 U.S. membership on the CCS initially consisted of General George C. Marshall, Chief of the War Department General Staff; Admiral Harold R. Stark, Chief 

of Naval Operations (CNO); Admiral Ernest J. King, Commander in Chief, U.S. 

Fleet; and Lieutenant General Henry H. Arnold, Chief of the Army Air Forces and 

Deputy Chief of Staff for Air. Though Arnold’s role was comparable to Portal’s, he 

spoke only for the Army Air Forces since the Navy had its own separate air component.6

 Shortly after the ARCADIA Conference adjourned, President Roosevelt 

reassigned Stark to London as Commander, U.S. Naval Forces, Europe, a liaison 

job, and made King both Chief of Naval Operations and Commander in Chief, 

U.S. Fleet. In this dual capacity, King became the Navy’s senior officer and its sole 

representative to the CCS.7

 To avoid confusion, the British and American chiefs 

designated collaboration between two or more of the nations at war with the Axis 

powers as “combined” and called inter-Service cooperation by one nation “joint.” 

The U.S. side designated itself as the “Joint United States Chiefs of Staff,” soon 

shortened to “Joint Chiefs of Staff.”

The Origins of Joint Planning

Though clearly a prudent and necessary move, the creation of the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff was a long time coming. By no means was it preordained. When the United 

States declared war on the Axis powers in December 1941, its military establishment 

consisted of autonomous War and Navy Departments, each with a subordinate air 

arm. Command and control were unified only at the top, in the person of President 

Franklin D. Roosevelt in his constitutional role as Commander in Chief. Politically astute and charismatic, Roosevelt dominated foreign and defense affairs and 

insisted on exercising close personal control of the Armed Forces. The creation of 

the Joint Chiefs of Staff effectively reinforced his authority. Often bypassing the 

Service Secretaries, he preferred to work directly with the uniformed heads of the 

military Services. From 1942 on, he used the JCS as an extension of his powers as 
The War in E urope

3

Commander in Chief. The policy he laid down stipulated that “matters which were 

purely military must be decided by the Joint Chiefs of Staff and himself, and that, 

when the military conflicted with civilian requirements, the decision would have 

to rest with him.”8

 In keeping with his overall working style, his relations with the 

chiefs were casual and informal, which allowed him to hold discussions in lieu of 

debates and to seek consensus on key decisions.9

Below the level of the President, inter-Service coordination at the outset of 

World War II was haphazard. Officers then serving in the Army and the Navy were 

often deeply suspicious of one another, inclined by temperament, tradition, and 

culture to remain separate and jealously guard their turf. Not without difficulty, 

Marshall and King reached a modus vivendi that tempered their differences and 

allowed them to work in reasonable harmony for most of the war.10 Their subordinates, however, were generally not so lucky. Issues such as the deployment of forces, 

command arrangements, strategic plans, and (most important of all) the allocation 

of resources invariably generated intense debate and friction. As the war progressed, 

the increasing use of unified theater commands, bringing ground, sea, and air forces 

under one umbrella organization, occasionally had the untoward side-effect of aggravating these stresses and strains. According to Sir John Slessor, whose career in the 

British Royal Air Force brought him into frequent contact with American officers 

during and after World War II, “The violence of inter-Service rivalry in the United 

States in those days had to be seen to be believed and was an appreciable handicap 

to their war effort.”11

Inter-Service collaboration before the war rested either on informal arrangements, painstakingly worked out through goodwill as the need arose, or on the 

modest achievements of the Joint Army and Navy Board. Established in 1903 by 

joint order of the Secretaries of War and Navy, the Joint Board was responsible for 

“conferring upon, discussing, and reaching common conclusions regarding all matters calling for the co-operation of the two Services.”12 By the eve of World War II, 

the Board’s membership consisted of the Army Chief of Staff, Deputy Chief of Staff, 

Chief of the War Plans Division, Chief of Naval Operations, Assistant Chief of Naval 

Operations, and Director of the Naval War Plans Division.13

The Joint Board’s main functions were to coordinate strategic planning between the War and Navy Departments and to assist in clarifying Service roles and 

missions. Between 1920 and 1938, the board’s major achievement was the production of the “color” plans, so called because each plan was designated by a particular 

color. Plan Orange was for a war with Japan.14 But after the Munich crisis in the autumn of 1938, with tensions rising in both Europe and the Pacific, the board began 

to consider a wider range of contingencies involving the possibility of a multifront 
4

Coun c il of War

war simultaneously against Germany, Italy, and Japan. The result was a new series 

of “Rainbow” plans. The plan in effect at the time of Pearl Harbor was Rainbow 

5, which envisioned large-scale offensive operations against Germany and Italy and 

a strategic defensive in the Pacific until success against the European Axis powers 

allowed transfer of sufficient assets to defeat the Japanese.15

To help assure effective execution of these plans, the Joint Board also sought a 

clearer delineation of Service roles and missions. A contentious issue in the best of 

times, roles and missions became all the more divisive during the interwar period 

owing to the limited funding available and the emergence of competing land- and 

sea-based military aviation systems. The board addressed these issues in a manual, 

Joint Action of the Army and Navy (JAAN), first published in 1927 and revised in 

1935, with minor changes from year to year thereafter. The doctrine incorporated into the JAAN called for voluntary cooperation between Army and Navy 

commanders whenever practicable. Unity of command was permitted only when 

ordered by the President, when specifically provided for in joint agreements between the Secretaries of War and Navy, or by mutual agreement of the Army and 

Navy commanders on the scene. For want of a better formula, the JAAN simply 

accepted the status quo and left controversial issues like the control of airpower 

divided between the Services, to be exploited as their respective needs dictated 

and resources allowed.16

After 1938, with the international situation deteriorating, the Joint Board became increasingly active in conducting exploratory studies and drafting joint strategic plans (the Rainbow series) where the Army and the Navy had a common 

interest. For support, the board relied on part-time inter-Service advisory and planning committees. The most prominent and active were the senior Joint Planning 

Committee, consisting of the chiefs of the Army and Navy War Plans Divisions, 

which oversaw the permanent Joint Strategic Committee and various ad hoc committees assigned to specialized technical problems, and the Joint Intelligence Committee, consisting of the intelligence chiefs of the two Services, which coordinated 

intelligence activities. Despite its efforts, however, the Joint Board never acquired 

the status or authority of a military command post and remained a purely advisory 

organization to the military Services and, through them, to the President.17

While the limitations of the Joint Board system were abundantly apparent, there 

was little incentive prior to Pearl Harbor to make significant changes. The most ambitious reform proposal originated in the Navy General Board and called for the creation of a joint general staff headed by a single chief of staff to develop general plans 

for major military campaigns and to issue directives for detailed supporting plans to 

the War and Navy Departments. First broached in June 1941, this proposal was referred 
5

The War in E urope

to the Army and Navy Plans Divisions where it remained until after the Japanese 

attack. Public reaction to the Pearl Harbor catastrophe, allegedly the result of faulty 

inter-Service communication, flawed intelligence, and divided command, led Admiral 

Stark in late January 1942, to rescue the joint general staff paper from the oblivion of 

the Plans Divisions and to place it on the Joint Board’s agenda. Here it encountered 

strong opposition from Navy representatives, its erstwhile sponsors. Upon further 

reflection, they declared it essentially unworkable. Their main objection was that such 

a scheme would require a corps of staff officers, which did not exist, who were thoroughly cognizant of all aspects of both Services. Army representatives favored the plan 

but did not push it in light of the Navy’s strong opposition. Discussion of the matter 

culminated at a Joint Board meeting on March 16, where the members, unable to 

agree, left it “open for further study.”18

By the time the Joint Board dropped the joint general staff proposal, the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff were beginning to emerge as the country’s de facto high command. 

This process resulted not from any directive issued by the President or emergency 

legislation enacted by Congress, but from the paramount importance of forming 

common cause with the British Chiefs of Staff on matters of mutual interest and 

the strategic conduct of the war. As useful as the Joint Board may have been as a 

peacetime planning mechanism, it had limited utility in wartime and was not set 

up to function in a command capacity or to provide liaison with Allied planners. 

Though still in its infancy, the Combined Chiefs of Staff system was already exercising a pervasive influence on American military planning, thanks in large part to the 

easy and close collaboration that quickly developed between General Marshall and 

the senior British representative, Sir John Dill.19 As the CCS system became more 

entrenched, it demanded a more focused American response, which only the organizational structure of the Joint Chiefs of Staff could provide. 

The Joint Chiefs held their first formal meeting on February 9, 1942, and over 

the next several months gradually absorbed the Joint Board’s role and functions.20

To support their work, the Joint Chiefs established a joint staff that comprised a 

network of inter-Service committees corresponding to the committees making up 

the Combined Chiefs of Staff. Initially, only two JCS panels—the Joint Staff Planners (JPS) and the Joint Intelligence Committee (JIC)—had full-time support staff, 

provided by remnants of the Joint Board. Most of those on the other joint committees served in a part-time capacity and appeared on the duty roster as “associate 

members,” splitting their time between their Service responsibilities and the JCS. 

A few officers, designated “primary duty associate members,” were considered to be 

full-time. Owing to incomplete records, no one knows for sure how many officers 

served on the Joint Staff at any one time during the war. Committees varied in size, 
6

Coun c il of War

from the Joint Strategic Survey Committee, which had only three members, on up 

to the Joint Logistics Committee, which once had as many as two hundred associate 

members.21 Money to support the Joint Chiefs’ operations, including the salaries for 

about 50 civilian clerical helpers, came from the War and Navy Departments and an 

allocation from the President’s contingent fund.22

Figure 1–1.

JCS Organization Chart, 1942

Initially modeled on the CCS system, the JCS organization gradually departed 

from the CCS structure to meet the Joint Chiefs’ unique requirements. During 

1942 the Joint Chiefs added three subordinate components without CCS counterparts—the Joint New Weapons Committee, the Joint Psychological Warfare Committee, and the Office of Strategic Services (OSS). The first two were part-time 

bodies providing advisory support to the Joint Chiefs in the areas of weapons research and wartime propaganda and subversion. The third was an operational and 

research agency that specialized in espionage and clandestine missions behind enemy lines. Though the OSS fell under the jurisdiction of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, it 
7

The War in E urope

had its own director, William J. Donovan, who reported directly to the President.23

Between 1943 and March 1945, the JCS organization expanded further to include 

the Army-Navy Petroleum Board and separate committees dealing with production and supply matters, postwar political-military planning, and the coordination 

of civil affairs in liberated and occupied areas.

Wartime membership of the Joint Chiefs was completed on July 18, 1942, when 

President Roosevelt appointed Admiral William D. Leahy as Chief of Staff to the 

Commander in Chief. The inspiration for Leahy’s appointment came from General 

Marshall, who suggested to the President in February 1942 that there should be a 

direct link between the White House and the JCS, an officer to brief the President 

on military matters, keep track of papers sent to the White House for approval, and 

transmit the President’s decisions to the JCS. As the President’s designated representative, he could also preside at JCS meetings in an impartial capacity.24

President Roosevelt initially saw no need for a Chief of Staff to the Commander in Chief. Likewise, Admiral King, fearing adverse impact on Navy interests 

if another officer were interposed between himself and the President, opposed the 

idea. It was not until General Marshall suggested appointing Admiral Leahy, an old 

friend of the President’s and a trusted advisor, that Roosevelt came around.25 The 

Admiral, who had retired as Chief of Naval Operations in 1939, was just completing 

an assignment as Ambassador to Vichy, France. The appointment of another senior 

naval officer was perhaps the only way of gaining Admiral King’s endorsement, since 

it balanced the JCS with two members from the War Department and two from 

the Navy. 

A scrupulously impartial presiding officer, Leahy never became the strong representative of JCS interests that Marshall hoped he would be. In Marshall’s view, 

Leahy limited himself too much to acting as a liaison between the JCS and the 

White House. Still, he played an important role in conveying JCS recommendations and in briefing the President every morning.26 In no way was his position 

comparable to that later accorded to the Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff. In meetings with the President or with the Combined Chiefs of Staff, Leahy was rarely the 

JCS spokesman. That role usually fell to either General Marshall, who served as the 

leading voice on strategy in the European Theater, or Admiral King, who held sway 

over matters affecting the Pacific. 

Though considerable, the Joint Chiefs’ influence over wartime strategy and 

policy was never as great as some observers have argued. According to historian 

Kent Roberts Greenfield, there are more than 20 documented instances in which 

Roosevelt overruled the chiefs’ judgment on military situations.27 While the chiefs 

liked to present the President with unanimous recommendations, they were not 
8

Coun c il of War

averse to offering a “split” position when their views differed and then thrashing 

out a solution at their meetings with the President. During the first year or so of the 

war, the President’s special assistant, Harry Hopkins, also regularly attended these 

meetings. Rarely invited to participate were the Service Secretaries (Secretary of 

War Henry L. Stimson and Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox) and Secretary of 

State Cordell Hull, all of whom found themselves marginalized for much of the war. 

But despite their close association, the President and the Joint Chiefs never developed the intimate, personal rapport Churchill had with his military chiefs. Between 

Roosevelt and the JCS, there was little socializing. Comfortable and productive, 

their relationship was above all professional and businesslike.28

Even though the Joint Chiefs of Staff functioned as the equivalent of a national military high command, their status as such, throughout World War II, was 

never established in law or by Executive order. Preoccupied with waging a global 

war, they paid scant attention to the question of their status until mid-1943 when 

they briefly considered a charter defining their duties and responsibilities. The 

only JCS member to evince strong interest in a charter was Admiral King, who 

professed to be “shocked” that there was no basic definition of JCS duties and 

responsibilities. In the existing circumstances, he doubted whether the JCS could 

continue to function effectively. Admiral Leahy took exception. “The absence of 

any fixed charter of responsibility,” he insisted, “allowed greater flexibility in the 

JCS organization and enabled us to extend its activities to meet the changing 

requirements of the war.” He pointed out that, since the JCS served at the President’s pleasure, they performed whatever duties he saw fit; under a charter, they 

would be limited to performing assigned functions. Initially, General Marshall sided with Admiral Leahy but finally became persuaded, in the interests of preserving 

JCS harmony, to support issuance of a charter in the form of an Executive order.29

The Joint Chiefs approved the text of such an order on June 15, 1943, and 

submitted it to the President the next day. The proposed assignment of duties 

was fairly routine and related to ongoing activities of advising the President, 

formulating military plans and strategy, and representing the United States on 

the Combined Chiefs of Staff.30 Still, the overall impact would have been to 

place the JCS within a confined frame of reference, and arguably restrict their 

deliberations to a specific range of issues. Satisfied with the status quo, the President rejected putting the chiefs under written instructions. “It seems to me,” he 

told them, “that such an order would provide no benefits and might in some 

way impair flexibility of operations.”31 As a result, the Joint Chiefs continued to 

manage their affairs throughout the war without a written definition of their 
9

The War in E urope

functions or authority, but with the tacit assurance that President Roosevelt 

fully supported their activities.

The North Africa Decision and Its Impact

While the ARCADIA Conference of December 1941–January 1942 confirmed that 

Britain and the United States would integrate their efforts to defeat the Axis, it 

left many details of their collaboration unsettled. The agreed strategic concept that 

emerged from ARCADIA was to defeat Germany first, while remaining on the 

strategic defensive against Japan. Recognizing that limited resources would constrain their ability to mount offensive operations against either enemy for a year or 

so, the Allied leaders endorsed the idea of “tightening the ring” around Germany 

during this time by increasing lend-lease support to the Soviet Union, reinforcing 

the Middle East, and securing control of the French North African coast.32

To augment this broad strategy, the CCS in March 1942 adopted a working 

understanding of the global strategic control of military operations that divided 

the world into three major theaters of operations, each comparable to the relative 

interests of the United States and Great Britain. As a direct concern to both parties, 

the development and execution of strategy in the Atlantic-European area became a 

combined responsibility and, as such, the region most immediately relevant to the 

CCS. Elsewhere, the British Chiefs of Staff, working from London, would oversee 

strategy and operations for the Middle East and South Asia, while the Joint Chiefs 

of Staff in Washington would do the same for the Pacific and provide military coordination with the government of Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek in China.33

British and American planners agreed that the key to victory was the Soviet 

Union, which engaged the bulk of Germany’s air and ground forces. “In the last 

analysis,” predicted Admiral King, “Russia will do nine-tenths of the job of defeating 

Germany.”34 Keeping the Soviets actively and continuously engaged against Germany 

thus became one of the Western Allies’ primary objectives, even before the United 

States formally entered the war.35 Within the JCS-CCS organization that emerged 

following the ARCADIA Conference, developing a “second front” in Western Europe quickly emerged as a priority concern, both to relieve pressure on the Soviets 

and to demonstrate the Western Allies’ sincerity and support. Unlike their American 

counterparts, however, British defense planners were in no hurry to return to the 

Continent. Averse to repeating the trench warfare of World War I, and with the Soviet 

Union under a Communist regime that Churchill despised, British planners proved 

far more cautious and realistic in entertaining plans for a second front. 
10

Coun c il of War

The Joint Chiefs assumed that initially their main job would be to coordinate 

the mobilization and deployment of a large army to Europe to confront the Germans directly, as the United States had done in World War I. As General Marshall 

put it, “We should never lose sight of the eventual necessity of fighting the Germans 

in Germany.”36 By mid-March 1942, the consensus among the Joint Chiefs was that 

they should press their British allies for a buildup of forces in the United Kingdom 

for the earliest practicable landing on the Continent and restrict deployments in 

the Pacific to current commitments. But they adopted no timetable for carrying 

out these operations and deferred to the War Department General Staff to come up 

with a concrete plan for invading Europe. At this stage, the Joint Chiefs of Staff were 

a new and novel organization, composed of officers from rival Services who were 

still unfamiliar with one another and uneasy about working together. As a result, the 

most effective and efficient strategic planning initially was that done by the Service 

staffs, with the Army taking the lead in shaping plans for Europe and the Navy doing the same for the Pacific.37

The impetus for shifting strategic planning from the Services to the corporate 

oversight of the JCS was President Roosevelt’s decision in July 1942 to postpone a 

Continental invasion and, at Churchill’s urging, to concentrate instead on the liberation of North Africa. Personally, Roosevelt would have preferred a second front in 

France, and in the spring of 1942 he had sent Marshall and Harry Hopkins to London to explore the possibility of a landing either later in the year or in 1943. Though 

the British initially seemed receptive to the idea and endorsed it in principle, they 

raised one objection after another and insisted that the time was not ripe for a landing on the Continent. Pushing an alternate strategy, they favored a combined operation in the Mediterranean.38 Based on the production and supply data he received, 

Roosevelt ruefully acknowledged that the United States would not be in a position 

to have a “major impact” on the war much before the autumn of 1943.39 Eager that 

U.S. forces should see “useful action” against the Germans before then, he became 

persuaded that North Africa would be more feasible than a landing in France. The 

upshot in November 1942 was Operation Torch, the first major offensive of the war 

involving sizable numbers of U.S. forces.40

While not wholly unexpected, the Torch decision had extensive ripple effects. 

The most immediate was to nullify a promise Roosevelt made to the Soviets in May 

1942 to open a second front in France before the end of the year.41 A bitter disappointment in Moscow, it was also a major rebuff for Marshall and War Department 

planners who had drawn up preliminary Continental invasion plans. One set, called 

SLEDGEHAMMER, was for a limited “beachhead” landing in 1942; another, called 

BOLERO-ROUNDUP, was for a full-scale assault on the northern coast of France 
11

The War in E urope

in mid-1943.42 Unable to contain his disappointment, Marshall told the President 

that he was “particularly opposed to ‘dabbling’ in the Mediterranean in a wasteful 

logistical way.”43 In Churchill’s view, however, an invasion of France was too risky 

and premature until the Allies brought the U-boat menace in the Atlantic under 

control, had greater mastery of the air, and American forces were battle-tested. In 

the interests of unity, Churchill continued to assure his Soviet and American allies 

that he supported a cross-Channel invasion of Europe in 1943. But as a practical 

matter, he seemed intent on using the invasion of North Africa to protect British 

interests east of Suez and as a stepping stone toward further Anglo-American operations in the Mediterranean that would “knock Italy out of the war.”44

Churchill’s preoccupation with North Africa and the Mediterranean reflected 

a time-honored British tradition that historians sometimes refer to as “war on the 

periphery,” in contrast to the more direct American approach involving the massing 

of forces, large-scale assaults, and decisive battles. Limited in manpower and industrial capability, the British had historically preferred to avoid direct confrontations 

and had pursued strategies that exploited their enemies’ weak spots, wearing them 

down through naval action, attrition, and dispersion of forces. In World War I, the 

British had departed from this strategy with disastrous results that gave them the 

sense of having achieved a pyrrhic victory. Committed to avoiding a repetition of 

the World War I experience, Churchill and his military advisors preferred to let the 

Soviets do most of the fighting (and dying) against Germany, while Britain and 

the United States concentrated on eviscerating Germany’s “soft underbelly” in the 

Mediterranean. Although Churchill fully intended to undertake an Anglo-American invasion of Europe, he expected it to follow in due course, once Germany was 

worn down and on the verge of defeat.45

Following the planning setbacks they experienced in the summer of 1942, the 

Joint Chiefs sought to regroup and regain the initiative, starting with a clarification 

of overall strategy. Their initial response was the creation in late November 1942 of 

the Joint Strategic Survey Committee (JSSC), an elite advisory body dedicated to 

long-range planning. Composed of only three senior officers, the JSSC resembled 

a panel of “elder statesmen,” representing the ground, naval, and air forces, whose 

job was to develop broad assessments on “the soundness of our basic strategic policy 

in the light of the developing situation, and on the strategy which should be adopted with respect to future operations.” In theory, Service affiliations were not 

to interfere with or prejudice their work. The three chosen to sit on the committee—retired Lieutenant General Stanley D. Embick of the Army, Major General 

Muir S. Fairchild of the Army Air Corps, and Vice Admiral Russell Willson—served 

without other duties and stayed at their posts throughout the war.46
12

Coun c il of War

Early in December 1942, the JSSC submitted its first set of recommendations, 

a three-and-a-half-page overview of Allied strategy for the year ahead. In surveying 

future options, the committee sought to keep the war focused on agreed objectives. 

Assuming that the first order of business remained the defeat of Germany, the JSSC 

recommended freezing offensive operations in the Mediterranean and transferring 

excess forces from North Africa to the United Kingdom as part of the buildup for 

an invasion of Europe in 1943. The committee also urged continuing assistance 

to the Soviet Union, a gradual shift from defensive to offensive operations in the 

Pacific and Burma, and an integrated air bombardment campaign launched from 

bases in England, North Africa, and the Middle East against German “production 

and resources.”47

Here in a nutshell was the first joint concept for a global wartime strategy, 

marshaling the efforts of land, sea, and air forces toward common goals. All the 

same, it was a highly generalized treatment and, as such, it glossed over the impact of 

conflicting Service interests. At no point did it attempt to sort out the allocation of 

resources, by far the most controversial issue of all, other than on the basis of broad 

priorities. Challenging one of the paper’s core assumptions, Admiral King doubted 

whether a landing in Europe continued to merit top priority. King maintained that, 

with adoption of the Torch decision and the diversions that operation entailed, the 

Anglo-American focus of the war had shifted from Europe to the Mediterranean 

and Pacific. King wanted U.S. plans and preparations adjusted accordingly, with 

more effort devoted to the Pacific and defeating the Japanese.48 Meeting with the 

President on January 7, 1943, the Joint Chiefs acknowledged that they were divided 

along Service lines. As Marshall delicately put it, they “regarded an operation in the 

north [of Europe] more favorably than one in the Mediterranean but the question 

was still an open one.”49 Despite nearly a year of intensified planning, the JCS had 

yet to achieve a working consensus on overall strategic objectives. 

The Second Front Debate and JCS

Reorganization

Faced with indecision among his military advisors, Roosevelt gravitated to the British, who had worked out definite plans and knew precisely what they wanted to 

accomplish. At the Casablanca Conference in January 1943, he gave in to Churchill’s 

insistence that the Mediterranean be accorded “prime place” and that a move against 

Sicily (Operation Husky) should follow promptly upon the successful completion of 

Operation Torch in North Africa.50 To placate the Americans, the British agreed to 

establish a military planning cell in London to begin preliminary preparations for 
13

The War in E urope

a cross-Channel attack. But with attention and resources centered on the Mediterranean, a Continental invasion was now unlikely to materialize before 1944. Knowing that a further postponement would not go down well in Moscow, Roosevelt 

proposed—and Churchill grudgingly agreed—that the United States and Britain 

issue a combined public declaration of their intent to settle for nothing less than 

“unconditional surrender” of the Axis powers.51

A further result of the Casablanca Conference—one with significant but unintended consequences for the future of the Joint Chiefs—was the endorsement of an 

intensive combined bombing campaign against Germany. This decision fell in line 

with the recent recommendations of the Joint Strategic Survey Committee and was 

widely regarded as an indispensable preliminary to a successful invasion of France. 

Under the agreed directive, however, first priority was not the destruction of the 

enemy’s military-industrial complex, as some air power enthusiasts had advocated, 

but the suppression of the German submarine threat, which was taking a horrific 

toll on Allied shipping.52 Still, American and British air strategists had long sought 

the opportunity to demonstrate the potential of airpower and greeted the decision 

as a step forward, even as they disagreed among themselves over the relative merits of daylight precision bombing (the American approach) versus nighttime area 

bombing (the British strategy). The impact on the JCS was more long term and 

subtle. Previously, as the senior Service chiefs, Marshall and King had dominated 

JCS deliberations. Now, with strategic bombing an accepted and integral part of 

wartime strategy, Arnold assumed a more prominent role of his own, becoming a 

true coequal to the other JCS members in both rank and stature by the war’s end.53

For the Joint Chiefs and the aides accompanying them, the Casablanca Conference was, above all, an educational experience that none wanted to repeat. Traveling light, the JCS had kept their party small and had arrived with limited backup 

materials. In contrast, the British chiefs had brought a very complete staff and reams 

of plans and position papers. Admiral King found that whenever the CCS met and 

he or one of his JCS colleagues brought up a subject, the British invariably had a 

paper ready.54 Brigadier General Albert C. Wedemeyer, the Army’s chief planner, had 

a similar experience. At each and every turn he found the British better prepared 

and able to outmaneuver the Americans with superior staff work. “We came, we 

listened and we were conquered,” Wedemeyer told a colleague. “They had us on the 

defensive practically all the time.”55

The Joint Chiefs of Staff returned from the Casablanca Conference with less 

to show for their efforts than they hoped and determined to apply the lessons 

they learned there. In practice, that meant never again entering an international 

conference so ill-prepared or understaffed. To strengthen the JCS position, General 
14

Coun c il of War

Marshall arranged for Lieutenant General Joseph T. McNarney, Deputy Army Chief 

of Staff, to oversee a reorganization of the joint committee system, with special 

attention to developing more effective joint-planning mechanisms. The main bottleneck was in the Joint Staff Planners, a five-member committee that had fallen 

behind in its assigned task of providing timely, detailed studies on deployment and 

future operations. The new system, introduced gradually during the spring of 1943, 

reduced the range and number of issues coming before the Joint Staff Planners and 

transferred logistical matters to the Joint Administrative Committee, later renamed 

the Joint Logistics Committee.56

Under McNarney’s reorganization, nearly all the detailed planning functions 

previously assigned to the Joint Staff Planners became the responsibility of a new 

body, the Joint War Plans Committee (JWPC), which functioned as a JPS working 

subcommittee. Thenceforth, the JPS operated in more of an oversight capacity, reviewing, amending, and passing along the recommendations they received from the 

Joint War Plans Committee. The JWPC drew its membership from the staffs of the 

chiefs of planning for the Army, the Navy, and the Air Staff. Under them was an interService “planning team” of approximately 15 officers who served full time without 

other assigned duties. The directive setting up the JWPC reminded those assigned to it 

that they were now part of a joint organization and to conduct themselves accordingly 

by going about their work and presenting their views “regardless of rank or service.”57

The first test of these new arrangements came at the TRIDENT Conference, held in Washington in May 1943 to develop plans and strategy for operations 

after the invasion of Sicily during the coming summer. By then, King had grudgingly resigned himself to the inevitability of a cross-Channel invasion and agreed 

with Marshall that further operations in the Mediterranean should be curbed. King 

viewed the British preoccupation there as a growing liability that had the potential 

of preventing the Navy from stepping up the war against Japan. Based on naval 

production figures, King estimated that by the end of 1943, the Navy would begin 

to enjoy a significant numerical superiority over the Japanese in aircraft carriers 

and other key combatants. To take advantage of that situation, the CNO proposed 

a major offensive in the Central Pacific and secured JCS endorsement just before 

the TRIDENT Conference began. But with the British dithering in the Mediterranean and a firm decision on the second front issue still pending, King could easily 

find his strategic initiative jeopardized.58

At TRIDENT, for the first time in the war, the Joint Chiefs obtained the use of 

procedures that worked to their advantage. Namely, they insisted on an agenda and 

some of the papers developed by the Joint War Plans Committee in lieu of those 

offered by the British, who had controlled the “paper trail” at Casablanca.59 As often 
15

The War in E urope

as possible during TRIDENT, King tried to shift the discussion to the Pacific. But 

the dominating topic was the choice between continuing operations in the Mediterranean or opening a second front in northern France. With President Roosevelt’s 

concurrence and with Marshall doing most of the talking, the Joint Chiefs pressed 

the British for a commitment to a cross-Channel attack no later than the spring of 

1944. The deliberations were brisk and occasionally involved what historian Mark 

A. Stoler describes as “some private and very direct exchanges.” Six months earlier 

British views would probably have prevailed. But with improved staff support behind them, the JCS were now more than able to hold their own.60

A crucial factor in the Joint Chiefs’ effectiveness was a carefully researched feasibility study by the JWPC showing that there would be enough landing craft to lift 

five divisions simultaneously (three in assault and two in backup), making the crossChannel operation feasible.61 Forced to concede the point, the British agreed to begin moving troops (seven divisions initially) from the Mediterranean to the United 

Kingdom. While accepting a tentative target date of May 1, 1944, for the invasion, 

the British sidestepped a full commitment by insisting on further study. The JCS also 

wanted to limit additional operations in the Mediterranean to air and sea attacks. But 

out of the ensuing give-and-take, the British prevailed in obtaining an extension of 

currently planned operations against Sicily onto the Italian mainland, in Churchill’s 

words, “to get Italy out of the war by whatever means might be best.”62

A significant improvement over the Joint Chiefs’ previous performance, TRIDENT demonstrated the utility and effectiveness of Joint Staff work over reliance 

on separate and often uncoordinated Service inputs. From then on, preparations for 

inter-Allied conferences became increasingly centralized around the Joint Staff, with 

the Joint War Plans Committee the focal point for the development of the necessary 

planning papers and inter-Service coordination.63 The emerging dominance of the 

JCS system was largely the product of necessity and rested on a growing recognition 

as the war progressed that at the high command level as well as in the field, joint 

collaboration was more successful than each Service operating on its own.

Preparing for Overlord

Even though the Joint Chiefs secured provisional agreement at the TRIDENT 

Conference to begin preparations for an invasion of France, it remained to be seen 

whether the British would live up to their promise. Reports from London indicated that Churchill was “rather apathetic and somewhat apprehensive” about a 

firm commitment to invade Europe and that he would press next for an invasion of 

Italy, followed by operations against the Balkans.64 Even though a campaign on the 
16

Coun c il of War

Italian mainland would delay moving troops and materiel to England for the invasion, Churchill had made a convincing argument that Italy would fall quickly and 

not pose much of a diversion. With U.S. and British forces currently concentrated 

in Sicily and North Africa, the JCS acknowledged that it made sense to take advantage of the opportunity before moving forces en masse to England. Still, they were 

adamant that the operation be limited and not go beyond Rome, lest it jeopardize 

plans for the invasion of northern France.65

At the first Quebec Conference (QUADRANT) in August 1943, Churchill, 

Roosevelt, and the Combined Chiefs of Staff confirmed their intention to attack 

Italy and attempted to reconcile continuing differences over a landing on the northern French coast, now code-named Operation Overlord. Despite pledges made at the 

TRIDENT Conference, Churchill and the British chiefs procrastinated, prompting 

several heated exchanges and some “very undiplomatic language” by Admiral King, 

who considered the British to be acting in bad faith.66 At one point the CCS cleared 

the room of all subordinates and continued the discussion off the record. The sense 

of trust and partnership appeared to be eroding on both sides. While professing their 

commitment to Overlord, the British objected to an American proposal to give the 

invasion of France “overriding priority” and wanted to delay the repositioning of 

troops as agreed at TRIDENT so campaigns in the Mediterranean could proceed 

without serious disruption. Working a compromise, the Combined Chiefs agreed to 

make Overlord the “primary” Anglo-American objective in 1944, but couched the 

decision in ambiguous language that left open the possibility of further operations 

in the Mediterranean.67 Once back in London, Churchill assured the War Cabinet 

that the QUADRANT agreement on Overlord notwithstanding, he would continue 

to insist on “nourishing the battle” in Italy as long as he remained in office.68

At that stage in the war, Churchill and the British Chiefs of Staff still viewed 

themselves as the “predominant partner” in the Western alliance. Yet it was a role 

they were less equipped to play with each passing day. By mid-1943, with the mobilization and stepped-up industrial production initiated since 1940 beginning to 

bear fruit, the United States was steadily overtaking Britain in manpower and materiel to become the preeminent military power within the Western alliance. One 

consequence was to give the U.S. chiefs a larger voice and stronger leverage within 

the CCS system, much to the consternation of the British.69 Meetings of the Combined Chiefs of Staff, as evidenced by the discussions at TRIDENT and QUADRANT, were becoming more and more confrontational. Clearly frustrated, Sir 

Alan Brooke, Chief of the Imperial General Staff, lamented that he and his British 

colleagues were no longer able “to swing those American Chiefs of Staff and make 

them see daylight.”70
17

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With tensions mounting between the American and British military chiefs 

over Overlord, a showdown was only a matter of time. It finally came at the Tehran 

Conference in late November 1943, the first “Big Three” summit of the war. During the trip over aboard the battleship Iowa, the Joint Chiefs had the opportunity 

to discuss among themselves and with the President the issues they should raise and 

the approach they should take, so when the conference got down to business, the 

American position was unambiguous. Stopping in Cairo to meet with Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, the Chinese leader, Roosevelt, Churchill, and the Combined Chiefs of Staff took time out to review the status of planning for the invasion 

of France. Though Churchill again paid lip service to Overlord, calling it “top of the 

bill,” he also outlined his vision for expanding military operations into northern 

Italy, Rhodes, and the Balkans. Roosevelt and the Joint Chiefs, feeling that now was 

not the time to debate these issues, simply turned a collective deaf ear.71

At Tehran, with the Soviets present, the Joint Chiefs left no doubt that launching Overlord was their first concern, then sat back while the senior Soviet military 

representative, Marshal Klementy Voroshiloff, interrogated Brooke and his British 

colleagues on why they wanted to devote precious time and resources on “auxiliary 

operations” in the Mediterranean.72 In the plenary sessions with Roosevelt and 

Soviet leader Marshal Josef Stalin, Churchill fell under intense pressure to shelve his 

plans for the Mediterranean and to throw unequivocal support behind the invasion. 

To improve the prospects of success, Stalin offered to launch a major offensive on 

the Eastern Front in conjunction with the landings in France. Outnumbered and 

outmaneuvered, Churchill grudgingly acknowledged that it was “the stern duty” of 

his country to proceed with the invasion. At long last, the British commitment to 

Overlord had become irrevocable. Though the JCS were elated at the outcome, the 

British chiefs were visibly distraught and immediately began picking away at the 

invasion plan’s details as if they could make it disappear or change the decision.73

Confirmation that Overlord would go forward signaled a major turning point 

in the war. The beginning of the end in the West for Hitler’s Germany, it also affirmed the emergence of the United States as leader of the Western coalition, with 

the Joint Chiefs of Staff firmly ensconced as the senior military partners. Even the 

supreme commander of the operation was to be an American. Though General 

Marshall had wanted the job, it went instead to a former subordinate and protégé, 

General Dwight D. Eisenhower, who presided over what became one of the most 

truly integrated and successful international command structures in history. All the 

same, with the United States contributing the larger share of the manpower and 

much, if not most, of the materiel to the operation, British involvement took on a 

diminished appearance. Except for a brief gathering in London in early June 1944 
18

Coun c il of War

timed roughly to coincide with the D-Day invasion, the JCS had little need for 

further full-dress meetings of the Combined Chiefs of Staff. In fact, they did not 

see their British counterparts again until, at Churchill’s insistence, they reassembled 

at a second Quebec Conference in September 1944. A year later, with the war over, 

the CCS quietly became for the most part inactive. Though it met occasionally over 

the next few years, its postwar contributions were never enough to make much difference, and on October 14, 1949, by mutual agreement, it was finally dissolved.74

The decision to proceed with Overlord, giving it priority over all other AngloAmerican operations against Germany, marked the culmination of grand strategic 

planning in the European theater. Once the troops landed in Normandy on June 6, 

1944, it was up to Eisenhower and his British deputy, General Bernard Law Montgomery, and their generals to wage the battles that would bring victory in the West. 

Had it not been for the JCS and their determination to see the matter through, the 

invasion might have been postponed indefinitely, and the results of the war could 

have been quite different. In a very real sense, the Tehran Conference and the Overlord decision marked the Joint Chiefs’ coming of age as a mature and reliable organization. Out of that experience emerged a decidedly improved and more effective 

planning system within the JCS organization and a better appreciation among the 

chiefs themselves of what they could accomplish by working together. A turning 

point in the history of World War II, the Overlord decision was thus also a major 

milestone in the progress and maturity of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

Wartime Collaboration with the Soviet Union

In contrast to the many contacts and close collaboration the Joint Chiefs enjoyed 

with their British counterparts through the Combined Chiefs of Staff system, their 

access to the Soviet high command remained limited throughout World War II. The 

“Grand Alliance,” as Churchill called it, brought together countries—the United 

States and Great Britain, on the one hand, the Soviet Union, on the other—which, 

until recently, had viewed one another practically as enemies. Divided prior to the 

war by politics and ideology, they found it expedient in wartime to concert their 

efforts toward a common objective—the defeat of Nazi Germany—and little else. 

While idealists like Roosevelt hoped a new postwar relationship would emerge 

from the experience, promoting peaceful coexistence between capitalist and Communist systems, realists like Churchill remained skeptical. All agreed that it was a 

unique and uneasy partnership that was difficult to manage.

The bond holding the Grand Alliance together was, from its inception, the 

unique relationship among its “Big Three” leaders—Roosevelt, Churchill, and 
19

The War in E urope

Stalin—who remained in regular direct contact throughout the war. As a rule, Stalin 

managed high-level contacts himself and discouraged his generals from becoming overly friendly with their Western counterparts. Churchill followed a similar 

practice. While professing friendship and cooperation, he showed little inclination 

to share military information with the Soviets or to take them into his confidence. 

Although Roosevelt was more forthcoming, he too recognized that, at bottom, 

the Grand Alliance was a marriage of convenience and declined to bring Stalin in 

on the biggest secret of the war—that the United States was building an atomic 

bomb—perhaps because he knew that Soviet espionage agents had passed that information along to Moscow sometime in 1943.75

Given the ground rules that tacitly governed the Grand Alliance, East-West 

military collaboration followed a loose and haphazard course. Though they tried 

from time to time, JCS planners could find little common ground for creating anything comparable to the Combined Chiefs of Staff to help coordinate East-West 

military operations.76 Occasionally, they floated proposals to exchange observers 

at the field command headquarters level. But there was not much interest from 

the British and even less from the Soviets.77 The collaboration that developed derived either from ad hoc arrangements or initiatives mounted through the military 

missions assigned to the American Embassy in Moscow and tended to be more 

concerned with logistical matters and lend-lease aid than with coordinating the 

conduct of the war.

Despite the difficulties inherent in dealing with the Soviets, Roosevelt was 

determined to demonstrate American goodwill and solidarity of purpose. Brushing aside Churchill’s penchant for caution, he exhorted the Joint Chiefs to explore 

ways of helping the Soviets, even if it meant diverting scarce war resources from 

other urgent tasks. Yet whatever the JCS could do was limited. As a practical matter, the Eastern Front was too distant and remote for most of the war for them to 

contemplate stationing substantial military forces there. Nor was it clear whether 

U.S. forces would have been welcome, given Stalin’s aversion to foreign influences.78

Small deployments of aircraft were another matter, however, and from mid-1942 on, 

the JCS found themselves peppered with proposals from various sources, including the White House, to provide the Soviets with supply planes and to establish an 

Anglo-American combat air force in the Caucasus. At the time, German forces had 

resumed the offensive and for a while there was a glimmer of interest from Stalin. 

But as the Soviet military position improved, Stalin’s enthusiasm waned and the 

project died.79

While the Western powers poured large quantities of material assistance into 

the Soviet Union, Stalin insisted that the best help they could provide was opening 
20

Coun c il of War

a second front in Western Europe to draw off some of the pressure on the Red 

army in the East. Churchill maintained that, by concentrating on North Africa, Italy, 

and the Mediterranean, the Western Allies were already accomplishing much the 

same thing. Unconvinced, the JCS regarded these operations as sideshows that were 

perhaps annoying to the Germans but a drain on Allied resources and indecisive by 

nature. Moreover, the longer the Allies delayed a landing in France, the more opportunity it gave the advancing Russian forces to expand and consolidate Moscow’s 

political influence across Europe.80

After the QUADRANT Conference of August 1943, with the prospects for 

Overlord on the rise, the JCS redoubled their efforts to improve contacts and collaboration with the Soviet high command, initially to enlist their promised assistance 

in diverting German units away from the Normandy invasion area and eventually 

to prod them into the war against Japan. With these objectives in mind, they sought 

to upgrade their liaison capabilities with the Soviets and in the fall of 1943 named 

Major General John R. Deane to head a new joint American military mission in 

Moscow, reporting directly to the JCS.81 At the same time, President Roosevelt 

named W. Averell Harriman, who had been instrumental in setting up the lend-lease 

program, to replace the ineffectual Admiral William H. Standley as Ambassador to 

the Soviet Union. Until recently the U.S. secretary of the Combined Chiefs of Staff, 

Deane was familiar with the current state of thinking in Washington and the status 

of Allied war plans. At the time he arrived, he recalled, collaboration with the Soviets was “a virgin field” and military coordination “almost nonexistent.”82 Though 

he found the Soviets to be guarded in their dealings with Westerners, he saw no 

reason to doubt their commitment to the war and “felt certain” they would enter 

the conflict against Japan once Germany was defeated.83

During the year and a half he spent in Moscow, Deane experienced one frustration after another and kept the Joint Chiefs up to date on every agonizing detail. 

Though there were a few modest successes, a shuttle bombing agreement of questionable military value foremost among them, he never detected any serious interest 

on the Soviets’ part in establishing a full military dialogue or partnership. Indeed, as 

the war progressed and as victory over the Germans became more certain, Deane 

noticed a progressive falling off of Soviet cooperation—so much so that by December 1944 he was expressing serious apprehension over the future of U.S.-Soviet relations. “Everyone will agree on the importance of collaboration with Russia,” Deane 

told Marshall. “It won’t be worth a hoot, however, unless it is based on mutual 

respect and made to work both ways.”84 Impressed by Deane’s sobering assessments, 

Marshall passed them along to the White House without any discernible effect.85
21

The War in E urope

Deane’s sentiments reflected a growing sense of unease about the Soviets that 

permeated JCS deliberations from late 1943 on. The Joint Chiefs got their first 

close-up look at Stalin and his generals at the Big Three Tehran Conference in November 1943 and came away with mixed impressions. Though judged to be toughminded and determined, the Soviet generals also appalled members of the JCS with 

their superficial appreciation of modern military science, most notably their lack 

of understanding of the difficulties of amphibious operations. As far as Stalin and 

his generals were concerned, a cross-Channel attack was like fording a river.86 But 

with a war yet to be won and the Joint Chiefs eager to nail down a Soviet commitment to join the fight against Japan, they were not inclined to judge the Soviets 

too harshly.87

This view began to change during the early part of 1944, as rumors spread 

that the Soviets, now on the verge of expelling German troops from their territory, 

might seek a separate peace. Also around the same time, the JCS received a barrage 

of reports from Harriman and Deane in Moscow and OSS sources, warning of 

waning Soviet interest in military collaboration with the West owing to diplomatic 

friction over the political makeup of Eastern Europe after the war.88 With Overlord

only a few months away, the chiefs’ concern was considerable, to say the least. About 

the only immediate source of leverage was to curb shipments under the lend-lease 

program, which General Marshall described as “our trump card . . . to keep the Soviets on the offensive in connection with the second front.”89 President Roosevelt, 

however, strongly opposed any avoidable disruptions in assistance, lest they adversely 

affect U.S.-Soviet relations or the conduct of the war. In September 1944, with 

Overlord a fait accompli, he vetoed any immediate changes in the program.90

The Joint Chiefs adopted a wait-and-see attitude toward their Soviet allies for 

the duration of the war in Europe. By the time of the Yalta Summit Conference in 

February 1945, they had come to the conclusion, as General Marshall put it, that 

closer liaison with the Soviet general staff would be “highly desirable” but not absolutely essential.91 Where the JCS still wanted the Soviets engaged was in Manchuria to keep the Japanese Kwantung army there from reinforcing the home islands 

against a U.S.-led invasion.92 Accordingly, they urged President Roosevelt to use his 

influence with Stalin to overcome what they characterized as Soviet “administrative delays” that were thwarting the implementation of “broad decisions” about 

U.S.-Soviet collaboration.93 But with U.S. forces now moving relentlessly across the 

Pacific, JCS planners were increasingly skeptical whether access to Soviet air and 

naval bases in Siberia—a requirement once thought to be crucial to an invasion of 

the Japanese home islands—would make any difference. 
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Coun c il of War

The diminished need for Soviet bases and other support was soon reflected 

in President Harry S. Truman’s “get tough” approach toward the Soviets following Roosevelt’s death in April 1945. With a U.S. victory in the Pacific now more 

probable than ever, Truman was less forbearing than Roosevelt in putting pressure 

on Moscow to live up to its wartime political agreements facilitating free elections 

in Eastern Europe.94 Worried that the new President might go too far, Leahy and 

Marshall reminded him that the wartime agreements Roosevelt had reached were 

subject to interpretation and that JCS planning still assumed Soviet participation 

in the war against Japan. With these caveats before him, Truman soon moderated 

his criticism of the Soviets. Yet owing to the sharp tone and substance of some 

of his complaints about Soviet behavior, the wartime alliance showed clear signs 

of breaking down.95

That closer wartime cooperation and collaboration between the Joint Chiefs 

and the Soviet high command could have helped to avoid this outcome is highly 

unlikely. Stalin’s main concerns throughout the war in Europe were to eradicate 

the threat posed by Nazi Germany and to solidify as much of his control as possible over Eastern Europe, making it in effect a cordon sanitaire between the Soviet 

Union and the West. With these objectives in mind, the level of cooperation that 

Stalin sought (and was prepared to accept) was always more specific than general 

and invariably revolved around the issues of additional aid and the opening of a second front in France. While the JCS did what they could to promote better SovietAmerican relations, their options were limited and became even more so as the war 

progressed. Eventually, the JCS came to see cooperation and collaboration with 

Moscow as a one-way street. As a rule, General Marshall recalled, the Soviets were 

“delicate . . . jealous, and . . . very, very hard to preserve a coordinated association 

with.”96 Regarded by Churchill and others as a marriage of convenience to begin 

with, the Grand Alliance was probably lucky that it lasted as long as it did and certainly was not destined to survive much beyond the end of the war.

Notes

1 Churchill to Roosevelt, December 9, 1941, in Francis L. Loewenheim, Harold D. Langley, and Manfred Jonas, eds., Roosevelt and Churchill: Their Secret Wartime Correspondence

(New York: Saturday Review Press, 1975), 169.

2 Winston S. Churchill, The Grand Alliance (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1950), 686–687.

3 William G.F. Jackson and Lord Bramall, The Chiefs: The Story of the United Kingdom 

Chiefs of Staff (London: Brassey’s, 1992), traces the origins and evolution of the British 

Chiefs of Staff. Field Marshal Sir John Dill attended the ARCADIA Conference in 

Brooke’s place. Dill then stayed behind in Washington to head the British Joint Staff 
23

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Mission. He died in November 1944 and was succeeded by Field Marshal Sir Henry 

Maitland Wilson.

4 Quoted in Andrew Roberts, Masters and Commanders: How Four Titans Won the War in 

the West, 1941–1945 (New York: Harper, 2009), 71.

5 Memo by Combined Chiefs of Staff, January 14, 1942, “Post-Arcadia Collaboration,” 

ABC-4/CS4, World War II Inter-Allied Conferences (Washington, DC: Joint History Office, 2003, on CD-ROM). (Hereafter cited as World War II Conference Papers); Jackson 

and Bramall, 224; “Combined Chiefs of Staff (CCS) committee,” in I.C.B. Dear and 

M.R.D. Foot, eds., The Oxford Companion to World War II (Oxford: Oxford University 

Press, 1995), 254.

6 Admiral King turned down a suggestion to have the Navy’s senior aviation officer, 

Rear Admiral John H. Towers, Chief of the Bureau of Aeronautics, join the group. King 

believed Towers’ presence was unnecessary since naval air units were fully integrated 

into the operating fleets King commanded.

7 Jeffrey G. Barlow, From Hot War to Cold: The U.S. Navy and National Security Affairs, 

1945–1955 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2009), 4, 13–17.

8 Notes Taken at Meeting in Executive Offices of the President, November 25, 1942, box 

29, Map Room File, Roosevelt Library.

9 See William Emerson, “Franklin Roosevelt as Commander-in-Chief in World War II,” 

Military Affairs 22 (Winter 1958–1959), 201.

10 See Eric Larrabee, Commander in Chief: Franklin Delano Roosevelt, His Lieutenants, and 

Their War (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 2004), 105–106.

11 John Slessor, The Central Blue: The Autobiography of Sir John Slessor, Marshal of the RAF

(New York: Praeger, 1957), 494.

12 Quoted in Ray S. Cline, Washington Command Post: The Operations Division (Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 1990 reprint), 44.

13 Vernon E. Davis, History of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in World War II: Organizational Development (Washington, DC: Historical Division, Joint Secretariat, Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1972), 

I, 28.

14 See Edward S. Miller, War Plan Orange: The U.S. Strategy to Defeat Japan, 1897–1945 (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1991); and Henry G. Gole, The Road to Rainbow: Army 

Planning for Global War, 1934–1940 (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 2003).

15 Louis Morton, “Germany First: The Basic Concept of Allied Strategy in World War 

II,” in Kent Roberts Greenfield, ed., Command Decisions (Washington, DC: Center of 

Military History, 1984), 11–47.

16 Joint Board, Joint Action of the Army and the Navy (Washington, DC: U.S. Government 

Printing Office [GPO], 1927, rev. ed. 1935). Provisions relating to unity of command date 

from changes incorporated in 1938, as directed in J.B. Serial No. 350, November 30, 1938.

17 Cline, 44–47; Davis, I, 27–59.

18 Davis, I, 239–252.

19 Roberts, 76–78.

20 JCS Minutes, 1st Meeting, February 9, 1942, RG 218, CCS 334 (2-9-42); Davis, I, 229.

21 Davis, II, 506–08.
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Coun c il of War

22 Memo, McFarland to King, January 4, 1945, “H.R. 5604, To Provide for the Permanent 

Establishment of the JCS and Joint Secretariat,” CCS 334 (12-80-44).

23 Thomas F. Troy, Donovan and the CIA: A History of the Establishment of the Central Intelligence Agency (Washington, DC: Center for the Study of Intelligence, 1981), 117–153, 

427–428.

24 Forrest C. Pogue, George C. Marshall: Ordeal and Hope, 1939–1942 (New York: Viking 

Press, 1965), 298–301.

25 Henry L. Stimson and McGeorge Bundy, On Active Service in Peace and War (New York: 

Harper & Bros., 1947), 414.

26 Forrest C. Pogue, “The Wartime Chiefs of Staff and the President,” in Monte D. Wright 

and Lawrence J. Paszek, eds., Soldiers and Statesmen (Washington, DC: Office of Air 

Force History, 1973), 71.

27 Kent Roberts Greenfield, American Strategy in World War II: A Reconsideration (Malabar, 

FL: Krieger Publishing, 1982 reprint), 51–52.

28 Pogue, “Wartime Chiefs,” 72–73. Marshall recalled that the first time he visited Hyde 

Park, NY, Roosevelt’s home, was for the President’s funeral in April 1945.

29 William D. Leahy, I Was There (New York: Whittlesey House, 1950), 102; Davis, II, 439–

445.

30 “Charter: Joint Chiefs of Staff,” June 15, 1943, JCS 202/24.

31 Letter, FDR to Leahy, July 16, 1943, JCS 415.

32 Maurice Matloff and Edwin M. Snell, Strategic Planning for Coalition Warfare, 1941–1942

(Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, 1953), 97–119.

33 Cline, 101–102.

34 Quoted in Larrabee, 187.

35 See Mark A. Stoler, The Politics of the Second Front: American Military Planning and Diplomacy in Coalition Warfare, 1941–1943 (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1977), 14–22. 

36 JCS Minutes, 4th Meeting, March 7, 1942, RG 218, CCS 334 (2-9-42).

37 Matloff and Snell, 161; Grace Person Hayes, The History of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in World 

War II: The War Against Japan (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1982), 113–114.

38 Roberts, 137–166; George F. Howe, Northwest Africa: Seizing the Initiative in the West

(Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, 1957), 10–14.

39 Memo, Roosevelt to Marshall, August 24, 1942, box 4, President’s Secretary’s File, Roosevelt Library.

40 Stimson and Bundy, 425–126; Memo, Roosevelt to Hopkins, Marshall, and King, July 

24, 1942, box 4, President’s Secretary’s File, Roosevelt Library.

41 Sherwood, 563.

42 Gordon A. Harrison, Cross-Channel Attack (Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of 

Military History, 1951), 15–16; Matloff and Snell, 177.

43 Minutes, Meeting Held at the White House, December 10, 1942, box 29, Map Room 

File, Roosevelt Library.

44 Llewellyn Woodward, British Foreign Policy in the Second World War (London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office [HMSO], 1971), II, 462.
25

The War in E urope

45 See Maurice Matloff, “Allied Strategy in Europe, 1939–1945,” in Peter Paret, ed., Makers 

of Modern Strategy: From Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986), 677–702; and Richard Overy, Why the Allies Won (New York: W.W. 

Norton, 1995), 141.

46 Davis, II, 373–375. At the request of Admiral King, the JSSC’s charter made provision 

for a fourth member to represent naval aviation. King failed to follow up, however, and 

the position was never filled.

47 Report by JSSC to JCS, “Basic Strategic Concept for 1943,” December 11, 1942, JCS 

167.

48 Mark A. Stoler, Allies and Adversaries: The Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Grand Alliance, and U.S. 

Strategy in World War II (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2000), 90–91.

49 Minutes of a Meeting at the White House, January 7, 1943, President’s Secretary’s File, 

Roosevelt Library; U.S. Department of State, Foreign Relations of the United States: Conferences at Washington, 1941–1942, and Casablanca, 1943, 505–514.

50 Winston S. Churchill, The Hinge of Fate (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, 1950), 676.

51 Maurice Matloff, Strategic Planning for Coalition Warfare, 1943–44 (Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, 1959), 37; Churchill, Hinge of Fate, 686–687.

52 “Bomber Offensive from the UK,” January 21, 1943, CCS 166/1/D, World War II Conference Papers, 88–89.

53 Wesley Frank Craven and James Lea Cate, eds., The Army Air Forces in World War II, vol. 

II, Europe: Torch to Pointblank, August 1942 to December 1943 (Washington, DC: Office of 

Air Force History, 1983), 274–307.

54 Hayes, 363.

55 Letter, Wedemeyer to Handy, January 20, 1943, quoted in Davis, II, 436.

56 Cline, 234–242.

57 “Charter: Joint War Plans Committee,” May 11, 1943, JCS 202/14.

58 Ernest J. King and Alfred Muir Whitehill, Fleet Admiral King: A Naval Record (New York: 

W.W. Norton, 1952), 491–495. See also JPS Report, May 7, 1943, and decision on May 

8, 1943, “Strategic Plan for the Defeat of Japan,” JCS 287 and JCS 287/1.

59 Cline, 219–220.

60 Stoler, Allies and Adversaries, 120–121.

61 Matloff, Strategic Planning, 1943–44, 132.

62 Matloff, Strategic Planning, 1943–44, 126–145; Forrest C. Pogue, George C. Marshall: Organizer of Victory (New York: Viking Press, 1973), 193–213; CCS Minutes, TRIDENT, 1st 

meeting, May 12, 1943, World War II Conferences, 253; “Final Report to the President and 

Prime Minister,” May 25, 1943, CCS 242/6.

63 Cline, 222.

64 Minutes of Meeting Held at the White House between the President and the Chiefs of 

Staff, August 10, 1943, box 29, Map Room File, Roosevelt Library.

65 Memo, JPS to JCS, August 5, 1943, “Strategic Concept for the Defeat of the Axis in Europe,” JCS 444; Memo, JSSC to JCS, August 5, 1943, revised per JCS discussion August 

6, 1943, “QUADRANT and European Strategy,” JCS 443.
26

Coun c il of War

66 Leahy Diary entry, August 14, 1943, Leahy Papers, Library of Congress (microfilm); 

Leahy, I Was There, 175.

67 Final Report to the President and Prime Minister, August 24, 1943, CCS 319/5, World 

War II Conference Papers; Cline, 224–225.

68 David Dilks, ed., The Diaries of Sir Alexander Cadogan, 1938–1945 (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1972), 570–571.

69 Roberts, 431–435.

70 Arthur Bryant, Triumph in the West, 1943–1945 (London: Collins, 1959), 59, 71.

71 Sextant Conference, Minutes of 2d Plenary Meeting, held at Villa Kirk, Cairo, November 24, 1943, World War II Conference Papers.

72 Minutes, Military Conference Between U.S.A., Great Britain, and U.S.S.R., November 

29, 1943, EUREKA Conference, ibid.

73 Overy, 143; Bryant, 88–101; Pogue, Organizer of Victory, 316–318.

74 JCS Info Memo 687, October 14, 1949, “Dissolution of the Combined Chiefs of Staff 

Organization,” U, CCS 334 (2-9-46) sec. 1, RG 218.

75 See Martin J. Sherwin, A World Destroyed: The Atomic Bomb and the Grand Alliance (New 

York: Vintage Books, 1977), 102–104.

76 The most ambitious proposal was a recommendation by the Joint Strategic Survey 

Committee in the late summer of 1944 to replace the CCS with a tripartite “United 

Chiefs of Staff.” The British gave it a chilly reception and the project quickly died. See 

JSSC Report, “Machinery for Coordination of U.S.-Soviet-British Military Effort,” 

August 31, 1944, JCS 1005/1.

77 See Memo by U.S. CoS to CCS, August 17, 1944, “Machinery for Coordination of 

U.S.-Soviet-British Military Effort,” JCS 1005; and Report by JPS, November 17, 1944, 

“Liaison Between Theater Commanders and the Russian Armies,” JCS 1005/3.

78 Adam B. Ulam, Expansion and Coexistence: The History of Soviet Foreign Policy, 1917–67

(New York: Praeger, 1967), 319.

79 Robert E. Sherwood, Roosevelt and Hopkins (New York: Enigma Books, 2001), 616; 

Matloff and Snell, 329–336.

80 Stoler, Allies and Adversaries, 124–132. See also Annex A, “Relationship of Russia to 

U.S. Global Military Situation,” to Memo, JSSC to JCS, September 16, 1943, JCS 506; 

Sherwood, 748–749; and James F. Schnabel, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 

1945–1947 (Washington, DC: Joint History Office, 1996), 7–8.

81 “Instructions to Members of U.S. Military Mission to U.S.S.R.,” October 5, 1943, JCS 

506/1; Matloff, Strategic Planning, 1943–44, 290–291.

82 John R. Deane, The Strange Alliance (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1973), 47.

83 Stoler, Allies and Adversaries, 166.

84 Letter, Deane to Marshall, December 2, 1944, in Deane, 84.

85 Pogue, Organizer of Victory, 530–531.

86 Comments by Soviet Marshal Voroshiloff, Minutes of Military Conference between 

U.S.A., Britain, and U.S.S.R., November 29, 1943, World War II Conferences, 539; King 

and Whitehill, 518. 
27

The War in E urope

87 Pogue, Organizer of Victory, 311–313.

88 Stoler, Allies and Adversaries, 182–183.

89 Memo, Marshall to Roosevelt, March 31, 1944, quoted in Matloff, Strategic Planning, 

1943–44, 497.

90 Letter, Roosevelt to Marshall, September 9, 1944, JCS 771/8.

91 Argonaut Conference, Minutes of Meeting Held in the President’s Sun Room, Livadia 

Palace, February 4, 1945, box 29, Map Room File, Roosevelt Library.

92 Matloff, Strategic Planning, 1943–44, 500–501.

93 Memo, JCS to President Roosevelt, January 23, 1945, U.S. Department of State, Foreign 

Relations of the United States: Diplomatic Papers—the Conferences at Malta and Yalta, 1945

(Washington, DC: GPO, 1955), 396–400.

94 John Lewis Gaddis, The United States and the Origins of the Cold War, 1941–1947 (New 

York: Columbia University Press, 1972), 198–243.

95 Pogue, 578–581; Stoler, Allies and Adversaries, 237–238.

96 Marshall interview, quoted in Pogue, 574.
Burma Road, 1944–1945
Chapter 2

The Asia-Pacific War 

and the Beginnings 

of Postwar Planning

The Joint Chiefs’ greatest accomplishment in World War II was planning and executing a two-front war, one in the European-Atlantic theater and the other in the 

Asia-Pacific region. Even though the agreed Anglo-American strategy gave primary 

importance to defeating Germany, the attack on Pearl Harbor and Japan’s rapid advances during the early stages of the war created a political and military environment 

that focused heavy attention on the Pacific and Far East. For the first year or so of the 

war, bolstering the American posture there consumed as much, if not more, of the 

Joint Chiefs’ energy as Europe. At the same time, the absence of an agreed long-range 

wartime strategy made it practically impossible for JCS planners to draw a clear distinction between primary and secondary theaters. As a result, by the end of 1943, deployments of personnel were practically the same (1.8 million) against Japan as against 

Germany.1

 Thereafter, as the United States stepped up its preparations for Operation 

Overlord and as the Allies brought the German submarine threat in the Atlantic under 

control, the buildup in the United Kingdom accelerated quickly, overshadowing the 

allocation of resources elsewhere. But with such a substantial concentration of personnel and other assets in Asia and the Pacific from the outset, it was practically impossible 

for the Joint Chiefs to draw and maintain a clear distinction in priorities.

Strategy and Command in the Pacific

To wage the Pacific war, the Joint Chiefs adopted somewhat different command 

procedures than they used in the European and Mediterranean theaters. In Europe, the lines of command and control followed in accordance with the decision 

taken by President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Churchill immediately after Pearl 

Harbor to pool their resources and to pursue a common strategy. For the North 

Africa–Mediterranean campaigns and for the invasion of France, the Allies established combined unified commands, which operated under directives issued by the 

29
30

Coun c il of War

Combined Chiefs of Staff. The Supreme Commander for the invasion of Europe, 

General Dwight D. Eisenhower, took his orders from the CCS (which were relayed 

to him via the War Department) and presided over an integrated staff that was both 

multinational and multi-Service in its composition.2

Command arrangements in the Pacific evolved differently, owing to the predominant role played by the Navy in that theater, the Combined Chiefs’ limited 

participation, and decisions taken during the initial stages of the war to split the 

theater into two parts. Shortly after Pearl Harbor General Marshall persuaded Admiral King to endorse the creation of a combined Australian-British-Dutch-American Command (ABDACOM) for the Southwestern Pacific in hopes of mobilizing greater resistance.3

 The Japanese surge continued and ABDACOM soon fell 

apart, leaving command relationships in the South Pacific in a shambles. From this 

unpleasant experience (and a later one involving difficulties with the British over 

protection of Anglo-American convoys crossing the Atlantic), King resolved never 

again to be drawn into a combined or unified command arrangement if he could 

possibly avoid it. Unity of command, King insisted, was highly overrated and definitely “not a panacea for all military difficulties” as some “amateur strategists”—a 

veiled reference to Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson—seemed to believe.4

King’s solution to command problems in the Pacific lay in a division of responsibility, approved by the Joint Chiefs with little debate on March 16, 1942, that created 

two parallel organizations: a Southwest Pacific Area command under General Douglas 

MacArthur, bringing together a patchwork of U.S. ground, sea, and air forces with 

the remnants of the ABDACOM, and a Pacific Ocean Area command under Admiral 

Chester W. Nimitz, composed predominantly of Navy and Marine Corps units.5

 In 

1944, a third Pacific command emerged, organized around the Twentieth Air Force, 

which operated under the authority of the JCS, with General Arnold as its executive 

agent. King would have preferred a single joint command for the Pacific, but he knew 

that if he pushed for one, it would probably go to MacArthur rather than to a Navy 

officer. MacArthur was practically anathema to the Navy, and Nimitz, the leading Navy 

candidate for the post, was junior to MacArthur and still relatively unknown.6

 Unlike 

the ABDACOM, which had fallen under the Combined Chiefs of Staff, these new 

commands were the exclusive responsibility of the United States and reported directly 

to the Joint Chiefs, the presence of Australian and other foreign forces under MacArthur notwithstanding. Though joint organizations, composed of ground, air, and naval 

forces, they were not, strictly speaking, “unified” or integrated commands: MacArthur’s 

staff was almost entirely Army; Nimitz’s predominantly Navy. One byproduct of the 

new command structure was the establishment of the JCS “executive agent” system, 
The ASIA- PACIFIC WAR AND THE BEGINNINGS OF POSTWAR PLANNING

31

using the Service chiefs as go-betweens. Thus, in relaying orders and other communications, Marshall dealt directly with MacArthur and King with Nimitz.7

From the outset, the two original commands conducted separate and different 

types of wars. MacArthur’s principal aim was to redeem his reputation and liberate 

the Philippines, where he had suffered an ignominious defeat early in 1942. Promising 

“I shall return,” he launched an ambitious campaign, first to contain, then to roll back 

the Japanese in the Southwest Pacific. With aircraft carriers in short supply, he turned 

to Lieutenant General George C. Kenney, commander of the Fifth Air Force, to supply the bulk of his combat air support from a motley force of land-based fighters and 

bombers, many of them cast-offs from other theaters.8

 For naval support he relied on 

Vice Admiral Thomas C. Kinkaid, commander of the Seventh Fleet. Working with 

limited resources and in a hostile climate where tropical diseases could be as lethal as 

the Japanese, MacArthur developed a leap-frog strategy that took him up the northeastern coast of New Guinea and eventually back to the Philippines.Nimitz’s concept 

of the war centered on the interdiction of Japanese shipping and the destruction of 

the Japanese fleet as the keys to victory. Cautious and reserved by nature, he was initially skeptical of the idea—pressed upon him by King after the Casablanca Conference—that the Navy should, in effect, revive the old War Plan Orange and concentrate its efforts on strategic objectives in the Central Pacific. Seeking a war-winning 

strategy, King proposed a thrust through the Marshalls and Marianas, spearheaded by 

fast carrier task forces and Marine Corps amphibious assault units. Though Nimitz 

went along with the idea, he and his planning staff at Pearl Harbor insisted on refinements that included recapturing and holding the Aleutian Islands and neutralizing the 

Gilberts to give U.S. warships the benefit of land-based air protection.9

 As it turned 

out, Nimitz moved more slowly than King originally envisioned, chiefly because he 

synchronized his advance to progress more or less in unison with MacArthur’s march 

up through New Guinea and Admiral William F. Halsey’s campaign in the Solomon 

Islands, thereby optimizing his assets and assuring the protection of his western flank.10

King assured Nimitz as he embarked upon the Central Pacific strategy that he 

would enjoy substantial numerical superiority over the Japanese fleet. Indeed, a critical factor in King’s advocacy of the plan was his knowledge that the Navy would 

soon have a “new” fleet in the Pacific, the product of a naval construction program 

inaugurated in 1940 and hurried along after Pearl Harbor.11 Among the first of 

these ships to take up station in the Pacific during the second half of 1943 were a 

half-dozen of the new 27,000-ton Essex-class attack carriers. Built to accommodate 

nearly a hundred planes each, these ships gave Nimitz the capability of launching 

carrier bombing strikes comparable to land-based aviation. By the end of the year, 
32

Coun c il of War

he had a force of over 700 carrier-based aircraft, many of them improved models, 

and a growing fleet of ships, half of them built since the beginning of the war.12

Additional support for Nimitz’s push into the Central Pacific came from the 

Army Air Forces (AAF), who saw an opportunity to use island bases in the Marianas 

to launch B–29 attacks against Japan. Until mid-1943, the Air Staff had concentrated on China as the primary staging area for its B–29s, which were new highaltitude, long-distance, very heavy bombers that the AAF expected to deploy in 

large numbers against Japan during the second half of 1944. Owing to problems of 

supplying bases in China and protecting them against expected Japanese counterattacks, however, Air Staff planners began to look elsewhere. With the emergence of 

Nimitz’s Central Pacific strategy, they refocused their efforts there.13Although the 

Joint Chiefs tried from time to time to develop an overall war plan for the Pacific, 

the divided command in the theater made it virtually impossible. Invariably, the decisions that emerged from Washington represented compromises, resulting in “an ad 

hoc approach to Pacific strategy.”14 Friction between MacArthur and Nimitz was endemic to the Pacific theater and required frequent intervention from Marshall and 

King. At the same time, in CCS meetings with the British, King often pursued what 

amounted to a separate agenda. Technically, the CCS exercised no responsibility 

for the Pacific, but because the demands of the various theaters regularly impinged 

on each other, the Combined Chiefs took it upon themselves to review plans for 

Asia and the Pacific while developing strategy for Europe and the Mediterranean. 

At the wartime summit conferences and in routine contacts in Washington, King’s 

blatant Anglophobia and persistence in promoting the Navy’s interests in the Pacific 

became practically legendary. Of the Americans they dealt with, King was by far 

the most unpopular with the British. Yet he also proved remarkably effective at getting what he wanted. In Grace Person Hayes’s estimation, he was clearly “the JCS 

member whose influence upon the course of events in the Pacific was greatest.”15

In contrast to other aspects of the war, there were relatively few sharp disagreements among the JCS over the merits of one course of strategy in the Pacific 

over another. Marshall had no objection to the Navy’s Central Pacific strategy as 

long as it was logistically feasible and did not crowd MacArthur out of the picture.16 Moreover, none of the chiefs wanted to see a stalemate develop that could 

prolong the Pacific conflict into 1947 or 1948 and lead to war-weariness at home. 

By 1943, the JCS agreed that a predominantly defensive posture in the Pacific was 

incompatible with American interests and that the tide had turned sufficiently to 

allow for the transition to an “offensive-defensive” philosophy. As the arrival of the 

many new ships and planes in the Pacific suggested, increased industrial production 

at home was finally making a difference by offering a broader range of options on 

the battle front.17 These matters came to a head at the first Quebec Conference 
33

The ASIA- PACIFIC WAR AND THE BEGINNINGS OF POSTWAR PLANNING

(QUADRANT) in mid-August 1943. Though the chiefs’ number-one goal at First 

Quebec was to firm up the British commitment to Overlord, stepping up the war 

in the Pacific was a close second. Applying a mathematical formula approach (a 

technique he enjoyed using), King proposed a worldwide boost in the allocation 

of resources from 15 to 20 percent in the Pacific, a 5 percent increase that would 

translate into one-third more available resources and only a 6 percent drop in supplies to Europe.18 The British knew that, as a rule, the Joint Chiefs used exceedingly 

conservative production and supply estimates, so that in all likelihood an increase 

in the allocation to the Pacific would mean little or no change elsewhere. Though 

the CCS never officially approved King’s formula, the British members were well 

aware that there was not much they could do if the Americans elected to abide by it. 

Turning to an alternative approach, the conference wound up approving an American plan increasing the tempo of operations in the Pacific at such a rate as to assure 

the defeat of Japan within 12 months of Germany’s surrender or collapse.19 Thus, by 

mid to late 1943, though not exactly on a par with the war in Europe, the war in the 

Pacific was steadily gathering momentum and recognition that the outcome there 

was no less important than victory in Europe. The chiefs knew that long, drawn-out 

wars tended to sap morale at home and have unforeseen political side-effects. Consequently, they hoped to lay the groundwork for the defeat of Japan well in advance 

and make it happen as quickly as possible once Germany surrendered. The chiefs assumed that, to carry out this strategy, they would need to move troops from Europe 

to the Pacific as fast as possible and mass forces on an unprecedented scale. Little did 

they realize that, when that moment arrived, they would have in their hands a new 

weapon—the atomic bomb—that would not only facilitate Japan’s surrender more 

abruptly than anyone realized, but usher in a new era in warfare at the same time.

The China-Burma-India Theater

With Europe and the Pacific commanding most of the attention and resources, problems in the China-Burma-India Theater (CBI) took a distinctly secondary place in 

the Joint Chiefs’ strategic calculations. Under the division of responsibility adopted by 

the Combined Chiefs of Staff in March 1942, the United States provided military coordination with the government of China, while Britain saw to the defense of Burma 

and India. The only American combat formations assigned to the CBI during the 

war were the Galahad commando unit (Merrill’s Marauders) formed near the end of 

1943, and the XX Bomber Command, consisting of four B–29 groups that operated 

mainly from Chengtu in southwest China in 1944–1945. Otherwise, the U.S. presence 

consisted of noncombat personnel involved in construction projects, training and advisory functions, and logistical support for China under the lend-lease aid program.
34

Coun c il of War

China’s need for assistance had grown steadily since the outbreak of its undeclared war with Japan in 1937. Forced by the invading Japanese to abandon its capital 

at Nanking, the Chinese Nationalist government of Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek 

had relocated to the interior. Operating out of Chongqing, Chiang had used his wellestablished political connections in Washington to mobilize American public opinion 

and congressional support for his cause. Prohibited under the 1937 Neutrality Act from 

providing direct military assistance, the Roosevelt administration arranged several large 

loans that allowed Chiang to buy arms and equipment to bolster his military capabilities. But with graft and corruption permeating Chiang’s government, much of the 

financial help from Washington was wasted. By the time the United States entered the 

war in December 1941, Chiang’s regime was near collapse. At the ARCADIA Conference, with Japanese forces moving practically at will across East Asia and the Pacific, 

Roosevelt and Churchill sought to boost Chiang’s morale and shore up his resistance 

by inviting him to become supreme commander of a new China Theater. Inclusion 

of nonwhite, non-Christian China in the Grand Alliance helped the Western Allies 

undercut Japanese propaganda about “Asia for the Asiatics” and reduced the chances of 

World War II being seen as a racial conflict.20 The offer carried with it no promise of 

additional assistance or immediate support, but it struck Roosevelt as a logical first step 

toward realizing his vision that China should emerge from the war as “a great power.” 

Chiang promptly accepted and, to seal the deal, asked the United States to appoint an 

American officer to be his chief of staff, in effect his military second in command.21

To assist Chiang as his chief of staff, Marshall and Secretary of War Stimson eventually settled on Lieutenant General Joseph W. Stilwell, an “Old China Hand” whom 

Marshall had once described as “qualified for any command in peace or war.”22 Gifted 

in learning languages, Stilwell was fluent in Mandarin Chinese, which he mastered 

during his numerous tours of duty in the Far East, dating from 1911, and intensive 

language training in the 1920s. But he had a prickly personality and soon grew contemptuous of Chiang, whom he regarded as an ineffectual political leader and inept 

as a general. As the military attaché to the U.S. Embassy in China from 1935 to 1939, 

Stilwell had deplored Chiang’s lack of preparedness for dealing with the Japanese 

and had developed a tempered respect for Chiang’s Communist rivals, led by Mao 

Zedong, who seemed determined to mount resistance to the Japanese with whatever 

limited resources they could from their power base in the countryside.23

Stilwell embarked on his mission with virtually no strategic or operational 

guidance. His only instructions were a generalized set of orders issued by the War 

Department early in February 1942. While the Army General Staff and the JCS 

routinely affirmed the importance of the CBI, they consistently treated it as a low 

priority. Preoccupied with Europe and the Pacific, the JCS had little inclination and 
35

The ASIA- PACIFIC WAR AND THE BEGINNINGS OF POSTWAR PLANNING

even fewer resources for waging a war on the China mainland. Only Marshall and 

Arnold took a personal interest in Chinese affairs—Marshall because he had spent 

3 years in China during the interwar period and was a personal friend of Stilwell’s, 

and Arnold because of the AAF’s heavy commitment of men and equipment for 

supply operations and planned B–29 deployments. The most important military 

uses the JCS could see for China were as a base for future air operations against 

Japan and as a source of manpower for confronting and holding down large segments of the Japanese army. But it was unlikely that the AAF would make much use 

of China as a base of operations until the Navy completed its advance across the 

Pacific and could provide secure lines of supply and communications. Until then, 

as the senior American officer in the CBI, Stilwell was to oversee the distribution 

of American lend-lease assistance, train the Chinese army, and wage war against the 

Japanese with whatever U.S. and Chinese forces might be assigned to him.24

Stilwell arrived in Asia in April 1942, just as the military situation was going 

from bad to worse. The success of four Japanese divisions in attacking Burma, routing the British-led defenders and forcing them back into India, effectively cut the 

last remaining overland access route—the Burma Road—to China. For nearly the 

remainder of the war, from June 1942 until January 1945, China was virtually isolated from the rest of the world except via air. Though Stilwell had a replacement 

route known as the Ledo Road (renamed the Stilwell Road in 1945) under construction by the end of the year, it took over 2 years of arduous work in a torturous 

climate and terrain to complete. Of the 15,000 U.S. Servicemen who helped to 

build the Ledo Road, about 60 percent were African-Americans.25 Meantime, supplies and equipment had to be flown into China from bases in India over the Himalayas (the “Hump”) at considerable risk and cost. Eventually, the effort diverted so 

many American transport aircraft that, in General Marshall’s opinion, it significantly 

prolonged the Allied campaigns in Italy and France.26

Logistics were only one of Stilwell’s problems. Most difficult of all was establishing a working relationship with the Generalissimo, whose autocratic ways, intricate 

political connections, and lofty expectations clashed with Stilwell’s coarse manner and 

business-like determination. Stilwell may have been the wrong choice for the job, 

but whether anyone else could have done better is open to question. Never a great 

admirer of Chiang to begin with, Stilwell became even less so as the war progressed. 

Rarely did he acknowledge the extraordinary political pressures under which Chiang 

operated or what some Chinese scholars now see as Chiang’s accomplishments in the 

strategic management of his forces.27 In Stilwell’s private diary, published after the war, 

the full depth of his contempt for Chiang became apparent in his numerous references 

to the Generalissimo by the nickname “Peanut.” In fact, Stilwell and Chiang rarely saw 
36

Coun c il of War

one another. Stilwell spent most of his time in India training Chinese troops, while 

Chiang stayed in Chongqing.

The number one task that Stilwell and the JCS faced in China was to develop a 

capability to fight the Japanese; for Chiang the situation was more complex. Though he 

held the titles of president and generalissimo, he exercised limited authority over a group 

of independently minded generals, politicians, and war lords. Apart from the threat posed 

by the invaders, he also faced the likelihood of a showdown after the war with his archrival, Mao Zedong, leader of the Chinese Communists, who styled themselves as being 

in the forefront of the resistance to Japanese aggression. In fact, Nationalist forces put 

up as much if not more resistance to the Japanese than the Communists and suffered 

significantly heavier casualties. But on balance, it was Mao who emerged as most committed to the war. Saving his best troops for the postwar period, Chiang often ignored 

Stilwell’s military advice and listened instead to an American expatriate and former captain in the Army Air Corps, Claire L. Chennault, who convinced Chiang that airpower 

could defeat the Japanese. An innovator in tactical aviation during the interwar years, 

Chennault led a flamboyant group of American volunteer aviators known as the “Flying 

Tigers.” Recalled to active duty in April 1942, Chennault was eventually promoted to 

major general. Meanwhile, the Flying Tigers were absorbed into the Army Air Forces, 

becoming part of the Fourteenth Air Force in 1943. Though technically subordinate 

to Stilwell, Chennault often used his close connections with Chiang and his personal 

friendship with President Roosevelt to bypass Stilwell’s authority.28

Despite the frustration and setbacks, Stilwell achieved some remarkable results. His 

most notable accomplishment was establishing the Ramgarh Training Center in India’s 

Bihar Province, which served as the hub of his efforts to train and modernize the Chinese army. At Ramgarh, Stilwell initiated practices and policies that the JCS adopted as 

standard procedure for U.S. military advisory and assistance programs in the postwar 

period. By placing American commanders and staff officers with Chinese units, creating 

Service training schools, and indoctrinating Chinese forces in the use of U.S. arms and 

tactics, Stilwell helped to bring a new degree of professionalism to the Chinese Nationalist army. In the process, he created a system that saw extensive use in Korea, Vietnam, 

and other countries in later years. By the time Stilwell was recalled in 1944, he had 

trained five Chinese divisions that he considered to be on a par with those in the Japanese army, and was in the process of producing more, both at Ramgarh and in China.29

At the first Quebec Conference in August 1943, the Combined Chiefs of Staff 

agreed the time had come to make plans for liberating Burma (thereby reopening the Burma Road to China) and the other parts of Southeast Asia the Japanese 

had conquered the year before. To organize the campaign, the CCS established 

a Southeast Asia Command (SEAC), with Lord Louis Mountbatten as supreme 
37

The ASIA- PACIFIC WAR AND THE BEGINNINGS OF POSTWAR PLANNING

commander. Earlier, when asked to contribute forces to the operation, Chiang had 

indicated that he would never allow a British officer to command Chinese troops. 

To get around this problem, the CCS named Stilwell as Mountbatten’s deputy, thus 

adding yet another layer of responsibility to his difficult mission.30 With the decision 

to launch the Burma offensive, the Joint Chiefs, through the CCS, became more 

actively and directly engaged in CBI affairs than at any time to that point in the war. 

Even so, the British chiefs left no doubt that they were determined to have their 

way in Southeast Asia, just as the JCS insisted on running the war in the Pacific.31

Propping up Chiang, whose importance and role in the war Churchill dismissed as 

“minor,” did not fit the British agenda. At the Cairo Conference (SEXTANT) in 

November 1943, Mountbatten and the British chiefs apprised Chiang of a change of 

plans for the Burma operation that would lessen the role of Chinese forces and thus 

reduce his projected allocation of shipments over the Hump.32 To assuage Chiang’s 

disappointment, Roosevelt promised to equip and train 90 Chinese divisions, but 

avoided setting specific dates for initiating and completing the project.33 Around this 

same time, the Air Staff became convinced that bomber bases in China would be 

too vulnerable and difficult to maintain, and began eyeing Formosa or the Marianas 

as alternate staging sites for their B–29s. While the deployment of B–29s to China 

(Operation Matterhorn) went ahead in April 1944 as planned, the JCS cut the force 

in half, from eight bombardment groups to four, due to supply limitations.34

Coupled with the actions approved earlier at SEXTANT, the chiefs’ decision 

curbing B–29 deployments confirmed China’s fate as a secondary theater of the war. 

Bitter and indignant, Chiang became ever more critical of Stilwell and insisted—to 

Stilwell’s and the Joint Chiefs’ dismay—on micromanaging Chinese military operations in East China and Burma. Reverses followed on practically every front. At 

the same time, Chiang remained intent on preserving his authority and refused to 

listen when Stilwell proposed opening contacts with Mao and diverting lend-lease 

aid to Chinese Communist forces fighting the Japanese north of the Yellow River.35

By then, Roosevelt was also having second thoughts about Chiang’s leadership. 

At Marshall’s instigation, the President urged Chiang in September 1944 to give 

Stilwell “unrestricted command” of all Chinese forces.36 Though Chiang acknowledged that he might be willing to make concessions, he refused to have anything 

more to do with Stilwell and demanded his recall. Seeing no alternative, Roosevelt 

reluctantly acquiesced and in October 1944, Stilwell’s mission ended.37

Following Stilwell’s departure, the Joint Chiefs made no attempt to find a successor and decided to abolish the CBI. In its place they created two new commands: the 

China Theater, which they placed under Lieutenant General Albert C. Wedemeyer, 

Mountbatten’s deputy chief of staff; and the India-Burma Theater, which went to 
38

Coun c il of War

Lieutenant General David I. Sultan, formerly Stilwell’s second in command. The decision to break up the CBI was supposed to make Wedemeyer’s task easier, but in reality 

it did no such thing. Though Wedemeyer served as the Generalissimo’s chief of staff, 

the cooperation he received from Chiang was only marginally better than Stilwell 

had gotten. Revised instructions issued by the Joint Chiefs on October 24, 1944, were 

largely the product of Marshall’s hand and implicitly urged Wedemeyer to exercise 

utmost caution. Barred from exercising direct command over Chinese forces, he could 

only “advise and assist” the Generalissimo in the conduct of military operations.38

Marshall correctly surmised that the wartime problems Stilwell and the Joint 

Chiefs experienced with Chiang Kai-shek were only a foretaste of the future. Roosevelt’s desire to make China a great power and Chiang’s eagerness to assume the 

leadership role fueled expectations that could never be fulfilled. Chiang’s regime 

was too weak politically and too corrupt to play such a part. Preoccupied with 

preparing for the expected postwar showdown with his Communist rivals, Chiang hoarded his resources rather than trying to defeat the Japanese. The JCS were 

as interested as anyone in seeing a stable and unified China emerge from the war, 

but they were averse to making commitments and expending resources that might 

jeopardize operations elsewhere. China, meanwhile, remained a strategic backwater. 

While some American planners, Marshall foremost among them, hoped for better 

to come after Japan surrendered, they were not overly optimistic as a group.

Postwar Planning Begins

Despite setbacks in Asia and the steady but slow progress in pushing the Japanese back 

across the Pacific, the Joint Chiefs detected definite signs by mid-1943 that the global 

tide of battle was turning in the Allies’ favor and that victory over the Axis would soon 

be in sight. Assuming a successful landing on the northern French coast in the spring 

of 1944, the Combined Chiefs of Staff at the QUADRANT Conference had estimated for planning purposes that the war in Europe would be over by October 1944.39

While this proved to be an overly optimistic prediction, it did help draw attention to 

issues that the Joint Chiefs thus far had largely ignored: the need for policies and plans 

on the postwar size, composition, and organization of the country’s Armed Forces, and 

similar actions on postwar security and other political-military arrangements.

Preoccupied with the war, the Joint Chiefs were averse to firm postwar commitments until they had a clearer idea of the outcome. A case in point was their reticence concerning the postwar organization and composition of the Armed Forces, 

an issue they knew was bound to provoke inter-Service friction and sharp debate. 

In the aftermath of Pearl Harbor and the other setbacks early in the war, there was a 
39

The ASIA- PACIFIC WAR AND THE BEGINNINGS OF POSTWAR PLANNING

growing sense within the military and the public at large that a return to the prewar 

separateness of the Services was out of the question and that the postwar defense 

establishment should be both bigger and better prepared for emergencies. In assessing postwar requirements, the Joint Chiefs agreed that the country needed a larger, 

more flexible, and more effective standing force. Where differences arose was over its 

size, the assignment of roles and missions to its various components, and its overall 

structure—in short the fundamental issues that differentiated each Service.40

The Joint Chiefs of Staff discussed these issues from time to time during the 

war but made little headway in the absence of a consensus on postwar defense 

organization and the possibility that the Armed Forces might adopt a system of 

universal military training (UMT).41 In consequence, JCS planning to determine 

the optimum size, composition, and capabilities of the postwar force amounted to 

a compilation of requirements generated by the Services themselves, based on their 

own perceived needs and assessments. These uncoordinated estimates projected a 

permanent peacetime military establishment of 1.6 million officers and enlisted 

personnel organized into an Army of 25 active and Reserve divisions, a 70-group 

Air Force emphasizing long-range strategic bombardment, a Navy of 321 combatant vessels in the active fleet, including 15 attack carriers and 3,600 aircraft, and a 

Marine Corps of 100,000 officers and enlisted personnel.42

Whether the Services would achieve these goals depended, among other 

things, on the kind of defense establishment that would emerge after the war. The 

most outspoken on the need for postwar organizational reform—and the first to 

propose a course of action—was General Marshall, whose strong views grew out 

of his experiences with the hasty and chaotic demobilization that followed World 

War I and the Army’s chronic underfunding during the interwar years. Expecting 

money to be tight again after the war, Marshall foresaw the return to a relatively 

small standing army and endorsed UMT as a means of expanding it rapidly in an 

emergency. To make better use of available funds, he also urged improved management of the Armed Forces, and in November 1943 he tendered a plan for JCS 

consideration to create a single unified department of war. Arguing that the current 

JCS-CCS committee structure was cumbersome and inefficient, Marshall proposed 

more streamlined arrangements stressing centralized administration, “amalgamation” of the Services, and unity of command.43 Arnold and King were lukewarm 

toward the idea and favored tabling the matter until after the war. While Arnold 

agreed with Marshall on the need for postwar reorganization, his first priority was 

to turn the Army Air Forces into a separate coequal service. At King’s suggestion, 

the chiefs sidestepped the issues Marshall had raised by referring them to the Joint 

Strategic Survey Committee for study “as soon as practicable.”44
40

Coun c il of War

By the spring of 1944, emerging congressional interest in postwar military organization compelled the JCS to revisit the issue sooner than they wanted to. At the 

suggestion of the Joint Strategic Survey Committee, the chiefs appointed an interService fact-finding panel chaired by Admiral James O. Richardson to carry out an 

in-depth appraisal.45 In April 1945, after a 10-month investigation conducted largely 

through interviews, the committee overwhelmingly endorsed unifying the Armed 

Forces under a single department of national defense. Though composed of separate 

military branches for land, sea, and air warfare, the unified Department would have a 

single civilian secretary. A uniformed chief of staff would oversee military affairs and 

act as the Department’s liaison with the President, performing a role similar to Admiral Leahy’s. The committee’s lone dissenter was its chairman, Admiral Richardson. 

As a harbinger of the bitter debates to come, he proclaimed the plan “unacceptable” 

on the grounds that a single department was likely to be dominated by the Army 

and the Air Force and could end up short-changing the Navy and stripping it of 

its air component. Arguing essentially for the status quo, Richardson urged restraint 

until the “lessons” of the recent war had been “thoroughly digested.” Until then, he 

favored preserving the Joint Chiefs of Staff and their committee structure in their 

current form and using that as the basis for expanding inter-Service coordination 

after the war.46

Even though the Joint Chiefs had authorized the Richardson Committee 

study, they could reach no consensus on its findings. Rather than resolving differences, the study had exacerbated them, revealing a sharp cleavage between the War 

Department members (Marshall and Arnold), who favored the single department 

approach, and the Navy members (Leahy and King), who preferred the current 

system. Unable to come up with a unanimous recommendation, the JCS agreed to 

disagree and on October 16, 1945, sent their “split” opinions to the White House. 

While the debate over Service unification was far from over, the JCS took no further part in it as a corporate body.47

A similar sense of trepidation characterized the Joint Chiefs’ approach to politicalmilitary affairs. Initially, Admiral Leahy, the President’s military Chief of Staff, believed 

it inappropriate for officers in the armed Services to offer opinions on matters outside 

their realm of professional expertise. Convinced that the JCS should tread carefully, he 

objected as a rule to military involvement in “political” matters.48 Actually, Leahy’s position at the White House drew him into daily contact with military issues having political and diplomatic impact, as had his recent assignment as Ambassador to Vichy, France. 

Nonetheless, Leahy’s outlook was fairly typical of military officers of his generation, 

whose mindsets were rooted in a professional ethos and concept of civil-military relations dating from the late 19th century. Once in place, this attitude was hard to dislodge.49
41

The ASIA- PACIFIC WAR AND THE BEGINNINGS OF POSTWAR PLANNING

The Joint Chiefs became caught up in political-military affairs not because they 

wanted to, but because they had no choice. Like his military advisors, President Roosevelt put the needs of the war first and preferred to relegate postwar issues relating 

to a peace settlement and other political matters to the back burner. This approach 

worked for a while, but by the Tehran Conference of November 1943, the pressure 

was beginning to build for the administration to clarify its position on a growing 

number of subjects. As an overall solution, Roosevelt put his faith in the creation of 

a new international security organization—the United Nations (UN)—to sort out 

postwar problems. But there were many issues that would need attention before the 

UN was up and running. At the same time, Roosevelt’s deteriorating health—carefully shielded from the public—left him with less and less stamina, so that by the 

spring of 1944, his workdays were down to 4 hours or less.50 In those circumstances, 

it was often up to the Joint Chiefs of Staff to help fill the void by contributing to the 

postwar planning process.For most of the war, the Joint Chiefs had neither their own 

organization for political-military affairs nor ready access to interagency machinery 

for handling such matters. At the outset of the war, the only formal mechanism for interdepartmental coordination was the Standing Liaison Committee, composed of the 

Army Chief of Staff, the Chief of Naval Operations, and the Undersecretary of State. 

Established in 1938, the Standing Liaison Committee operated under a vague charter 

that gave it broad authority to bring foreign policy and military plans into harmony. 

Its main contribution was to give the military chiefs an opportunity to learn trends in 

State Department thinking, and vice versa. Rarely did it deal with anything other than 

political and military relationships in the Western Hemisphere. After Pearl Harbor, it 

met infrequently, finally going out of business in mid-1943.51

In the absence of formal channels, coordination between the Joint Chiefs and 

the foreign policy community became haphazard. To help bridge the gap, the JCS 

accepted an invitation from the State Department to establish and maintain liaison through the Joint Strategic Survey Committee, initially to further the work 

of State’s Postwar Foreign Policy Advisory Committee.52 Seeking to expand these 

contacts, the Joint War Plans Committee recommended in late May 1943 that the 

State Department designate a part-time representative to advise the joint staff, arguing that it was “impossible entirely to divorce political considerations from strategic 

planning.” Going a step further, Brigadier General Wedemeyer, a key figure in the 

Army’s planning staff, thought State should have an associate member on the Joint 

Staff Planners who could also participate in JCS meetings “when papers concerned 

with national and foreign policies are on the agenda.”53

Nothing immediately came of these proposals. But by spring 1944, the chiefs 

found themselves taking a closer look at the question of political-military consultation. 
42

Coun c il of War

Their first concerns were to provide guidance to the European Advisory Commission 

(EAC), an ambassadorial-level inter-Allied committee operating from London, with a 

mandate to make recommendations on the termination of hostilities, and to help settle 

a growing list of disputes between the Western powers and the Soviet Union over the 

future political status of Eastern Europe. In assessing the prospects for a durable peace, 

the Joint Chiefs cautioned the State Department in May 1944 that the “phenomenal” 

wartime surge in Soviet military and economic power could make for trouble in devising effective security policies in the postwar period. In particular, the chiefs saw a high 

probability of friction between London and Moscow that could require U.S. intervention and mediation. While the chiefs downplayed the likelihood of a conflict between 

the Soviet Union and the West, they acknowledged that should one erupt, “we would 

find ourselves engaged in a war which we could not win even though the United 

States would be in no danger of defeat and occupation.” Far more preferable, in the 

chiefs’ view, would be the maintenance of “the solidarity of the three great powers” and 

the creation of postwar conditions “to assure a long period of peace.”54

With growing awareness that postwar problems would require a greater measure 

of attention, the Joint Chiefs in June 1944 created the Joint Post-War Committee 

(JPWC) under the Joint Strategic Survey Committee, to work with State and the 

EAC on surrender terms for Germany and to prepare studies and recommendations 

on postwar plans, policies, and other problems as the need arose.55 The JPWC proved a 

disappointment, however, due to its inability to process recommendations in a timely 

manner.56 The problem was especially acute with respect to the development of a coherent policy on the postwar treatment of Germany, an issue brought to the fore by 

rumors of Germany’s impending collapse in the early fall of 1944 and the intervention 

in the policy process of the President’s close personal friend, Secretary of the Treasury Henry Morgenthau, Jr. Lest Germany rise again to threaten the peace of Europe, 

Morgenthau proposed severely restricting its postwar industrial base, and at the second 

Quebec Conference (OCTAGON), in September 1944, he persuaded Roosevelt and 

Churchill to embrace a plan calling for Germany to be converted into a country 

“primarily agricultural and pastoral in its character.”57 There followed a lengthy debate, 

with Secretary of War Stimson leading the opposition to the Morgenthau plan, that 

left the policy toward Germany in limbo for the next 6 months. Eventually, a watereddown version of the Morgenthau plan prevailed, in part because its hands-off approach 

toward the postwar German economy appealed to the JCS and civil affairs officers in 

the War Department as the easiest and most expeditious policy to administer in light of 

requirements for redeploying U.S. forces from Europe to the Pacific.58

To help break the impasse over the treatment of Germany and to avoid similar 

bottlenecks in the future, the Secretaries of State, War, and Navy created a committee 
43

The ASIA- PACIFIC WAR AND THE BEGINNINGS OF POSTWAR PLANNING

of key subordinates to oversee political-military affairs. Activated in December 1944, 

the State-War-Navy Coordinating Committee (SWNCC) operated at the assistant 

secretary level and resembled an interagency clearinghouse. By January 1945, it had 

functioning subcommittees on Europe, the Far East, Latin America, and the Near 

and Middle East. An Informal Policy Committee on Germany (IPCOG), organized 

separately to accommodate the Treasury’s participation, handled German affairs. To 

simplify administration, SWNCC and IPCOG shared the same secretariat.59 Though 

the JCS played little part in the policy debate over Germany, their command and 

control responsibilities gave them authority over the U.S. military occupation, which 

was run under a JCS directive (JCS 1067).60

The postwar treatment of Germany was only one of a growing list of politicalmilitary issues involving the JCS as the war wound down. By the time of the second 

Big Three conference at Yalta, in February 1945, the only military-strategic issue of consequence on the chiefs’ agenda was the timing of the Soviet entry into the war against 

Japan. Otherwise, as the chiefs’ pre-conference briefing papers suggest, JCS attention focused either on immediate operational matters growing out of strategic decisions taken 

earlier, or pending administrative, political, and diplomatic issues that were expected 

to arise from Germany’s surrender, the allocation of postwar zones of occupation in 

Germany and Austria, shipping requirements for the redeployment of Allied forces, and 

disarming the Axis. Less than 6 months later, when the Big Three resumed their deliberations at Potsdam, their third and final wartime summit conference, political and diplomatic issues clearly dwarfed military and strategic matters. JCS planners, in preparing 

for the conference, were hard pressed to find enough topics to fill the Combined Chiefs 

of Staff expected agenda, not to mention a meeting with the Soviet military chiefs.61

Throughout most of World War II, the Joint Chiefs viewed themselves as, first 

and foremost, a military planning and advisory body to the President. But as they 

prepared to enter the postwar era, they found their mandate changing to encompass 

not only military plans and strategy, but also related issues with definite political and 

diplomatic implications. To be sure, as the postwar era beckoned, the Joint Chiefs 

still had an abundance of military and related security matters before them. Never 

again, however, would military policy and foreign policy be the separate and distinct 

entities they had seemed to be when the war began.

Ending the War with Japan

While addressing problems of the coming peace, the Joint Chiefs of Staff still faced difficult wartime decisions, none more momentous than those affecting the final stages 

of the war in the Pacific. Since the early days of the war, the Joint Chiefs had pursued a 
44

Coun c il of War

double-barreled strategy against Japan that allowed MacArthur to conduct operations 

in New Guinea and the Bismarck Islands, while Nimitz rolled back the Japanese in 

the Central Pacific. Under the agreed worldwide allocation of shipping and landing 

craft set by the CCS, Nimitz’s operations had a prior claim over MacArthur’s whenever there were conflicts over timing of operations and the allocation of resources. But 

by early 1944, as the two campaigns began to converge, a debate developed on how 

and where to conduct future operations. At issue was whether to follow MacArthur’s 

advice and make the liberation of the Philippines the primary objective in the year 

ahead, or to follow a plan favored by Nimitz of bypassing the Philippines for the most 

part and concentrating on the Marianas as a stepping stone toward seizing Formosa, 

from which U.S. forces could link up with the Chinese for the final assault on Japan.62

Of the options on the table, the Joint Chiefs considered the Formosa strategy 

the most likely to succeed in bringing U.S. forces closer to Japan and shortening 

the war.63 To carry it out effectively, however, they would have to reconsider the 

dual command arrangements that had prevailed since the start of the war and to 

adopt a single, comprehensive Pacific strategy, something that neither MacArthur 

nor Nimitz was yet ready to accept. Most intransigent of all was MacArthur. Treating the Formosa operation as a diversion, MacArthur insisted that the liberation of 

the Philippines was a “national obligation.” With a strong personal interest in the 

outcome, he was determined to see the expulsion of the Japanese from the entire 

Philippine archipelago through to the end.64

In July 1944, President Roosevelt paid a personal visit to Pearl Harbor for 

face-to-face meetings with MacArthur and Nimitz “to determine the next phase of 

action against Japan.” The only JCS member to accompany him was Admiral Leahy, 

whose part in the deliberations was minor. In fact, the discussions were inconclusive; 

by the time they ended, President Roosevelt seemed inclined to support MacArthur’s position. Nimitz took the hint and, shortly after the conference adjourned, he 

directed his staff to take a closer look at attacking Okinawa as a substitute for invading Formosa.65 While King and Leahy continued to hold out for Formosa, a shortage of support troops and the prospects of a lengthy campaign there persuaded the 

Joint Staff Planners by late summer 1944 that the prudent course was to postpone a 

final decision on Formosa pending the outcome of initial operations in the southern Philippines.66 This became, in the absence of the Joint Chiefs’ ability to settle on 

a better solution, the accepted course of action and more or less assured MacArthur 

that he could move on to liberate the rest of the Philippines in due course. The coup 

de grace was Nimitz’s decision, which he conveyed to King at a face-to-face meeting in San Francisco in September 1944, to shelve plans for a Formosa invasion and 

to focus on taking Okinawa. With this, the die was cast and on October 3, 1944, the 
45

The ASIA- PACIFIC WAR AND THE BEGINNINGS OF POSTWAR PLANNING

JCS approved a directive to MacArthur setting December 20 as the target date for 

invading Luzon and marching on to Manila.67

Clearly, in this instance, the views of the theater commanders had prevailed 

over those of the Joint Chiefs, an increasingly common phenomenon in the latter 

stages of the war and a preview of the influential role that combatant commanders 

would play in the postwar era. Left unresolved and somewhat obscured by the Philippines-versus-Formosa imbroglio was the final strategy for the defeat of Japan and 

whether to plan a full-scale invasion of the Japanese home islands. Initial discussion 

of these issues dated from the summer of 1944 when, in response to a preliminary 

review of options by the Joint War Plans Committee, Admiral Leahy mentioned the 

possibility of bringing about Japan’s surrender through intensive naval and air action 

rather than through a landing of troops.68 Over the following months, as MacArthur 

moved up the Philippines and Nimitz prepared his attack against Okinawa, Japan’s 

situation steadily deteriorated. By late 1944–early 1945, with the home islands now 

within reach of Twentieth Air Force’s B–29s operating from the Marianas and with 

the Navy conducting an unrelenting war at sea and a naval blockade, the outcome 

of the conflict was no longer in doubt. Though Japan’s armed forces could still 

mount tenacious resistance, they were clearly engaged in a losing cause.

As the pressure on Japan mounted, so did conjecture within the joint staff 

about the means of achieving victory. Prodded by their superiors, Navy planners 

were especially reluctant to consider an invasion inevitable until air and naval attacks and the blockade had run their course. To Leahy, King, and Nimitz, it seemed 

“that the defeat of Japan could be accomplished by sea and air power alone, without 

the necessity of actual invasion of the Japanese home islands by ground troops.”69 

Weighing the pros and cons, the Joint Staff Planners acknowledged in late April 

1945 that while a case could indeed be made for a strategy of blockade and saturation bombardment, prudence dictated moving ahead with preparations for an invasion as the most likely course of action to assure Japan’s unconditional surrender.70

On May 10, 1945, the Joint Chiefs gave the go-ahead for planning to continue 

for the invasion, while noting several objections and reservations raised by Admiral 

King.71 The overall concept (code-named DOWNFALL) was a collaborative effort 

between the joint staff and the major Pacific commands. It called for the attack to 

take place in two stages: an initial invasion of southern Kyushu (Operation Olympic) 

toward the end of 1945, followed by a landing in the spring of 1946 on Honshu (Operation Coronet) in the vicinity of the Tokyo (Kanto) Plain, once reinforcements arrived from Europe. Still to be decided were final command arrangements, which the 

JCS had neatly sidestepped during the Philippines-versus-Formosa debate. Avoiding 

the issue once again, the chiefs in early April 1945 approved an interim assignment 
46

Coun c il of War

of responsibilities, under which MacArthur would serve as commander in chief of all 

Army land forces while Nimitz commanded all theater naval forces. Strategic air assets 

would remain essentially as they were since the creation of the Twentieth Air Force 

a year earlier, under the strategic direction of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, with General 

Arnold as executive agent, but available to General MacArthur as needed.72 The Joint 

Chiefs expected the looming invasion of Japan to be their biggest operation of the 

war, dwarfing the D-Day invasion of Europe. Anticipating strong resistance, Operation 

Olympic proposed a 12-division assault force, with 8 divisions in reserve. Coronet would 

be even bigger, with 14 divisions in the initial invasion and 11 more in following echelons. By comparison, the D-Day landings at Normandy had involved an initial assault 

force of eight divisions—five American, two British, and one Canadian. Altogether, 

Olympic and Coronet would require more than a million ground troops, 3,300 aircraft, 

and over 1,000 Navy combatant vessels.73

Missing from these plans were hard estimates of U.S. casualties. Those under 

consideration at the time were extrapolated from earlier Pacific campaigns by the 

Joint War Plans Committee, which predicted U.S. losses ranging from 25,000 killed 

and 105,000 wounded for an invasion of Kyushu alone, to 46,000 dead and 170,000 

wounded for attacks on Kyushu and the Tokyo Plain combined.74 To draw off defenders, the joint staff in May–June 1945 put together a deception plan (Broadaxe) to 

convince the Japanese that there would be no invasion prior to 1946, or until U.S. 

forces had consolidated control of Formosa, the China coast, and Indochina, and the 

British had liberated Sumatra.75 Yet even if the deception worked, Admiral King believed that an invasion of the home islands would still meet stronger resistance than 

any previously encountered and that the joint staff should calculate its casualty figures accordingly.76 In view of the methodological problem Admiral King raised, the 

Joint Staff Planners decided to withhold an estimate of casualties, stating only that 

losses were “not subject to accurate estimate” but would be at least on a par with 

those elsewhere in the Pacific Theater, which tended to be higher than in Europe.77

Dawn of the Atomic Age

Also absent from U.S. invasion plans was an assessment of the impact of the atomic 

bomb, still a super-secret project outside the purview of the joint staff. Launched in 

October 1939, the atomic bomb program had come about as insurance against research being done in Nazi Germany, where scientists a year earlier had demonstrated a process known as “nuclear fission.” While the Germans were apparently slow to 

grasp the full importance of what they had achieved, their colleagues elsewhere in 

Europe and the United States speculated that, under properly controlled conditions, 
47

The ASIA- PACIFIC WAR AND THE BEGINNINGS OF POSTWAR PLANNING

nuclear fission could produce enormous explosive power. Among those alarmed by 

the German breakthrough were Leo Szilard, a Hungarian expatriate, and Enrico 

Fermi, a refugee from Mussolini’s Fascist Italy, both living in the United States. Unable to interest the Navy Department in a program of stepped-up nuclear research, 

they persuaded Albert Einstein, the celebrated physicist, to send a letter (written by 

Szilard) to President Roosevelt, drawing attention to the German experiment and 

suggesting the possibility of “extremely powerful bombs of a new type.” Roosevelt 

agreed that the United States needed to act, and from that point forward the program grew steadily to become the Manhattan Engineer District (MED), with the 

War Department covertly funding and overseeing the effort.78

The Joint Chiefs of Staff learned of the atomic bomb project individually, at 

different times during the course of the war. The first to be brought in on the secret 

was General Marshall, who became involved in 1941 as a member of the President’s 

Top Advisory Group, which was nominally responsible for overseeing the program.79

Marshall told Admiral King about the project late in 1943, but according to King, the 

subject was still too sensitive to be placed on the chiefs’ agenda or discussed at meetings.80 General Arnold had suspected for some time that something was afoot, and 

received confirmation from the MED director, Brigadier General Leslie R. Groves, 

in July 1943. Toward the end of March 1944, Groves gave Arnold a more in-depth 

description of the project and a list of tentative requirements.81 The last to learn about 

the bomb was Admiral Leahy, who was not apprised until September 1944 when he 

attended the second Quebec Conference. Afterwards, he received a full briefing at the 

President’s home in Hyde Park, New York, by Vannevar Bush, Director of the Office 

of Scientific Research and Development and scientific coordinator of the project.82

Whether the Manhattan Project would yield a workable weapon was an open 

question for much of the war. Convinced that the project had merit, Bush assured 

President Roosevelt as early as July 1941 that the explosive potential of an atomic bomb 

would be “thousands of times more powerful” than any conventional weapon and that 

its use “might be determining.”83 Leahy, on the other hand, scoffed at Bush’s claims and 

thought the effort would never amount to much. “The bomb will never go off,” he 

insisted, “and I speak as an expert in munitions.”84 Even though the other members 

of the JCS appeared not to share Leahy’s skepticism, they were still cautious and knew 

better than to incorporate a nonexistent weapon into their strategic calculations. Nor 

was it clear, even if the bomb worked, exactly when it would be available and in what 

quantities. According to Groves, the earliest date for a prototype was around August 1, 

1945, with a second bomb to follow 5 months later.85 As it turned out, the first atomic 

test took place July 16, 1945, 2 months after Germany’s capitulation and well into the 

planning cycle for the invasion of Japan. Until then, lacking confirmation of the bomb’s 
48

Coun c il of War

capability, the JCS could count on nothing more than an expensive program wrapped 

in secrecy that might or might not change the course of history.

Despite JCS uncertainty over whether the bomb would work, preparations 

for its possible use received top priority from March 1944 onward, when Groves 

briefed Arnold on the project. Expecting the bomb to be of considerable size and 

weight, Groves speculated that, for delivery purposes, it might be necessary to use a 

British Lancaster heavy bomber, the largest plane of its kind in the Allied inventory, 

which could carry a payload of up to 22,000 pounds. Arnold strenuously objected 

to using a British plane and insisted that the AAF could provide a suitable delivery 

platform from a modified B–29. From this discussion emerged Project SILVERPLATE, which produced the 14 specially configured B–29s that made up 313th 

Bombardment Wing of 509th Composite Group, the unit that carried out the attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945.86

Composed of carefully selected top-rated pilots and crews, 509th was the most 

elite unit in the Army Air Forces. Eventually it became part of the Twentieth Air 

Force, though for all practical purposes it operated independently and was responsible 

to Groves and the MED. As a composite group, 509th carried with it most of its own 

logistical support and was by design a stand-alone organization. Training began in early September 1944 in utmost secrecy at Wendover Field, an isolated air base in western 

Utah within easy reach of the MED’s weapons research laboratory at Los Alamos, 

New Mexico. Crews concentrated on learning to drop two different weapons—a cylindrical uranium bomb called “Little Boy” and a rotund plutonium bomb called “Fat 

Man.” The initial plan was to use nuclear bombs against Germany. But as it became 

apparent that the war in Europe might end before they were ready, 509th turned its 

attention to the Pacific in December 1944 and spent the next 2 months conducting 

test flights over Cuba to familiarize crews with terrain similar to Japan’s. In May 1945, 

advance elements of the 509th began arriving at their staging base on Tinian, one of 

the Marianas, to dig the pits from which the bombs would be hoisted into the planes. 

Pilots and crews arrived soon thereafter and by late July were executing combat test 

strikes over Japan with high-explosive projectiles of the Fat Man design.87

Roosevelt’s death on April 12, 1945, left the fate of the Manhattan Project in 

the hands of his successor, Harry S. Truman. Though a bomb had yet to be manufactured and tested, the project was far enough along that Truman was reasonably 

certain it would succeed. What remained to be seen was how powerful the explosive 

device would be. In early May, on Secretary of War Stimson’s initiative, Truman authorized the War Department to create an interdepartmental Interim Committee to 

recommend policies and plans for using the bomb and related issues.88 Separately, a 

committee of technical experts chaired by Groves began to assemble a list of targets. 
49

The ASIA- PACIFIC WAR AND THE BEGINNINGS OF POSTWAR PLANNING

Omitted from both groups was any formal JCS representation, though Marshall received regular updates from Stimson on the Interim Committee’s progress and even 

attended one of its meetings on May 31, 1945. How much, if any, of this information 

Marshall conveyed to the other chiefs is unknown. According to Groves, the omission of the Joint Chiefs was intentional, to preserve security and, no less important, 

to avoid having to deal with Leahy’s negative views.89

With the atomic bomb still in gestation and blanketed in secrecy, the Joint 

Chiefs continued to ignore it in their plans for ending the war with Japan. Meeting 

with the new President and the Service Secretaries on June 18, 1945, they described 

in some detail the preparations for the invasion, discussed the probability of heavy 

casualties, and agreed that Soviet intervention would be desirable but not essential 

for winning the war. Characterizing Japan’s situation as “hopeless,” the JCS estimated that it would only worsen under the continuing onslaught of the blockade and 

accompanying air and naval bombardment. In Marshall’s opinion, however, air and 

sea attacks would not suffice to bring about a Japanese surrender, a view in which 

Admiral King now grudgingly concurred. What caused King to come around is not 

apparent from the official record, but it may have been recent ULTRA radio intercepts, to which all at the meeting had access. These indicated an accelerated buildup 

of Japanese forces on Kyushu and a feverish determination by the Japanese high 

command to mount a last-ditch stand using heavily dug-in forces and suicide air 

attacks.90 Despite sending out peace feelers, the Japanese showed no sign of giving 

up. Instead, the military leaders appeared intent on inflicting such heavy damage and 

casualties on the United States that it would see the futility of further fighting and 

seek a negotiated peace. Even skeptics like King seemed to agree that an invasion 

was the only viable option for obtaining Japan’s surrender. Truman was visibly distraught over the prospects of a bloodbath, but by the time the meeting broke up he 

saw no other choice and ordered planning for the Kyushu operation to proceed.91

Whether the use of nuclear weapons as a possible alternative to an invasion was 

discussed at this meeting is unclear. While the formal minutes make no mention 

of the atomic bomb, they indicate an interest on Stimson’s part in finding a political solution for ending the war and an off-the-record discussion of “certain other 

matters.”92 Assistant Secretary of War John J. McCloy, who accompanied Stimson, 

recalled raising the issue of sending the Japanese an ultimatum, urging them to surrender or be subjected to a “terrifyingly destructive weapon.” McCloy remembered 

that the JCS were “somewhat annoyed” by his interference and veiled reference to 

the bomb, but that President Truman “welcomed it” and directed that such a political initiative be set in motion. However, Secretary of the Navy James V. Forrestal, 
50

Coun c il of War

who was also present, had no recollection of McCloy’s remarks and reckoned that 

the discussion McCloy had in mind took place at another time.93

Planning for military action against Japan now followed a two-track course, one 

along the lines laid out by the Joint Chiefs in preparation for an invasion, the other 

driven by the gathering momentum of the Manhattan Project. Both came together 

at the Potsdam Conference (TERMINAL) in July–August 1945, where Truman and 

the JCS received word of the successful test shot held near Alamogordo, New Mexico. 

By then, Truman had also received the recommendations of the Interim Committee, 

which favored using the bomb if the experiment succeeded. The expense of having 

developed the bomb in the first place, the potential diplomatic leverage it offered 

in dealing with the Russians, and last but not least the elimination of the need for 

a bloody invasion, all doubtless weighed heavily on Truman’s mind. Once he had 

confirmation that the bomb would work, the decision to use it became almost automatic.94 Looking back, Leahy and King strongly disagreed with the President’s choice. 

Insisting that the enemy’s collapse was only a matter of time, they considered attacks 

with atomic weapons excessive and unnecessary. Still, there is no evidence that either 

stepped forward to propose a different course. If Leahy and King objected at the time, 

they kept their reservations to themselves.95

The only JCS member who seriously considered an alternative course of action 

was Marshall. Like King and Leahy, Marshall hoped the Japanese would see the light and 

surrender, making use of the atomic bomb unnecessary. The difficulty arose in finding 

a way of bringing the Japanese around. During the Interim Committee’s deliberations 

prior to Potsdam, Marshall and Stimson discussed the possibility of issuing an explicit 

warning before dropping the bomb or of confining its use to a demonstration over 

uninhabited terrain. But they could see no practical way of assuring that the Japanese 

would be sufficiently awed by either a warning or a demonstration shot to draw the 

logical conclusion and concede defeat.96 According to his biographer, Forrest C. Pogue, 

Marshall’s main concern was to wind up the war quickly with as few casualties as possible to either side; on this basis he came to the conclusion that if the test at Alamogordo 

turned out to be a success, the bomb should be used against targets in Japan.97

The attacks that followed, destroying Hiroshima on August 6, 1945, with the 

Little Boy gun-type uranium bomb and Nagasaki, 3 days later, with the Fat Man plutonium implosion bomb, forced Japanese military leaders to acknowledge that they 

had no countermeasures to the Americans’ new weapons. In between these attacks, on 

August 8, 1945, the Soviet Union declared war on Japan and invaded Manchuria. For 

years, historians debated whether the atomic bombs were decisive in bringing the war 

to an end. Recently, however, a Japanese scholar has conjectured that while it was the 

atom bomb that convinced the Japanese high command that the war was lost, it was 
51

The ASIA- PACIFIC WAR AND THE BEGINNINGS OF POSTWAR PLANNING

not until the Soviets invaded Manchuria that Japan’s civilian leadership came to the 

same conclusion, since without the USSR there was no one left to mediate an end 

of the war. In other words, a convergence of events—the atomic bombing of Japan 

and the Soviet Union’s entry into the war at the same time—provided the catalyst for 

Japan’s surrender.98 Yet of these two sets of events, it was the use of the atomic bomb 

that produced the most lasting impressions—tens of thousands killed and injured, two 

cities destroyed, and an entire nation lying at the mercy of another. Without question, 

the attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki confirmed the predictions of Stimson, Groves, 

and others associated with the Manhattan Project that atomic weapons were indeed 

more awesome in their destructive power than any existing weapon. Whether they 

would revolutionize warfare and produce, as Stimson predicted, “a new relationship of 

man to the universe,” was another matter.99 

Shortly after the attacks, at the chiefs’ request, the Joint Strategic Survey Committee presented its assessment of the atomic bomb’s military and strategic impact. 

At issue was whether, as some military analysts were beginning to speculate, atomic weapons would preclude the need for sizable conventional forces after the war. 

Though duly impressed with the atomic bomb’s destructive power, the committee 

pointed out that these weapons were as yet too few in number, too expensive and 

difficult to produce, and too hard to deliver to be used in anything other than special circumstances. In view of these unique characteristics, the committee doubted 

whether atomic weapons would render conventional land, sea, and air forces obsolete, 

though they might change the “relative importance and strength of various military 

components.” Any immediate changes were apt to be minor, however, as long as the 

United States enjoyed a monopoly on the bomb. This situation could change if other 

industrialized countries—the United Kingdom and the Soviet Union—wanted to 

devote the time and resources to developing nuclear weapons. The most dangerous 

and destabilizing situation that the Joint Strategic Survey Committee could foresee 

was if the Soviet Union acquired the bomb. Even so, the committee downplayed the 

likelihood of a dramatic transformation in modern warfare resulting from the proliferation of nuclear technology. It pointed out that the development of “new weapons” 

had been continuous throughout history and that the advent of one new weapon 

invariably produced something equally effective to counter it.100 

Thus, as the war drew to a close, the Joint Chiefs found themselves entering the 

uncharted realm of atomic war, somewhat reassured that the apocalypse predicted 

by Stimson and likeminded others had been postponed, yet cautious and uneasy at 

the same time. No less unsettling was the Joint Chiefs’ own uncertain future as an 

organization. At the outset of World War II, the Joint Chiefs of Staff had not existed. 

By 1945, they were an established fixture atop the largest, most powerful military 
52

Coun c il of War

machine in history. Despite inter-Service friction and competition, the JCS had 

found that working together produced better results than working separately. A corporate advisory and planning body, they reported directly to the President and were 

at the center of decision throughout the conflict. Operating without a formal charter, 

the Joint Chiefs were at liberty to conduct business as needed to meet the requirements of the war. With the onset of peace, this free-wheeling style was sure to change. 

Still, few seriously contemplated a postwar defense establishment in which the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff, or some comparable organization, did not loom large.

Notes

1 Maurice Matloff, Strategic Planning for Coalition Warfare, 1943–44 (Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military History, 1959), 398.

2 See Forrest C. Pogue, The Supreme Command (Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 1954), 41–42.

3 “Directive to the Supreme Commander in the ABDA Area as Approved by the President and PM,” January 10, 1942, ABC-4/5; and “Procedure for Assumption of Command by General Wavell,” January 16, 1942, ABC-4 C/S 3, both in World War II Conference Papers.

4 King quoted in Robert W. Love, Jr., History of the U.S. Navy, 1942–1991 (Harrisburg, PA: 

Stackpole Books, 1992), 14. See also Ernest J. King and Walter Muir Whitehill, Fleet 

Admiral King: A Naval Record (New York: W.W. Norton, 1952), 368–372.

5 Minutes, JCS 6th Meeting, March 16, 1942, RG 218, CCS 334 (3-16-42).

6 Louis Morton, “Pacific Command: A Study in Interservice Relations,” in Harry R. 

Borowksi, ed., The Harmon Memorial Lectures in Military History, 1959–1987 (Washington, 

DC: Office of Air Force History, 1988), 134.

7 Louis Morton, Strategy and Command: The First Two Years (Washington, DC: Office of the 

Chief of Military History, 1962), 244–250.

8 Williamson Murray and Allan R. Millett, A War to Be Won (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2000), 207.

9 Report by JPS, August 6, 1943, “Specific Operations in the Pacific and Far East, 1943–

44,” JCS 446. See also Steven T. Ross, American War Plans, 1941–45 (London: Frank Cass, 

1997), 68–69.

10 Henry H. Adams, “Fleet Admiral Chester W. Nimitz,” in Michael Carver, ed., The War 

Lords (Boston: Little, Brown and Co., 1976), 411; E.B. Potter, Nimitz (Annapolis: Naval 

Institute Press, 1976), 235–56, 279–297.

11 King and Whitehill, 491–493.

12 Love, II, 199–200; Morton, Strategy and Command, 447–453.

13 Wesley Frank Craven and James Lea Cate, eds., The Army Air Forces in World War II, vol. 

V, The Pacific: Matterhorn to Nagasaki (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 

1983; reprint), 3–32; Morton, Strategy and Command: The First Two Years, 602–603.

14 Ross, American War Plans, 1941–45, 50.
53

The ASIA- PACIFIC WAR AND THE BEGINNINGS OF POSTWAR PLANNING

15 Grace Person Hayes, The History of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in World War II: The War Against 

Japan (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1982), 725.

16 Forrest C. Pogue, George C. Marshall: Organizer of Victory,1943–1945 (New York: Viking 

Press, 1973), 206.

17 Matloff, 231.

18 Minutes, CCS 107th Meeting, August 14, 1943, World War II Conference Papers; King and 

Whitehill, 483–484.

19 “Progress Report to the President and Prime Minister,” August 27, 1943, CCS 319/2 

(revised), World War II Conference Papers.

20 See Tohmatsu Haruo, “The Strategic Correlation between the Sino-Japanese and Pacific Wars,” in Mark Peattie, Edward J. Drea, and Hans van de Ven, eds., The Battle for 

China: Essays on the Military History of the Sino-Japanese War of 1937–1945 (Stanford, CA: 

Stanford University Press, 2011), 424.

21 Herbert Feis, The China Tangle (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1953), 11–13; 

Charles F. Romanus and Riley Sunderland, Stilwell’s Mission to China (Washington, DC: 

Center of Military History, 2002, reprint), 61–63; Joint Planning Committee Report 

to Chiefs of Staff, January 10, 1942, “Immediate Assistance to China,” U.S. ABC-4/6, 

ARCADIA Conference, World War II Conference Papers.

22 Quoted in Barbara W. Tuchman, Stilwell and the American Experience in China, 1911–45

(New York: Macmillan, 1970), 125.

23 Eric Larrabee, Commander in Chief: Franklin Delano Roosevelt, His Lieutenants, and Their 

War (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1987), 513–515.

24 Hayes, 80; Feis, China Tangle, 15–16.

25 Ulysses Lee, The Employment of Negro Troops (Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 2000), 610.

26 Charles F. Romanus and Riley Sunderland, Stilwell’s Command Problems (Washington, 

DC: Center of Military History, 1987; reprint), 454.

27 See Zang Yunhu, “Chinese Operations in Yunnan and Central Burma,” in Peattie, Drea, 

and van de Ven, eds., Battle for China, 386–391.

28 Craven and Cate, I, 504–505; IV, 436–443.

29 Theodore H. White, ed., The Stilwell Papers (New York: William Sloane Associates, 

1948), 136–138; Romanus and Sunderland, Stilwell’s Mission to China, 212–221; Romanus and Sunderland, Stilwell’s Command Problems, 471.

30 Matloff, 238.

31 Hayes, 518.

32 Winston S. Churchill, Closing the Ring (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1951), 328; Minutes, 

1st Plenary Meeting, Villa Kirk, Cairo, November 23, 1943, World War II Conference Papers.

33 Matloff, 350–351.

34 Report by JPS, April 6, 1944, and decision on April 10, 1944, “VLR Bombers in the War 

Against Japan,” JCS 742/6. Like all B–29 units in World War II, XX Bomber Command 

was part of the Twentieth Air Force, which reported to the JCS. Bombing missions 
54

Coun c il of War

from China began in July 1944 and concentrated initially on Japanese industrial targets in Manchuria, gradually expanding to targets in Japan as XX Bomber Command 

gained experience. Chiang’s government objected, however, to what it regarded as a diversion of resources; it wanted the fuel and munitions used by XX Bomber Command 

to go to Chennault’s air force. By the end of January 1945, B–29 bombing operations 

from China ceased owing to the deteriorating security situation. See Craven and Cate, 

V, 3–32, 92–131.

35 Feis, China Tangle, 192. In fact, no lend-lease aid ever reached the Communists. See 

Zhang Baijia, “China’s Quest for Foreign Military Aid,” in Peattie, Drea, and van de Ven, 

eds., Battle for China, 299.

36 Roosevelt to Chiang, September 16, 1944, in U.S. Department of State, Foreign Relations 

of the United States: The Conference at Quebec, 1944 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1972), 465.

37 Romanus and Sunderland, Stilwell’s Command Problems, 468–471.

38 Feis, China Tangle, 201–202; Pogue, Organizer of Victory, 478–479; Romanus and Sunderland, Time Runs Out in CBI (Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 1999; 

reprint), 15.

39 Matloff, 240.

40 JCS Statement, “Basis for the Formulation of a Military Policy,” September 20, 1945, 

JCS 1496/3.

41 Army and AAF planners were emphatic that the lack of guidance on UMT and postwar organization was a major impediment; Navy planners were less convinced. See 

Memo, Arnold to JCS, September 7, 1945, “Reorganization of National Defense, JCS 

749/17; and Memo, King to JCS, September 10, 1945, “Reorganization of National 

Defense,” JCS 749/18.

42 Memo, Marshall to JCS, September 19, 1945, “Interim Plan for the Permanent Establishment of the Army of the United States,” with enclosures, JCS 1520; Memo, Arnold 

to JCS, October 2, 1935, “Interim Plan for the Permanent Military Establishment of the 

United States,” JCS 1478/4; Annual Report of the Secretary of the Navy, 1945 (Washington, 

DC: Department of the Navy, January 10, 1946), 3.

43 Memo, Marshall to JCS, November 2, 1943, “A Single Dept of War,” JCS 560.

44 Memo, King to JCS, November 7, 1943, “A Single Department of War in the Post-War 

Period,” JCS 560/1; Herman S. Wolk, The Struggle for Air Force Independence, 1943–1947 

(Washington, DC: Air Force History and Museums Program, 1997), 40 and passim.

45 Report by JSSC, March 8, 1944, “Reorganization of National Defense,” JCS 749; Enclosure to Letter, Leahy (for JCS) to Secretaries of War and Navy, May 9, 1944, JCS 

749/6. See also the Memo by Richardson Committee, October 19, 1944, “Tentative: 

Origin and Activities of the JCS Special Committee for the Reorganization of National Defense,” JCS 749/14.

46 The Special Committee’s recommendations and Richardson’s dissenting opinions are 

filed together in “Report of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Special Committee for Reorganization of National Defense,” April 11, 1945, JCS 749/12.

47 Memo, Leahy to Truman, October 16, 1945, “Reorganization of National Defense,” JCS 

749/29.
55

The ASIA- PACIFIC WAR AND THE BEGINNINGS OF POSTWAR PLANNING

48 See Mark A. Stoler, Allies and Adversaries: The Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Grand Alliance, and 

U.S. Strategy in World War II (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2000), 

130, 138.

49 For a fuller discussion, see Samuel P. Huntington, The Soldier and the State: The Theory 

and Politics of Civil-Military Relations (New York: Random House, 1957), still the classic 

work of the subject. Leahy was not very good at practicing what he preached. Toward 

the end of the war, for example, he successfully argued for modification of the Japanese 

surrender terms to allow retention of the emperor, an issue heavy in political implications.

50 See Robert H. Ferrell, The Dying President: Franklin D. Roosevelt, 1944–1945 (Columbia: 

University of Missouri Press, 1998), 72–73 and passim.

51 Ernest R. May, “The Development of Political-Military Consultation in the United 

States,” Political Science Quarterly 70 (June 1955), 172–173; Ray S. Cline, Washington Command Post: The Operations Division (Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 1990; 

reprint), 41–42.

52 Harley Notter, Postwar Foreign Policy Preparation (Washington, DC: U.S. Department of 

State, 1949), 76, 124–125.

53 Cline, Washington Command Post, 317.

54 Letter, Leahy to Hull, May 16, 1944, in U.S. Department of State, Foreign Relations of the 

United States: The Conference of Berlin (The Potsdam Conference), 1945, 2 vols. (Washington, 

DC: GPO, 1960), I, 264–266. This series hereafter cited as FRUS.

55 “Charter: Joint Post-War Committee,” enclosure to Note by the Secretaries, June 7, 

1944, JCS 786/2.

56 Cline, Washington Command Post, 325.

57 Memo Initialed by Roosevelt and Churchill, March 15, 1944, U.S. Department of State, 

Foreign Relations of the United States: The Conference of Quebec, 1944 (Washington, DC: 

GPO, 1972), 466–467. The words were actually Churchill’s, the sentiments Morgenthau’s.

58 John Lewis Gaddis, The United States and the Origins of the Cold War, 1941–1947 (New 

York: Columbia University Press, 1972), 114–132.

59 Steven L. Rearden, “American Policy Toward Germany, 1944–1946” (Ph.D. Thesis, 

Harvard University, 1974), 176–177.

60 Paul Y. Hammond, “Directives for the Occupation of Germany: The Washington Controversy,” in Harold Stein, ed., American Civil-Military Decisions: A Book of Case Studies

(Birmingham: University of Alabama Press, 1963), 311–460; Earl F. Ziemke, The U.S. 

Army in the Occupation of Germany, 1944–1946 (Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 1975), 98–108, 208–224.

61 Hayes, 713–721.

62 Matloff, 453–459; Hayes, 603–604.

63 Robert Ross Smith, Triumph in the Philippines (Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of 

Military History, 1963), 4–8.

64 Message, MacArthur to Marshall, June 18, 1944, quoted in Hayes, 606.
56

Coun c il of War

65 Douglas MacArthur, Reminiscences (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1964), 196–198; D. Clayton James, The Years of MacArthur, vol. II, 1941–1945 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1975), 

529–533; Smith, 9–11.

66 Matloff, 484–485.

67 Smith, 16; Hayes, 623–624.

68 Matloff, 487.

69 King and Whitehill, 598; Hayes, 702; William D. Leahy, I Was There (New York: Whittlesey House, 1950), 245, 384–385; and Michael S. Sherry, The Rise of American Air Power: 

The Creation of Armageddon (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1987), 172–173.

70 JPS Report, “Pacific Strategy,” April 25, 1945, JCS 924/15.

71 Decision on JCS 924/15, “Pacific Strategy,” May 10, 1946.

72 JCS Directive, April 3, 1945, “Command and Operational Directives for the Pacific,” 

JCS 1259/4; Craven and Cate, V, 676–684.

73 Directive to CINC, U.S. Army Forces, Pacific, CINC U.S. Pacific Fleet, CG Twentieth 

AF, May 25, 1945, “Directive for Operation ‘Olympic,’” JCS 1331/3; Report by JPS, 

June 16, 1945, “Details of the Campaign Against Japan,” JCS 1388. John Ray Skates, The 

Invasion of Japan: Alternative to the Bomb (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 

1994), looks at invasion planning in depth.

74 See Report by the JWPC, June 15, 1945, “Details of the Campaign Against Japan,” 

JWPC 369/1, in Douglas J. MacEachin, The Final Months of the War With Japan: Signals 

Intelligence, U.S. Invasion Planning, and the A-Bomb Decision (Washington, DC: Center for 

the Study of Intelligence, 1998), 11–12 and Document No. 5. See also Barton J. Bernstein, “A Postwar Myth: 500,000 U.S. Lives Saved,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists 42 

(June–July 1986), 38–40.

75 Thaddeus Holt, The Deceivers: Allied Military Deception in the Second World War (New 

York: Scribner, 2004), 746–749.

76 Memo, CNO to JCS, May 2, 1945, “Pacific Strategy,” JCS 924/16.

77 Report by JPS, June 16, 1945, “Details of the Campaign Against Japan,” JCS 1388.

78 Letter, Einstein to Roosevelt, August 2, 1939; Letter, Roosevelt to Einstein, October 19, 

1939, Safe File, PSF, Roosevelt Library. See also Leo Szilard, “Reminiscences,” in Perspectives in American History 2 (1968), 94–116.

79 Richard G. Hewlett and Oscar E. Anderson, Jr., A History of the United States Atomic Energy Commission, vol. I, The New World (Washington, DC: U.S. Atomic Energy Commission, 1962), 46, 77. The other members of the Top Advisory Committee were President 

Roosevelt, who served as chairman, Vice President Henry A. Wallace, Secretary of War 

Stimson, Vannevar Bush, and James B. Conant. Never once did the full committee meet. 

See McGeorge Bundy, Danger and Survival (New York: Random House, 1988), 45–46.

80 King and Whitehill, 620–621.

81 Walton S. Moody, Building a Strategic Air Force (Washington, DC: Air Force History and 

Museums Program, 1996), 7; H.H. Arnold, Global Mission (New York: Harper and Bros., 

1949), 491; Leslie R. Groves, Now It Can Be Told (New York: Harper and Bros., 1962), 

253; and Vincent C. Jones, Manhattan: The Army and the Atomic Bomb (Washington, DC: 

Center of Military History, 1985), 519.
57

The ASIA- PACIFIC WAR AND THE BEGINNINGS OF POSTWAR PLANNING

82 Leahy, I Was There, 265, 269.

83 Letter, Bush to Roosevelt, July 16, 1941, quoted in Marchtin J. Sherwin, A World Destroyed: The Atomic Bomb and the Grand Alliance (New York: Vintage Books, 1977), 36–37.

84 Leahy quoted in Harry S. Truman, Year of Decisions (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1955), 

11. Leahy, I Was There, 429, 440, acknowledges that he misjudged the bomb.

85 Memo, Groves to Marshall, December 30, 1944, “Atomic Fission Bombs,” U.S. Department of State, Foreign Relations of the United States: Diplomatic Papers—The Conferences at 

Malta and Yalta, 1945 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1955), 383–384.

86 Groves, Now It Can Be Told, 253–254.

87 Jones, 519–528; Groves, Now It Can Be Told, 253–262; “History of 509th Composite 

Group, 313th Bombardment Wing, Twentieth Air Force, Activation to 15 August 1945” 

(MS, August 31, 1945, Maxwell AFB, Alabama), 45–50.

88 Entry, May 2, 1945, Meeting with Truman, Stimson Diary, Library of Congress (microfilm).

89 Hewlett and Anderson, 344–345, 356–357; Groves, Now It Can Be Told, 271.

90 MacEachin, 6–9; Edward J. Drea, MacArthur’s ULTRA: Codebreaking and the War against 

Japan, 1942–1945 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1992), 204–210; Richard B. 

Frank, Downfall: The End of the Imperial Japanese Empire (New York: Random House, 

1999), 197–213.

91 Minutes of Meeting Held at the White House, June 18, 1945, filed with JCS 1388.

92 Ibid.

93 Walter Millis, ed., The Forrestal Diaries (New York: Viking Press, 1951), 70–71; John J. 

McCloy, The Challenge to American Foreign Policy (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 

1953), 40–43.

94 See Robert H. Ferrell, ed., Off the Record: The Private Papers of Harry S. Truman (New 

York: Harper and Row, 1980), 55–56; and entry, July 18, 1945, Stimson Diary, also cited 

in U.S. Department of State, Foreign Relations of the United States: The Conference of Berlin, 

1945, 2 vols. (Washington, DC: GPO), II, 1361.

95 Leahy, I Was There, 441; King and Whitehill, 621.

96 Bundy, Danger and Survival, 75; Herbert Feis, The Atomic Bomb and the End of World War 

II (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1966), 45–46.

97 Forrest C. Pogue, George C. Marshall: Statesman, 1945–1959 (New York: Viking Penguin, 

1987), 24–25.

98 Tsuyoshi Hasegawa, Racing the Enemy: Stalin, Truman, and the Surrender of Japan (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005), 177–214.

99 Stimson’s comments in Notes of Interim Committee Meeting, May 31, 1945, Misc. 

Historical Documents Collection, Truman Papers, Truman Library.

100 Report by JSSC to JCS, October 30, 1945, “Over-all Effect of Atomic Bomb on Warfare and Military Organization,” JCS 1477/1.
A conference of Secretary of Defense James Forrestal with the Joint Chiefs of Staff was held at the U.S. Naval War 

College, Newport, Rhode Island, on August 21–22, 1948. Shown at the conference table are, left to right, Major General 

Alfred M. Gruenther, USA, Director, Joint Staff; General Hoyt S. Vandenberg, Chief of Staff, U.S. Air Force; Admiral Louis 

E. Denfeld, Chief of Naval Operations; General Omar N. Bradley, Chief of Staff, U.S. Army; Secretary of Defense James 

Forrestal (at head of table); Lieutenant General Albert C. Wedemeyer, Director of Plans and Operations, U.S. Army; Vice 

Admiral Arthur W. Radford, Vice Chief of Naval Operations; and Lieutenant General Lauris Norstad, Deputy Chief of 

Operations, U.S. Air Force.
Chapter 3

Peacetime 

Challenges

World War II confirmed that high-level strategic advice and direction of the Armed 

Forces were indispensable to success in modern warfare. These accomplishments, 

however, did not assure the Joint Chiefs of Staff a permanent place in the country’s 

defense establishment. Indeed, as the war ended, the demobilization of the Armed 

Forces and the country’s return to peacetime pursuits pointed to a shift in priorities 

that diminished the chiefs’ role and importance. Yet even though the JCS may have 

been shorn of some of the power and prestige they enjoyed during the conflict, they 

remained a formidable organization, served by some of the best talent in the Armed 

Forces, and thus a key element in the immediate postwar development of national 

security policy. 

The postwar fate of the Joint Chiefs of Staff initially rested in the hands of one 

individual: President Harry S. Truman. A sharp contrast in style and work habits 

to his patrician predecessor, Truman was the epitome of down-to-earth Middle 

America. Born and raised in northwest Missouri, he had served as the captain of a 

National Guard artillery unit in World War I. After the war, he returned to Missouri, 

tried his hand in the haberdashery business, failed, and turned to politics, becoming 

a fringe part of the notorious Pendergast “machine” of Kansas City. Elected to the 

U.S. Senate in 1934, he worked hard and developed a reputation as a fiscal conservative, ever protective of the taxpayers’ money. When Roosevelt decided to drop Vice 

President Henry A. Wallace from the ticket in 1944, he turned to Truman to be his 

running mate, even though the two barely knew one another. After the election, 

they rarely met or conversed by phone.1

As Commander in Chief, Truman was almost the antithesis to Roosevelt. Preferring a structured working environment, he conducted business with the Joint 

Chiefs on a more formal basis and usually met with them in the presence of the 

Service Secretaries or, later, the Secretary of Defense. As a rule, he got along better 

with Army and Air Force officers than Navy officers. His bête noire was the Marine Corps, which he once accused as having “a propaganda machine that is almost 

59
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the equal of Stalin’s.”2 Once the wartime emergency was over, Truman found his 

time and attention increasingly taken up with domestic chores, which reduced his 

contacts with the chiefs. Still, he had the utmost respect for members of the Armed 

Forces and often named retired or former military officers to what were normally 

considered civilian positions.3

 Highest of all in Truman’s estimation was General 

George C. Marshall, to whom he turned repeatedly for help as his special representative to China from 1945 to 1946, as Secretary of State from 1947 to 1949, and as 

Secretary of Defense from 1950 to 1951. But he tempered the military’s influence 

with close control of the defense budget and a strong emphasis on civilian authority 

in key areas such as atomic energy.

Truman had no intention of keeping the Joint Chiefs of Staff in existence 

any longer than it took Congress to enact legislation unifying the armed Services. 

Throwing his support behind a War Department proposal drawn up to Marshall’s 

specifications toward the end of the war, Truman favored replacing the JCS with a 

uniformed chief of staff presiding over an “advisory body” of senior military officers 

who would be part of a single military department.4

 The idea had mixed appeal in 

Congress, however, where several leading members complained that it could lead 

to a “Prussian-style general staff” and dilute civilian control of the military. Increasingly popular on Capitol Hill was a competing proposal sponsored by Secretary of 

the Navy James Forrestal. Under the Navy plan, the JCS would remain intact and 

form part of a network of interlocking committees promoting cooperation and 

coordination for national security on a government-wide scale.5

 Pending resolution 

of the unification debate, Truman opted for the status quo.

Thus, the Joint Chiefs continued to operate much as they had during the war, 

though at a reduced level of activity, with fewer personnel in the organization and 

with new membership. Having accomplished their job, most of the wartime members 

elected to retire soon after the war. Their successors were officers who had held significant U.S. or Allied commands. The first to leave was General of the Army Marshall, 

who stepped down as Chief of Staff in November 1945 to make way for General of 

the Army Dwight D. Eisenhower, leader of the D-Day invasion of Normandy and Supreme Allied Commander in Europe. A month later, Fleet Admiral Chester W. Nimitz 

succeeded Fleet Admiral Ernest J. King as Chief of Naval Operations. And in March 

1946, General Carl Spaatz, Commander of the Eighth and Twentieth Air Forces and 

a key architect of the strategic bombing campaigns against Germany and Japan, succeeded General of the Army Henry H. Arnold as Commanding General, Army Air 

Forces. The only hold-over was Fleet Admiral William D. Leahy, who continued to 

serve until illness forced his retirement in March 1949, at which time the position he 

occupied as Chief of Staff to the Commander in Chief lapsed. 
P E A CET I ME CH ALL E N GES

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Defense Policy in Transition 

At the outset of the postwar era in 1945, the Joint Chiefs of Staff viewed the prospects 

for an enduring peace with growing apprehension. Even though Germany and Japan 

were no longer a threat, a new danger arose from the Soviet Union, now the leading power on the Eurasian landmass, whose “phenomenal” increase in military and 

economic strength gave the JCS cause for concern.6

 Never an overly close partnership, the Grand Alliance began dissolving even before the war was over. Factors that 

made the future uncertain in the Joint Chiefs’ eyes included an uneasy modus vivendi 

over the postwar treatment of Germany and Soviet insistence on German reparations, 

the spread of Communist control in Eastern Europe, disputes over Venezia Giulia at 

the northern end of the Adriatic, political instability in Greece, Soviet demands for 

political and territorial concessions from Turkey and Iran, and the impasse over the 

control of atomic energy. None of these issues alone need have caused undue alarm. 

Taken together, however, they formed an ominous pattern that suggested to the chiefs 

a fundamental divergence of interests that could result in an adversarial relationship.7

Unsettled relations with the Soviet Union reinforced what the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff had been saying for some time about the need for a strong postwar defense 

posture. But in the immediate aftermath of the war, the trend was in the opposite 

direction, as the country embarked on one of the most rapid and thorough demobilizations in history. Bowing to strong public and congressional pressure to “bring the 

boys home,” the War and Navy Departments discharged veterans pell-mell, shrinking the Armed Forces from 12 million in June 1945 to 1.5 million 2 years later. Operating on a conservative economic philosophy that gave priority to balancing the 

budget and reducing debt, President Truman ordered sharp reductions in Federal 

spending that included the wholesale cancellation of war-related contracts, curbs on 

military outlays, and strict ceilings on future military expenditures.8

While cutting deeply into the effective combat capabilities of the Armed Forces, the posthaste demobilization and limitations on military spending left the JCS 

uneasy over the country’s defense posture. To be sure, the chiefs recognized that 

funding for defense would be tight after the war. Convinced, however, that the 

United States had been woefully unprepared prior to Pearl Harbor, the JCS believed that Congress and the American public should be willing to support a level 

of military readiness well above that of the interwar period. Under a broad blueprint 

of postwar requirements, the JCS argued that U.S. forces should have the resources 

to carry out their increased peacetime responsibilities and to respond effectively 

during the initial stages of a future war.9

 Some, like General Marshall, saw universal 

military training as the solution to the country’s long-term defense needs. But after 
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Hiroshima and Nagasaki, UMT steadily lost ground to more technologically-oriented solutions, with reliance on airpower and “new weapons” like the atomic 

bomb foremost among them. Whether that reliance should be on land-based airpower or carrier-based aviation or both became one of the most contentious defense issues of the immediate postwar period.

At the center of the emerging postwar debate over military policy was the 

atomic bomb, a weapon of awesome proven destructive power but uncertain prospects. Despite the enormous wartime effort to develop the bomb, production of fissionable materials (uranium-235 and plutonium) dropped quickly once the war was 

over, as most of the scientists and technicians recruited for the Manhattan Project 

returned to their civilian pursuits. Refinements in weapon design virtually ceased 

and bomb production slowed to a snail’s pace. Sketchy and incomplete records suggest that by the latter part of 1946 there were between six and nine nuclear cores 

in the atomic stockpile—an exceedingly small arsenal by later standards but still a 

sufficient number, President Truman believed, “to win a war.”10

In the immediate aftermath of World War II, the Truman administration had no 

incentive to keep the atomic bomb program at its wartime level of production and 

efficiency. As the war ended, the prevailing belief in many quarters was that atomic 

energy would be taken out of the hands of the military and that nuclear weapons 

would be banned, just as poison gas was after World War I. The notion of civilian 

control had an appealing ring and gave rise to legislation in 1946 establishing the 

Atomic Energy Commission (AEC). A civilian body appointed by the President 

with the advice and consent of the Senate, the AEC acquired complete authority over the Nation’s nuclear program, from the production of fissionable material 

and the manufacture of bombs to the custody and control of finished weapons. In 

support of the commission’s activities, Congress also established a nine-member 

General Advisory Committee to provide scientific and technical guidance, and a 

Military Liaison Committee (MLC), to assure coordination between the commission and the Armed Forces.11

In contrast, the movement to ban the bomb, or at least to place it under some 

form of international supervision, produced far less definitive results. Intense policy 

debates, starting in the autumn of 1945, extended into the following spring. The 

outcome was the Baruch Plan, placed before the United Nations in June 1946, under which the United States offered to give up its nuclear monopoly in exchange 

for a stringent regime of international controls and inspections. A magnanimous 

gesture, the Baruch Plan was too intrusive to suit the Soviets, who declared it unacceptable “either as a whole or in [its] separate parts.” As an alternative, Moscow 

proposed a flat prohibition on nuclear weapons with a vague promise of inspections 
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sometime in the future. A UN special committee voted overwhelmingly to accept the Baruch Plan, but the Soviet Union and Communist-controlled Poland 

abstained, leaving the plan’s fate up in the air.12

Throughout the deliberations leading to announcement of the Baruch Plan, 

the Joint Chiefs maintained a guarded attitude that endorsed international controls 

in principle as a desirable long-term goal, but with strong reservations attached to 

giving up any atomic secrets until outstanding international issues had been fully 

vetted and resolved.13 This line of reasoning remained the JCS core position on arms 

control and disarmament for the duration of the Cold War. But in 1945, the chances 

of overcoming the chiefs’ objections and of enlisting their support for a stringent 

regime of international control were probably better than they ever were again. Regarded by the JCS as a special weapon with limited applications, the atomic bomb 

had yet to acquire a permanent niche in their military planning and was in many 

ways a disruptive presence that the chiefs could have done without. Later, as the 

Services launched expensive acquisition and training programs to integrate nuclear 

weapons into their equipment inventories, and as national policy came to rely heavily on a strategy of nuclear deterrence, the chances of making sweeping changes in 

the JCS position faded. But until then, the chiefs were actually more flexible and 

open-minded than most critics gave them credit.

While awaiting the outcome of the international control debate, the Joint 

Chiefs sought a clearer picture of the atomic bomb’s military potential. Having 

seen from the results of Hiroshima and Nagasaki what nuclear weapons could do 

to targets on land, they obtained President Truman’s approval in January 1946 to 

explore the atomic bomb’s effect on targets at sea.14 Planning and preparations for 

Operation Crossroads took place under the auspices of the Joint Staff Planners, who 

named a six-member ad hoc inter-Service subcommittee headed by Lieutenant 

General Curtis E. LeMay to coordinate the effort. Almost immediately, quarrels 

erupted between AAF and Navy representatives over the placement of the target 

ships and other details, turning Crossroads into yet another arena of inter-Service 

strife. A joint task force led by Vice Admiral William H.P. Blandy eventually carried 

out the operation, but like the LeMay committee, it had to contend with a good 

deal of inter-Service bickering and competition.15

The Crossroads tests were unique in several respects. First, they were the only 

nuclear experiments organized and conducted under the authority of the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff; and second, they received an extraordinarily high level of publicity, 

in sharp contrast to the restricted nature of subsequent nuclear experiments carried out by the AEC. Despite strong political pressure to cancel the tests lest they 

interfere with the debate in the UN, President Truman refused, citing the waste of 
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$100 million if they failed to proceed. The ensuing experiments, involving 42,000 

Servicemen, took place in July 1946 at Bikini Atoll in the Pacific and rendered 

mixed results. The first weapon, an air-dropped, Nagasaki-type bomb, missed the 

aim point by 1,500 yards. Sinking only a few of the ships in the target area, it did 

relatively minor damage to the rest. But a second bomb, detonated under water, was 

more impressive and left the members of a JCS evaluation board convinced that 

atomic weapons had the potential for achieving decisive results in future wars. “If 

used in numbers,” the board found, “atomic bombs not only can nullify any nation’s 

military effort, but can demolish its social and economic structure and prevent their 

reestablishment for long periods of time.”16

Still, the Crossroads tests had little immediate impact on JCS plans or military 

policy. Although the Joint Chiefs recognized that atomic bombs, like other new 

weapons (e.g., jet aircraft and long-range guided missiles), could have a significant 

bearing on the conduct of future wars, the ongoing deliberations in the UN over 

international controls, coupled with the limited availability of fissionable materials, 

effectively ruled out a defense posture resting to any great extent, if at all, on nuclear 

weapons. This did not stop the Army Air Forces, acting on their own, from making 

informal arrangements in the summer of 1946 with the British to modify bases in 

England for air-atomic missions (the Spaatz-Tedder Agreement).17 Nor did it deter 

the Navy from commissioning design studies for a new generation of flush-deck 

“super carriers” dedicated to nuclear warfare.18 But in looking ahead, the Joint 

Chiefs and their Joint Staff Planners clung to the view that wars of the future would 

be much like the one they had just finished, engaging large conventional armies, 

navies, and air forces. The only major difference the JCS could see was that the next 

time, the enemy would probably be the Soviet Union.19

Reorganization and Reform 

Foremost among the issues needing to be addressed in framing a postwar defense 

policy was the reorganization of the Armed Forces, including a settlement of the 

controversial unification issue, a clarification of command arrangements, and a rearticulation of Service roles and missions. Unable to arrive at an agreed position on 

unification, the Joint Chiefs told President Truman in October 1945 that they had 

no corporate wisdom to offer and would defer to Congress and the administration 

to make the necessary adjustments.20 As the senior officers of their respective Services, however, all JCS members remained actively engaged in the debate. Even 

Admiral Leahy, who had no Service responsibilities and who viewed himself as 

above the fray, took a position from time to time, invariably in support of the Navy. 
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In consequence, it was almost impossible for tensions generated by the unification 

quarrel not to spill over into JCS deliberations on other matters. 

Though the Joint Chiefs sidestepped involvement in the unification controversy, they could not avoid two related matters—the establishment of a unified 

command plan, and the redefinition of Service functions in light of the experience 

of World War II, new technologies, and the changing nature of modern warfare. 

In addressing the first, the chiefs overcame their differences to establish a flexible 

command structure which, while far from perfect, proved remarkably adaptable to 

the tests of time. But in dealing with the roles and missions issue, they made little 

headway and eventually ceded this pivotal responsibility to others.

The unified command plan was the outgrowth of the extensive and generally 

successful use of joint and combined “supreme commands” in World War II, and the 

realization that, with the occupation of Germany and Japan and other responsibilities, the United States would have joint military obligations abroad for the indefinite future. Even before the war ended, the Joint Chiefs envisioned retention of the 

unified command system in peacetime, and by June 1945 they were taking steps to 

transform General Eisenhower’s combined headquarters in Europe into a unified 

U.S. command, a relatively easy task since most of the forces involved were ground 

and air units under the War Department.21

The picture was more complex in the Pacific. There, the impetus for change 

came early in 1946 from the Navy, which sought to consolidate what were at the 

time far-flung command arrangements. Adopted by the JCS the previous April as 

an interim measure, the existing setup adhered to MacArthur’s dictum that “neither 

service fights willingly on a major scale under the command of the other.”22 Hence, 

in allocating command functions, the JCS divided responsibilities between an Army 

command for all land forces in the theater, and a Navy command for forces at sea. 

Characterizing these divided command arrangements as “ambiguous” and “unsatisfactory,” Admiral Nimitz wanted the JCS to establish a single command for the Pacific encompassing all forces in the area, excluding China, Korea, and Japan.23 What 

prompted Nimitz to raise the issue is unclear, though it may have been intended to 

complement draft legislation submitted by Secretary of the Navy Forrestal asking 

for an increase in the peacetime authorized strength of the Navy and the Marine 

Corps. A merger of the two commands would have given the Service in charge a 

strong claim to a larger budget share. Since the Navy had the predominant interest 

in the Pacific, Nimitz thought it only logical that the new command should be in 

Navy hands. Seeing the proposed merger as a blatant power grab, MacArthur, from 

his headquarters in Tokyo, warned the War Department that it would render Army 

or AAF units in the area “merely adjuncts” of the Navy.24
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Coun c il of War

Hoping to avoid a fractious debate, the Joint Chiefs referred the CNO’s proposal to the Joint Staff Planners, whose efforts soon ran aground. The Army and 

Army Air Forces members insisted on unity of command by the forces involved, 

while the Navy member urged unity of command by area.25 Eventually, it took pressure from Congress, which wanted to avoid anything resembling the divided command that existed at Pearl Harbor in 1941, and the direct intervention of Admiral 

Nimitz and General Eisenhower to settle the matter. All the same, the compromise 

thus achieved did little more than paper over inter-Service differences that later 

reappeared. Accepting the Navy’s basic premise that unity of command should be 

by area, Eisenhower proposed extending the system worldwide, to include not only 

the Pacific but other regions where the United States had significant military assets 

or military interests. With further fine-tuning by Nimitz, this became the Unified 

Command Plan (UCP), approved by President Truman in December 1946.26

Initially, the UCP called for seven geographic commands and one functional 

command (known after 1951 as a “specified” command).27 Implicit in this arrangement was that a senior officer representing the Service with the predominant interest in a particular region or functional activity should head the command. Thus, in Europe the accepted practice (until 2003) came to be that an Army 

or Air Force officer should exercise command of the theater, while in the Pacific 

a Navy officer was invariably in charge. The sole functional command recognized 

in the UCP was the Strategic Air Command (SAC), created by order of General 

Spaatz in March 1946. SAC comprised the strategic assets of Eighth and Fifteenth 

Air Forces, 509th Composite Group with its air-atomic capability, and air bombardment units not otherwise assigned. Like Twentieth Air Force in World War 

II, SAC reported directly to the Joint Chiefs of Staff through the Commanding 

General, Army Air Forces (later the Chief of Staff of the Air Force), who acted as 

their executive agent.28

The Services could compromise on the UCP because each gave up very little 

in exchange for official confirmation of their existing geographical equities. Unfortunately, this approach was infeasible when defining overlapping Service functions 

and sorting out the impact of new technologies on traditional roles and missions. An 

integral part of the unification debate, the assignment of functions was also highly 

instrumental in determining the allocation of budget shares among the Services. It 

seemed only logical, as the successor organization to the Joint Board, which had 

overseen the assignment of Service functions prior to World War II, that the Joint 

Chiefs should carry on this task. But with the changes in warfare that had taken 

place during the war, the traditional formula used by the Joint Board for determining and assigning functions, more or less by the medium in which a Service 
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operated, no longer applied. Quite simply, neat distinctions between land, sea, and 

air warfare had ceased to exist. But even though the JCS agreed that the old assignments were frayed and outmoded, they were hard-pressed to come up with 

something better.

The event that brought the roles and missions controversy to a boil was a 

report by the Joint Strategic Survey Committee to the JCS in February 1946. Intended as a new statement of Service functions, the JSSC report became instead the 

catalyst for a prolonged and inconclusive debate among the chiefs. Like the Joint 

Board, the JSSC proposed an assignment of functions organized primarily around 

the major element in which each Service operated. Where Service functions intersected, however, the committee was often unable to provide unanimous advice. 

The most contentious points were the Army Air Force’s insistence on full control 

of air transport; the Navy’s claim on access to land-based aviation for antisubmarine 

warfare, as it had in World War II; and the Marine Corps’s objections to the Army’s 

efforts to bring amphibious operations under its aegis.29 The quarreling became 

so acrimonious and divisive that the Joint Chiefs in June 1946 felt it advisable to 

suspend their deliberations on roles and missions until such time as “Presidential or 

legislative action requires that consideration be revived.”30

Despite the impasse, the Joint Chiefs remained under heavy pressure to compose their differences in order to expedite consideration of a unification bill. Accordingly, in July 1946 they asked the Operations Deputies—Major General Otto 

P. Weyland of the Army, Major General Lauris Norstad of the Army Air Forces, and 

Vice Admiral Forrest P. Sherman—to explore a solution.31 Initially slow work, the 

pace quickened following a breakthrough meeting at Secretary of the Navy Forrestal’s home on November 12, 1946, where Assistant Secretary of War for Air W. 

Stuart Symington and Vice Admiral Arthur W. Radford, Deputy Chief of Naval 

Operations (Air), reached a tentative modus vivendi. Based on the discussion that 

afternoon, Norstad and Sherman agreed to develop a fresh formulation of Service 

functions and a statement of agreed principles to help jump-start approval of a 

unification bill that had stalled in Congress. In January 1947, Norstad and Sherman submitted their recommendations to Forrestal and Secretary of War Robert P. 

Patterson, who then conveyed them to President Truman. Passage of the National 

Security Act of 1947 followed in July, at which time the President issued an accompanying Executive order delineating Service roles and missions.32

The National Security Act was a legislative compromise that combined major elements of the centralized organization the War Department favored, and the 

decentralized coordinating system the Navy recommended. To unify the armed 

Services, Congress created a hybrid organization known as the National Military 
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Coun c il of War

Establishment (NME) composed of three coequal Service departments (Army, 

Navy, and Air Force) and a presiding civilian Secretary of Defense, who had a support staff limited to three special assistants. Under the Secretary’s authority fell various coordinating bodies: the Research and Development Board (RDB) to advise 

and assist the Services with policies on scientific research and technology; the Munitions Board (MB) to coordinate production and supply; and the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff. Now endowed with statutory standing, the Joint Chiefs also acquired a list of 

assigned functions similar to those in the unused charter of 1943. The law effectively 

eliminated the role the JCS played in World War II as the country’s de facto high 

command and redefined their mission as a strategic and logistical planning and 

advisory organization to the President and the Secretary of Defense. Recognizing 

the chiefs’ need for permanent support, Congress authorized a full-time Joint Staff 

of one hundred officers, drawn in approximately equal number from each Service. 

President Truman had wanted to replace the JCS with a single military head, but 

opposition in Congress forced him to drop the idea. The law also created a Cabinet-level National Security Council (NSC) to advise the President on foreign and 

defense policy, a Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) for the collection, analysis, and 

distribution of intelligence, and a National Security Resources Board (NSRB) to 

oversee national mobilization in emergencies.33

Figure 3–1.

JCS Organization Chart, 1947
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The Executive order (EO 9877) that accompanied the National Security Act 

was virtually the same statement of Service functions recommended in January by 

Norstad and Sherman. Where roles and missions overlapped, EO 9877 called on the 

Services to coordinate their efforts with one another to the greatest extent possible.34 Between the drafting of the Executive order in January and the passage of the 

National Security Act in July, however, Congress inserted language into the law that 

guaranteed the Navy access to “land-based naval aviation” and the Marine Corps a 

role in amphibious warfare. The net effect was to render key parts of EO 9877 obsolete, opening the door to renewed inter-Service bickering. Secretary of the Navy 

Forrestal, who became the first Secretary of Defense in September 1947, recognized 

the problem immediately but needed two contentious conferences with the Joint 

Chiefs—one at Key West, Florida, in March 1948, and a second at Newport, Rhode 

Island, the following August—to resolve the problem. These conferences also reaffirmed the practice dating from World War II of allowing the Joint Chiefs to designate one of their members as executive agent for a unified command, a function 

that effectively preserved the JCS in the chain of command. Drawing on Forrestal’s 

frustrating experience, future Secretaries of Defense relied less on JCS guidance in 

sorting out roles and missions, and more on the Services to take the necessary steps 

to reconcile and adjust their differences.35

War Plans, Budgets, and the March Crisis of 1948 

The National Security Act came into effect on September 18, 1947, a time of escalating tensions with the Soviet Union and dramatic change in American foreign policy. The previous March, in response to the Communist-led insurgency in 

Greece and Soviet pressure on Turkey, the Truman administration had launched the 

Greek-Turkish aid program, in the President’s words, to prevent “the extension of 

the iron curtain across the eastern Mediterranean.”36 The following June, Secretary 

of State Marshall proposed the European Recovery Program (ERP), a large-scale 

assistance effort aimed at the broader problem of arresting the deteriorating economic and social conditions in Western and Central Europe that were playing into 

the hands of Communist agitators and Soviet sympathizers. Commenting publicly on these initiatives and the escalation of tensions between Washington and 

Moscow, journalist Walter Lippmann proclaimed the onset of a “Cold War” between 

East and West.37

As he sought to stem the spread of Communism abroad, President Truman 

also ordered major changes in the U.S. atomic energy program. Frustrated by the 

impasse in the United Nations over the Baruch Plan, the President directed the new 

Atomic Energy Commission in early April 1947 to restore production facilities and 
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Coun c il of War

to resume the manufacture of nuclear weapons. The President’s decision had the 

strong endorsement of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who agreed that the time had passed 

for international control and that the only choice was to resume the production 

of atomic bombs. Procedures in effect at the time called for the JCS to conduct an 

annual review of nuclear stockpile requirements and to convey their recommendations, through the Military Liaison Committee, to the AEC. The chiefs tailored their 

military requirements, stated in numbers of bomb cores, to be roughly commensurate with the AEC’s estimate of its annual production capabilities, the standard 

practice for fixing the size of the nuclear stockpile for the next several years.38

With the emerging “strategy of containment” toward the Soviet Union came 

a sense of unease among the Joint Chiefs over the deterioration of the Nation’s 

military capabilities. Other than resuming the production of nuclear weapons, little had been done since World War II to modernize U.S. forces or improve their 

effectiveness. The American Military Establishment had shrunk dramatically since the 

war, and the forces that remained by 1947 were generally understrength, indifferently 

equipped and trained, and scattered around the globe. Soviet military power, in contrast, was concentrated on the Eurasian landmass and appeared to be largely intact and 

organized around an estimated ground force of 175 divisions, a figure derived from the 

order of battle pieced together by German intelligence in World War II.39 Long-range 

threat projections developed by the Joint Intelligence Committee between late-1946 

and mid-1947 credited the Soviet Union with possessing an overwhelming numerical 

superiority in conventional forces and the capacity for acquiring nuclear weapons by 

the early 1950s, if not before. Some in the scientific community thought it would take 

longer for the Soviets to duplicate the American achievement in atomic energy, but by 

and large the emerging consensus was that the Soviets were determined to become a 

nuclear power and that sooner or later they would realize their goal.40

Despite the danger signs, the Truman administration initially downplayed the 

possibility that growing East-West antagonisms and steps taken by Washington to 

curb Communist expansion might escalate into a military confrontation. The reigning expert on the Soviet threat immediately following World War II was George F. 

Kennan, a Foreign Service Officer with long experience in the Soviet Union and 

Director of the State Department’s elite Policy Planning Staff. It was Kennan whose 

1947 article in Foreign Affairs, “The Sources of Soviet Conduct,” had given rise to the 

term “containment” to describe what the administration was trying to achieve visà-vis the Soviet Union. Kennan believed that if the United States exerted sufficient 

economic, political, and diplomatic pressure, it would elicit significant improvements in Soviet behavior. Though Kennan acknowledged that military forces were 

a vital diplomatic tool, he doubted whether the United States and the Soviet Union 
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would ever go to war. Warning against excessive reliance on armed strength, he preferred small, mobile strike forces that could intervene quickly in crisis situations. For 

sizing purposes, he favored a defense establishment that could operate effectively 

in two separate theaters simultaneously, a rule of thumb that would influence U.S. 

force requirements for decades to come.41

Given the Truman administration’s preference for nonmilitary solutions and 

the limited military assets available at the time, the Joint Chiefs saw no urgent need 

for approving a strategic plan of action against the Soviet Union. During the latter 

part of World War II, in considering the hypothetical possibility of a future EastWest conflict, the Joint Chiefs had concluded that while there was little chance 

the United States would lose such a war, the likelihood of winning it was exceedingly remote.42 Acting on its own initiative, the Joint War Plans Committee (JWPC) 

launched a series of studies code-named PINCHER late in 1945 to explore the 

problems of waging a war against the Soviet Union. The first fruit of this exercise 

appeared on March 2, 1946, when the JWPC forwarded a broad concept of operations to the Joint Staff Planners. With refinement, this became the basic concept 

of operations around which strategic planning revolved for the next several years. 

Dealing only with the opening stages of a conflict, PINCHER envisioned war 

breaking out in the eastern Mediterranean or Near East and spreading rapidly across 

Europe.43 Arguing that it would be futile for the United States and its allies to try to 

match Soviet strength on the ground, the JWPC favored a strategic response “more 

in consonance with our military capabilities and in which we can exploit our superiority in modern scientific warfare methods.” Even if such a response failed to 

defeat the Soviet Union, it would buy time for the United States to mobilize forces, 

check the Soviet advance, and mount counterattacks.44

The first Secretary of Defense, James Forrestal, was an ardent proponent of the 

new get-tough policy toward the Soviet Union and wanted to give it as much military support as possible. But he was under orders from President Truman to hold the 

line on defense spending.45 Hoping to satisfy both requirements, Forrestal looked 

to the Joint Chiefs to provide an integrated statement of Service requirements for 

meeting essential national security objectives and an agreed strategic concept, tailored to fit within approved spending limits, to justify those forces.46 In Forrestal’s 

view, the JCS were the key to the successful implementation of the new unification 

law, for it was primarily through them that he intended to extend his authority as 

Secretary of Defense down into the Services.47

While it looked good on paper, Forrestal’s reliance on the Joint Chiefs proved 

flawed in practice. Even though the JCS organization had a reputation for highly 

proficient planning, it had lost much of its edge and efficiency by 1947 through 
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the attrition of veteran personnel and a dwindling pool of suitable replacements. 

Though the JCS were less affected than other joint agencies (i.e., the MB and 

the RDB), many able officers were averse to joint duty in Washington lest it cost 

them command experience in their Services and derail their careers.48 Limited 

by law to one hundred officers, the once-mighty Joint Staff now operated at a 

reduced pace through three groups—the Joint Intelligence Group, Joint Logistics 

Group, and Joint Strategic Plans Group (formerly the Joint War Plans Committee). 

With an enormous backlog of business and new requests coming in almost daily 

from Forrestal’s office, the Joint Staff soon found itself with more taskings than it 

could handle. To augment the Joint Staff, the JCS continued to rely on part-time 

inter-Service committees of senior officers—the Joint Strategic Plans Committee 

(which replaced the Joint Staff Planners), the Joint Logistics Committee, the Joint 

Intelligence Committee, and the Joint Strategic Survey Committee. At Forrestal’s 

urging, Congress increased the size of the Joint Staff from 100 to 210 officers when 

it amended the National Security Act in 1949. But despite the increase, there always 

seemed to be more work than the Joint Staff could handle. 

The most serious flaw in Forrestal’s system lay in the chiefs themselves, whose 

internal disagreements sapped their cohesion and effectiveness. Some of their quarrels were carryovers from the unification debate or earlier disagreements, like the 

ongoing battle between the Army and the Marine Corps over amphibious operations. But by far the most visible and contentious issues were those between the Air 

Force and the Navy over whether long-range, land-based bombers or carrier-based 

aviation should serve as the country’s first line of defense. Now that the production 

of nuclear weapons had resumed, it seemed clear that the atomic bomb would play 

a growing role in strategic planning and that the Service with the nuclear mission 

would get the lion’s share of the defense budget. Some, including key figures in 

Congress and the members of the Finletter Commission, a fact-finding body set up 

by the White House in 1947 to report on the future of military aviation, assumed 

that the Air Force had the job sewn up.49 In fact, the issue was far from settled. While 

the Air Force had a nuclear-delivery system derived from the SILVERPLATE B–

29s of World War II, its capabilities were limited to a handful of planes; thus, its position was not immune to challenge by the Navy.50

These disputes were precisely the kinds of quarrels Forrestal had hoped to stifle 

with an integrated budget process keyed to the development of joint strategic plans. 

Yet they were practically unavoidable, given the strict spending limits Truman had 

imposed and Forrestal’s reluctance to test his powers as Secretary of Defense against 

the Joint Chiefs. As Secretary of the Navy, Forrestal had been in the vanguard of 

those who opposed a closely unified defense establishment. As Secretary of Defense, 
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he found himself in the awkward position of implementing a compromise law he 

helped to craft but only half-heartedly believed in. Initially, he described himself as 

a “coordinator” and, in the interests of promoting harmony among the Services, 

promised to make changes through “evolution, not revolution.” He probably never 

should have taken the job of Secretary of Defense, but when Truman offered it (after 

Secretary of War Patterson turned it down for personal reasons), he felt duty-bound 

to accept.51

Based on his discussions with the Joint Chiefs and his personal assessments of 

the international situation, Forrestal became convinced that the President’s budget ceilings were too low to fund essential military requirements and to provide a 

credible defense posture. During his 18 months as Secretary of Defense, he asked 

Truman twice for more money—in the spring of 1948 and, again, toward the end 

of the year. On the first occasion, with the help of a crisis atmosphere abroad, he 

was successful in persuading Truman to lift the ceiling; on the second, despite continuing tensions in Europe, he failed, thereby inadvertently undermining his own 

authority and credibility.

The immediate occasion that prompted Forrestal’s first request for more 

money was the “March Crisis” of 1948 that followed the Soviet-directed coup 

against the government of Czechoslovakia the month before. The only country 

liberated by the Red army that had thus far remained democratic and independent 

of Soviet domination, Czechoslovakia had tried to steer a course of nonalignment but faced growing pressure from Moscow to curb its contacts with the West. 

Not only did Czechoslovakia share a common border with the Ukraine; it was 

also the principal source of high-grade uranium ore for the Soviet atomic bomb 

project.52 Beset with growing political turmoil and a general strike organized by 

Communist-controlled unions, the Czech president, Eduard Beneš, had dismissed 

his cabinet and turned over all important government posts to Communists, except 

the foreign ministry, which remained under Jan Masaryk, a popular figure in the 

West. Within a fortnight, on March 10, Masaryk’s body was found on the cement 

courtyard of the foreign ministry beneath his office window. Czech authorities 

promptly labeled his death a suicide, but the speculation in the West was that Soviet 

agents murdered him.53

Shortly after the Czech coup, rumors circulated that the Soviets would turn 

their sights on occupied Germany and try to force the Allied powers out of their 

enclaves in Berlin. Lending substance to these reports were ominous signs of Soviet 

troop movements in eastern Germany suggesting a buildup for an invasion of the 

West. Later, U.S. analysts concluded that these bellicose gestures were a ruse and that 

there was no “reliable evidence” the Soviets intended military action. All the same, 
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the Intelligence Community refused to rule out the possibility of “miscalculation” 

by one side or the other leading to an incident that could spark a war.54

Toward the end of February 1948, the Director of Army Intelligence, Lieutenant General Stephen J. Chamberlin, paid an unexpected call on General Lucius D. 

Clay, U.S. Military Governor of Germany, at his Berlin headquarters. Concerned 

over recent events in Czechoslovakia and Soviet behavior in general, Chamberlin 

urged Clay to use his considerable influence with the Joint Chiefs and others in 

Washington to send a “strong message” to stimulate support in Congress for reinstituting the draft and for bolstering other military programs. Clay replied that 

he had no concrete evidence the Soviets were planning a move. But after sleeping on the matter, he decided to act. On March 5, 1948, he cabled Chamberlin 

confirming that, while the signs were far from conclusive, he had detected “a 

subtle change in Soviet attitudes which I cannot define but which now gives me 

a feeling that [war] may come with dramatic suddenness.” Clay’s “war warning” 

message soon leaked to the press, setting off a war scare that had Washington on 

edge for several weeks.55

Based on the intelligence crossing his desk, Truman had known for some time 

that the Soviets were up to something.56 Still, Clay’s war-warning message caught 

the President off guard and gave Forrestal and the Joint Chiefs the opportunity to 

seek an increase in the military appropriations bills for Fiscal Year 1949 then pending 

in Congress. By then, General Omar N. Bradley had replaced Eisenhower, General 

Hoyt S. Vandenberg had been named to succeed Spaatz, and Admiral Louis Denfeld 

had replaced Nimitz. But even with a fresh set of faces the quarreling continued, 

with the size of the increase and the allocation of funds among the Services the 

main points in dispute. Some in Congress wanted any additional money to be devoted exclusively to strengthening the Air Force’s strategic bombing capability. But 

it was Forrestal’s and Truman’s view that the country should have a “balanced” force 

posture in which all three Services participated on roughly equal terms.

The Joint Chiefs agreed that balanced forces were a laudable objective, but having yet to agree on an integrated strategic concept, they had no basis for identifying 

deficiencies or recommending an overall plan on how additional money should be 

allocated. By default, they wound up recommending what each Service unilaterally 

calculated it needed, a sum well in excess of anything the White House or the Bureau of the Budget (BOB) found acceptable on economic grounds. With an election 

looming in the fall, Truman was more afraid of inflation at home, fueled by increased 

military spending, than he was of the Soviets. Nevertheless, the additions he eventually approved in May 1948 increased the military budget by nearly a third and showed 

Forrestal and the JCS that the President’s budget ceilings were not so firm after all.57
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In addition to boosting the military budget, the March Crisis produced several 

other outcomes. First, it heightened awareness both in Europe and the United States 

that the Soviet Union was a potential military threat and needed to be addressed 

accordingly. Until then, except for a limited military aid program to Greece and 

Turkey, the Truman administration and Congress had relied on political, economic, 

and diplomatic initiatives to contain communism and Soviet expansionism; but 

with the March Crisis came the realization on both sides of the Atlantic that closer 

military collaboration was a necessary accompaniment to the European Recovery 

Program.58 Passed by Congress in May 1948, the Vandenberg Resolution urged the 

administration to explore a collective security agreement with willing partners in 

Europe, a process that culminated in April 1949 with the creation of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO). A major departure from the nonentanglement 

policy of the past, NATO would be a key element in the Joint Chiefs’ military assessments and strategic planning throughout the Cold War and beyond.

The March Crisis also led the JCS to expedite completion of an integrated 

strategic concept, a major step toward a unified defense budget. The agreed plan, 

called HALFMOON (later renamed FLEETWOOD), was an outgrowth of the 

PINCHER series and called for the Strategic Air Command to launch “a powerful 

air offensive designed to exploit the destructive and psychological power of atomic 

weapons against the vital elements of the Soviet war-making capacity.” Navy carriers would conduct a secondary air offensive from the eastern Mediterranean. But 

with atomic bombs in short supply, there was no assurance that the Navy would 

participate in the nuclear phase of the air offensive. Arguing that HALFMOON was 

overly dependent on SAC’s ability to mount nuclear operations, the Navy accepted 

it only on condition that the JCS treat it as an “emergency” war plan (EWP) and 

not for long-term force planning beyond the next budget cycle.59

A key feature of HALFMOON was the need for overseas bases in Newfoundland, the United Kingdom, and the Cairo-Khartoum area of Northeast Africa from 

which to mount strikes against the Soviet Union. Keeping alive the “special relationship” developed in World War II, the Joint Chiefs hosted a meeting in Washington for 

senior British and Canadian planners from April 12 to 21, 1948, to discuss U.S. access 

to British and Canadian staging points.60 An inevitable byproduct of U.S. planning, 

these tripartite discussions were to some extent premature, since President Truman 

had yet to consent to the HALFMOON plan, transfer the custody of any nuclear 

weapons from the AEC to the military, or authorize their use. After receiving a JCS 

briefing on the plan on May 5, 1948, the President asked the Joint Chiefs to prepare 

a nonnuclear alternative, code-named ERASER. But because of budgetary limitations, Forrestal viewed ERASER as a low priority and later ordered work on it 
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suspended.61 Confirming the course of action previously discussed, a U.S. Air Force 

mission of senior officers and planners visiting London later in May assured their 

RAF colleagues that “all planning was to be based on the use of atomic bombs from 

the outset including the use of the UK as a base for USAF carrying such bombs.”62

As the March Crisis wound down, the Joint Chiefs were gradually making 

progress toward integrating their requirements and developing a strategic concept 

to serve as the basis for a postwar defense policy. The emerging centerpiece of this 

process was the atomic bomb, with the threat of strategic bombardment serving as 

the country’s principal deterrent. While differences persisted among the Services 

over how this strategy should be interpreted and applied, the overall thrust of what 

would constitute the American response to Soviet aggression was no longer in 

doubt. Given the limitations on weapons and equipment under which the Services 

operated, the JCS were still a very long way from the “massive retaliation” doctrine 

of the 1950s. Slowly but surely, however, they were moving in that direction.

The Defense Budget for FY 1950 

Following President Truman’s approval of the supplemental defense increase in the 

spring of 1948, Forrestal and the Joint Chiefs turned their attention to the military 

budget for Fiscal Year 1950 (July 1, 1949, through June 30, 1950). As the first full set of 

estimates to be developed since the passage of the National Security Act, the FY50 

budget would be a clear test of the chiefs’ ability to perform their assigned strategic 

planning functions of producing an integrated defense plan within approved spending 

limits.63 At a meeting with Forrestal and the JCS in May 1948, Truman stated that he 

wanted new obligational authority (i.e., cash and new contract authority) held under 

$15 billion. Acknowledging that defense requirements could fluctuate, the President 

told the chiefs that he would review the situation in September and again in December and make adjustments as needed.64 At Forrestal’s request, Truman also authorized 

the new National Security Council to develop a broad statement of national objectives to assist the JCS in developing their estimate of military requirements.65 But he 

cautioned Forrestal against using NSC guidance to override spending limits. “It seems 

to me,” Truman told him, “that the proper thing for you to do is to get the Army, 

Navy and Air people together and establish a program within the budget limits which 

have been allowed. It seems to me that is your responsibility.”66

Whether the international situation would cooperate to hold down military 

spending remained to be seen. Not only were the Soviets continuing to put pressure on Berlin, but there were also problems in the Middle East that threatened to 

embroil the United States in a conflict over Palestine, currently a British mandate. 
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Zionists had long sought to create a Jewish homeland there, and survivors of the 

Holocaust poured into the area by the thousands in the aftermath of World War II. 

The partitioning of Palestine into separate Arab and Jewish states had strong popular 

appeal in the United States and quickly became a crucial part of President Truman’s 

campaign strategy for the 1948 election.67 The Arab states of the Middle East, however, vowed to resist the Jewish influx with force. Fearing an anti-American backlash across the Arab world, the Joint Chiefs warned against U.S. support of partition 

on the grounds that it could “gravely prejudice” future access to Middle Eastern oil 

and compel the United States to wage “an oil-starved war.”68

For the Joint Chiefs, the issue of most immediate concern was the declared intention of the British to end their mandate in Palestine prematurely and withdraw 

their forces, which had been serving as a buffer between the Arabs and the Jews. If 

the British withdrew, the JCS expected the United States to come under intense 

pressure to intervene as part of a UN peacekeeping operation to prevent Arab armies 

from slaughtering Jewish refugees and settlers. As it turned out, Jewish defense forces 

proved more than able to hold their own in defending the new state of Israel. But in 

the spring of 1948, the threat of another Holocaust appeared imminent. 

In what would become a recurring theme for the next several decades, the 

Joint Chiefs strenuously opposed practically any deepening of U.S. involvement in 

the Middle East, especially if the United States appeared to be siding with Israel 

against the Arab states. Based on the size of the British presence in Palestine, the 

Joint Chiefs estimated that the UN would need to deploy a minimum peacekeeping 

force of over 100,000 troops (about half from the United States), supported by appropriate air and naval units. To raise the U.S. contribution to such a force, the chiefs 

notified the President that he would need to seek supplemental appropriations, reintroduce the draft, and order partial mobilization of the Reserves.69 Suspecting that 

the chiefs were overdramatizing the situation and inflating their estimates, President 

Truman refused to rule out the possibility of U.S. intervention. But he took a cautious approach which more or less validated the chiefs’ preference for avoiding 

involvement in the increasingly sensitive Arab-Israeli conflict.70

While the situation in Palestine argued for a flexible defense posture resting on a 

sound conventional base, persistent tensions in Central Europe played into the hands 

of those who favored reliance on strategic airpower and atomic weapons. Unsuccessful in exacting concessions from the Western powers or forcing their withdrawal 

from Berlin during the March Crisis, the Soviets turned to more direct measures. On 

June 19, 1948, they blockaded all access other than by air into the city. General Clay 

immediately organized an airlift to keep the western sectors of the city in essential 

supplies, but the longer the standoff went on, the more ominous it became.
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By the end of June, the consensus in Washington was that the Western occupying powers—Britain, France, and the United States—should concert their efforts 

around a show of force and buy time for negotiations backed by a military buildup. 

Clay wanted to mount an armed convoy to test Soviet resolve, but the Joint Chiefs 

assessed the risk as too high and Allied forces as too weak to prevail should the 

Soviets resist.71 On the other hand, the JCS had no objection to British Foreign 

Secretary Ernest Bevin’s suggestion of a visible reinforcement of American airpower 

in Europe with B–29s.72 Approved by President Truman in July, the B–29 augmentation would, in Forrestal’s view, give the Air Force much-needed experience and 

make the presence of these planes “an accepted fixture” to the British public.73

Encouraged by the success of the operation, Lieutenant General Lauris Norstad, the 

Air Force Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations, visited Britain in September and 

arranged to make the deployment permanent, with one B–29 group and one fighter group to be stationed in England at all times. Out of these discussions emerged a 

tentative agreement by the Air Force to “loan” Britain’s Bomber Command an unspecified number of B–29s, and Bomber Command’s pledge to place its assets “immediately” under SAC’s coordination in the event of war with the Soviet Union.74

None of the SAC aircraft deployed to Europe during the Berlin blockade crisis 

was equipped for atomic operations, a fact the Soviets could easily have deduced 

from the appearance of the planes, which lacked the enlarged underbelly to accommodate atomic bombs. Even so, it was well known that B–29s carried out the 

attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The implied threat these planes represented 

elevated nuclear weapons to a new level of importance in national policy. Here 

in embryonic form was the doctrine of nuclear deterrence in practice for the first 

time. Though the threat may have been hollow, it was sufficient to give the Soviets 

pause before increasing the pressure and, as one senior Soviet officer later put it, 

risking “suicide” over Berlin.75

Still, without direct access to or control over nuclear weapons, the Joint Chiefs 

were apprehensive about what could happen if the Soviets called the American 

bluff. As a result of the stepped-up production program the AEC had initiated the 

year before, the atomic stockpile stood at around fifty nuclear cores by the summer 

of 1948.76 Preliminary results of the recent SANDSTONE experiments, a series of 

test explosions held at Eniwetok in the Pacific the previous April–May, suggested 

the feasibility of new design techniques that could increase the size of the stockpile 

faster than expected and vary the yield of weapons. By demonstrating the feasibility 

of the “levitated” core, the SANDSTONE experiments confirmed the possibility 

of yields up to two and a half times larger than the Nagasaki bomb, using less fissionable material. The days of atomic scarcity and handmade bombs were drawing 
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to a close. Thenceforth, the Joint Chiefs would have at their disposal a stockpile of 

assembly line–produced weapons, more plentiful in number than previously estimated and more varied in type and design.77

With U.S. war plans increasingly dependent on the early use of nuclear weapons, the SANDSTONE tests provided the reassurance of a larger and more versatile 

atomic arsenal than previously imagined. To make the most of the opportunity, 

Forrestal and the Joint Chiefs became convinced that the time had come to change 

the custody and control arrangements of nuclear weapons. But after a lengthy White 

House meeting to examine the matter on July 21, 1948, Truman ruled that custody 

of nuclear weapons would remain in the hands of the Atomic Energy Commission. A few days later, he told Forrestal that “political considerations” relating to 

the upcoming Presidential election barred a change of policy at that time.78 All the 

same, Truman accepted Forrestal’s basic premise that eventually the Services would 

need more direct access to weapons, and in September he raised no objection when 

the National Security Council confirmed (NSC 30) that the Armed Forces should 

expand their training for atomic warfare and integrate nuclear weapons into their 

regular military planning.79

NSC 30 removed the final obstacle to making the air-atomic strategy the 

centerpiece of postwar American defense policy. Now assured of increased access 

to weapons and training for their personnel, the Air Force and the Navy moved 

quickly to expand and refine their capabilities for atomic warfare. For the Navy, this 

meant pressing ahead with plans for laying the keel of the first in a new generation 

of super carriers; for the Air Force, it meant bolstering the Strategic Air Command, 

which continued to have a monopoly on the nuclear mission. A critical factor in 

preserving the Air Force’s dominant position was the appointment of a new SAC 

commander, Lieutenant General Curtis E. LeMay, who took charge in October 

1948, bringing with him a reputation for solving problems and getting results. The 

architect of the devastating conventional “fire bomb raids” against Japan in World 

War II, LeMay also had helped to coordinate the 1946 Crossroads tests in the Pacific and had thus acquired a working familiarity with nuclear weapons. When he 

assumed command, SAC had only about 20 atomic-modified B–29s fit for duty. 

Concentrating on expanding SAC’s nuclear capability, LeMay set about eliminating 

equipment deficiencies and training personnel one group at a time, starting with 

restoring the 509th to its wartime level of efficiency.80

Meanwhile, the budget process for FY 1950 plodded along, with the Berlin 

situation and the presumed intimidating power of the atomic bomb overshadowing 

Palestine and other trouble spots where the need for conventional forces predominated. Forrestal continued to favor balanced capabilities, but a detailed analysis of 
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Service estimates by the Budget Advisory Committee, a tri-Service panel of senior 

officers chaired by General Joseph T. McNarney, USAF, revealed an enormous gap 

between the requirements for a balanced force posture and the resources available 

under the President’s budget ceiling.81 To narrow the difference, the Joint Chiefs 

reduced the scale and scope of planned operations under the FLEETWOOD (formerly HALFMOON) strategy by eliminating certain Army and Air Force units and 

deleting the naval air offensive in the eastern Mediterranean. No matter how they 

priced it, however, the savings from these cuts failed to produce a military budget 

within the President’s spending limit. Convinced that the chiefs had done their best 

and realizing that they were deadlocked, Forrestal told them on October 15 that he 

would entertain the proposal of an “intermediate” budget somewhat larger than the 

President had said he would allow.82

To justify the increase, the Joint Chiefs hastily compiled a catalog of commitments that the military budget would have to support. This list was the first in a long 

line of such statements that the Joint Chiefs would routinely produce during the Cold 

War to support Service requirements. While the chiefs amply documented the wide 

range of military obligations the country faced, they fell short of providing a useful 

framework for assessing military spending. At no point did they put a price tag on 

U.S. commitments, attempt to link them directly to force requirements, or establish an 

order of priority for military programs. Given these shortcomings, the chiefs’ catalog, 

while informative, was not very useful as budgetary guidance. Later iterations of these 

joint planning documents would be similarly defective and would come under sharp 

criticism from the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD) and the White House for 

failing to sort out and prioritize military requirements. But in view of the consensusoriented rules under which the JCS operated and the difficulties these procedures 

posed in allocating resources, a better product was probably unattainable.83

A more practical tool for assessing Service requirements was the NSC’s evaluation of national security policy (NSC 20/4), which appeared toward the end of 

November 1948. Prepared mainly by Kennan and State’s Policy Planning Staff in response to Forrestal’s request for guidance, NSC 20/4 predicted an indefinite period 

of tension between the United States and the Soviet Union. Cautioning against 

“excessive” U.S. armaments, the report urged “a level of military readiness which 

can be maintained as long as necessary as a deterrent to Soviet aggression.” These 

recommendations were not much help to Forrestal in evaluating the relative merits 

of competing weapons systems or strategic concepts. But they left no doubt that a 

defense establishment tailored for the long haul and a posture of deterrence would 

be more in keeping with security needs than one with large, immediate increases 

for fighting a war that might not materialize.84
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On December 1, 1948, Forrestal submitted his defense budget for FY50. Actually, he submitted two budgets—one for $14.4 billion that fell within the President’s 

spending ceiling; and a second for nearly $17 billion. (Forrestal dismissed as excessive 

and unrealistic a third set of estimates, prepared by the JCS, totaling nearly $24 billion.) The first budget, Forrestal explained, would allow for a defense establishment 

of 10 Regular Army divisions, 287 combatant ships in the Navy, and a 48-group Air 

Force. The second, which the Secretary of Defense personally endorsed as preferable for national security purposes, would support a defense establishment of 12 divisions, 319 combatant vessels, and 59 air groups. Forrestal added that he had shown 

these figures to Secretary of State George C. Marshall, who concurred that the 

larger budget would provide better support for the country’s foreign policy.85 All the 

same, Truman was unimpressed. Buoyed by his recent come-from-behind victory at 

the polls, he told the Bureau of the Budget to ignore Forrestal’s larger submission. “I 

don’t know why he sent two. The $14.4 billion budget is the one we will adopt.”86

Refusing to accept the President’s decision as final, Forrestal tendered an 

amended request on December 20 that proposed adding $580 million to fund six 

additional air bombardment groups in the Air Force. In line with the emerging reliance on air-atomic power as the country’s first line of defense, Forrestal argued for 

the money as the most practical way of addressing the threat posed by “our most 

probable enemy.” Whether he agreed or not with Forrestal’s reasoning, Truman 

continued to give fiscal considerations priority and turned down the Secretary’s 

request without giving it a second thought.87 Early the following year, in testifying 

to Congress on the President’s 1950 budget, the Joint Chiefs expressed skepticism 

that it would assure proper readiness in an emergency, but declined to criticize the 

President for his decision to hold down military spending for fiscal and economic 

reasons. According to Admiral Denfeld, the budget was “the best division of funds 

that we could agree on at the time.”88

The Strategic Bombing Controversy 

The strategy and budget debates of 1948 left no doubt that the United States was 

moving toward a defense posture centered on strategic bombardment with nuclear 

weapons. While Truman, Forrestal, and other senior administration figures continued to pay lip service to the need for balanced forces, the reality was quite different. 

Not everyone agreed that reliance on strategic bombing was a sound course to 

follow, certainly not the Navy, which had its own competing view of strategy and 

weapons. But in practical terms, the air-atomic strategy had considerable appeal. 

An intimidating threat, it seemed feasible within the limits of existing technology, 
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had strong bipartisan support in Congress, and could be priced to fit virtually any 

reasonable spending limit the White House might set. Assuming he had a mandate 

to proceed, LeMay set about transforming the Strategic Air Command into an allatomic strike force that grew from a handful of atomic-capable aircraft when he 

took over in October 1948 to more than 250 a year and a half later. Most of the 

bombers in SAC’s inventory were medium-range B–29s or B–50s (an upgraded 

version of the B–29), which required overseas bases to reach Soviet targets. A growing number, however, were B–36s that could reach targets in the Soviet Union from 

bases in the United States.89

Affirmation of the air-atomic strategy put major stresses on the JCS, revealing 

vital shortcomings in their ability to function as a deliberative corporate body. In 

assessing the chiefs’ performance, Forrestal believed a key weakness was the absence 

of a presiding officer, or chairman, to steer the deliberations. As the only member 

without Service responsibilities, Admiral Leahy had performed something approximating this function in World War II, but after the war his role and influence had 

diminished as his health declined. To fill the void, Forrestal persuaded General of the 

Army Dwight D. Eisenhower, the president of Columbia University in New York, 

to return to Washington on a part-time basis as his “military consultant.” Eisenhower met off and on with the chiefs between mid-December 1948 and late June 

1949 and devoted most of his time to war plans and budget matters.90

Eisenhower’s appointment was a stop-gap measure until Congress could create a permanent position, one of a list of reforms that Forrestal deemed essential for 

unification to succeed. In December 1948, declaring that his views had changed, 

Forrestal came out strongly for giving the Secretary of Defense enhanced powers and 

assistance. Among the measures he proposed was legislative authority to appoint a 

“responsible head” of the JCS and to increase the size of the Joint Staff.91 The resulting amendments to the National Security Act took effect in August 1949 and converted the NME into the Department of Defense. In the legislation, Congress added 

a Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff, and gave him “precedence” over all other officers 

in the Armed Forces. His statutory responsibilities were to preside at JCS meetings, 

set the agenda, and notify the Secretary of Defense of any disagreements. The Chairman could not vote in JCS deliberations nor could he command any military forces. 

Clarifying the JCS role in the policy process, Congress designated the Chairman and 

the Joint Chiefs of Staff collectively as the “principal military advisers” to the President, the Secretary of Defense, and the National Security Council.92

By the time the 1949 amendments became law, Forrestal was dead, the victim of an apparent suicide. Frustrated, overworked, and mentally exhausted, he had 

reluctantly stepped down as Secretary of Defense in March 1949 to make way for 
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his successor, Louis Johnson. A prominent West Virginia attorney, Johnson had been 

Assistant Secretary of War in the Roosevelt administration and Truman’s principal 

fund-raiser for the 1948 campaign. Johnson’s mandate from the President was to 

bring order and discipline to the Pentagon and make the Services and the JCS toe 

the line on military spending. Even without the 1949 amendments, Johnson felt he 

had the power and authority to accomplish his mission. Using the Joint Chiefs less 

and less, Johnson embraced budgetary procedures that relied more on his own staff 

to make the tough decisions on military spending and the allocation of resources.93

Johnson’s first major action as Secretary of Defense came in April 1949, when 

he cancelled the Navy’s new super carrier, the USS United States. Incorporating design features derived from the Crossroads tests, the United States was to be a 65,000-

ton, flush-deck carrier capable of accommodating aircraft carrying a 10,000-pound 

payload, roughly the same as an atomic bomb. Though Johnson strongly endorsed 

the air-atomic strategy, he acted on economic grounds and believed the Navy’s 

super carrier needlessly duplicated the Air Force’s strategic bombing function. His 

first and foremost aim was to hold down military spending, a goal that became all 

the more imperative in the summer of 1949, when President Truman disclosed that 

the defense budget for FY51 would have to come down to $13 billion to help stave 

off a recession. An escalation of the quarrel between the Air Force and the Navy 

soon followed, producing charges and countercharges about the relative merits of 

long-range bombers versus super carriers, and culminating in a highly publicized 

congressional investigation. By the autumn of 1949, the senior echelons of the Navy 

were in open revolt against Johnson’s policies and authority.94

While these controversies swirled in the public arena, the Joint Chiefs were 

trying to develop a more rational framework for analyzing the strategic environment and the competing Service claims for rival weapons systems. The impetus 

behind this effort came from a request by Forrestal in October 1948 for an analysis 

of two issues: the chances of success of delivering the strategic air offensive contemplated in current war plans, and an evaluation of the effects of SAC’s planned 

air offensive on the Soviet Union’s war effort.95 Forrestal hoped to use the results to 

help defend his FY50 budget submission to the President. But owing to the complexity and sensitivity of the issues raised, the Joint Chiefs wanted more time to assure thorough examinations. Initially, the JCS assigned the weapons effects study to 

an ad hoc body that reported to the Joint Strategic Plans Committee, and the other 

study, on the chances of success for the air offensive, to the Air Force. When the Air 

Force replied in December 1948 with a highly generalized boilerplate response, the 

JCS asked the Weapons Systems Evaluation Group (WSEG), a new technical support organization, to step in.96
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Lieutenant General Hubert R. Harmon, USAF, a member of the U.S. military 

staff to the United Nations, chaired the ad hoc weapons-effects study group. A 

classmate of Eisenhower’s and Bradley’s at West Point, Harmon had served briefly 

as commander of Thirteenth Air Force in the South Pacific in World War II. Exactly how or why Harmon came to chair the effort is unclear; however, he had a 

reputation for being tactful and fair-minded that enhanced the study’s objectivity 

and credibility. To assist him, Harmon assembled an inter-Service team of one Air 

Force officer, two Navy officers, and two Army officers.97

The Harmon committee looked only at SAC’s role and the atomic phase of 

the air offensive, which would take place at the outset of a war. It made no attempt 

to evaluate the impact of a planned follow-on offensive with conventional bombs, 

nor did it look at possible Navy contributions under the plan since there was no 

assurance that the Navy would be allocated nuclear weapons or have the requisite 

capabilities for delivering them.98 The committee confirmed that SAC’s attacks under the current JCS-approved emergency war plan (now code-named TROJAN) 

would exact a heavy toll on the Soviet Union. SAC’s targets were 70 urban-industrial complexes, with the destruction of Moscow and Leningrad the top priorities. 

Should all planes and bombs reach their targets (an assumption the WSEG study had 

yet to test), casualties from the initial attack would be in the vicinity of 2.7 million 

killed and another 4 million injured. Life for the 28 million survivors in the target 

areas would be “vastly complicated.” The Air Force estimated that the destruction 

inflicted by the bombing would reduce Soviet industrial production for war-related 

purposes by 50 percent, with the heaviest impact falling on the petroleum industry. 

Based on its own separate assessments, the Harmon committee pared this estimate 

to a drop in production of 30 to 40 percent.

The committee doubted whether the atomic offensive would “seriously impair” ongoing Soviet operations in Western Europe, the Middle East, or the Far East. 

Large stockpiles of war reserves would allow Soviet forces to operate for some time 

before the effects of the disruptions to industry caused by the bombing reached the 

battlefield. Nor was the committee convinced that the planned air attacks would 

undermine the will and capacity of the Soviet population to resist, a key objective of 

the EWP. Nevertheless, the committee concluded that the atomic bomb remained 

“a major element of Allied military strength” and would constitute “the only means 

of rapidly inflicting shock and serious damage to vital elements of the Soviet warmaking capacity.” Even if not initially decisive, the crippling effects of nuclear weapons would tilt the balance sooner or later in favor of the West.99

Though the Joint Chiefs received the Harmon report in May 1949, they waited 

until late July to give it to the Secretary of Defense. The reason for the delay was a 
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disagreement over how to handle Air Force objections to the committee’s analysis of 

collateral damage, which failed to consider the impact of fires started by the bombing. General Vandenberg, the Air Force Chief of Staff, wanted the report amended 

to address this and several other issues the Air Force had raised, whereas Admiral 

Denfeld thought it should go up the chain of authority as written. Eventually, 

the Secretary of Defense received the report unchanged, but with a covering note 

explaining the Air Force’s dissenting views.100

Only the Secretary of Defense, the Joint Chiefs, and their immediate aides saw 

the Harmon report. President Truman never received a copy, though he knew of its 

existence and expressed an interest in seeing it and the WSEG study as well.101 While 

Truman wanted economy in defense spending, he also remained a firm believer in 

a balanced force posture. At this juncture, the President was uneasy over a proposed 

reapportionment in the Air Force budget to free funds for the procurement of additional B–36s, despite reports that the planes were experiencing significant engine 

problems. Prodded by the Bureau of the Budget and by his White House naval aide, 

Rear Admiral Robert L. Dennison, Truman inquired in April 1949 about the status 

of these studies, telling his staff that he wanted to avoid “putting all of our eggs into 

one basket.” Secretary of Defense Johnson assured the President that when the time 

was right he would receive a full briefing, but that it could take up to a year for the 

Pentagon to complete its evaluations.102

As Johnson’s response suggests, the WSEG study had fallen behind schedule owing to WSEG’s start-up problems and disagreements between the Air Force and the 

Navy over the intelligence data the study should use. WSEG was the brainchild of 

Vannevar Bush, President Roosevelt’s chief scientific advisor on the atomic bomb in 

World War II and first Chairman of the Research and Development Board (RDB) 

when that agency acquired statutory status in 1947. According to his biographer, Bush 

regarded WSEG “as the epitome of the professional partnership between soldiers and 

scientists that he had tried to foster since 1940.”103 Having worked closely with the 

JCS in World War II, Bush seriously doubted that they could detach themselves from 

Service interests and responsibilities, act as a unitary body of strategic advisors, or 

deal intelligently and effectively with scientific and technical matters. Advocating a 

greater role for science and scientists in defense affairs, he called for “dispassionate, 

cold-blooded analysis of facts and trends,” and persuaded Secretary Forrestal that there 

should be “a centrally located, impartial and highly qualified group” to provide the 

JCS with “objective and competent advice” on current and future weapons systems.104

Initially, the Joint Chiefs were concerned that the new organization Bush proposed might infringe on their functions. The Joint Strategic Survey Committee 

was especially uneasy and warned lest “technical evaluations” become “operational 
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evaluations” that could encroach on JCS responsibilities.105 But after lengthy discussions with Forrestal and Bush, the JCS finally accepted the WSEG proposal at 

the Newport Conference in August 1948. Even so, it took until December for the 

JCS, Forrestal’s office, and the RDB to agree on a directive laying out the terms of 

reference for the group’s work, and 6 months more for WSEG to recruit a mixed 

military-civilian staff. WSEG took up offices in the Pentagon, within the secure 

restricted area set aside for the Joint Staff and other JCS components on the second 

level. Many of those who worked for WSEG were alumni of the Manhattan Project 

in World War II, an indication of how the new organization viewed its mission and 

where it expected to concentrate its efforts.106

Even though the strategic delivery study rated top priority on WSEG’s agenda, 

it did not receive authorization to go forward until late August 1949, when the JCS 

finally approved intelligence data for the study.107 At issue was the Air Force contention that Soviet air defenses were technologically substandard and spread too thin to 

pose a significant obstacle to attacking U.S. bombers.108 Citing a “dearth of reliable 

intelligence,” Admiral Denfeld challenged this notion and insisted that the Joint 

Intelligence Committee (JIC) conduct a review.109 The JIC’s preliminary analysis 

concurred with Denfeld that the Air Force had oversimplified the situation. But in 

a detailed follow-up report, the committee agreed with the Air Force that by and 

large Soviet air defenses were second rate. Still, it also pointed to recent improvements in air defense radars that suggested a more complex and effective Soviet air 

defense environment than the Air Force was anticipating.110

In view of the uncertainties surrounding Soviet air defenses, WSEG leaned 

toward the side of caution and produced a less than favorable report (WSEG R-1) 

on the chances of success for the planned air offensive. Knowing President Truman’s 

interest in the subject, Secretary Johnson arranged for the WSEG director, Lieutenant General John E. Hull, USA, to hold a briefing at the White House on January 

23, 1950, immediately prior to submitting R-1 to the JCS. While calculating that 

70 to 85 percent of the attacking aircraft would reach their targets, Hull cited gaps 

in intelligence and logistical deficiencies that would reduce the effectiveness of the 

operation. Among SAC’s vulnerabilities were a limited aerial refueling capability, 

competing demands for transport aircraft, and heavy dependence on overseas operating and staging bases. Overall, WSEG estimated that SAC could carry out its mission, but not to the full extent envisioned in current war plans without correcting 

identifiable deficiencies.111

Even though the Hull report presented a conservative view of the chances of 

complete success for the air offensive, there was no immediate rush to overhaul U.S. war 

plans or devise a new strategy. Developments on other fronts—the creation of NATO 
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linking the security of Europe to the United States, the recent Communist victory in 

China, and the discovery that the Soviets had acquired an atomic capability—were shifting the debate on defense and military policy to broader global issues. In many respects, 

the war plans the Joint Chiefs had so painstakingly developed and refined were becoming irrelevant and obsolete. On the other hand, the preparation of these plans gave the 

Joint Chiefs a better appreciation for the problems of waging war against the Soviet 

Union and underscored yet again the critical importance of inter-Service cooperation.

Notes

1 Robert H. Ferrell, Harry S. Truman: A Life (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 

1994), 162–176.

2 Letter, Truman to Gordon McDonough, August 29, 1950, Public Papers of the Presidents 

of the United States: Harry S. Truman, 1950 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1965), 617–618, hereafter cited as Truman Public Papers.

3 See Dale R. Herspring, The Pentagon and the Presidency: Civil-Military Relations from 

FDR to George W. Bush (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2005), 54.

4 Message to Congress, December 19, 1945, in Alice Cole et at., eds., The Department of 

Defense: Documents on Establishment and Organization, 1944–78 (Washington, DC: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, 1978), 7–17.

5 U.S. Senate, Committee on Naval Affairs, Unification of the War and Navy Departments 

and Postwar Organization for National Security, 79:1 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1945).

6 See letter, Leahy to Hull, May, 16, 1944, U.S. Department of State, Foreign Relations of the 

United States: The Conference of Berlin (The Potsdam Conference), 1945 (Washington, DC: 

GPO, 1960), I, 265.

7 Walter S. Poole, “From Conciliation to Containment: The Joint Chiefs of Staff and the 

Coming of the Cold War,” Military Affairs 42 (February 1978), 12–16; James F. Schnabel, 

The Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 1945–1947 (Washington, DC: Joint History 

Office, 1996), 7–32.

8 Robert A. Pollard, Economic Security and the Origins of the Cold War, 1945–1950 (New 

York: Columbia University Press, 1985), 20–23.

9 JCS Military Policy Statement, “Basis for the Formulation of Military Policy,” September 20, 1945, JCS 1496/3.

10 Christian Brahmstedt, ed., Defense’s Nuclear Agency, 1947–97 (Washington, DC: Defense 

Threat Reduction Agency, 2002), 1–13; Eban A. Ayers Diary entry, October 14, 1946, in 

Robert H. Ferrell, ed., Truman in the White House: The Diary of Eban A. Ayers (Columbia: 

University of Missouri Press, 1991), 161; David Alan Rosenberg, “U.S. Nuclear Stockpile, 1945 to 1950,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists 38 (May 19, 1982), 25–30.

11 Richard G. Hewlett and Oscar E. Anderson, Jr., A History of the United States Atomic 

Energy Commission, vol. I, The New World (Washington, DC: U.S. Atomic Energy Commission, 1962), 408–427, 482–530.

12 McGeorge Bundy, Danger and Survival (New York: Random House, 1988), 166; Hewlett 

and Anderson, The New World, 582–597.
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13 Letter, JCS to President, October 23, 1945, “Military Policy as to Secrecy Regarding the 

Atomic Bomb,” JCS 1471/4.

14 Hewlett and Anderson, 581–582.

15 Lloyd J. Graybar, “The 1946 Atomic Bomb Tests: Atomic Diplomacy or Bureaucratic 

Infighting?” Journal of American History 72 (March 1986), 888–907.

16 Brahmstedt, 13–14; JCS Evaluation Board for Operation Crossroads, “The Evaluation 

of the Atomic Bomb as a Military Weapon: Final Report,” June 30, 1947, President’s 

Secretary’s File (PSF), Truman Library.

17 Walton S. Moody, Building A Strategic Air Force (Washington, DC: Air Force History 

and Museums Program, 1996), 141–142; Ian Clark and Nicholas J. Wheeler, The British 

Origins of Nuclear Strategy, 1945–1955 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), 116.

18 Jeffrey G. Barlow, Revolt of the Admirals: The Fight for Naval Aviation, 1945–1950 (Washington, 

DC: Naval Historical Center, 1994), 106–107; David Alan Rosenberg, “American Postwar Air 

Doctrine and Organization: The Navy Experience,” in Alfred F. Hurley and Robert C. Ehrhart, eds., Airpower and Warfare (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1979), 245–278.

19 Schnabel, 70–72.

20 Memo, Leahy to Truman, October 16, 1945, “Reorganization of National Defense,” JCS 

749/29.

21 Ronald H. Cole et at., The History of the Unified Command Plan,1946–1999 (Washington, 

DC: Joint History Office, 2003), 11.

22 Quoted in Walter S. Poole, “Joint Operations,” in Jacob Neufeld, William T. Y’Blood, 

and Mary Lee Jefferson, eds., Pearl to V-J Day: World War II in the Pacific (Washington, 

DC: Air Force History and Museums Program, 2000), 19.

23 Memo, CNO to JCS, February 1, 1946, “Command Structure in the Pacific Theater,” 

JCS 1259/6.

24 Quoted in Poole, “Joint Operations,” 18.

25 Schnabel, 81–82.

26 Memo, CSA to JCS, September 17, 1946, “Unified Command Structure,” JCS 1259/12; 

Memo, CNO to JCS, December 5, 1946, “Unified Command Plan,” JCS 1259/26; 

Memo, JCS to President, December 12, 1946, enclosing Unified Command Plan, JCS 

1259/27. Truman approved the plan on December 14, 1946.

27 History of the UCP, 11–13. The seven original geographic commands were Far East 

Command, Pacific Command, Alaska Command, Northeast Command, Atlantic Fleet, 

Caribbean Command, and European Command.

28 J.C. Hopkins and Sheldon A. Goldberg, The Development of Strategic Air Command, 1946–1986

(Offutt Air Force Base, NE: Office of the Historian, Strategic Air Command, 1986), 2–3.

29 JSSC Report to the JCS, February 20, 1946, “Missions of the Land, Sea and Air Forces,” 

JCS 1478/8.

30 Schnabel, 113.

31 Herman S. Wolk, Planning and Organizing the Postwar Air Force, 1943–1947 (Washington, 

DC: Office of Air Force History, 1984), 157.

32 Walter Millis, ed., The Forrestal Diaries (New York: Viking Press, 1951), 221–223; letter, 

Patterson and Forrestal to Truman, January 16, 1947, in Cole et al., Documents on Defense 
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Organization, 31–33. See also Townsend Hoopes and Douglas Brinkley, Driven Patriot: 

The Life and Times of James Forrestal (New York: Knopf, 1992), 341–343.

33 National Security Act of 1947, July 26, 1947, PL 253, in Cole et al., Documents on Defense 

Organization, 35–50.

34 EO 9877, “Functions of the Armed Forces,” in Cole et at., Documents on Defense Organization, 267–270.

35 Steven L. Rearden, History of the Office of the Secretary of Defense: The Formative Years, 

1947–1950 (Washington, DC: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, 

1984), 385–402.

36 Harry S. Truman, Memoirs, vol. II, Years of Trial and Hope (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 

1956), 100.

37 Walter Lippmann, The Cold War: A Study in U.S. Foreign Policy (New York: Harper and 

Row, 1947).

38 Richard G. Hewlett and Francis Duncan, A History of the United States Atomic Energy 

Commission, vol. 2, Atomic Shield, 1947–1952 (Washington, DC: Atomic Energy Commission, 1972), 53–55, 196–148; Schnabel, 133–135.

39 Matthew A. Evangelista, “Stalin’s Postwar Army Reappraised,” International Security 7 

(Winter 1982/1983), 110–138. Evangelista argues that the JCS consistently overestimated Soviet strength. He attributes this error to a lack of reliable information rather 

than to an intentional effort to deceive.

40 Samuel R. Williamson, Jr., and Steven L. Rearden, The Origins of U.S. Nuclear Strategy, 

1945–1953 (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1993), 193; Steven T. Ross, American War Plans, 

1945–1950 (London: Frank Cass, 1996), 54; Donald P. Steury, “How the CIA Missed 

Stalin’s Bomb,” Studies in Intelligence, 199:1 (2005), 19–26.

41 John Lewis Gaddis, Strategies of Containment (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 

39–40; see also David Mayers, George Kennan and the Dilemmas of U.S. Foreign Policy

(New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), 122–123; and John Lewis Gaddis, George F. 

Kennan: An American Life (New York: Penguin, 2011).

42 Letter, Leahy to Hull, May 16, 1944, derived from JCS 838/1.

43 For the details, see Ross, American War Plans, 25–52.

44 Schnabel, 70–75.

45 Millis, 351–352; Melvyn P. Leffler, A Preponderance of Power: National Security, the Truman Administration, and the Cold War (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1992), 

221–226. Leffler sees Truman as an essentially ambivalent figure who provided less than 

dynamic or credible leadership. While committed to preserving the preponderant U.S. 

position in world affairs, he ignored the gap between commitments and capabilities.

46 During the unification debate, both Forrestal and Secretary of War Patterson had recommended that Congress give the JCS the responsibility under the law to “make 

recommendations for integration of the military budget.” For unexplained reasons, 

Congress failed to include this provision in the statement of JCS functions when it 

passed the National Security Act in July 1947.

47 Rearden, Formative Years, 311.

48 Ibid., 89–115.
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49 U.S. President’s Air Policy Commission, Survival in the Air Age (Washington, DC: U.S. 

President’s Air Policy Commission, January 1, 1948).

50 Moody, 125–127; Barlow, 105–121.

51 Rearden, Formative Years, 35–36; Hoopes and Brinkley, 351–153.

52 Jonathan Haslam, Russia’s Cold War: From the October Revolution to the Fall of the Wall

(New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011), 99.

53 See William R. Harris, “March Crisis 1948, Act I,” Studies in Intelligence 10, no. 4 (Fall 

1966), 1–22; and William R. Harris, “March Crisis 1948, Act II,” Studies in Intelligence 11, 

no. 2 (Spring 1967), 9–36 (RG 263, Records of the Central Intelligence Agency, National Archives). Written largely from interviews, these articles, now declassified, provide fascinating insights into the origins of the Czech coup, the March Crisis, and the 

inner workings of Soviet and U.S. intelligence leading up to the 1948 Berlin blockade.

54 Memo, Hillenkoetter to Truman, March 16, 1948, PSF, Truman Library. See also Donald 

P. Steury, “Origins of CIA’s Analysis of the Soviet Union,” in Gerald K. Haines and 

Robert E. Leggett, eds., Watching the Bear: Essays on CIA’s Analysis of the Soviet Union

(Langley, VA: Center for the Study of Intelligence, 2001), 1–14.

55 Jean Edward Smith, Lucius D. Clay: An American Life (New York: Henry Holt and Co., 

1990), 166–167; Cable, Clay to Chamberlin, March 5, 1948, in Jean Edward Smith, ed., 

The Papers of General Lucius D. Clay: Germany, 1945–1949, 2 vols. (Bloomington: Indiana 

University Press, 1974), II, 568.

56 Memo, Hillenkoetter to Truman, December 22, 1947, PSF, Truman Library.

57 Rearden, Formative Years, 316–330.

58 Lawrence S. Kaplan, NATO 1948: The Birth of the Transatlantic Alliance (Lanham, MD: 

Rowman and Littlefield, 2007), 192–144, 199–159.

59 “Brief of Short-Range Emergency War Plan ‘HALFMOON,’” May 6, 1948, JCS 

1844/4; Memo, CNO to JCS, April 5, 1948, “Planning Guidance for Medium-Range 

Emergency Plan,” JCS 1844/2.

60 Kenneth W. Condit, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 1947–1949 (Washington, 

DC: Office of Joint History, 1996), 156.

61 Diary Entry, May 6, 1948, Leahy Papers, Library of Congress; Memo, Leahy to JCS, May 

13, 1948, “Brief of Short-Range Emergency Plan “HALFMOON,” JCS 1844/6; Millis, 

158, 161–162; David Alan Rosenberg, “Toward Armageddon: The Foundations of United 

States Nuclear Strategy, 1945–1961” (Ph.D. diss., University of Chicago, 1983), 110.

62 Notes of an informal meeting between Vice chief of the Air Staff and Maj. Gen. Richard C. Lindsay, May 10, 1948, quoted in Stephen Twigge and Len Scott, Planning Armageddon: Britain, the United States and the Command of Western Nuclear Forces, 1945–1964

(Amsterdam: Harwood, 2000), 30–31.

63 Warner R. Schilling, “The Politics of National Defense: Fiscal 1950,” in Warner R. 

Schilling, Paul Y. Hammond, and Glenn H. Snyder, Strategy, Politics, and Defense Budgets

(New York: Columbia University Press, 1962), 155–164.

64 Millis, 135–138.

65 Memo, Forrestal to NSC, July 10, 1948, “Appraisal of the Degree and Character of 

Military Preparedness Required by the World Situation,” FRUS, 1948, I, 589–592; letter, 

Forrestal to Truman, July 10, 1948, ibid., 592–593.
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66 Memo, Truman to Forrestal, July 13, 1948, PSF, Truman Library.

67 Alonzo L. Hamby, Beyond the New Deal: Harry S. Truman and American Liberalism (New 

York: Columbia University Press, 1973), 209–211.

68 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, October 10, 1947, “Problem of Palestine,” JCS 1684/3.

69 Memo, JCS to Truman, April 19, 1948, “Provision of U.S. Armed Forces in Palestine,” 

JCS 1685/13.

70 Rearden, Formative Years, 187–194; Condit, 51–57.

71 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, July 22, 1948, “U.S. Military Course of Action with Respect 

to the Situation in Berlin,” JCS 1907/3.

72 Douglas to SecState, June 26, 1948, FRUS, 1948, II, 923–924.

73 Millis, 457.

74 Clark and Wheeler, British Origins of Nuclear Strategy, 128–129.

75 John Lewis Gaddis, We Now Know: Rethinking Cold War History (Oxford: Clarendon 

Press, 1997), 198.

76 Rearden, Formative Years, 139.

77 Hewlett and Duncan, Atomic Shield, 161–165, 174–176; Robert S. Norris, Thomas B. 

Cochran, and William M. Arkin, “History of the Nuclear Stockpile,” Bulletin of the 

Atomic Scientists (August 1985), 106–109. Barlow, 127, discusses the impact of the levitation method.

78 Millis, 460–461; Rearden, Formative Years, 425–432.

79 Minutes, 21st Meeting of the National Security Council, September 16, 1948, PSF, 

NSC Series, Truman Library; NSC 30, “U.S. Policy on Atomic Warfare,” September 10, 

1948, FRUS, 1948, I, 624–628.

80 Moody, 229–233.

81 Condit, 124; Rearden, Formative Years, 342.

82 Ibid., 124–131.

83 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, November 2, 1948, “Existing International Commitments 

Involving the Possible Use of Armed Forces,” circulated at NSC 35, November 17, 1948, 

FRUS, 1948, I, 656–662.

84 NSC 20/4, November 23, 1948, “U.S. Objectives with Respect to the USSR to Counter Soviet Threats to U.S. Security,” FRUS 1948, I, 662–669.

85 Letter, Forrestal to Truman, December 1, 1948, FRUS 1948, I, 669–672.

86 Memo, Truman to Webb, December 2, 1948, PSF, Truman Library.

87 USAF CoS Memo, ca. December 16 or 20, 1948, quoted in Williamson and Rearden, 

Origins of U.S. Nuclear Strategy, 95.

88 Denfeld testimony, February 16, 1949, U.S. Congress, Senate, Hearings: National Military 

Establishment Appropriations Bill for 1950, 81:1, Pt. 1, 17.

89 Moody, 265. Other sources give larger numbers. Using JCS historical materials, Ross, 

American War Plans, 1945–50, 139, says that SAC had 521 atomic-capable aircraft by the 

end of 1949. Actually, as the JCS source makes clear, this was the total number of bomb-
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ers in SAC’s inventory at the time. Ross erroneously assumes that all SAC bombers had 

been converted.

90 Diary entry, December 13, 1948, in Robert H. Ferrell, ed., The Eisenhower Diaries (New 

York: W.W. Norton, 1981), 150–151; Condit, 139–152.

91 U.S. National Military Establishment, First Report of the Secretary of Defense (Washington, 

DC: GPO, 1948), 3–4.

92 National Security Act of 1947 as Amended and Approved, August 10, 1949, PL 216, in 

Cole et al., eds., Documents on Defense Organization, 84–106.

93 Rearden, Formative Years, 369–376.

94 Paul Y. Hammond, “Super Carriers and B–36 Bombers: Appropriations, Strategy and 

Politics,” in Harold Stein, ed., American Civil-Military Decisions: A Book of Case Studies

(Birmingham, AL: University of Alabama Press, 1963), 465–564, though dated, is still 

the best overview of the controversy; Moody, 286–313, is a measured account from the 

Air Force perspective; Barlow, 182f, and Paolo E. Coletta, The United States Navy and 

Defense Unification, 1947–1953 (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 1981), give the 

Navy perspective.

95 Memo, SECDEF to JCS, October 23, 1948, “Evaluation of Current Strategic Air Offensive Plans,” JCS 1952; Memo, SECDEF to JCS, October 25, 1948, “Evaluation of 

Effect on Soviet War Effort Resulting from Strategic Air Offensive,” JCS 1953.

96 John Ponturo, Analytical Support for the Joint Chiefs of Staff: The WSEG Experience, 1948–

1976 (Arlington, VA: Institute for Defense Analyses, 1979), 52–53. For the Air Force response, see the Appendix to Memo, CoS USAF to JCS, December 21, 1948, “Evaluation 

of Current Strategic Air Offensive Plans,” JCS 1952/1.

97 Note by the Secretaries to the JCS, October 25, 1948, JCS 1953; Moody, 295.

98 Details of the planned offensive are in Report, JSPC to JCS, December 13, 1948, 

“Atomic Weapons Supplement to TROJAN,” JCS, 1974.

99 Report by the Ad Hoc Committee (Harmon Committee), May 12, 1949, “Evaluation 

of Effect on Soviet War Effort Resulting from the Strategic Air Offensive,” JCS 1953/1.

100 Memo, CoS USAF to JCS, July 8, 1949, JCS 1953/4; Memo, CNO to JCS, July 19, 1949, 

JCS 1953/5; Moody, 295.

101 Truman, Years of Trial and Hope, 305.

102 Rearden, Formative Years, 406–407.

103 G. Pascal Zachary, Endless Frontier: Vannevar Bush, Engineer of the American Century (New 

York: Free Press, 1997), 340.

104 Ponturo, 23–25.

105 Report, JSSC to JCS, February 27, 1948, “Proposed Directive to the RDB,” JCS 1812/5.

106 Ponturo, 27–48.

107 Note by the Secretaries to JCS, August 25, 1949, “Joint Intelligence Estimate,” JCS 

1952/8.

108 See the appendix to Memo, CoS/USAF to JCS, December 21, 1949, “Evaluation of 

Current Strategic Air Offensive Plans,” enclosure to JCS 1952/1.
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109 Memo, CNO to JCS, January 11, 1949, “Evaluation of Current Strategic Air Offensive 

Plans,” JCS 1952/2.

110 Rpt, JIC to JCS, March 3, 1949, “Intelligence Aspects of Evaluation of Current Strategic Air Offensive Plans,” JCS 1952/4; Report, JIC to JCS, August 25, 1949, “Joint 

Intelligence Estimate for Basing Operational Evaluation Success of the Strategic Air 

Offensive,” JCS 1952/8.

111 WSEG R-1, “Report on Evaluation of Effectiveness of Strategic Air Operations,” February 8, 1950, JCS 1952/11; Ponturo, 74–75, summarizes the White House briefing.
President Harry S. Truman meeting General Douglas MacArthur, USA, Wake Island, October 1950
Chapter 4

Militarizing 

the Cold War

Between 1945 and 1950, relations between the United States and the Soviet Union 

underwent a 180-degree transformation. Erstwhile allies in the war against Germany and Japan, they became antagonists in a new global rivalry marked by the ominous expansion of Communist power and influence. While the Joint Chiefs of Staff 

repeatedly urged stronger military power to deal with this situation, their warnings 

had had limited effect on the Truman administration’s fiscal or defense policies. 

Exercising tight control over military spending, Truman preferred to address the 

Communist challenge with political, economic, and diplomatic initiatives. Bowing to these realities, the JCS fashioned a defense posture and war plans oriented 

toward a single contingency—an all-out global conflict. Maintenance of balanced 

conventional forces with flexible capabilities gave way to reliance on strategic bombardment with nuclear weapons as the country’s principal deterrent and first line 

of defense. Not everyone agreed that this was a sound course or that it adequately 

addressed the country’s increasingly diverse security needs. But at the time, reliance 

on strategic bombing with nuclear weapons was the country’s most practical, effective, and affordable form of defense.

Pressures for Change 

While nonmilitary responses to Soviet expansion had generally met with success, 

the growing intensity of the Cold War by 1950 was steadily pushing the Truman 

administration toward an expansion of U.S. military power. Despite its best efforts 

to avoid it, the “militarization” of the Cold War loomed larger than ever as pressures 

converged from three directions at roughly the same time: from Europe, where 

the signing of the North Atlantic Treaty in April 1949 created a new transatlantic 

community of security interests; from China, where the collapse of Chiang Kaishek’s Nationalist regime ushered in a Communist People’s Republic headed by 

Mao Zedong with apparent designs on extending its power and influence across 

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Asia; and from the Soviet Union, where the detonation of a nuclear device in late 

August 1949 ended the American monopoly on the atomic bomb years ahead of 

predictions. Any one of those events could have triggered substantial alterations in 

American foreign and defense policy. Taken together, they were the catalysts for a 

wholesale transformation that would, with the sudden outbreak of the Korea conflict in June 1950, interject military power into the forefront of American responses 

to the escalating Cold War. 

Prior to the Korean War, the administration’s only clear-cut commitment embracing the possible use of military force to thwart Communist expansion was 

the North Atlantic Treaty. During preliminary consideration of the Alliance in the 

spring of 1948, the Joint Chiefs had endorsed the broad concept of a mutual security pact between Europe and the United States, but had warned against “major 

military involvement” without adequate preparations.1

 The White House and State 

Department noted the chiefs’ concerns, but as Undersecretary of State Robert A. 

Lovett explained it, the Alliance’s primary function was consultation in support of 

possible collective action. Like an insurance policy, its immediate role was to bolster 

Europe’s confidence, expedite completion of the Economic Recovery Program, 

and deter the Soviets.2

The principal military component associated with the North Atlantic Treaty 

Organization (NATO) was the Mutual Defense Assistance Program (MDAP), a 

companion measure enacted in October 1949 to help rearm the European allies.3

When the State Department unveiled the program, the Joint Chiefs balked out of 

concern that the Services might have to pay for MDAP out of their own budgets.4

Though assured that assistance to NATO through MDAP would be a separate appropriation, the JCS remained uneasy lest it quickly deplete the dwindling war 

reserves left over from World War II and divert funding for routine military appropriations. In part to guard against NATO becoming a drain on American resources, 

the Joint Chiefs proposed an elaborate structure of councils, committees, boards, 

and regional planning groups to give the JCS detailed oversight powers of NATO’s 

activities.5

 Secretary of State Dean Acheson acknowledged that as NATO became 

more established, pressures were bound to arise for a larger U.S. military role and a 

more complex organization. But for the time being he saw no pressing need and vetoed the chiefs’ plan in preference for a simpler alliance structure that played down 

direct American military involvement and responsibility.6

Meanwhile, the disintegration of Nationalist rule on the China mainland was reshaping the security situation in the Far East. Given the leadership problems and poor 

performance of Nationalist Chinese forces during World War II, Chiang Kai-shek’s 

collapse came as no surprise to the Joint Chiefs, who never had much confidence 
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in the Generalissimo’s ability to lead China out of the war as a great power. But 

because of China’s strategic location, large population, and latent military potential, 

the JCS were also averse to a Communist takeover of the country and a loss of U.S. 

influence. As a result, throughout the postwar period, they consistently supported 

infusions of military aid to prop up the Generalissimo’s regime, even as Chiang’s 

rule began to crumble. 

Of the President’s various advisors, the most reluctant to come to Chiang’s 

rescue was former Army Chief of Staff General George C. Marshall. In November 

1945, President Truman had persuaded Marshall to go to China as his special representative. Marshall had served in China in the 1920s as a junior officer, and during 

World War II he had suffered through Stilwell’s ordeal with Chiang. Like Stilwell, he 

had little confidence in the Generalissimo’s leadership, reliability as an ally, or capacity to make effective use of U.S. assistance. But as a loyal soldier he felt duty-bound 

to accept the mission. Through Marshall’s good offices, Truman hoped to broker a 

power-sharing agreement between Chiang and his Communist rival, Mao Zedong, 

a nominal ally of the Soviet Union, that would buy time for Chiang to strengthen 

his position and, with U.S. assistance and logistical support, move his troops into 

positions where they could effectively confront Mao’s forces.7

 Chiang ignored Marshall’s advice to seek a political compromise and sought to use his three-to-one 

advantage in troop strength to achieve a military solution. Exuding confidence, he 

overextended his forces into North China and Manchuria where they suffered one 

setback after another.8

By 1949, Chiang’s military fortunes had declined to such an extent that he 

was taking steps to relocate his regime from the mainland to the island of Taiwan 

(Formosa) for what appeared to be a last stand. Short of massive U.S. intervention, 

the Joint Chiefs saw nothing that might turn the tide. Though they hoped to keep 

Taiwan (with or without Chiang there) from falling into Communist hands, they 

did not consider it sufficiently important to merit large-scale military action. The 

most they would recommend was the deployment of a few ships for deterrence 

purposes and the use of diplomatic leverage.9

 Since the Nationalist regime had 

strong political support in Washington, however, the JCS cautioned against abandoning Chiang altogether “at the eleventh hour” and urged the continuation of 

military assistance as long as Nationalist armies offered organized resistance.10 Above 

all, they wanted to keep an American military presence on the China mainland and 

fought a losing battle with the State Department and the White House to keep the 

U.S. naval base at Qingdao (Tsingtao) open. Secretary of State Acheson thought the 

United States should disengage from Chiang as soon as possible and direct its efforts 

toward a rapprochement with Mao and the Communists. Counseled by the State 
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Department’s “China Hands,” Acheson believed it feasible “to detach [China] from 

subservience to Moscow and over a period of time encourage those vigorous influences which might modify it.”11 But he faced an uphill battle convincing Congress 

and overcoming the “China Lobby,” which wanted stronger measures to resist the 

spread of communism in the Far East and additional support to save what remained 

of Chiang’s regime. 

The H-Bomb Decision and NSC 68 

The third and most fateful development that went into reshaping U.S. security perceptions was the discovery, reported to President Truman on September 9, 1949, that 

the Soviet Union had detonated a nuclear device similar in design to the implosion 

bomb the United States dropped on Nagasaki 4 years earlier. Without warning, the 

American nuclear monopoly had ended. The Intelligence Community later determined that the test—“Joe 1”—had taken place on August 29, 1949.12 While analysts 

at the Central Intelligence Agency had known for some time that the Soviet Union 

had an atomic energy program, they miscalculated the Soviet Union’s capacity to 

produce fissionable materials and failed to appreciate either the high priority Stalin 

attached to acquiring nuclear weapons or the crucial role Soviet espionage played 

in expediting the project.13 As a result, they consistently underestimated both the 

extent of the Soviet effort and when it would come to fruition. Prior to Joe 1, the 

most recent interagency assessment of the Soviet program, dated July 1, 1949, placed 

the “probable” date for a Soviet atomic capability in the mid-1953 range, with the 

“possibility” of a nuclear test as early as mid-1950. Weighing the evidence, the consensus of the Intelligence Community was that the Soviet Union’s “first atomic 

bomb cannot be completed before mid-1951.”14

While the White House downplayed the achievement, the danger posed by 

growing Soviet military power was impossible to ignore. Up to that time, the Truman administration had relied implicitly, if not explicitly, on its nuclear monopoly 

to underwrite its policies. “As long as we can outproduce the world, can control the 

sea and can strike inland with the atomic bomb,” Secretary of Defense Forrestal had 

once observed, “we can assume certain risks otherwise unacceptable.”15 With that 

formula now rendered suspect, it was no longer clear whether the United States 

could continue to mount effective deterrence and containment of the Soviet Union 

with the military capabilities it had on hand.

The most urgent need was to reassert the American lead in atomic energy. At 

issue was whether the United States should embark on a “quantum jump” into the 

unexplored realm of nuclear fusion and the development of “super” bombs based 
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on hydrogen or thermonuclear design. Such weapons in theory could produce 

yields a thousand times greater than fission bombs. In November 1949, seeking 

advice on how to proceed, President Truman turned to the “Z Committee” of 

the National Security Council (NSC), composed of Secretary of State Acheson, 

Secretary of Defense Johnson, and the Chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission, David E. Lilienthal.16 As the committee’s military advisors, the Joint Chiefs 

acknowledged that high-yield super bombs would be hard to deliver and therefore 

would have limited military applications. All the same, the chiefs believed that for 

political and psychological reasons, it was absolutely imperative to proceed with a 

determination test. “Possession of a thermonuclear weapon by the USSR,” the JCS 

insisted, “without such possession by the United States would be intolerable.”17 Lilienthal, however, harbored misgivings. Believing the H-bomb morally repugnant, 

he found the military’s growing dependence on nuclear weapons deeply troubling 

and became convinced that the United States needed increased conventional capabilities and a renewed commitment to obtaining international control of atomic 

energy more than it needed thermonuclear weapons.18

On January 31, 1950, President Truman approved a compromise crafted by 

Acheson. As the first step, the President directed the AEC to explore the feasibility of the H-bomb, thus setting in motion a research and development program 

that would culminate on November 1, 1952, with the world’s first thermonuclear 

explosion—a 10 megaton device that completely vaporized the Pacific atoll where 

the test was held. Meanwhile, he instructed the State and Defense Departments 

to review the country’s basic national security policy.19 Acheson shared Lilienthal’s 

concern over the military’s growing dependence on nuclear weapons, not least of 

all because he felt it limited diplomatic flexibility. But he also thought the United 

States had to have the H-bomb because “we do not have any other military program which seems to offer over the short run promise of military effectiveness.”20 In 

recommending a review of basic policy, Acheson later explained, he hoped to find 

some middle ground that would restore greater balance to the country’s military 

posture and expand its ability to meet unforeseen contingencies.21

The Joint Chiefs embarked on the review with no such preconceptions or 

expectations. The previous November, Secretary of Defense Johnson had removed 

Admiral Louis Denfeld as Chief of Naval Operations on grounds of insubordination for his role in the “Revolt of the Admirals,” which had challenged Johnson’s 

authority through highly publicized attacks on his economy measures and the Air 

Force’s strategic bombing capabilities.22 Since then, Johnson had further tightened 

his control of the Defense Department and military spending. Confirming rumors 

and press reports, Johnson notified the Joint Chiefs in late February 1950 that the 
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military budget for FY52 would remain at approximately the same level as that 

projected for FY51. Since the Secretary’s estimates made no allowance for inflation, 

except for the Air Force, Johnson’s hold-the-line spending policy amounted to a net 

decrease in programs for the Army and Navy. Using the Secretary’s budget guidance 

as their frame of reference, the Joint Chiefs initially had to assume that any changes 

the State-Defense review might recommend would be modest at best.23

State’s participants in the review had other ideas. Though ostensibly a collaborative effort, the dominant influence throughout was the new director of the Policy 

Planning Staff, Paul H. Nitze. A Wall Street bond trader before World War II, Nitze 

was well versed in statistics, which, as Vice Chairman of the U.S. Strategic Bombing 

Survey, he used to great effect in analyzing the results of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 

1945. Joining the State Department after the war, he had emerged as one of State’s 

senior economic analysts and was instrumental in developing the Marshall Plan. A 

pragmatist and problem-solver by nature, Nitze gave a higher priority to the role of 

military power in foreign policy than his academically-minded predecessor, George 

F. Kennan, who had fallen out of favor with Acheson.24

JCS contributions to the review group’s work came via the Joint Strategic 

Survey Committee (JSSC), represented by its Air Force member, Major General 

Truman H. Landon. Nitze recalled that initially Landon presented modest proposals to correct minor deficiencies in the existing force posture. He soon realized, 

however, “that we were serious about doing a basic strategic review and not just 

writing some papers which would help people promote special projects of one kind 

or another.” From the quick change in Landon’s outlook, Nitze detected that “there 

was, in fact, a revolt from within” brewing at the Pentagon against Johnson’s fiscal 

policies and strategic priorities.25

The review process stretched from mid-February to early April 1950, when the 

State-Defense review group presented its findings (NSC 68) to the National Security Council. About a third of the report was a close analysis of the Soviet threat, 

drawn from intelligence estimates that indicated an inordinately large investment by 

the Soviet Union (up to 40 percent of its gross national product) in military power and war-supporting industries. By mid-1954—the “year of maximum danger” 

in the report’s estimation—the Soviets would have a nuclear stockpile that could 

threaten serious damage to the United States. Extrapolating motives from capabilities, NSC 68 concluded that “the Soviet Union has one purpose and that is world 

domination.” To frustrate the “Kremlin design,” the paper urged the adoption of “a 

comprehensive and decisive program” resulting in “a rapid and sustained buildup 

of the political, economic, and military strength of the free world.” While NSC 68 

strongly endorsed the maintenance of effective nuclear capabilities for deterrence 
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purposes, it also called for significant expansion of conventional air, ground, and sea 

forces “to the point where we are militarily not so heavily dependent on atomic 

weapons.”26

Missing from NSC 68 were any cost estimates for the buildup or a projected allocation of resources among the armed Services. Both omissions were intentional—

the first, in order not to frighten off President Truman from accepting the report, 

the second, to avoid provoking competition and friction within the Pentagon. According to one of his biographers, Acheson wanted to avoid overwhelming Truman 

with “programmatic details” by offering him instead “a general analysis oriented 

toward action.”27 Privately, Nitze and others who worked on NSC 68 estimated that 

it would require expenditures of $35 billion to $50 billion annually over the next 4 

years. While Nitze made these calculations known to Acheson, there is no evidence 

that the Secretary of State conveyed them to Truman. The report conceded that the 

program would be “costly” and probably would require higher taxes to avoid deficit 

budgets. But it did not dwell on these points.28

Truman, for his part, continued to treat costs as his uppermost concern. Immediately after receiving NSC 68, he directed the creation of an ad hoc committee 

of economic experts to go over its findings and recommendations.29 The consensus of this group was that, while the report’s proposed course of action would be 

expensive, it would not place undue burdens on the economy as long as adequate 

safeguards were in place. The lone dissenting view was from the Bureau of the Budget, which saw adverse consequences for the economy should military spending 

rise sharply.30 Truman agreed and said as much during a meeting with his budget 

director, Frederick J. Lawton, on May 23, 1950. “The President indicated,” Lawton 

noted in his minutes of the meeting, “that we were to continue to raise any questions that we had on this program and that it definitely was not as large in scope as 

some of the people seemed to think.” Translating the President’s guidance into hard 

numbers, the BOB projected NSC 68 increases of $1 billion to $3 billion annually 

over the next 2 to 3 years.31

At the Pentagon, the Joint Chiefs were under similar pressure from Louis Johnson to curb expectations that NSC 68 would result in dramatic increases in military 

spending. Though Johnson paid lip service to the report, he resented its implied conclusion that the country’s defense posture had become enfeebled under his trusteeship 

and took offense at what he saw as Acheson’s unwarranted interference in Defense 

Department business. Going through all the proper motions, he directed the JCS and 

the Services to assemble estimates of the “general tasks and responsibilities” mandated 

under NSC 68, but to bear in mind that until the President indicated otherwise, 

guidelines and ceilings previously established for the FY52 budget remained firmly in 
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place.32 Confident that he had the matter in hand, Johnson left Washington on June 

12, 1950, accompanied by Chairman of the Joint Chiefs (CJCS) General Omar N. 

Bradley, USA, for a tour of the Far East to discuss security arrangements for a Japanese 

peace treaty with General Douglas MacArthur, the theater commander.

On the eve of the Korean War, the fate of NSC 68 remained uncertain. President Truman had yet to approve the report and there were unmistakable signs that 

if and when he did, it would produce a considerably smaller buildup than its authors intended. The American defense establishment was already far larger and more 

costly than any country had ever known in peacetime, and to propose significant 

increases could have provoked a divisive national debate. Although NSC 68 offered 

ample evidence that the Soviet Union posed a growing threat to Western security, 

nothing in the report confirmed that spending three, four, or even ten times more 

on defense would afford better insurance against a Soviet attack than the existing investment of resources. Only after the outbreak of the Korean War would it become 

clear that the existing defense posture had failed to deter Communist aggression.

Onset of the Korean War 

Like the Soviet nuclear test the previous August, the North Korean invasion of 

South Korea on June 25, 1950 (Korea time), caught official Washington off guard. 

Even though NSC 68 had warned policymakers and military planners to be on the 

alert, no one expected a blatant act of aggression so soon. With most of its limited 

assets concentrated on Europe, the Intelligence Community had paid relatively little 

attention to the Far East prior to the North Korean attack. As one Army intelligence officer described the situation, “North Korea got lost in the shuffle and 

nobody told us they were interested in what was going on north of the 38th parallel.” If war broke out or if a Communist takeover occurred, intelligence analysts 

expected Indochina rather than Korea to be the target.33

Gathering information on Korea posed special difficulties. Wary of outsiders, 

MacArthur had banned the OSS from his theater in World War II and was suspicious of allowing its successor, the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), into his midst 

after the war. Operating under severe restrictions, the Agency came up with generalized estimates that credited North Korea with limited capabilities for military 

aggression. As late as June 19, 1950, the CIA predicted that the Communists would 

confine their actions against the south to propaganda, infiltration, sabotage, and subversion.34 An Army (G-2) intelligence report generated around this same time was 

more precise in identifying signs of enemy troop movements and the like, but by the 

time this information reached Washington, the war was in full swing.35
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Carefully planned and executed, the North Korean invasion had Stalin’s blessing and support and involved approximately 90,000 North Korean troops, armed 

and trained by the Soviet Union. Early reports were vague, but as the fighting 

intensified it was apparent that this was no mere border skirmish, as initial reports 

suggested, but an all-out assault with the ultimate aim of destroying the Americansupported Republic of Korea (ROK) in the south and absorbing the Korean Peninsula into the Communist orbit.36

Despite the seriousness of the situation, the Joint Chiefs initially saw no grounds 

for American military intervention, since at the time the United States had no formal defense commitments with South Korea. Divided in 1945 as an expediency at 

the 38th parallel to facilitate the disarming of Japanese troops by U.S. and Soviet 

forces, Korea had evolved into two distinct political entities—a Communist regime 

in the north headed by the Moscow-trained and Soviet-supported Kim Il-song, and 

a more democratic, U.S.-backed government in the south led by Syngman Rhee.37

While aware of South Korea’s vulnerability, the Joint Chiefs needed the occupation 

forces stationed there for duty elsewhere and wanted to limit further U.S. involvement. In September 1947, they declared the country to be of “little strategic interest” 

to the United States, the first step toward withdrawing U.S. troops. Completed in 

the spring of 1949, the withdrawal left behind large stockpiles of war materiel and 

a 500-member U.S. Korean Military Advisory Group (KMAG) to train and equip 

ROK forces against any threat from the north.38 A few days prior to the invasion, 

during his trip to Tokyo in June 1950 with Secretary of Defense Johnson, General 

Bradley discussed the situation with Brigadier General William L. Roberts, USA, 

who had recently stepped down as KMAG’s chief. “The ROK Army,” Roberts assured the Chairman, “could meet any test the North Koreans imposed on it.”39

The Communist success in routing the ROK forces shattered these comfortable assumptions and forced a hasty rethinking of U.S. policy. Like his predecessor 

during the early stages of World War II, President Truman met regularly with his top 

advisors and took a hands-on approach to the crisis; but unlike Roosevelt, he turned 

for advice more to civilians (in this case Secretary of State Dean Acheson) than to 

the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Owing to earlier decisions leading to the withdrawal of 

U.S. forces and the downgrading of South Korea’s strategic importance, the JCS 

had not given much thought to the possibility of military action on the Korean 

Peninsula. When the crisis erupted, they lacked contingency plans for dealing with 

the emergency and had to improvise with impromptu assessments, personal opinions, and hastily drawn orders for mobilizing and moving forces.40 Exactly why the 

Joint Chiefs were so unprepared and slow to respond remains unclear, but it doubtless reflected to some extent their continuing indifference toward Korea’s strategic 
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importance and the personnel ceiling under which the Joint Staff operated at the 

time. Even though the 1949 amendments had doubled the size of the Joint Staff, it 

remained a relatively small organization with limited capabilities.

Acheson, in contrast, appeared at these meetings with the President fully 

briefed and prepared, invariably bearing detailed memorandums and lists of recommendations that reflected dedicated staff work. Within hours of the news of the 

attack, he placed before the President proposals to expedite additional assistance 

to the South Koreans, to establish a “protective zone” around South Korea with 

U.S. air and naval forces, and to mobilize international opinion against the attack 

through the United Nations. Over the next several days, Acheson offered more 

recommendations, all moving inexorably toward large-scale U.S. military intervention under UN auspices. Six months earlier, Acheson, like the JCS, had more or less 

written off Korea and the rest of the East Asian mainland. But under the pressure 

of new events and still smarting from Republican attacks that his policies had “lost” 

China to the Communists, he had had a change of heart and saw the North Korean 

attack as a test of American will. “To back away from this challenge, in view of our 

capacity for meeting it,” he wrote in his memoirs, “would be highly destructive of 

the power and prestige of the United States.”41

The Joint Chiefs agreed that the North Korean attack challenged American 

resolve. But they accepted the need for military intervention with the utmost reluctance and initially hoped that air and naval power would suffice. The most readily available ground forces in the region were those of the Eighth Army, whose 

four divisions were all below authorized strength and short of critical weapons and 

equipment.42 More aware than anyone of the constraints imposed by years of frugal 

defense budgets, the JCS made no attempt to disguise their belief that all-out intervention would be a highly risky business, requiring the mobilization of Reserve and 

National Guard units and emergency appropriations at a minimum. Should the war 

spread, warned the Air Force Chief of Staff, General Hoyt S. Vandenberg, the use of 

nuclear weapons would be the next step, a view shared by other senior commanders.43 Above all, the JCS hoped to avoid committing U.S. ground troops but stopped 

short of recommending against such a move. Later, in explaining to Congress how 

the decision to send troops into Korea had come about, Louis Johnson observed 

that he and the Joint Chiefs had “neither recommended it nor opposed it.”44

On Truman’s shoulders rested all final decisions. While accepting Acheson’s 

advice that the United States needed to make a forceful stand in Korea, he moved 

cautiously and intervened in incremental steps. Starting with the authorization of 

air and sea operations below the 38th parallel on June 26 (Washington time), he 

progressed to the commitment of U.S. ground forces 4 days later. Showing renewed 
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interest in the fate of Taiwan, he ordered elements of the Seventh Fleet to take up 

station in the Formosa Strait to deter a resumption of the conflict between Chiang 

and the Chinese Communists.45

While accepting the need for action, Truman resisted the notion that the current emergency might compel a military buildup on the scale proposed in NSC 

68. Sidestepping the problem, he inadvertently trivialized the dangers of intervention by publicly describing the North Korean attack as the work of “a bunch of 

bandits” that a “police action” could handle.46 His description made it appear the 

United States could turn back the North Koreans and comfortably meet defense 

obligations elsewhere. But with the situation continuing to deteriorate, the President notified Congress on July 19, 1950, that at the urging of his military advisors, 

he was calling up units of the National Guard and would need additional military 

appropriations and authority to remove the ceiling on the size of the Armed Forces. 

Even so, he continued to defer action on adopting NSC 68 as administration policy 

and asked the National Security Council to reassess the report’s requirements, with 

a view to providing recommendations by the beginning of September. Despite the 

ongoing conflict, he told the Bureau of the Budget that he did not want to place 

“any more money than necessary at this time in the hands of the Military.”47

The Inch’on Operation 

Truman believed that if the war in Korea could be contained and won quickly, he 

might get by with relatively modest increases in defense spending and other security programs. What he did not take into account was General Douglas MacArthur’s 

penchant for independent and unpredictable behavior. American military policy 

had traditionally given commanders in the field wide latitude to deal with situations as they deemed appropriate. In MacArthur’s case, however, there were inherent liabilities in extending this practice too far. During World War II, when 

the JCS had functioned as a high command, they had been able to exercise a 

degree of control over MacArthur through the allocation of resources and through 

the powers they derived from their unique relationship with the President. 

But from 1947 on, the JCS no longer had such sweeping authority. Meantime, 

MacArthur operated from his headquarters in Tokyo with a lengthening list of 

titles, including all-encompassing powers as head of the American occupation and 

Commander in Chief, Far East (CINCFE), which gave him authority over U.S. 

land, sea, and air forces throughout the theater. As of July 8, 1950, he also served as 

the United Nations commander (CINCUNC) in accordance with a UN Security 

Council resolution.48
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In Korea, MacArthur found himself waging a war heavy in political overtones which, despite his vast authority, imposed limits on his military flexibility. 

He responded by treating the policy pronouncements and directives he received 

from both Washington and the UN as advisory and thus subject to interpretation. 

Seeking to stem the enemy advance, he ordered the destruction of North Korean 

airfields a day before President Truman authorized it. By early August 1950, he had 

antagonized the White House and the State Department with a trip to Taiwan 

and public statements afterwards (including a proposed message to the Veterans of 

Foreign Wars, later withdrawn at Truman’s insistence) suggesting the restoration of 

military collaboration and a de facto alliance between Chiang Kai-shek’s regime 

and the United States. His repeated requests for more U.S. combat troops to shore 

up the South Koreans reflected not simply the gravity of the situation, but also his 

longstanding contention that policymakers in Washington misunderstood the Far 

East and underestimated its strategic significance. By and large, the Joint Chiefs were 

in accord with MacArthur’s assessments. But they could sense a showdown coming 

between MacArthur and the Commander in Chief and had no desire to be caught 

in the middle.49

Despite their differences, Truman and MacArthur both saw the war in Korea 

as a diversion from larger issues and wanted it brought to a swift conclusion. With 

this end in mind, MacArthur proposed a counterattack involving a risky large-scale 

amphibious landing in the enemy’s rear. After the contretemps over Taiwan, Truman 

was so irritated with MacArthur that he gave “serious thought” to replacing him 

with Bradley. But he dropped the idea because he thought the Chairman would 

consider it a demotion.50 Even though he disliked MacArthur personally, Truman 

needed the general’s expertise to execute the counterattack. During World War II, 

MacArthur had developed and perfected amphibious operations to a fine art, and he 

proposed to apply his skills again to rout the North Korean People’s Army. 

The most questionable part of the operation was MacArthur’s choice of 

Inch’on, a port west of Seoul, as the landing site. While a successful invasion there 

would put UN forces astride enemy supply lines and block a North Korean retreat, 

extensive mud flats and tidal variations made landing conditions treacherous. “I realize,” MacArthur observed at one point while planning the operation, “that Inchon 

is a 5,000 to 1 gamble, but I am used to taking such odds. We shall land at Inchon 

and I shall crush them.”51 In fact, the odds were better than MacArthur let on. 

Thanks to a hastily arranged signals intelligence (SIGINT) intercept program, U.S. 

code breakers in Washington had succeeded in penetrating North Korean communications in late July 1950. From that point on, MacArthur and the JCS had a fairly 

full picture of the North Korean order of battle and knew that after weeks of heavy 
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fighting, the North Koreans were running low on replacements and supplies. Most 

important of all, the intercepted messages disclosed that there were no large enemy 

units in the Inch’on area to oppose a landing.52

Coordination between MacArthur and the JCS for the Inch’on operation was 

haphazard. In early July 1950, the Joint Chiefs began hearing rumors that MacArthur was planning a counterattack. Despite repeated requests for details, it was not 

until July 23 that he apprised the JCS of his intentions.53 MacArthur planned the 

attack, code-named Chromite, for mid-September and needed additional reinforcements which, if granted, would leave only the 82d Airborne Division in the strategic 

reserve. There followed a succession of high-level conferences at the Pentagon and 

the White House culminating in the decision to send a JCS delegation headed by 

General J. Lawton Collins, Army Chief of Staff, and Admiral Forrest P. Sherman, 

Chief of Naval Operations, to Tokyo to discuss the matter with MacArthur and his 

staff. Reassured that the Inch’on landing was feasible, albeit risky, they returned to 

Washington and persuaded their colleagues to agree to allocate the additional units 

MacArthur wanted. On September 7, the JCS notified MacArthur that he had the 

authority to proceed.54

From this point on, citing operational security needs, MacArthur rarely communicated with the JCS until after the Inch’on operation on September 15, 1950. 

With access to the same SIGINT that MacArthur and the JCS had, President Truman later insisted that he was not in the least bothered by MacArthur’s behavior and 

had the “greatest confidence” the landing would succeed.55 As a precaution, however, should the operation fail and a change of commanders become necessary, he 

gave Bradley a fifth star, reaffirming his authority. At the same time, in a move that 

many observers considered long overdue, he replaced Louis Johnson as Secretary of 

Defense and named General George C. Marshall as his successor. An admirer and 

personal friend of MacArthur’s, Johnson was too closely identified with the general 

for President Truman’s comfort, while his economy measures and disagreements 

with Acheson had become a distinct liability. With the Inch’on operation looming, 

the President used the occasion to put his house in order for the larger tasks that 

lay ahead.56

As MacArthur predicted, Chromite was a stunning success that quickly turned 

the tide of battle against the North Korean invaders. By the time the operation took 

place, MacArthur had at his disposal a UN force of nearly 200,000 ground combat 

troops, including 113,500 Americans, 81,500 South Koreans, and 3,000 British and 

Filipinos. Within a week, his forces had driven to the outskirts of Seoul, the South 

Korean capital. On September 27, they linked up with Lieutenant General Walton 

H. Walker’s Eighth Army, which had pushed north from where it had taken up 
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defensive positions near Pusan on the southeastern coast. Seoul fell to the United 

Nations Command (UNC) on September 28, and the next day MacArthur restored 

the government of President Syngman Rhee to its capital. By the end of the month, 

the North Korean army had ceased to exist as an organized fighting force. Still, as 

much as a third of the 90,000 North Koreans who had participated in the attack and 

most of the North Korean high command made their way north across the border 

and began to regroup. At great cost and effort, the UN coalition had thrown the 

aggressors back, but it was in no position yet to declare total victory.57

Policy in Flux 

The greatest military triumphs of MacArthur’s long career, the Inch’on landing 

and the ensuing rout of the North Koreans were also a huge relief to Truman and 

the Joint Chiefs, who had thrown practically everything into the attack the United 

States could muster on such short notice. The victory, however, left the cupboard 

bare. Realizing that forces would need to be replenished and rebuilt, both to finish 

the job in Korea and for general rearmament, President Truman on September 29 

took the step he had long postponed—approving NSC 68 and referring it to the 

Executive departments and agencies “as a statement of policy to be followed over 

the next four or five years.”58

Whether President Truman would actually implement NSC 68 to the full extent its authors envisioned remained to be seen. Prior to Inch’on, the Joint Chiefs 

had assumed that there would probably be an extended conflict in Asia and an openended emergency requiring large-scale augmentation elsewhere of the Armed forces. To meet estimated requirements, they projected an active duty defense establishment by the end of FY54 of 3.2 million uniformed personnel (double the current 

strength) organized into an Army of 18 divisions, a Navy of nearly 400 combatant 

vessels (including 12 attack carriers), and an Air Force of 95 wings, with a third of 

them dedicated to strategic bombardment.59 But given the Inch’on success, Truman 

began to doubt whether a defense establishment of such size was needed. When he 

approved NSC 68, he told the National Security Council, with General Bradley 

present representing the JCS, that “costs were not final” and that “there were certain 

things that could be done right now, while others should be studied further.”60

Truman’s ambivalence reflected the continuing uncertainty surrounding the 

situation in Korea and its impact on American defense obligations elsewhere, Europe especially. Even though MacArthur had the North Koreans on the run, his 

failure to deliver the coup de grace meant that the conflict could go on indefinitely. 

The Joint Chiefs had no desire to keep large numbers of U.S. forces tied down in 
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Korea, but they did not want U.S. troops to leave until the campaign had run its 

course. At issue was whether to seek modest objectives, such as restoration of the 

status quo ante, or the complete destruction of the North Korean armed forces 

and the reunification of Korea under UN authority. Anticipating that UN forces 

would eventually regain the initiative, State and the JCS had debated this matter at 

length during July and August 1950, but had been unable to come up with a definitive answer. The best they could recommend was a wait-and-see policy. All agreed, 

however, that the longer the fighting lasted, the greater the chances of Soviet or 

Chinese intervention, that the risk would increase significantly if or when UN 

forces approached the Chinese and Soviet borders, and that MacArthur should be 

cautioned against launching major military operations north of the 38th parallel 

without consulting the President.61

Inch’on and the ensuing rout of the North Korean army created opportunities that seemed too good to pass up. Toward the end of September 1950, Secretary 

Marshall advised MacArthur to feel free to continue operations north of the 38th 

parallel, with the implied objective of liquidating the remnants of the North Korean 

army. A week later, on October 7, the UN General Assembly passed a resolution 

reaffirming its desire to unify Korea. Nonetheless, Truman remained uneasy over 

the possibility of Soviet or Chinese intervention. Unable to persuade MacArthur to 

return to Washington for consultations, Truman agreed to fly to Wake Island in the 

Pacific—a 15,000 mile trip—for a hastily arranged review of plans and strategy on 

October 15. General Bradley was the only JCS member to accompany the President. 

Though it lasted barely 2 hours, the Wake Island conference was perhaps the 

most fateful meeting of the war. Despite SIGINT intercepts indicating a massing 

of Chinese troops in Manchuria just north of the Yalu River, MacArthur dismissed 

the possibility that the Chinese might intervene. Should they do so, he was confident that he could defeat them with airpower. “If the Chinese tried to get down to 

Pyongyang,” he said, “there would be the greatest slaughter.” Bradley was skeptical, 

but since the SIGINT intercepts were inconclusive on Chinese intentions, he had 

no basis for challenging MacArthur’s analysis. Convinced that the North Koreans 

were beaten, MacArthur predicted the end of organized resistance by Thanksgiving, 

the withdrawal of the Eighth Army to Japan by Christmas, and the redeployment of 

one of its divisions to Europe in January 1951, leaving two U.S. divisions in Korea 

for security.62

Proclaiming the Wake Island meeting “successful,” Truman returned to Washington “highly pleased” with the outcome.63 Despite its brevity and superficiality, 

the meeting produced two important results. First, it gave MacArthur a green light 

to proceed with military operations above the 38th parallel and, implicitly, to use his 
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forces to reunify Korea. And second, it reassured Truman that he had made the right 

decision to hold back on military spending in anticipation that the war would soon 

be over. NSC 68 notwithstanding, Truman believed that the buildup had peaked 

and that the time had come to level off. By early November 1950, the Office of the 

Secretary of Defense was pressing the Joint Chiefs to reconsider their force-level 

projections for FY52 and to reduce manpower requirements to fit within “a realistic 

military budget.”64

Meanwhile, MacArthur’s spectacular earlier successes were about to prove 

short-lived. The first hint that he had underestimated the enemy threat came in 

late October 1950 as UN armies approached the Manchurian border. In a surprising new development, ROK units encountered Chinese forces that expertly 

concealed their real strength. Based on prisoner interrogations, the Central Intelligence Agency distributed findings in early November 1950 confirming that 

the Chinese had begun infiltrating around mid-October and now had one and a 

half or two divisions operating in Korea.65 (The correct figure was 18 divisions.) 

MacArthur initially assumed that these troops were part of a limited covert intervention, but within a few days came fresh evidence, as MacArthur characterized it, that the Chinese were “pouring across” the border from Manchuria into 

North Korea.66

MacArthur wanted to isolate the invading Chinese by using U.S. B–29s to 

bomb the bridges spanning the Yalu River, Korea’s frontier with China. In the view 

of some critics, MacArthur’s intention was to expand the war and turn it into a crusade against communism in the Far East. The Joint Chiefs never subscribed to this 

thesis, but they did worry that an aggressive air campaign extending into Manchuria 

might give the Soviets an excuse to intervene alongside the Chinese. Consequently, 

even though the JCS gave MacArthur a free hand to bomb below the Yalu River, 

they cautioned him to exercise “extreme care” to avoid hitting targets in Manchuria 

or violating Chinese air space.67

While MacArthur and the JCS debated how to handle the Chinese, the UNC 

advance continued, with some Allied units reaching the Yalu by November 21. Disaster struck 4 days later as the People’s Liberation Army unleashed a full-scale 

offensive, inflicting heavy casualties. As General Bradley described the situation to 

the President, the Chinese had “come in with both feet.”68 Seeing no other choice, 

MacArthur ordered an immediate withdrawal back down the peninsula. On November 28, he notified the JCS that he now confronted as many as 200,000 Chinese 

and 50,000 North Koreans and “an entirely new war.”69 An easy march north to 

destroy the remnants of the North Korean army and to reunify Korea now became 

a headlong retreat south. 
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Impact of the Chinese Intervention 

The Chinese intervention changed everything. Almost overnight, JCS planners 

found themselves scrapping plans to curtail the buildup and developing new ones 

to accelerate the rearmament program and to expand its base. Instead of using 

mid-1954 (NSC 68’s “year of maximum danger”) as their culmination point, the 

Joint Chiefs, working with OSD and the National Security Council, moved the 

date up to mid-1952 and reprogrammed manpower and force targets accordingly. 

Truman, fearing that the costs would bankrupt the country and send the economy 

into recession, hesitated to commit to a stepped-up effort. But by the end of November 1950, with the Communist onslaught in high gear, he acknowledged that 

the situation required sweeping action. What was needed, he said, was a more rapid 

expansion of military power, to “prevent all-out world war and [to] be prepared for 

it if we can’t prevent it.”70

The ensuing buildup became the largest “peacetime” rearmament in American 

history up to that time, later surpassed only by the Reagan buildup of the 1980s. 

From a FY50 base of around $12 billion, defense outlays rose to $20 billion the following year, to $39 billion in FY52, and to $43 billion in FY53, the last budget enacted under the Truman administration. During this same period, Active-duty military personnel increased from 1.4 million to 3.5 million, the Army expanded from 

10 to 20 divisions, the Navy grew from 238 major combatant vessels to 401, and the 

Air Force more than doubled in size from 48 to 98 wings. While the emphasis on 

nuclear retaliation remained, significant improvements in conventional capabilities 

signaled the return to a more robust, balanced force posture. In addition, the military assistance program, atomic energy, foreign intelligence, the Voice of America, 

and Radio Free Europe all received substantial funding increases. Overall, the allocations for defense and related national security programs climbed from 5.1 percent 

of the country’s gross national product (GNP) in FY50 to 14.5 percent in FY53.71

With greater resources becoming available, the JCS directed the Joint Staff to 

step up the preparation of strategic plans that looked beyond the immediate budget 

cycle in the annual Joint Outline Emergency War Plan (JOEWP). These longer range 

plans attempted to anticipate the scale of effort for a global war with the Soviet 

Union and its allies years in advance. The most fully developed long-range plan, 

known as DROPSHOT, was under consideration when the Korean War began 

and projected a large-scale conventional mobilization for a war fought along World 

War II lines in 1957. Never approved, DROPSHOT was withdrawn in February 

1951 and superseded by REAPER, a mid-range plan that anticipated a war in 1954. 

Among its innovations, REAPER attempted to incorporate an active defense of 
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Europe and to take into account the impact of a nuclear exchange between the 

United States and the Soviet Union. Inter-Service differences over the allocation of 

assets, however, left REAPER’s approval in limbo. Increased defense spending could 

ease—but not eliminate—the inter-Service competition for funds and resources.72

Given the difficulties of reaching inter-Service agreement and the complexities of trying to develop individual plans to cover all contingencies, the Joint Chiefs 

decided in July 1952 to phase in new procedures to meet their strategic planning 

obligations. Under the new system, the JCS embraced a “family” of plans, each 

updated annually: the Joint Strategic Capabilities Plan (JSCP), which replaced the 

JOEWP, indicating the disposition, employment, and support of existing forces 

available to the unified and specified commanders to carry out their missions; the 

Joint Strategic Objectives Plan (JSOP), estimating Service requirements for the next 

3 years; and the Joint Long-Range Strategic Estimate (JLRSE), a 5-year projection 

of force requirements emphasizing research and development needs.73 Though subjected to frequent refinements and adjustments, these formats remained the joint 

strategic planning system until the Goldwater-Nichols Defense Reorganization Act 

of 1986 compelled a reassessment of planning procedures resulting in the adoption 

in 1989 of new arrangements vesting sole responsibility for discharging JCS strategic planning functions in the CJCS.74

A further consequence of the Korean War buildup was to restore the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff to a close approximation of the prestige and influence they had 

enjoyed during and immediately following World War II. With a war in progress, 

the President needed reliable military advice, and in the aftermath of the Chinese 

intervention, as MacArthur’s views and recommendations became increasingly suspect, Truman turned more and more to the JCS. In fact, the President had been 

moving in this direction ever since approving a series of reforms in the summer 

of 1950 to enhance the role of the National Security Council and to improve its 

coordination with the JCS. Prior to these reforms, the Joint Chiefs had operated on 

the Council’s periphery, with their role confined mainly to commenting on NSC 

papers referred to them by the Secretary of Defense. Nor had Truman, who had 

never wanted the NSC in the first place, made more than limited use of it.75 But 

with the advent of NSC 68 and the expectation that it would generate additional 

expenditures, the President decided to upgrade the NSC’s capabilities to assess and 

coordinate programs.76 In June–July 1950, he approved a reorganization of the NSC 

staff that included naming former ambassador to Moscow W. Averell Harriman as 

his special assistant for national security affairs and creating two new interdepartmental advisory bodies—the NSC Senior Staff and a mid-level support group, the 

Staff Assistants—both with JCS representation. As a result, the Joint Chiefs gained 
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direct access to the NSC’s inner workings and a regular voice in the development 

of NSC products.77

Among the reforms that President Truman ordered were curbs on the number 

of participants at NSC meetings. Convinced that the presence of too many subordinates inhibited discussion, Truman confined attendance to the Council’s statutory 

members and a handful of senior advisors. Rather than having all the chiefs (including the Commandant of the Marine Corps who acquired limited participation 

in JCS deliberations in 1952) present, Truman asked that only the CJCS, General 

Bradley, attend on a regular basis.78 This practice did not bar the Service chiefs from 

attending as needed, but it did underscore the Chairman’s emerging role as their 

spokesman and his importance as a key high-level advisor in his own right. Bradley was initially uncomfortable addressing problems from anything other than “a 

military point of view.” But according to Acheson, he gradually came to realize that 

political, diplomatic, and military issues at the NSC level were often indistinguishable and needed to be dealt with accordingly.79

MacArthur’s Dismissal 

Korea was the last war in which the Joint Chiefs were in the chain of command. 

Under a practice initiated in World War II and reaffirmed by the 1948 Key West 

agreement, the Service chiefs functioned as executive agents for the JCS. During 

the Korean War, the Army Chief of Staff, General J. Lawton Collins, served as their 

executive agent to the Far East Command. It was through him that MacArthur 

received his orders. But after the Chinese intervention, communications between 

MacArthur and the JCS became somewhat erratic, and the general’s reports were 

less reliable, requiring Collins to play a more direct and personal role. Collins, softspoken with a boyish appearance, was as serious as they came in discharging his 

duties. A veteran combat commander who had fought in Europe and the Pacific in 

World War II, Collins was not easily misled or swayed. He visited the theater frequently, toured the battle front, and brought back sound and impartial analyses that 

the other chiefs and senior policymakers usually found eminently more useful and 

reliable than MacArthur’s often sketchy and slanted reports. 

Based on Collins’s reports and other information reaching them, the JCS became increasingly skeptical of MarAthur’s capacity to discharge his responsibilities. 

Overly confident after the stunning success of the Inch’on landing, MacArthur was 

psychologically and militarily unprepared for the setbacks of November–December 

1950 brought on by the Chinese intervention. Seeking a freer hand to retaliate, he 

proposed to bomb targets in Manchuria and to impose a naval blockade against 
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Communist China. The alternative, he argued, was evacuation of UN forces from 

Korea. MacArthur never directly requested authority to use atomic weapons, but he 

implicitly raised the possibility with the JCS on several occasions. He presumably 

knew of President Truman’s decision in the summer of 1950 to stockpile nonnuclear 

components (bombs minus their nuclear cores) on Guam. Under the current JOEWP, the JCS intended the Guam stockpile for attacks by the Strategic Air Command against Vladivostok and Irkutsk in the event of general war. But at the first 

signs of Chinese intervention, the Army General Staff started exploring the tactical 

use of these weapons in or around Korea and sounding out the State Department 

on the diplomatic ramifications.80

The Joint Chiefs sympathized with MacArthur’s predicament and did what 

they could to protect his freedom of action. But after the Chinese intervention, 

they were under heavy pressure from the White House and the State Department 

to localize the war and avoid escalating the conflict. Though they had studied the 

use of nuclear weapons since the war began, they generally agreed that there were 

too few targets and too few bombs to make a difference unless faced with a looming 

“major disaster.”81 Furthermore, administration policy stressed international cooperation and collaboration through the UN, where opinion favored the reunification 

of Korea, but not if it involved taking risks that could widen the war. The British 

were especially uneasy, as evidenced by Prime Minister Clement R. Attlee’s hasty 

visit to Washington in early December 1950 in response to rumors that the United 

States was contemplating the use of nuclear weapons in Korea. Having only begun 

to develop a nuclear capability, the British saw themselves as yet in no position to 

take on the Soviets, even as part of an American-led effort.82 Denied permission to 

launch operations outside the Korean Peninsula, MacArthur became progressively 

more frustrated and outspoken, and told the press at one point that his orders from 

the President and the Joint Chiefs were “an enormous handicap, without precedent 

in military history.”83

By late January 1951, Lieutenant General Matthew B. Ridgway, USA, the new 

commander of the Eighth Army, had reenergized UNC forces with a limited offensive that was driving the enemy north. As of mid-March, UN armies were again 

in possession of Seoul and had established a relatively stable line across Korea in the 

vicinity of the 38th parallel. In view of the success of Ridgway’s campaign, MacArthur became convinced that, despite their superior numbers, the Chinese were far 

from invincible and could still be driven out of Korea. Acheson, however, saw the 

situation differently and persuaded Truman that the time was ripe for negotiations, with the aim of restoring the status quo ante.84 Around the end of March, 

MacArthur effectively scuttled Acheson’s initiative by publicly issuing a virtual 
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ultimatum that gave the Chinese the choice of an immediate ceasefire or a rapid 

expansion of the conflict aimed at toppling their regime. MacArthur’s statement 

violated administration policy across the board and set the stage for a showdown 

with the President. But before the full impact could settle in, another incident occurred—the release on April 5 by House Republican Leader Joseph W. Martin, Jr., 

of a letter he had recently received from MacArthur urging “maximum counterforce” in Korea and a second front against the Communist Chinese launched from 

Taiwan. The letter closed with MacArthur’s celebrated exhortation: “There is no 

substitute for victory.”85

Characterizing MacArthur’s letter as the “last straw,” Truman moved to relieve 

him of command on grounds of insubordination.86 On April 6, 1951, the President 

met with Acheson, Marshall, Harriman, and Bradley to explore a course of action. 

Harriman wanted MacArthur’s immediate dismissal. But Bradley, deeply distressed, 

was skeptical whether MacArthur’s behavior constituted insubordination, as defined 

in Army regulations. Buying time, he persuaded Truman to let him discuss the matter with his JCS colleagues as soon as the Army Chief of Staff, General Collins, 

returned to town.87

MacArthur’s conduct put the Joint Chiefs in a difficult position. All signs indicated that Truman was going to sack MacArthur. If the chiefs recommended against 

his relief, they would only be fueling the controversy. In fact, the JCS had lost confidence in MacArthur’s leadership and judgment, and wherever feasible were taking 

steps to work around him. Toward the end of March 1951, they received intelligence 

that the Soviets had transferred three divisions to Manchuria and were massing 

aircraft and submarines for a possible attack on Japan or Okinawa. Fearing a major 

escalation of the war, the Joint Chiefs asked the President to transfer custody of 

nine nuclear cores from the Atomic Energy Commission to the military for deployment to the western Pacific and to approve an order authorizing CINCFE to carry 

out retaliatory strikes against enemy air bases in Manchuria and China should the 

Soviets attack. On April 6 (the same day he met with his senior advisors to discuss 

MacArthur’s future), President Truman approved the draft order and the custody 

transfer. But instead of placing the bombs under MacArthur’s control, he turned 

them over to the Air Force Chief of Staff, General Hoyt S. Vandenberg. Ordinarily, 

the JCS would have dispatched the retaliation order immediately to CINCFE. This 

time, they elected to withhold it and to keep it secret out of concern, as Bradley put 

it, that MacArthur might “make a premature decision in carrying it out.”88

The chiefs assembled on Sunday afternoon, April 8, in Bradley’s Pentagon 

office rather than the “Tank” where they conducted official business. Though 

informal, the proceedings resembled those of a court of inquiry. Weighing the 
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evidence, they talked for 2 hours. In the end, they concluded that, while MacArthur may have been guilty of poor judgment, the case against him for insubordination did not stand up. Even so, they believed the President would be fully 

within his rights as Commander in Chief to remove MacArthur in the interest 

of upholding the principle of civilian control of the military. If the President 

wanted to fire MacArthur, the JCS would not stand in the way. The next morning 

Bradley and Secretary Marshall conveyed the chiefs’ views to the President. Two 

days later, on April 11, the White House press office revealed that MacArthur was 

being recalled and that Ridgway would replace him as CINCFE and commander 

of UN forces.89

MacArthur at this time was still a popular and widely respected figure in the 

United States—a national hero in some circles—and his firing provoked a good deal 

of outrage. A congressional investigation ensued and for the second time in as many 

years the Joint Chiefs found themselves explaining and defending their actions on 

Capitol Hill. This time, however, the hearings were closed to the public. As the inquiry progressed and the substance of its proceedings became known through leaks 

and edited transcripts, popular support for MacArthur began to sag. The Korean 

War was dragging on longer than anyone expected and, with casualties and costs 

continuing to mount, MacArthur’s repeated calls for “victory” envisioned sacrifices 

that fewer and fewer Americans deemed worthwhile. More in line with majority 

opinion was the administration’s determination to seek a negotiated settlement. 

Attempting to put the matter in perspective, General Bradley told Congress that 

MacArthur’s prescription for victory would have invited an open-ended conflict on 

the Asian mainland. Had MacArthur’s advice prevailed, Bradley added, the United 

States would have found itself in “the wrong war, at the wrong place, at the wrong 

time, and with the wrong enemy.”90

Europe—First Again 

Following MacArthur’s dismissal, the Korean War gradually receded from the forefront of the Joint Chiefs’ agenda, where a backlog of other defense and security 

problems, mainly relating to Europe, clamored for attention. More attuned to the 

thinking in Washington than MacArthur had been, Ridgway knew that the President and the JCS wanted him to limit the conflict and avoid any actions that might 

provoke “a worldwide conflagration.”91 Abandoning the quest for Korean reunification, the Joint Chiefs issued new orders on June 1, 1951, that essentially instructed 

Ridgway to maintain the status quo. Though he remained free to mount operations to protect his forces and to keep pressure on the enemy, he was to restrict his 
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activities to a defensive line in the vicinity of the 38th parallel while military talks 

explored a ceasefire.92

The decision to settle for a stalemate in Korea reflected not only the realities of 

a war gone sour, but also the deeply held belief of many in the Truman administration, Secretary of State Acheson foremost among them, that vital American interests 

were more at jeopardy in Europe than in Asia. In Acheson’s view, the dynamics of 

the Cold War centered in Europe; it followed that America’s “principal antagonist” 

was the Soviet Union, not Communist China.93 The Joint Chiefs believed that 

Acheson’s assessment underestimated China’s potential threat and capabilities. But 

they agreed that, owing to limited resources, the United States should not allow 

Cold War conflicts in places like Korea and Indochina to become the catalysts for 

a general war with China.94 Adopting a frame of reference much like the one that 

had guided their predecessors in World War II, they accorded the defense of Europe 

first priority.

Though it predated the Korean War, the European defense buildup had barely 

begun when fighting broke out in Korea in June 1950. Bureaucratic delays in initiating the Mutual Defense Assistance Program and prolonged debate over NATO’s 

organizing defense plan had slowed European rearmament to a crawl. The basic 

blueprint was a strategic concept (DC 6/1), adopted by NATO’s governing body, 

the North Atlantic Council (NAC), in January 1950. Written to JCS specifications, 

DC 6/1 was almost a mirror image of U.S. defense policy at the time, with strategic 

bombardment provided by the Strategic Air Command (and augmented by British 

Bomber Command) forming the first line of defense and retaliation. Though the 

NAC decided against including any specific reference to nuclear weapons, their 

use was clearly implied. In effect, NATO’s members now fell under the extended 

deterrence protection of the American “nuclear umbrella.” The European members’ 

main contribution would be to supply the “hard core” of the Alliance’s conventional 

ground, air, and coastal defense forces. Though the Europeans went along with this 

division of labor, it was an arrangement that few particularly liked since it made 

no allowance for them to participate in the command, control, or targeting of the 

strategic forces that formed their primary protection. Not without justification, 

some Europeans worried that they were now more than ever the potential target of 

a Soviet nuclear attack.95

Before the Communist invasion of South Korea, the Joint Chiefs had neither 

the inclination nor the resources to mount an active defense of Europe. Exploratory 

efforts to incorporate such a defense into U.S. emergency war plans in the spring of 

1949 resulted in such high projected costs that the JCS dropped the idea. The war 

plan they later adopted (OFFTACKLE) called for the evacuation of the two U.S. 
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divisions on occupation duty in Germany and Austria at the first sign of a largescale Soviet attack. Aware that the planned withdrawal undercut the U.S. commitment to NATO, Army planners pressed for “retardation bombing” of advancing 

Soviet forces as part of the strategic air offensive, to give the Europeans a better 

chance of defending themselves and U.S. forces a better chance of getting out. Air 

Force and Navy planners viewed the Army’s proposal as a diversion of resources 

from the primary objective of destroying the Soviet Union’s war-making capabilities. But through persistence, the Army’s position prevailed. Retardation bombing 

was included, both in the OFFTACKLE plan and in a revised targeting scheme 

adopted by the Joint Chiefs in August 1950. Even so, the immediate benefits for 

NATO were uncertain. Retardation bombing remained at the bottom of the JCS 

priorities list and, because planes and bombs were limited, SAC balked at allocating 

the necessary assets to anything other than strategic objectives. Bombing militaryindustrial targets in the Soviet Union, SAC planners insisted, would in the long run 

retard the Soviet advance as much as anything.96

After the outbreak of the Korean War, as funding constraints eased, the JCS 

reassessed their position and agreed not only to expand the scale and scope of SAC’s 

operations in Europe, but also to bolster NATO’s conventional posture by enlarging 

the U.S. commitment in Germany by up to four divisions. In July 1950, at the same 

time he ordered the deployment of nonnuclear components to Guam, President 

Truman approved a similar deployment to facilities in the United Kingdom and 

accepted a JCS recommendation to send two additional B–29 wings to the UK, tripling the size of the in-country medium bomber force. A secret agreement reached 

earlier, in April 1950, between the U.S. ambassador to the United Kingdom and 

Britain’s Air Ministry cleared the way for the deployment.97 By January 1951, JCS 

planners had earmarked 60 nuclear bombs for NATO retardation purposes. However, SAC commanders winced at even this limited allocation of assets. As one put 

it, SAC was “not designed for close or general support of ground forces.” Rather, it 

was an organization dedicated to delivering “an atomic offensive against the heart 

of an enemy wherever that may happen to be.”98

Having established broad criteria for target selection, the Joint Chiefs left it 

up to the new NATO Supreme Allied Commander, Europe (SACEUR), General 

Dwight D. Eisenhower, USA, and his air deputy, General Lauris Norstad, USAF, to 

develop a working arrangement with the Strategic Air Command. A veteran of the 

roles and missions quarrels after World War II, Norstad easily perceived that unless 

the Air Force paid closer attention to retardation bombing and other nonstrategic 

missions, it would open opportunities for the Army and the Navy to develop their 

own “tactical” nuclear capabilities and challenge the Air Force’s dominant position 
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in atomic warfare. Eventually persuaded to cooperate, the SAC commander, General Curtis E. LeMay, met in late 1951 with Eisenhower and Norstad in Europe to 

coordinate their respective roles in “retardation operations.” The agreement reached 

allowed SACEUR to determine the military significance and priority of targets, 

but vested command and control of operations in a new Air Force headquarters 

element in Europe known as SAC ZEBRA, which dealt only with Norstad and 

designated U.S. officers. Based on this accord, the Joint Chiefs authorized Eisenhower to prepare atomic annexes for NATO war plans and to carry out independent exercises simulating the use of atomic weapons in support of NATO strategy. 

In May 1953, SACEUR and SAC conducted the first combined test of their ability 

to coordinate an atomic operation.99

Equally, if not more, frustrating for the Joint Chiefs were the difficulties they 

encountered in trying to shore up NATO’s conventional strength. While atomic 

weapons and strategic airpower were still the West’s most formidable means of retaliation, U.S. nuclear capabilities were as yet too limited to protect Western Europe 

from an all-out Soviet invasion. As General Bradley put it, “We don’t have enough 

atomic weapons to plaster all of Europe.”100 The initial (pre-Korean) NATO war 

plan was DC 13, the Medium Term Defense Plan (MTDP), built on the principles 

in the NAC-approved strategic concept. An ambitious 4-year effort, the MTDP received official sanction in the spring of 1950 and called for the creation of a largely 

European army of 90 Active and Reserve divisions whose job would be to hold 

attacking Soviet forces as far to the east as possible in Central Europe. Skeptical 

whether the plan was economically feasible, the Joint Chiefs urged NATO planners 

to take a closer look at their requirements and to explore a “radical revision downward” of force goals. But since few NATO leaders took these numbers seriously, 

treating them instead as a “first approximation,” there was little discernible incentive for a more realistic assessment. Planning and preparations for a NATO buildup 

proceeded at a leisurely pace.101

Concern that the Communist attack against Korea might be the prelude to 

a similar invasion of Western Europe finally prompted a reevaluation of NATO 

plans and timetables. Not only did it galvanize the European Allies—Britain and 

France, especially—into stepping up the tempo of their rearmament programs, but 

it also led them to make new requests for additional military assistance, an increase 

in U.S. troop strength in Europe, and the creation of an integrated high command. 

A condition of key importance to the Joint Chiefs in acting on these measures was 

that the Europeans in return accept the rearmament of West Germany, which the 

JCS had been studying for some time. Though fully aware that German rearmament was bound to be controversial, the chiefs had come to the conclusion that a 
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German contribution was unavoidable if NATO was to fill the gaps in its Medium 

Term Defense Plan and confront the Soviets with a credible defense in Central 

Europe. Anticipating European resistance, the State Department proposed a North 

Atlantic or European defense force incorporating German forces under direct 

Allied command.102

Insisting on an all-or-nothing approach, the Joint Chiefs persuaded Secretary 

of State Acheson to adopt a “one package” negotiating stand that linked the creation 

of the combined command and increases in U.S. troop strength to European acceptance of German rearmament and progress toward meeting MTDP force goals. Presented to the NAC in September 1950, the U.S. package provoked a livid reaction 

from the French, who were as irritated by the rigidity of the American proposal as 

by its contents.103 Given NATO’s need for manpower and materials, German rearmament was only a matter of time. But for many (if not most) Europeans, it was too 

soon after the War to accept such a prospect. While the French showed a flicker of 

interest in State’s European army concept, the idea needed to gestate and over the 

next several years it reappeared in several guises, the most well-known being the 

French-sponsored Pleven Plan, which eventually gave rise to the European Defence 

Community (EDC). Meanwhile, the only large-scale effort to put Germans back in 

uniform and under arms was that initiated by the Soviets in the eastern zone.

Unable to achieve a breakthrough on German rearmament, the Joint Chiefs 

bided their time and turned their attention to the appointment of a supreme Allied 

commander and the creation of an international command structure. Authorized 

at the September 1950 NAC meeting, these measures were the first concrete steps 

toward transforming NATO from a paper alliance into a functioning military organization. The key to the entire enterprise was Eisenhower’s willingness to serve 

as NATO’s military head, with Britain’s Field-Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery 

as his deputy. Recommended by the Joint Chiefs in October 1950 and announced 

that December, Eisenhower’s appointment as SACEUR placed him back in a job 

comparable in many ways to the one he held in World War II, but without the same 

sweeping authority or resources. From offices hastily constructed on the outskirts of 

Paris, Eisenhower presided over the Supreme Headquarters, Allied Powers Europe 

(SHAPE), a multinational headquarters staff charged with planning and coordinating the land and air defense of Western Europe. Though Eisenhower took his orders 

from the NATO Military Committee via the Standing Group, a select interallied 

body of senior officers, he also communicated regularly with the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff and the Secretary of Defense.104

Based in Norfolk, Virginia, a separate supreme Allied commander, SACLANT, 

handled naval planning for the North Atlantic. Though authorized by the NAC in 
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December 1950, the Atlantic Command did not become active until nearly a year 

and a half later owing to a bitter contest for control between the British Chiefs of 

Staff and the JCS. The resolution of this issue in favor of the JCS position was as 

much a reflection of Britain’s demise as a world power as it was NATO’s heavy dependence on the United States. Clearly, it was a blow to British pride that needed 

assuaging. Awarding the Channel Command (ACCHAN) overseeing air and naval 

operations in the English Channel to the British in February 1952 was meant to 

serve this purpose. In 1953, the British also received the NATO Mediterranean 

Command (CINCAFMED), headquartered at Malta. Established as part of SHAPE 

and not, as the British hoped, as a third supreme command, CINCAFMED had 

limited assets and authority and exercised no control over the U.S. Sixth Fleet, the 

most powerful naval force in the area.105

Under Eisenhower’s guidance and energizing presence, the NATO buildup 

in Europe gathered momentum quickly. From a force of 15 divisions (in varying 

degrees of readiness) and fewer than 1,000 aircraft in April 1951, NATO grew to 35 

active and reserve divisions and nearly 3,000 planes by the end of the year. During 

the same time, Congress increased funding for military aid, training for European 

forces improved, and there were combined field maneuvers to test coordination.106

Perhaps most important of all, in April 1951, following the “Great Debate” on 

Capitol Hill, the Senate adopted a resolution sanctioning the deployment of four 

additional U.S. divisions to Europe, in effect sealing the American commitment 

under the “transatlantic bargain.” Eisenhower had hoped for an infusion of up to 

20 American divisions and seemed let down when neither Secretary of Defense 

Marshall nor the Joint Chiefs would support his request. Aware of Eisenhower’s 

disappointment, the JCS advised him in May 1951 that they were working on plans 

to make up to 14 divisions available to NATO in an emergency, but cautioned that 

these numbers were for planning purposes and did not constitute an allocation 

to SHAPE.107

Equally important to NATO’s future were Eisenhower’s efforts to develop a 

more coherent strategy for Europe’s defense. During his tenure as acting JCS Chairman in 1949, Eisenhower had discussed this problem at length with the Joint Chiefs 

and, since then, had steadily refined his views. The plan he proposed—a “forward 

strategy” designated MC 14/1 when formally adopted in December 1952—aimed 

at blocking invading Soviet forces and stabilizing military ground action as far to 

the east as possible with a strong conventional defense. NATO’s last line of defense 

would be along the Rhine-Ijssel. Air and naval forces operating from the North Sea 

and Mediterranean would then hit the invaders “awfully hard from both flanks.” 

The admission into NATO in 1952 of Greece and Turkey—two countries with 
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little in common other than their geographic proximity and antipathy for one another—was meant in large part to bolster this strategy.108

The main difference between NATO’s initial strategic concept of 1949–1950 

and Eisenhower’s forward strategy was the increased emphasis on defense by conventional means. Though Eisenhower would not rule out the use of nuclear weapons to augment NATO firepower and delay Soviet forces from advancing, it was 

well known within the Alliance that the smaller members (Denmark, Norway, and 

the Benelux countries) were extremely uneasy over the prospect of being caught 

in a nuclear exchange between the United States and the Soviet Union. For those 

countries, a war involving the use of nuclear weapons on their territory could mean 

annihilation. By stressing the role of conventional forces and each country’s contributions, Eisenhower sought to ease those anxieties and give the Allies a united frame 

of reference and stronger sense of common purpose.109

In assessing NATO’s prospects for implementing the forward strategy, the Joint 

Chiefs believed that Alliance members possessed adequate actual and potential resources “to discourage, if not deter, aggression in Western Europe.”110 They were less 

sure, however, whether the Europeans had the political will to support and sustain a 

rearmament effort much beyond the current level. Studies by various NATO factfinding and advisory bodies raised similar questions, giving rise to speculation that 

the Europeans put their economic welfare ahead of security. As a result, the JCS 

were uneasy over the chances of a successful defense, and toward the end of 1951 

they adopted contingency plans separate from NATO’s that made provision for a 

possible retreat by U.S. forces from the Rhine to the Pyrenees and evacuation to 

the United Kingdom via Cotentin-Cherbourg in the event of a NATO collapse. 

Though Eisenhower was privy to these plans, the JCS insisted that they not be 

shown to anyone at SHAPE other than U.S. personnel since they clearly conflicted 

with NATO strategy.111

Whether the Joint Chiefs seriously intended to carry through with the evacuation of U.S. forces in an emergency is unclear. The logistics alone were daunting, 

and it was unclear what would happen to U.S. dependents. More than likely, these 

plans were meant to “leak” and serve notice to the Europeans in a subtle yet convincing way that they should not take the United States for granted and expect U.S. 

forces to carry the main burden of defending Europe. The JCS wanted the Europeans to understand that they needed to shoulder more responsibility for their own 

security by stepping up their rearmament and by accepting a German contribution 

to NATO. 

Gaining the cooperation of the French was hardest of all. Of France’s 15 army 

divisions, 10 were tied down fighting the Communist Viet Minh insurgency in 
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Indochina. Implying that what American military planners wanted was excessive, 

the French government suggested a deal: cooperation on German rearmament in 

exchange for increased American aid to cover more of the cost of the Indochina 

war and to guarantee France a military force in Europe on a par with Germany’s. 

Eventually, Washington’s acceptance of this offer would lead to a huge jump in U.S. 

security support assistance to France and additional aid underwriting over half the 

French war effort against the Viet Minh. But it was a price the Joint Chiefs and the 

Truman administration were happy to pay if it would bring the German rearmament question to a favorable resolution and bolster the U.S. strategic position in the 

Far East at the same time.112

Matters came to a head in late February 1952 at the North Atlantic Council’s 

Lisbon meeting, which resulted in three major actions: the admission of Greece 

and Turkey into NATO, thus potentially increasing the conventional force base; the 

affirmation of NATO force-level objectives for 1954 comparable to those in the 

MTDP; and a breakthrough in negotiations on a continental European Defense 

Community under NATO command, with a German contribution of 12 divisions. 

To ease the financial strain of the buildup, the NAC agreed that less expensive reserve units could make up the bulk of NATO’s divisions. Yet even with these relaxed 

requirements and German rearmament, the Joint Chiefs remained skeptical about 

the Alliance’s capacity to meet its objectives. Within the Office of the Secretary of 

Defense and the Joint Staff, the operating assumption was that NATO would do 

well to achieve 80 percent of the Lisbon force goals.113

An important postscript to the Lisbon Conference was the signing of the illfated Treaty of Paris in May 1952. Symbolic of the evolving Franco-German rapprochement, the treaty’s stated purpose was to pave the way for creation of the EDC 

and, within it, a rearmed West Germany.114 Though the JCS regarded the treaty as 

a step in the right direction, they found it to be of no immediate help for filling 

the gaps in NATO’s defenses, which only seemed to widen as the year progressed. 

Faced with balance of payments deficits, declining industrial production, and rising 

unemployment, the Europeans treated their economic difficulties as far more urgent 

and worrisome than falling behind on their defense obligations. 

A further blow to NATO’s fortunes was Eisenhower’s departure as SACEUR 

in April 1952, and the arrival of his successor, General Matthew B. Ridgway, a month 

later. Ridgway was the first American officer to serve in what became a routine dual 

capacity—as the military head of NATO through his role as SACEUR, and as the 

U.S. Commander in Chief, Europe (USCINCEUR). Though highly regarded as 

a battlefield commander, Ridgway lacked not only Eisenhower’s prestige but also 

his tact and feel for coalition diplomacy. At SHAPE, he alienated many Europeans 
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by surrounding himself with a mostly American staff. With Eisenhower’s departure, 

Field Marshal Montgomery recalled: “The crusading spirit disappeared. There was 

the sensation, difficult to describe, of a machine which was running down.”115

NATO, in brief, was at a crossroads. Despite signs of substantial progress since 

the Korean War erupted, much remained to be done if the Alliance were to become 

a credible and effective bulwark against the Soviet Union. According to General 

Hastings Ismay, NATO’s first Secretary General, the Alliance still had only 18 ready 

divisions by late 1953, half the number called for in the Lisbon goals, facing an estimated 30 Russian divisions in Eastern Europe.116 Thus far, the burden had fallen 

most heavily on the United States to provide much of the military power and arms 

aid to give NATO substance, and to show leadership to set the Alliance on course. 

While the Joint Chiefs had considerable experience with coalition warfare in World 

War II, they never had to deal with such problems in peacetime or under an alliance 

system comprised of so many diverse interests as they faced in NATO. Adjusting 

took time and would, in fact, prove to be one of the most difficult and continuing 

Cold War challenges the JCS faced.

The Korean War period was a crucial turning point for the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff. While it confirmed and strengthened their high-level advisory duties, it also 

resulted in institutional changes, at the NSC especially, that thrust them and their 

organization into the mainstream of the policy process. Though not as powerful and 

influential as they were in World War II, the Joint Chiefs were again at the center of 

decision. Most important of all was the emergence of the CJCS as their principal 

representative and spokesman. Functioning in a de facto role that went beyond his 

official job description, he was a key advisor to the Secretary of Defense, the President, and the NSC in his own right. Much of the enhanced authority and influence that the Chairman—and by extension, the entire Joint Chiefs of Staff—came 

to enjoy during the Korean War years was the result of General Bradley’s presence. 

Quiet and thoughtful, he projected a common sense approach to problems and a 

thoroughly professional image that helped overcome the chiefs’ reputation for petty 

quarreling and parochialism in the aftermath of World War II.

Above all, the Joint Chiefs had begun to find their niche and to create for 

themselves a new institutional role more adapted to Cold War realities. No longer 

the architects of grand strategy as they had been in World War II, the JCS were part 

of an interdepartmental “team,” functioning within a policy process increasingly 

dominated by interagency deliberations through the various mechanisms of the 

National Security Council. Driven by the Soviet A-bomb and the war in Korea, 

a new consensus had emerged, both at home and abroad, that the containment of 

communism required a heavier investment in military forces and related programs 
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than anyone had imagined. Not the most efficient organization for dealing with 

these problems, the Joint Chiefs as a rule worked well enough together, overcoming 

or papering over their differences as the need arose to keep the military buildup on 

track. Whether the chiefs would continue to perform at this level once the pressure 

relaxed and a more “peacetime” atmosphere returned remained to be seen.

Notes

1 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, April 23, 1948, “Position of the United States with Respect to 

Support for Western Union and Other Related Free Countries,” JCS 1868/1.

2 Steven L. Rearden, History of the Office of the Secretary of Defense: The Formative Years, 

1947–1950 (Washington, DC: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, 

1984), 471–472; Lawrence S. Kaplan, NATO 1948: The Birth of the Transatlantic Alliance

(Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2007), 75–103.

3 Though aimed mainly at Europe, MDAP was a comprehensive program and included funding for military assistance to Iran, Korea, Latin America, and the Philippines. 

See Chester J. Pach, Jr., Arming the Free World: The Origins of the United States Military 

Assistance Program, 1945–1950 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1991), 

88–159; and Lawrence S. Kaplan, A Community of Interests: NATO and the Military Assistance Program, 1948–1951 (Washington, DC: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary 

of Defense, 1980), 16–34.

4 Rearden, Formative Years, 462–463.

5 Kenneth W. Condit, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 1947–1949 (Washington, 

DC: Office of Joint History, Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1996), 

204–212.

6 Rearden, Formative Years, 477.

7 Forrest C. Pogue, George C. Marshall: Statesman, 1945–1959 (New York: Viking Penguin, 

1987), 64–66.

8 James F. Schnabel, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 1945–1947 (Washington, 

DC: Joint History Office, Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1996), 

200–201. Tang Tsou, America’s Failure in China, 1941–50 (Chicago: Chicago University 

Press, 1963), is the standard treatment of Chiang’s demise.

9 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, November 24, 1948, “Strategic Importance of Formosa,” U.S. 

Department of State, Foreign Relations of the United States, 1949 (Washington, DC: GPO, 

1974), IX, 261–262; Memo, JCS to SECDEF, February 10, 1949, “Strategic Importance 

of Formosa,” ibid., 284–86. Hereafter cited as FRUS, with year and volume.

10 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, December 16, 1948, “Current Position of U.S. Respecting 

Delivery of Aid to China,” JCS 1721/17.

11 Memcon between Acheson and Truman, November 17, 1949, quoted in Nancy Bernkopf 

Tucker, “China’s Place in the Cold War: the Acheson Plan,” in Douglas Brinkley, ed., Dean 

Acheson and the Making of U.S. Foreign Policy (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1993), 110.

12 Memo by Director of Central Intelligence (Hillenkoetter), September 9, 1949, no subject, PSF, Intelligence File, Truman Papers, Harry S. Truman Library (HSTL).
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13 Donald P. Steury, “How the CIA Missed Stalin’s Bomb: Dissecting Soviet Analysis, 

1946–50,” Studies in Intelligence 49:1 (2005); David Holloway, Stalin and the Bomb: The 

Soviet Union and Atomic Energy, 1939–1956 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), 

134–149.

14 OSI/SR-10-49, Central Intelligence Agency, “Status of the USSR Atomic Energy 

Project,” July 1, 1949, PSF, Intelligence File, Truman Papers.

15 Letter, Forrestal to Chan Gurney, December 8, 1947, in Walter Millis and E.S. Duffield, 

eds., The Forrestal Diaries (New York: Viking Press, 1951), 350–351.

16 Richard G. Hewlett and Francis Duncan, A History of the United States Atomic Energy 

Commission: Atomic Shield, 1947–1952 (Washington, DC: U.S. Atomic Energy Commission, 1972), 394.

17 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, November 23, 1949, “U.S. Military Position with Respect to 

the Development of the Thermonuclear Weapon,” RG 218, CCS 471.6 (12-19-49), sec. 

1; portions reprinted in K. Condit, JCS and National Policy, 1947–49, 292. See also Memo, 

JCS to SECDEF, January 13, 1950, FRUS, 1950, I, 503–511.

18 David E. Lilienthal, The Journals of David E. Lilienthal, vol. II, The Atomic Energy Years, 

1945–1950 (New York: Harper and Row, 1964), 580–633.

19 Letter, Truman to Acheson, January 31, 1950, FRUS, 1950, I, 141–142.

20 Memo by Acheson, December 20, 1949, FRUS, 1949, I, 612.

21 Dean Acheson, Present at the Creation: My Years in the State Department (New York: W.W. 

Norton, 1969), 348–49.

22 Keith D. McFarland and David L. Roll, Louis Johnson and the Arming of America: The 

Roosevelt and Truman Years (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005), 185–186.

23 Doris M. Condit, History of the Office of the Secretary of Defense: The Test of War, 1950–1953

(Washington, DC: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, 1988), 244.

24 John Lewis Gaddis, Strategies of Containment: A Critical Appraisal of Postwar American 

National Security Policy (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 83–90; Steven L. 

Rearden, “Paul H. Nitze and NSC 68: ‘Militarizing’ the Cold War,” in Anna Kasten 

Nelson, ed., The Policy Makers: Shaping American Foreign Policy from 1947 to the Present

(Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2009), 5–28. 

25 Quote from Oral History Interview No. 4 with Paul H. Nitze, by Richard D. McKinzie, August 4, 1975, Northeast Harbor, Maine, Oral History Collection, Truman 

Library; see also Paul H. Nitze, with Ann M. Smith and Steven L. Rearden, From Hiroshima to Glasnost: At the Center of Decision—A Memoir (New York: Grove Weidenfeld, 

1989), 93–95.

26 NSC 68, “United States Objectives and Programs for National Security,” April 14, 1950, 

PSF, Truman Papers, HSTL. Unfortunately, the version published in FRUS, 1950, I, 

234–292 is flawed, with unintended deletions.

27 Robert L. Beisner, Dean Acheson: A Life in the Cold War (New York: Oxford University 

Press, 2006), 238–239.

28 Warner R. Schilling, Paul Y. Hammond, and Glenn H. Snyder, Strategy, Politics, and Defense Budgets (New York: Columbia University Press, 1962), 321; Nitze, From Hiroshima 

to Glasnost, 96–97.
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29 Minutes, 55th Meeting of the National Security Council, April 20, 1950, PSF, Truman 

Papers, HSTL; Memo, Lay to SecState et al., April 21, 1950, “United States Objectives 

and Programs for National Security,” NSC Records, Truman Papers, HSTL.

30 Memo, BoB to NSC, May 8, 1950, “Comments of the BoB [on NSC 68],” FRUS, 1950, 

I, 298–306.

31 Memo for the Record, May 23, 1950, “Meeting with the President,” Papers of Frederick J. Lawton, HSTL; Michael J. Hogan, A Cross of Iron: Harry S. Truman and the Origins 

of the National Security State, 1945–1954 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 

1998), 304.

32 Memo, SECDEF to SecArmy et al., May 25, 1950, “Military Requirements Under 

NSC 68,” JCS 2101/7.

33 Quote from Matthew M. Aid, The Secret Sentry: The Untold History of the National Security Agency (New York: Bloomsbury Press, 2009), 26. For overall estimates of the situation, see John Patrick Finnegan, Military Intelligence (Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 1998), 113–14; and James F. Schnabel, United States Army in the Korean War: 

Policy and Direction—The First Year (Washington, DC: Office of the Chief of Military 

History, 1972), 62–63.

34 ORE 18–50, “Current Capabilities of the Northern Korean Regime,” June 15, 1950, in 

Woodrow J. Kuhns, ed., Assessing the Soviet Threat: The Early Cold War Years (Washington, 

DC: Center for the Study of Intelligence, Central Intelligence Agency, 1997), 390; see 

also John Lewis Gaddis, We Now Know: Rethinking Cold War History (New York: Oxford 

University Press, 1997), 75.

35 Schnabel, Policy and Direction, 64.

36 James F. Schnabel and Robert J. Watson, History of the Joint Chiefs of Staff: The Joint Chiefs 

of Staff and National Policy—The Korean War, 1950–1951 (Washington, DC: Office of Joint 

History, Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1998), 25–41.

37 Soon Sung Cho, Korea in World Politics, 1940–1950 (Berkeley: University of California 

Press, 1967), 61–91. 

38 Rearden, Formative Years, 255–67.

39 Omar N. Bradley and Clay Blair, A General’s Life (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1983), 

530.

40 Schnabel and Watson, 25–45; D. Condit, 47–55.

41 Acheson, Present at the Creation, 405.

42 Matthew B. Ridgway, The Korean War (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1967), 34.

43 Vandenberg’s views in Jessup Memcon, June 25, 1950, FRUS, 1950, VII, 159. See also 

Roger Dingman, “Atomic Diplomacy and the Korean War,” International Security 13 

(Winter 1988–1989), 53–54.

44 Schnabel and Watson, 43; Johnson quoted in D. Condit, 54.

45 Truman, Years of Trial and Hope, 336–344; Schnabel and Watson, 36–53.

46 “President’s News Conference, June 29, 1950,” in Public Papers of the Presidents of the 

United States: Harry S. Truman, 1950 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1965), 504. Hereafter cited 

as Truman Public Papers.
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47 Minutes, 62d Meeting, National Security Council, July 27, 1950, PSF, NSC Series, Truman Papers; D. Condit, 226–227.

48 John W. Spanier, The Truman-MacArthur Controversy and the Korean War (Cambridge, 

MA: Harvard University Press, 1959), 65–66.

49 Richard F. Hayes, The Awesome Power: Harry S. Truman as Commander in Chief (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1973), 177; 

Spanier, 70–77; Walter S. Poole, The History of the Joint Chiefs of Staff: The 

Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 1950–52 (Wilmington, DE: M. Glazier, 1979/1980), 

202–204.

50 Harry S. Truman, Memoirs, vol. II, Years of Trial and Hope (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 

1956), 355–356.

51 Quoted in D. Clayton James, The Years of MacArthur, vol. III, Triumph and Disaster, 1945–

1964 (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, 1985), 470.

52 Thomas R. Johnson, American Cryptology during the Cold War, 1945–1989, Book I, The 

Struggle for Centralization, 1945–1960 (Washington, DC: Center for Cryptologic History, 

National Security Agency, 1995), 43 (redacted); Aid, 28–29.

53 Douglas MacArthur, Reminiscences (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 2001), 346.

54 Roy E. Appleman, United States Army in the Korean War: South to the Naktong, North to the 

Yalu (June–November 1950) (Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 2000, reprint), 

488–502; Schnabel and Watson, 84–89; James, Triumph and Disaster, 464–474.

55 Truman, Years of Trial and Hope, 358.

56 Truman fired Johnson on September 12, 1950; he officially stepped down on September 

19. Bradley recalled that he learned of his promotion at “the beginning of September” 

but because the action required congressional approval it did not become effective until 

September 22. See Bradley and Blair, 552–553.

57 Appleman, South to the Naktong, 502–606; D. Condit, 66.

58 Minutes, 68th Meeting, National Security Council, September 29, 1950, PSF, NSC Series, Truman Papers; NSC 68/2, “Note by Executive Secretary to the National Security 

Council on United States Objectives and Programs for National Security,” September 

30, 1950, FRUS, 1950, I, 400.

59 Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1950–52, 30.

60 Memo for the President, October 2, 1950, [Summary of Discussion at 68th Meeting, 

NSC, September 29, 1950], PSF, NSC Series, Truman Papers.

61 NSC 81/1, “United States Courses of Action with Respect to Korea,” September 9, 

1950, FRUS, 1950, VII, 712–721.

62 Johnson, American Cryptology during the Cold War, I, 44 (redacted); MacArthur, Reminiscences, 360–363; Bradley and Blair, 574–579; Truman, Years of Trial and Hope, 364–367; 

Ferrell, ed., Off the Record, 200; “Substance of Statements Made at Wake Island Conference on October 15, 1950,” FRUS, 1950, VII, 948–960.

63 Memo by Acheson of Meeting with the President, October 19, 1950, Dean Acheson 

Papers, Truman Library.

64 D. Condit, 244–245; Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1950–52, 33–34.
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65 NIE–2, November 6, 1950, “Chinese Communist Intervention in Korea,” in Tracking the Dragon: National Intelligence Estimates on China During the Era of Mao, 1948–1976

(Washington, DC: National Intelligence Council, 2004), 69–80.

66 Schnabel, Policy and Direction, 233; D. Condit, 74–77; Message, CINCFE to DA, November 6, 1950, quoted in Schnabel and Watson, 126.

67 Schnabel and Watson, 127.

68 Quoted in Eric F. Goldman, The Crucial Decade and After: America, 1945–1960 (New York: 

Vintage Books, 1960), 179.

69 Message, CINCFE to JCS, November 28, 1950, FRUS, 1950, VII, 1237–1238.

70 D. Condit, 245–246; Truman quoted in Memo, November 24, 1950, [Summary of Discussion at 72d Meeting of the NSC, November 22, 1950], PSF, NSC Series, Truman Papers.

71 Budget and GNP figures from U.S. Department of Defense, National Defense Budget 

Estimates for FY88/1989 (Washington, DC: Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense, 

Comptroller, 1987), 101, 128; manpower and force levels from Poole, JCS and National 

Policy, 1950–52, 71.

72 Ross, American War Plans, 1945–50, 119–132; Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1950–52, 

88–90.

73 Walter S. Poole, The Evolution of the Joint Strategic Planning System, 1947–1989 (Washington, DC: Historical Division, Joint Secretariat, Joint Staff, 1989), 2–3.

74 JCS MOP 84, February 1, 1989, “Joint Strategic Planning System,” U, JHO 08-0022.

75 See Alfred D. Sander, “Truman and the National Security Council: 1945–1947,” Journal 

of American History 59 (September 19, 1972), 369–388.

76 Memo for the President, April 21, 1950, [Summary of Discussion at 55th Meeting of the 

National Security Council, April 20, 1950], PSF, NSC Series, Truman Papers.

77 Anna Kasten Nelson, “President Truman and the Evolution of the National Security 

Council,” Journal of American History 72 (September 19, 1985), 360–378; James S. Lay, Jr., 

and Robert H. Johnson, Organizational History of the National Security Council during the 

Truman and Eisenhower Administrations (Washington, DC: GPO, 1960), 16–18. The JCS 

representative to the NSC Senior Staff was Rear Admiral E.T. Wooldridge, Deputy 

Director, Joint Staff for Politico-Military Affairs, whose previous experience in interagency affairs included having helped develop the 1947 Greek-Turkish aid program.

78 Letter, Truman to Acheson, July 19, 1950, FRUS, 1950, I, 348–349.

79 Acheson, Present at the Creation, 441.

80 U.S. Department of Defense, History of the Custody and Deployment of Nuclear Weapons: 

July 1945 Through September 1977 (Washington, DC: Office of the Assistant to the Secretary of Defense—Atomic Energy, February 19, 1978), 16, and Appendix B (declassified); 

James, Triumph and Disaster, 579–581; Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1950–52, 87; Nitze 

Memcon of Meeting with BG Herbert B. Loper, USA, November 4, 1950, FRUS, 1950, 

VII, 1041–1042.

81 Schnabel and Watson, 168–169.

82 Ian Clark and Nicholas J. Wheeler, The British Origins of Nuclear Strategy, 1945–1955 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), 139–145.
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83 Interview with MacArthur, published in U.S. News & World Report, December 1, 1950,

quoted in Schnabel and Watson, 239.

84 Acheson, Present at the Creation, 518.

85 Spanier, 197–205; see also Richard F. Haynes, The Awesome Power: Harry S. Truman as 

Commander in Chief (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1973), 232–234.

86 Ferrell, ed., Off the Record, 210.

87 Truman, Years of Trial and Hope, 447, says Bradley agreed that MacArthur’s actions were a 

“clear cut case of insubordination.” Bradley and Blair, 631–632, corrects the record. See 

also Acheson, Present at the Creation, 521–522.

88 Roger M. Anders, ed., Forging the Atomic Shield: Excerpts from the Office Diary of Gordon E. 

Dean (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1987), 127–138; Robert F. Futrell, 

The United States Air Force In Korea, 1950–1953 (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1983, rev. ed.), 287–301; Schnabel and Watson, 246; Bradley and Blair, 629–631.

89 Schnabel and Watson, 247–248; “Statement and Order Relieving GEN MacArthur,” 

April 11, 1951, Truman Public Papers, 1951, 222–223.

90 Quoted in Schnabel and Watson, 254.

91 Ridgway, 162.

92 Message, JCS to CINCFE, June 1, 1951, cited in Billy C. Mossman, United States Army 

in the Korean War: Ebb and Flow, November 1950–July 1951 (Washington, DC: Center of 

Military History, 2000), 490.

93 Quoted in Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 115.

94 Memo, JCS to Marshall, November 28, 1950, “Possible Future Action in Indochina,” 

FRUS, 1950, VI, 947–948.

95 DC 6/1, “Strategic Concept for the Defence of the North Atlantic Area,” December 1, 

1949, in Gregory W. Pedlow, ed., NATO Strategy Documents, 1949–1969 (Brussels: North 

Atlantic Treaty Organization, 1997), 57–64; Rearden, Formative Years, 481–482.

96 K. Condit, JCS and National Policy, 1947–49, 159–163. The targeting scheme adopted in 

August 1950 listed priorities as follows: “blunting” of the enemy’s atomic energy capabilities (BRAVO), “destruction” of industrial facilities (DELTA), and “retardation” of 

advancing forces (ROMEO). See Moody, Building a Strategic Air Force, 357.

97 Ken Young, “No Blank Cheque: Anglo-American (Mis)understandings and the Use of 

the English Airbases,” Journal of Military History 71 (October 19, 2007), 1143.

98 Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1950–52, 79; Moody, Building a Strategic Air Force, 342–360; 

Letter, MG Emmett O’Donnell, Jr., to Gen Hoyt S. Vandenberg, January 26, 1951, Vandenberg Papers, Library of Congress.

99 Moody, Building a Strategic Air Force, 366–368; Robert S. Jordan, Norstad: Cold War NATO 

Supreme Commander: Airman, Strategist, Diplomat (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000), 81–

83; Robert A. Wampler, NATO Strategic Planning and Nuclear Weapons, 1950–1957 (College 

Park, MD: Center for International Security Studies at Maryland, 1990), 5–6.

100 Quoted in Memo of Discussion of State-Mutual Security Agency—JCS Meeting, January 28, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54, V, 714.

101 DC 13, “North Atlantic Treaty Organization Medium Term Plan,” April 1, 1950, in 

Pedlow, 107–177; D. Condit, 311–314; Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1950–52, 95.
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102 NSC 71, “Views of JCS with Respect to Western Policy Toward Germany,” June 8, 

1950, FRUS, 1950, IV, 686–687; Memo by SecState of Meeting with the President, July 

31, 1950, FRUS, 1950, III, 167–168; State Department Paper, “Establishment of a European Defense Force,” ca. August 16, 1950, ibid., 212–219.

103 Acheson, Present at the Creation, 437–440. See also Lawrence S. Kaplan, NATO and the 

United States: The Enduring Alliance (rev. ed.; New York: Twayne Publishers, 1994), 43–46.

104 Robert J. Wood, “The First Year of SHAPE,” International Organization 6 (May 19, 1952), 

175–191; Lord Ismay, NATO: The First Five Years, 1949–1954 (Paris: North Atlantic Treaty 

Organization, 1954), 37–38, 70–72; Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1950–52, 117.

105 Poole, JCS and National Policy, 120–25, 145–47; Ismay, First Five Years, 73–77.

106 Ismay, First Five Years, 102.

107 D. Condit, 339–341; Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1950–52, 126.

108 Notes on White House Meeting, January 31, 1951, FRUS, 1951, III, 454; D. Condit, 370; 

MC 14/1, “NATO Strategic Guidance,” December 9, 1952; Pedlow, 193–228.

109 See the discussions between Eisenhower and European leaders resulting from Eisenhower’s tour of Europe, January 1951, in FRUS, 1951, 402–449.

110 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, January 26, 1951, “Means at the Disposal of the Western Powers to Discourage . . . Aggression,” JCS 2073/115.

111 Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1950–52, 159.

112 Thomas Alan Schwartz, America’s Germany: John J. McCloy and the Federal Republic of 

Germany (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1991), 252–253. See also Bruce to 

Acheson, December 17, 1951, FRUS, 1951, IV, 455–459; Bohlen, Memcon with Jean 

Daridan, Minister Counselor of French Embassy, February 7, 1952, FRUS, 1952–54, V, 

610–611.

113 Final Communiqué, 9th Session North Atlantic Council, February 26, 1952, FRUS, 

1952–54, V, 177–179; Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1950–52, 151, 157–158.

114 See Edward Fursdon, The European Defence Community: A History (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1980), 150–188.

115 Bernard Law Montgomery, The Memoirs of Field-Marshal the Viscount Montgomery of 

Alamein (Cleveland: World Publishing Co., 1958), 462.

116 Ismay to Churchill, February 12, 1954, cited in Kaplan, NATO and the United States, 

48–49.
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Admiral Arthur W. Radford, USN, Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1953–1957
Chapter 5

Eisenhower and 

the New Look

Dwight D. Eisenhower’s election in November 1952 presented the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff with the prospect of the most radical changes in American defense policy since 

World War II. A fiscal conservative, Eisenhower saw the heavy military expenditures 

of the Truman years bankrupting the country. Assuming that the Cold War might 

go on indefinitely, he sought to develop a sound, yet cheaper, defense posture the 

United States could maintain over the long haul. The result was a strategic concept known as the “New Look,” which incorporated a broader than ever reliance 

on nuclear weapons and nuclear technology. Indeed, by the time Eisenhower was 

finished, military policy and nuclear weapons policy were practically synonymous. 

Some called it simply “more bang for the buck.” 

The first military professional to occupy the White House since Ulysses S. 

Grant, Eisenhower was, like Grant, a national hero. Commander of the Allied force 

that had invaded France and defeated Nazi Germany on the western front in World 

War II, he had served after the War as Army Chief of Staff, president of Columbia 

University, unofficial Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and NATO Supreme 

Commander in Europe. To many Americans, he seemed the natural leader to guide 

them through the increasingly dense thicket of the Cold War. 

Eisenhower’s advent had a larger and more lasting impact on the JCS than any 

Commander in Chief until Ronald Reagan in the 1980s. Entering office with unrivaled experience in military affairs and the advantage of personally knowing how 

the JCS system operated, he knew first-hand how inter-Service competition and 

parochial interests could thwart agreement among the chiefs on common military 

policies. Internal differences, he later observed, “tended to neutralize the advisory 

influence they should have enjoyed as a body.”1

 While the JCS had pulled themselves together and worked fairly well as a team during the Korean War, they had 

functioned more or less as their predecessors had done in World War II—with elastic budgets and under the pressure of events that concealed their internal rivalries 

and frictions. Anticipating an end to the hostilities in Korea, Eisenhower foresaw a 

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postwar transition period of spending cuts and changes in strategy and force structure leading to renewed inter-Service strife and competition. 

The 1953 Reorganization 

In Eisenhower’s view, revising the Nation’s defense strategy and improving the effectiveness and efficiency of the Joint Chiefs went hand in hand. Knowing that 

rapid and radical changes could cost him the cooperation of the chiefs and of their 

supporters on Capitol Hill, he started slowly with modest adjustments. The blueprint he used was a Defense-wide reorganization derived from suggestions offered 

by former Secretary of Defense Robert A. Lovett and the recommendations of an 

advisory panel headed by Nelson A. Rockefeller, Eisenhower’s protégé. Presented 

to Congress in April 1953, these changes, known as Reorganization Plan Number 

6, took effect under an Executive order in June and required no further legislative 

action in the absence of congressional objections.

One of Eisenhower’s principal objectives was to strengthen the powers of the 

Chairman, whose de facto role and authority increasingly outweighed the statutory description of his duties. To bring theory and reality more into line, the 1953 

reorganization gave the CJCS the beginnings of his own power base by conferring 

on him authority to manage the work of the Joint Staff and to approve the selection of its members. To get the JCS to concentrate on their advisory and planning 

functions, the President removed the JCS from the operational chain of command 

by ending the practice, sanctioned under the 1948 Key West Agreement, that had 

allowed the Joint Chiefs to name one of their members as the executive agent for 

each unified or specified command. Henceforth, it would be up to the Service Secretaries to designate these executive agents. The President said that in taking these 

actions he intended to “fix responsibility along a definite channel of accountable 

civilian officials as intended by the National Security Act.” Eisenhower would have 

gone further in reforming the JCS, but he recognized that the attempt would have 

aroused vigorous opposition on Capitol Hill, where the prospect of a more powerful Chairman and a stronger, more independent Joint Staff continued to conjure 

images of a “Prussian general staff.”2

The appointment of a new set of Service chiefs and a new Chairman accompanied these structural changes. The “old” chiefs who were in place at the end of 

the Truman years—Bradley, Army Chief of Staff J. Lawton Collins, Chief of Naval 

Operations William M. Fechteler, and Air Force Chief of Staff Hoyt S. Vandenberg—were all either close personal friends of Eisenhower or well known to him by 

reputation. Many of the President’s key political supporters, however, accused them 
E I S E N H O W E R AN D THE N EW LOO K

135

of having aided and abetted a no-win strategy in Asia and run-away defense spending at home. Since most of their terms expired in the spring and summer of 1953, it 

was easy for the President to make a nearly clean sweep. The “new” chiefs included 

Admiral Arthur W. Radford, previously Commander in Chief, Pacific (CINCPAC), 

as Chairman, General Nathan F. Twining as Air Force Chief of Staff, General Matthew B. Ridgway, Eisenhower’s successor at SHAPE, as Army Chief of Staff, and 

Admiral Robert B. Carney, formerly the commander of NATO forces in Southern 

Europe, as Chief of Naval Operations. The only holdover was General Lemuel C. 

Shepherd, Jr., Commandant of the Marine Corps, who served on the JCS in a 

limited capacity under legislation enacted in June 1952 allowing the Commandant 

to participate in JCS deliberations when matters of direct concern to the Marine 

Corps were under consideration.3

Radford’s appointment as Chairman sent a powerful political message intended to promote inter-Service unity and cooperation. A naval aviator, Radford had 

opposed Service unification after World War II and spoken out repeatedly against 

Louis Johnson’s defense policies during the 1949 “Revolt of the Admirals.” While 

selecting a one-time opponent of unification raised more than a few eyebrows, 

Radford assured the President that his views on defense organization had changed 

and that he was now fully behind the aims of the National Security Act. Beyond 

this, he and Eisenhower shared a similar concern for the long-term effects of excessive military spending. Radford’s familiarity with the Far East was a further asset at 

a time when that part of the world seemed to produce one major foreign-policy 

problem after another. To make the Joint Chiefs into a more effective corporate 

body, free of Service biases, Eisenhower admonished the admiral to lead the way 

by divorcing himself “from exclusive identification with the Navy.” As an incentive, 

Eisenhower promised that Radford would have clearer responsibilities and greater 

authority than his predecessor, General Omar Bradley. Radford would have preferred to be Chief of Naval Operations, and at times he likened his role as CJCS to 

that of “a committee chairman,” as if it were a demotion. But he worked hard on 

the President’s behalf, got along well with Eisenhower’s other senior advisors, and 

did a commendable job of rising above Service interests.4

Less successful were Radford’s efforts to instill these virtues in his JCS colleagues and forge a consensus among them on basic plans embodying administration policies. During the Indochina and Quemoy-Matsu crises of 1954–1955, he 

tried to steer the JCS in the direction of military responses that conformed to 

declared White House positions on the use of nuclear weapons; for his efforts, he 

wound up being cast in the awkward guise of “party whip.”5

 Despite the increased 

authority the Chairman exercised under Eisenhower, Radford actually had limited 
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influence and control over strategic planning, the Joint Chiefs’ key function, which 

remained a corporate responsibility. Integral to the allocation of resources, strategic 

planning was a continuing source of inter-Service rivalry. Interminable haggling 

over phraseology as well as the “force tabs” attached to war plans to lay out the size 

and composition of forces needed to carry out missions became commonplace. 

Unable to agree on a single unified strategy, the JCS resorted to compromises built on broad statements of tasks and objectives that gave something to each 

Service. Out of this process (known derisively as “log-rolling”) the Joint Strategic 

Capabilities Plan (JSCP) emerged as little more than a yearly inventory of forces 

available to each joint command in an emergency, while the mid-range Joint Strategic Objectives Plan (JSOP) resembled a compilation of individual Service requirements, assembled in no order of priority. Intended to help the Secretary of Defense 

and the President project future budgetary needs, the JSOP routinely fell short of its 

goal and quickly acquired the reputation of being a “wish list” of Service requirements. Occasionally, in this and other areas, Admiral Radford was successful in intervening to mend “splits.” But by and large, his most effective weapon in overcoming 

Service differences was to digest the views of his colleagues and convey them to the 

President in his own interpretation of JCS advice.6

In view of his background and experience, Eisenhower did not hesitate to 

take matters into his own hands, behaving as Secretary of Defense, Chairman of 

the Joint Chiefs, and National Security Advisor all in one. Aware of JCS limitations, 

he frequently took over military planning and issued detailed guidance and direction as the situation warranted. All signs are that he enjoyed these tasks. Yet he still 

looked to his Secretaries of Defense to attend to day-to-day Pentagon chores and 

expressed irritation when they failed to measure up.7

 The three who served under 

him as Secretary of Defense—Charles E. Wilson, Neil H. McElroy, and Thomas S. 

Gates, Jr.—were business executives in private life and more adept at administration 

and fiscal management than military affairs. With the exception of Gates, who was 

Under Secretary and Secretary of the Navy before becoming Secretary of Defense 

in 1959, their experience in defense matters was exceedingly limited. Wilson, the 

first, had the hardest time. Formerly the head of General Motors, he was unfamiliar 

with the ways of the Pentagon and struggled to carry out the President’s policies, 

many of which involved unpopular budget cuts. With Wilson obviously needing 

help, Eisenhower spent an inordinate amount of time on defense matters to help 

shore up the Secretary’s position, and in the process established a pattern of handson involvement that lasted throughout his Presidency.8

The Joint Chiefs’ most frequent contacts with the President were through 

the National Security Council, which Eisenhower used as his principal forum for 
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debating and deciding high-level policy. As such, the NSC was a convenient mechanism for double-checking the Chiefs’ advice and requirements. The practice that 

had developed during the Truman years of filtering JCS recommendations through 

the NSC remained in effect under Eisenhower and became even further institutionalized with the creation of new coordinating mechanisms—an interagency 

Planning Board, similar to the NSC Senior Staff of Truman’s day but with broader 

powers to review and refine actions going up the “policy hill” to the President and 

the NSC; and an Operations Coordinating Board (OCB), to deal with intelligence 

operations and assure the implementation of NSC decisions. All functioned under 

the discreet and watchful eye of a Special Assistant for National Security Affairs who 

reported directly to the President. The net effect was a highly structured system of 

integrated policy review and collective decisionmaking that subjected JCS and Service requests and recommendations to minute scrutiny.9

Over time, the Joint Chiefs became highly proficient at working within this 

system and making it serve their needs. One benefit for them was that it provided 

reliable lines of communication with other government agencies, especially the 

State Department. Extremely useful to the chiefs was the administration’s practice 

of conducting annual reviews of basic national security policy, resulting in comprehensive statements of policy that established guidelines and priorities for the 

development of military and related programs. Exceedingly detailed, these national 

policy papers emerged only after lengthy discussion and negotiation, with significant inputs from the Treasury and Bureau of the Budget. After laying out the administration’s overall policy objectives, these papers virtually guaranteed that once a 

Service program was adopted, it would enjoy indefinite funding and political support. A major criticism of this system was that it allowed little flexibility in the face 

of changing international conditions and defense needs. But it suited the Services 

and the Joint Chiefs by providing them with a predictable platform for assessing 

requirements and a viable rationale for justifying their claims on resources.

Ending the Korean War

Eisenhower’s first order of business as President was to fulfill his campaign promise 

and bring the Korean War to a swift and honorable conclusion. Stalemated since 

mid-1951, the war was a growing drain on troops, resources, and the patience of the 

American people. For the Truman administration, it had become an onerous political liability. Lest the effects linger, Eisenhower wanted an expeditious settlement that 

would allow the United States to withdraw some, if not most, of its forces. Out of 

the ensuing efforts to develop a strategy for ending the war emerged many of the 
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key policy strands for the new administration’s subsequent basic national security 

policy—the “New Look.”

When Eisenhower took office in January 1953, the principal obstacle to an 

armistice was the prisoner of war issue. Even though the 1949 Geneva Convention called for mandatory repatriation of POWs, the Truman administration, acting 

on JCS advice, had embraced a nonforcible repatriation policy. Behind this policy 

was the chiefs’ desire to avoid repeating the unpleasant experience after World War 

II when the Western allies forcibly repatriated sizable numbers of POWs held by 

the Germans to the Soviet Union. Reports reaching the West later revealed that 

Stalin executed many of these POWs and threw others into labor camps. During 

the Korean conflict, screening done by the UNC confirmed that over 75 percent 

of the Chinese POWs and a lesser percentage of North Koreans were unwilling to 

return voluntarily. Having had these figures accidentally revealed to them, Chinese 

and North Korean negotiators summarily rejected nonforcible repatriation. The 

armistice talks bogged down and on October 8, 1952, the U.S. chief negotiator, 

Major General William K. Harrison, Jr., USA, declared an indefinite recess until the 

Communists tendered a “constructive proposal.” Almost immediately, the fighting 

escalated.10

As early as February 1952, the Joint Chiefs had begun to examine alternative 

courses of action in case the negotiations failed or became prolonged. By the following autumn, the consensus within the JCS organization in Washington and at 

UNC headquarters in the Far East was that an armistice was unlikely as long as 

North Korean and Chinese forces continued to occupy the heavily fortified defensive positions they had constructed across the Korean Peninsula. To break the 

impasse, both the Joint Strategic Plans Committee (JSPC) and General Mark W. 

Clark, USA, the commander of UN forces in Korea (CINCUNC) recommended 

a buildup of forces and a large-scale offensive to “carry on the war in new ways 

never yet tried in Korea.”11 The JSPC’s plan incorporated the use of tactical atomic 

weapons against enemy targets in Korea, China, and Manchuria. Initially, Clark did 

not include nuclear weapons in his planning. Upon learning of the nuclear provisions in the JSPC’s plan, however, he asked for authority to use them if the need 

arose. In the past, the JCS had shied away from recommending the use of nuclear 

weapons in Korea for political reasons and because of the limited size of the U.S. 

nuclear stockpile. But by late 1952, with bomb production up to over 400 assemblies 

per year, these supply restrictions were less inhibiting.12

The Joint Chiefs reviewed General Clark’s plans and assured him that they 

would be given due consideration.13 The previous summer, anticipating events, the 

JCS had initiated a buildup of nonnuclear components at storage facilities on Guam 
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and aboard aircraft carriers operating in the Western Pacific.14 With President Truman’s knowledge and approval, the JCS had also taken steps to identify stockpiles of 

mustard gas and nerve agents at storage depots in the United States for possible use 

in dislodging the Chinese and North Koreans from their caves and bunkers along 

the front line in Korea. But with a new administration about to take office, the JCS 

held further measures affecting a buildup in abeyance.15

Meantime, accompanied by General Bradley, Admiral Radford, and Secretary 

of Defense-designate Wilson, President-elect Eisenhower went on a fact-finding 

tour of Korea in early December 1952. He returned convinced that stepped-up 

military pressure held the key to ending the conflict. Soon after the inauguration, he 

terminated the U.S. naval blockade of Taiwan, ostensibly “unleashing” Chiang Kaishek to wreak havoc on mainland China, and gave the nod to intensify a conventional bombing campaign against North Korea that the Air Force had launched the 

previous October. Among the targets the President authorized were hydroelectric 

power plants on the Yalu River, industrial facilities in congested urban areas, and 

irrigation dams used in rice production, nearly all of which the previous administration had treated as off limits to bombing for humanitarian reasons.16

Between March and May 1953, Eisenhower considered further ratcheting up 

the military pressure in Korea and asked the Pentagon to come up with plans for 

a more aggressive campaign involving nuclear weapons, depending “on the advantage of their use on military targets.”17 Uneasy over the direction in which the 

President seemed headed, the JCS initially hesitated to propose a single course of 

action and offered instead a choice of six escalating options based on the planning 

done by the JSPC and CINCUNC. At the low end of the scale was a continuation 

of the existing level of military activity, followed by successive stages of stepped-up 

military pressure, culminating in a “major offensive” extending beyond the Korean 

Peninsula. At this point, all restrictions on the use of chemical and nuclear weapons 

would be removed.18 The Planning Board tendered a slightly reworked version of 

these options (NSC 147) to the NSC in early April, but the Council sent it back 

with instructions that the JCS provide a specific course of action.19

Finally, on May 20, 1953, General Bradley presented an oral report to the NSC 

that left Eisenhower and the other Council members stunned. Assuming the primary goal to be a military solution, Bradley was convinced that the United States 

might be “forced to use every type of weapon that we have.”20 Accordingly, he outlined a plan for an all-out offensive in Korea, spearheaded by the use of chemical 

and tactical nuclear weapons, that would involve taking out targets in China and 

Manchuria. “We may also,” he warned, “be risking the outbreak of global war.” In 

his memoirs, Bradley suggested that the President had known the gist of the chiefs’ 
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proposals for some time and that he and Eisenhower had discussed these matters 

privately on previous occasions. Still, the President seemed taken aback by the aggressive tone of the Chairman’s presentation and treated it as a hypothetical inquiry, 

to be acted upon “if circumstances arose which would force the United States to 

an expanded effort in Korea.” Among the numerous issues yet to be addressed, he 

mentioned the “disinclination of our allies to go along with any such proposal as 

this” and the obvious need “to infiltrate these ideas” into their minds.21

While Eisenhower elected to hold a major escalation of the Korean War in 

abeyance, he still believed that military pressure held the key to a truce, and in the 

weeks following Bradley’s presentation to the NSC, conventional air attacks against 

Communist targets in the north intensified. Irrigation dams received the most attention.22 Through diplomatic channels, meanwhile, and at the armistice talks in 

Korea, U.S. representatives served notice that even “stronger” measures were in the 

offing. These “muffled warnings,” as political scientist McGeorge Bundy later characterized them, were an unmistakable threat to use nuclear weapons, but whether 

they had the impact on the Communist side that Eisenhower claimed remains 

a matter of conjecture.23 In any case, the negotiations showed sufficient promise 

of resolving the POW and other issues for Eisenhower to hold further threats in 

abeyance and to turn his attention to securing the cooperation of South Korea’s 

recalcitrant President Syngman Rhee.24 Finally, in July the two sides signed an armistice which avoided the forced repatriation of prisoners and left Korea divided 

along a demilitarized zone at approximately the same line as where the fighting 

began in 1950. 

The ceasefire brought a respite but did not end JCS involvement in Korean 

affairs. Although the fighting subsided, tensions between north and south remained 

high, causing the JCS to keep the situation under constant and close review. For 

years after the armistice, the United States maintained about 50,000 air and ground 

forces in Korea under a UN command, while deploying large naval forces nearby 

and funding a military assistance program to train and equip a South Korean army 

of 700,000 troops. Next to Western Europe, Korea hosted the largest permanent 

overseas concentration of U.S. forces during the Cold War. In an increasingly common outcome of Cold War confrontations, neither side scored a clear-cut victory 

during the Korean conflict, nor did either side suffer a clear-cut defeat.

A New Strategy for the Cold War

Ending the Korean War was the final major task of the “old” chiefs. To the “new” 

chiefs who succeeded them in the summer of 1953 fell the job of converting the 
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Armed Forces to a peacetime footing. Despite their ambiguous contributions to 

ending the Korean War, Eisenhower increasingly viewed nuclear weapons as the 

key to the country’s future security. Stepped-up production of fissionable materials initiated during the Truman years and design improvements leading to new, 

more purpose-tailored weapons, from high-yield bombs for strategic use to tactical 

and battlefield weapons, created unprecedented opportunities that Eisenhower proposed to exploit to the fullest. Given the choice, he probably would have preferred 

a balanced defense posture, in which atomic weapons and conventional forces figured on a roughly equal basis. But from his recent experience in defense matters, 

as acting chairman of the Joint Chiefs in the late 1940s and as SACEUR, he lacked 

confidence in being able to overcome the fiscal and political difficulties, either at 

home or abroad, that raising and maintaining a peacetime conventional force of 

sufficient size entailed.25

Like Truman, Eisenhower viewed a strong defense and a sound economy as the 

twin pillars of national security. A fiscal conservative, he recoiled at the budget deficits that had accumulated under his predecessor and attributed them in large part 

to profligate military spending. He pledged to follow “a new policy which would 

continue to give primary consideration to the external threat but would no longer 

ignore the internal threat” of an economy weakened by heavy defense expenditures.26 Assuming a Cold War of indefinite duration, the President rejected the radical changes in national strategy suggested in a high-level study (Project SOLARIUM) carried out during the early months of his Presidency, in favor of continuing 

the practice of containing Soviet power and influence.27 Eisenhower also wanted to 

avoid the “feast or famine” fluctuations in defense programs that the Armed Forces 

had experienced since the 1920s by establishing a stable level of military spending. 

To do so, he abandoned the Truman administration’s practice of pegging defense 

programs to a “year of maximum danger,” and opted for a military posture that the 

country could sustain over the “the long pull” without jeopardizing the economy. 

For this purpose, increased reliance on nuclear weapons was almost ideal.28

Eisenhower found the Joint Chiefs to be among the most persistent and irritating obstacles he faced in carrying out his plans. Insisting that the current posture 

was “sound and adequate,” they resisted cuts in conventional strength and argued 

that uncertainty over the use of nuclear weapons compelled them to retain substantial general purpose forces. Threatening the use of nuclear weapons was one thing; 

actually carrying through was quite another. The JCS acknowledged the primary 

importance of nuclear weapons in assuring national security, but wanted a clearer 

weapons-use policy, removal of the remaining impediments imposed during the 

Truman years on the military’s access to nuclear weapons, and preservation of viable 
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conventional capabilities as backup in the event of a Soviet nuclear attack.29 While 

the United States continued to hold a comfortable lead in atomic bombs, intelligence estimates available to the JCS indicated that the Soviets were catching up 

and that they would have enough weapons by the mid-1960s to match the United 

States in destructive power.30 Wholly unexpected was the Soviet detonation in August 1953 of a 400-kiloton thermonuclear device—significantly smaller in explosive 

power than the U.S. test of the previous November, but with design characteristics 

that gave the Soviets a deliverable hydrogen bomb (about the same physical size as 

a “Fat Man” implosion bomb) ahead of the United States.31

Eisenhower was well aware that the course he proposed had drawbacks and 

limitations. But he also knew, as did the Joint Chiefs, that the accuracy of intelligence on Soviet capabilities was questionable and subject to change depending 

on the available information and how the Intelligence Community interpreted 

it.32 Barring an arms control breakthrough, Eisenhower accepted the proliferation 

of nuclear weapons as essentially unavoidable and sought to turn it to best advantage. He believed the quickest and easiest way was “to consider the atomic bomb 

as simply another weapon in our arsenal.”33 To those who argued that crossing 

the nuclear threshold risked all-out war, he replied that applying “tactical” atomic 

weapons against military targets was no more likely to trigger a “big war” than the 

use of conventional 20-ton block-busters.34 Effective deterrence, he believed, meant 

having not only the capability but also the will to use nuclear weapons. The internal 

debate surrounding these issues and their impact on defense policy stretched from 

the summer into the fall of 1953 and revealed sharp differences of opinion. But in 

the end, the President’s views prevailed, at least on paper. The upshot was a new 

basic national security policy (NSC 162/2) authorizing the Armed Forces to treat 

nuclear weapons “for use as other munitions” and to plan their force posture accordingly, with “emphasis on the capability of inflicting massive retaliatory damage 

by offensive striking power.”35

Admiral Radford publicly described the administration’s defense policy as a 

“New Look” in national security; others, seizing on language used by Secretary of 

State John Foster Dulles in a 1954 speech, called it “massive retaliation.” Eisenhower 

considered such descriptions misleading because they implied a more sweeping 

change in the composition of the Armed Forces than he intended.36 Rather than 

restructure the military establishment, he wanted to make it more efficient, more 

up-to-date with the latest technologies, and more economical. “His goal,” historian 

John Lewis Gaddis observed, “was to achieve the maximum possible deterrence of 

communism at the minimum possible cost.”37
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Most of the savings Eisenhower achieved occurred during his first 2 years in 

office and came largely from budgets inherited from Truman, whose own plans 

called for similar reductions at the end of the Korean War. Once the Korean War 

“bulge” disappeared, Eisenhower faced steadily mounting costs owing to inflation 

and pressures arising from intelligence estimates pointing to greater-than-expected 

increases in Soviet strategic air and missile capabilities. Using essentially the same 

budgeting techniques as the Truman administration, Eisenhower insisted that military requirements fit within fixed expenditure ceilings. To make the money go further, he stretched out procurement and the implementation of approved programs. 

His major accomplishment was to reduce the rate of growth in military spending, 

not its overall size. As the largest item in the Federal budget, national security consumed on average about 10 percent of the country’s GNP during Eisenhower’s 

presidency. At the end of the administration’s 8 years in office, total obligational 

authority for defense stood at just over $44 billion, roughly the same as when Eisenhower entered the Presidency.38

The principal beneficiary under the New Look was the Air Force, whose Strategic Air Command reaped the largest rewards. Force planning for the post–Korean 

War period done in the waning days of the Truman administration had pointed in 

this direction.39 Under Eisenhower’s more restricted budgets, the process accelerated. Though Air Force leaders recoiled at some of the funding cuts Eisenhower 

initially imposed, they soon found themselves enjoying a privileged position. On 

average, the Air Force received 46.4 percent of the defense budget during the Eisenhower years, compared with 28.3 percent for the Navy and Marines and 25.3 percent for the Army. During this same period, strategic forces (predominantly those 

under SAC) increased their claim on the total defense budget from 18 percent to 

nearly 27 percent.40

A formidable deterrent, the Strategic Air Command now became the country’s undisputed first line of defense and retaliation. Relying primarily on manned 

bombers during the 1950s, SAC retired its propeller-driven B–29s and B–50s by the 

middle of the decade in favor of faster jet aircraft: the medium range B–47 and the 

intercontinental B–52, which replaced the problem-plagued B–36. By the time the 

Eisenhower administration left office, SAC had an operating force of 1,400 B–47s 

and 600 B–52s, supported by 300 KC–135 jet tankers for aerial refueling. Early B–52 

models (the A through F series) had an unrefueled range of more than 6,000 miles 

while carrying as many as four gravity-fall atomic bombs; later models (the G and 

H series) had an unrefueled range of 7,500 to 8,000 miles and could carry up to 

eight nuclear weapons.41
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SAC’s main weakness during the 1950s was the increasing vulnerability of its 

bombers to a Soviet surprise attack. Initially, the threat came from the Soviet longrange air force, and later from Soviet intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs). The 

detonation of the Soviet H-bomb in the summer of 1953 and signs the following 

year that Moscow might have a larger and more sophisticated strategic bomber 

program than previously suspected, gave rise to a variety of increased requirements. 

Based on limited evidence, the Air Force projected a Soviet advantage of up to twoto-one in long-range bombers by the end of the decade. The other Services and the 

CIA suspected that the Air Force was playing fast and loose with its numbers to pad 

its budget requests. The give-and-take continued into 1956 when, with the help of 

U–2 photographs, it became clear that the “bomber gap” grossly exaggerated Soviet 

capabilities and the matter was laid to rest, but not before the Air Force had acquired 

additional funding to augment its bomber fleet.42 At the same time, to reduce SAC’s 

vulnerability to bomber attack, the Eisenhower administration resorted to a series 

of costly countermeasures, including dispersed basing of SAC’s planes, the deployment of an integrated system of missiles and air defense interceptors, extension 

of the distant early warning (DEW) line, and the creation in 1958 of a combined 

U.S.-Canadian command and control organization known as the North American 

Air Defense Command (NORAD). Nonetheless, SAC’s vulnerability persisted and 

gave rise to ever-increasing requirements to allow it to “ride out” an enemy attack, 

a process that kept alive and aggravated tensions within the Joint Chiefs over the 

allocation of resources.43

The Navy, defying all predictions, adjusted remarkably well to the New Look. 

While Navy leaders made no secret of their disdain for the pro–Air Force orientation of Eisenhower’s defense program, there was no repetition of the nasty sniping 

after World War II and no second “revolt” of the admirals. Radford’s presence as 

Chairman eased the situation considerably, as did the leeway the Navy received to 

conduct both a high-profile missile R&D effort, which eventually gave rise to the 

Polaris fleet ballistic missile system, and a shipbuilding program that included construction of a new generation of heavy carriers. Dating from the Korean War, the 

carrier program was the brainchild of Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Forrest 

P. Sherman and initially envisioned replacing the Navy’s World War II Essex-class 

carriers with larger Forrestal-class ships at a rate of one a year for 10 years. While the 

pace slowed during the 1950s, the eventual goal remained the same. By the end of 

the Eisenhower years, the Navy had commissioned four new Forrestal-class carriers 

and had a fifth (the nuclear-powered Enterprise) nearing completion. Out of 26 carriers then in service, 15 were large attack carriers (Essex-class or bigger), a number 

that remained nearly constant for the duration of the Cold War.44
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The size and design of the Forrestal-class “super carriers” meant they could 

embark nuclear-capable aircraft. To avoid renewed accusations of competition with 

the Air Force, the Navy assigned them a general purpose role. Sherman envisioned 

these ships serving primarily in the Atlantic or Mediterranean, delivering conventional and atomic attacks against Soviet naval bases and airfields in support of 

NATO.45 But because of continuing tensions in the Far East and better port facilities in the Pacific, Admiral Carney persuaded President Eisenhower to modify this 

strategy. Thus, the carriers came to be concentrated in the Pacific, with the proviso 

that in a European emergency the Navy would redeploy them as needed to assist 

NATO. Navy planners were never comfortable with this “swing strategy,” and in 

1955 Carney’s successor, Admiral Arleigh A. Burke, launched a campaign to abolish 

it. Once in place, however, the swing strategy became a firm fixture of NATO force 

planning. A symbol of the American commitment, it survived to the dying days of 

the Cold War, despite one effort after another by the Joint Chiefs to eliminate it.46

The JCS member least enamored with the New Look was General Matthew 

B. Ridgway, who openly disparaged many aspects of the President’s defense policy 

throughout his 2-year term as Army Chief of Staff. Ridgway’s main objections to 

the New Look were that it failed to preserve an adequate mobilization base for 

rapid Army expansion in an emergency and that it gave undue emphasis to nuclear 

weapons without fully vetting the concept.47 His successor, General Maxwell D. 

Taylor, was, if anything, even more censorious of administration policy. Ridgway 

knew that the New Look would take a heavy toll on the Army, but he professed to 

be shocked by the full impact, which involved reducing Army personnel strength 

by more than 500,000 and slimming down from 20 to 14 Active-duty divisions by 

1957.48 As an economy measure, Eisenhower also wanted the Army to redeploy as 

many units as possible from NATO and other overseas theaters to the United States, 

but shelved his plans in the face of strong political and diplomatic objections. As a 

result, force levels in Europe remained essentially unchanged, while the two divisions left in Korea after the armistice, the one in Hawaii, and those stateside in the 

Strategic Reserve routinely operated at reduced strength.49

Looking ahead, Eisenhower challenged the Army to reconfigure itself around 

smaller, more mobile divisions designed specifically for the nuclear battlefield. 

Eisenhower believed that, with the advent of nuclear weapons, no infantry division 

needed to be bigger than 12,000 men.50 Studies done at the U.S. Army Infantry 

School and exercises conducted by the Army Field Forces (later, the Continental 

Army Command) indicated, however, that combat in a nuclear environment would 

require divisions to be larger rather than smaller. Efforts to address this problem led 

in 1956 to the adoption of the “pentomic” division as the blueprint for the Army 
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of the future. Organized into five battle groups, pentomic divisions resembled the 

structure of the airborne divisions that Ridgway and Taylor commanded in World 

War II. Each pentomic division had approximately 11,500 men rather than the 

17,000 in a post–Korean War “triangular” infantry division. Rated as “dual capable,” 

a pentomic division incorporated conventional firepower and an array of nuclear 

weapons, from atomic artillery to nuclear-tipped rockets and missiles, and—most 

unique of all—the “Davy Crockett,” a spigot mortar (often erroneously described 

as a recoilless rifle) adapted to fire a sub-kiloton nuclear warhead. Further study 

and field tests soon demonstrated that pentomic divisions would lack staying power 

in a conflict and that much of the hardware and weaponry on which these units 

depended was not up to the job. By 1960, Army leaders were exploring yet another 

divisional reorganization scheme.51

Even though the pentomic division failed to measure up and soon disappeared, 

it served a useful purpose by drawing the Army’s attention to the impact of new 

technologies. What the New Look taught Army leaders as much as anything was 

that, if they were to protect their budget share and remain competitive with the Air 

Force and the Navy, they had to move beyond an “unglamorous” arsenal of tanks, 

artillery, and small arms and devote more research and development to guided missiles and other sophisticated weapons. To avoid becoming marginalized, the Army 

needed to broaden its mission. Taking this lesson to heart as the 1950s progressed, 

Army leaders used their small but aggressive R&D program to solidify their claim 

to old functions and lay claim to new ones.52 In some ways, the Army succeeded 

too well, for in the process Service roles and missions were again left in disarray. By 

1957, the Army was the first Service to test a land-based intermediate-range ballistic 

missile (IRBM), known as JUPITER, forging ahead of the Air Force’s THOR program, and was on the verge of seizing control of the anti-intercontinental ballistic 

missile (ABM) function with its planned NIKE-ZEUS interceptor missile. This last 

development was a critical step toward the Army acquiring a major role in strategic 

warfare and would have reverberations that would echo to the end of the Cold War 

and beyond.

Testing the New Look: Indochina 

While the Joint Chiefs were still digesting the impact of the New Look, events 

abroad were testing its basic premise that nuclear weapons held the key to the country’s future security. No sooner had the dust begun to settle in Korea than the Cold 

War shifted to Indochina, where the protracted struggle between the French and 

the Communist Viet Minh appeared to be entering a new and decisive phase. Even 
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though the French had yet to suffer a major setback, war-weariness at home and the 

inability of French Union troops (predominantly Vietnamese) to sustain the initiative suggested a shift in momentum in favor of the Viet Minh.53 Finding the war was 

no longer winnable, the French government notified Washington in July 1953 that 

it would follow the example of the United States in Korea and end the Indochina 

conflict as soon as possible, preferably through a negotiated settlement. Expecting 

the worst, U.S. intelligence sources warned that a Viet Minh victory in Indochina 

“would remove a significant military barrier” and open the way for communism to 

“sweep” across Southeast Asia into the Indian subcontinent and beyond.54

The Eisenhower administration’s initial response was to continue its predecessor’s practice of bolstering indigenous forces in Indochina and elsewhere with advice and assistance. Policies adopted in 1953–1954 by the National Security Council, 

however, indicated a strong willingness to fight to protect U.S. interests in the Western Pacific and to curb the further expansion of Chinese Communist power and 

influence. JCS contingency planning based on these policies assumed the use of nuclear weapons.55 But at a five-power staff planners conference hosted by CINCPAC 

at Pearl Harbor in September–October 1953, the British, French, Australian, and 

New Zealand military representatives balked at giving prior approval to any military 

action involving “weapons of mass destruction.” A none-too-subtle expression of 

worry over radioactive contamination from recent atomic weapons tests, the allies’ 

objections also appeared to reflect their growing concern for the potentially adverse 

impact on Asian opinion that the use of nuclear weapons in that part of the world 

could have. Even so, the Joint Chiefs reminded CINCPAC after the conference that 

the exclusion of nuclear weapons, even for planning purposes, was contrary to approved U.S. policy, and directed the Strategic Air Command to develop an atomic 

attack plan against selected targets in China and Manchuria should Communist 

Chinese forces intervene in Indochina. Yet, given the reluctance of the other powers 

in the region to associate themselves with U.S. retaliatory plans, it was likely that in 

an extreme emergency the United States could find itself acting unilaterally.56

While the possible use of nuclear weapons was ever-present throughout the 

crisis, the larger and more immediate issue facing the Joint Chiefs was whether to 

get involved at all.57 Forced to accept sizable budget and troop reductions and having only recently concluded the conflict in Korea, the Service chiefs—Ridgway 

especially—were uneasy about being drawn into another Asian war. Keeping his 

options open, President Eisenhower never categorically ruled out direct intervention. But he shared his military advisors’ concerns about the costs and consequences, 

and assured them that he could not imagine putting U.S. ground forces anywhere in 

Southeast Asia “except possibly in Malaya,” where the British and Australians were 
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involved in suppressing a Communist insurgency. Playing down the possibility of 

U.S. intervention, he likened the American role to fixing “a leaky dike,” and in January 1954 he approved policy guidelines limiting retaliation in Indochina to air and/

or naval power should the French falter or the Chinese intervene.58

Even though the President had seemed to rule out the use of ground troops, 

events in Indochina conspired to keep the issue alive, and over the next several 

months Joint Staff and Army planners continued to pay it close attention. The immediate concern was the gathering crisis over Dien Bien Phu, a French redoubt on 

the Laotian frontier, which had come under siege. By the beginning of 1954, the 

Viet Minh had the French completely surrounded and wholly dependent on airdelivered reinforcements and supplies. In developing U.S. responses to the ensuing 

crisis, Eisenhower often bypassed the Service chiefs, finding it more expedient to 

deal directly with Admiral Radford. Familiar with the Far East, Radford tended to 

be more open-minded than his JCS colleagues in addressing French requests for assistance and more flexible on the issue of American military intervention, so much 

so that Indochina was sometimes seen as “Radford’s war.” 

Confirmation that the Chairman was now part of Eisenhower’s “inner circle” 

came from his appointment to the President’s Special Committee on Indochina, 

created in January 1954 to develop a program for aiding the French without overt 

U.S. participation. The others on the panel were Director of Central Intelligence 

Allen Dulles, Undersecretary of State Walter Bedell Smith, Deputy Secretary of Defense Roger M. Kyes, and C.D. Jackson, the President’s special advisor on psychological warfare. As the composition of the committee suggests, Eisenhower hoped to 

avoid direct American military involvement in Indochina through the alternative of 

covert operations, an increasingly common Cold War practice that in this instance 

had the strong encouragement and endorsement of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.59 But 

as the Viet Minh tightened their siege of Dien Bien Phu, doubts grew whether 

covert operations as planned would be sufficient, causing the Special Committee to 

speculate that “direct military action” might be required to safeguard U.S. interests.60

Toward the end of March 1954, General Paul Ely, chief of the French Armed 

Forces staff, arrived in Washington appealing for help to stave off a collapse at Dien 

Bien Phu. Ely estimated the chances of avoiding defeat at fifty-fifty. Convinced 

that the situation was dire, Radford advised the President that the United States 

needed “to be prepared to act promptly and in force” to relieve the pressure on 

Dien Bien Phu.61 According to Ely’s recollections, Eisenhower instructed Radford 

(in Ely’s presence) to make priority responses to all French requests to assist Dien 

Bien Phu.62 Ely returned to Paris confident that the United States would provide 

land- and sea-based air support for a pending operation (code-named Vulture) to lift 
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the siege. He apparently believed the United States would employ nuclear weapons. 

By now, the Joint Staff had several attack plans under consideration—one involving 

the use of conventional munitions dropped by B–29s, and another plan, derived 

from Army G-3 staff studies, that envisioned the use of up to six tactical nuclear 

weapons delivered by Air Force or Navy fighter-bombers. But at a meeting of the 

Joint Chiefs on March 31, Radford encountered uniformly strong opposition led by 

Ridgway. Even Twining, who normally backed up Radford in JCS debates, would 

give only guarded support to the operation, leaving the Chairman isolated as the 

only JCS member fully favoring armed U.S. involvement.63

This meeting was, for all practical purposes, the high-water mark of planning 

for intervention and for the possible use of nuclear weapons in Indochina. Though 

Radford continued to promote the project, his better judgment told him it was a 

lost cause. Unable to carry his JCS colleagues with him, his arguments rang hollow. 

Indeed, as word “leaked” that the Joint Chiefs were at odds over a plan of action, 

support for intervention among congressional leaders and within the international community collapsed almost overnight. The French continued to assume that 

American help was on the way. But as the days passed and no American relief materialized, Dien Bien Phu’s fate became certain. On May 7, 1954, after heavy fighting, 

the garrison capitulated. Later that summer at Geneva, the major powers concluded 

an agreement ending French rule in Indochina and dividing Vietnam, like Korea 

and Germany, into Communist and non-Communist states.

Had the Joint Chiefs supported intervention, the course of events assuredly 

would have been different. But with the long and indecisive involvement in the Korean War a vivid memory and postwar budget cuts eroding force levels, the Service 

chiefs were averse to embarking on what Ridgway termed “a dangerous strategic diversion of limited United States military capabilities.”64 To them, as to the American 

public, the use of nuclear weapons, even for limited tactical purposes, still implied a 

major conflict transcending traditional norms. Administration policy and preferences 

notwithstanding, the JCS, excluding Admiral Radford, remained uncomfortable with 

the notion that nuclear weapons were simply another part of the arsenal. Looking 

back on the crisis, Eisenhower found it “frustrating” that he had not achieved more 

success in educating the public, his military advisors, or the international community 

“on the weapons that might have to be used” in future wars.65

Confrontation in the Taiwan Strait

As the Indochina crisis neared an end, the next test of the New Look was already in 

the making over a looming confrontation in the Taiwan Strait. At issue was the fate 
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of three small island groups (Tachen, Matsu, and Quemoy) lying a few miles off the 

China mainland, which the Nationalists had occupied since 1949. The Nationalists 

used these islands for intelligence gathering, early-warning radar bases, and jumpingoff points for commando raids against Communist positions on the mainland. Most 

U.S. military analysts agreed that the strategic value of these islands was negligible. 

But after the stalemate in Korea and the French collapse in Indochina, Admiral Radford insisted that the United States could not afford to give up more ground. Indeed, 

he saw their loss as having “far reaching implications” of a political, psychological, 

and military nature that could undermine resistance to Communism on Taiwan and 

throughout the Far East. With air and naval superiority in the area, the Chairman 

argued, the United States enjoyed distinct advantages that it had not had during the 

Indochina crisis.66 Weighing the pros and cons of defending the islands, Eisenhower, 

though skeptical whether they were of much value militarily, gradually came around 

to Radford’s point of view that their political importance was overriding.67

The situation turned critical on September 3, 1954, when the Communist 

Chinese launched a heavy artillery bombardment of Quemoy. As the confrontation 

was taking shape, Eisenhower seemed more prepared than ever to entertain a nuclear response and speculated at one point that the People’s Republic of China’s fleet 

of junks would make “a good target for an atomic bomb” if the Communists tried 

to invade Taiwan.68 Throughout the crisis, he and Radford remained convinced that 

the use of nuclear weapons in such situations was only a matter of time and that the 

United States needed to accept the idea in order to be better equipped and ready. 

But despite tough talk, the administration initially leaned toward a guarded response, and for the first few months of the crisis the United States fell back on more 

traditional means of applying pressure—the signing of a formal defense treaty with 

Taiwan in December 1954, obtaining declarations of support for Taiwan from Congress, and a buildup of conventional U.S. air and naval forces in the Taiwan Strait. 

The administration’s caution and restraint reflected, among other things, the 

continuing “split” among the Joint Chiefs over the New Look’s practical application, 

reinforced by an underlying worry (common to military and civilian policy-planners alike) that the use of nuclear weapons in Asia could provoke an anti-American 

backlash and charges of racism. Such thinking may have influenced deliberations 

during the Indochina crisis, but it was not until the Taiwan Strait episode—when 

the use of nuclear weapons would undoubtedly have resulted in thousands of Chinese casualties—that the full impact became apparent. Still, it did not stop either 

Eisenhower or Radford from seriously considering the nuclear option.69 Having 

failed to rally JCS support during the Indochina episode, Radford made a determined effort from the outset of the Taiwan Strait crisis to develop a consensus within 
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the JCS that the offshore islands should be defended, leaving aside the question of 

the means for the time being. A majority of the chiefs, including Twining, Carney, 

and Shepherd, agreed that the United States had valid security interests at stake and 

should be prepared to act in their defense. But they refused to hand Radford a blank 

check and insisted that “available forces,” with minor augmentation, could do the 

job. To Ridgway, however, even a token involvement seemed excessive. Insisting that 

the offshore islands were of “minuscule importance,” he viewed a decision to defend 

them as folly. If, however, the administration went ahead, it should realize the risks 

involved and be ready to take “emergency actions to strengthen the entire national 

military establishment and to prepare for war.”70

Also weighing into the debate was Secretary of State John Foster Dulles, Eisenhower’s most trusted advisor. One of the original architects of the New Look, 

Dulles was well known for his “hawkish” views on combating communism and as 

author of the “brinksmanship” concept linking proactive diplomacy to the threatened large-scale use of nuclear weapons. But by the fall of 1954, Dulles was having 

second thoughts and had come to the conclusion that the use of nuclear weapons 

short of all-out war would lack popular support at home, alienate U.S. allies in Europe, and hand the Communist Chinese a propaganda issue they could exploit for 

years to come. The United States, he warned, “would be in this fight in Asia completely alone.” Though he supported defending Taiwan, Dulles questioned the strategic value of the offshore islands and persuaded Eisenhower to avoid provocative 

actions that might turn world opinion against the United States or make it exceedingly difficult to use nuclear weapons later when they might make a difference.71

Tensions in the Taiwan Strait, meanwhile, continued to escalate. In January 1955, 

the Communists began ratcheting up the pressure, first against Tachen, which the 

Nationalists at U.S. urging evacuated in early February, and then opposite Quemoy 

and Matsu, where the People’s Republic of China (PRC) appeared to be massing 

troops for an invasion. By March, believing a showdown to be imminent, Radford 

was laying the groundwork for a nuclear response. “Our whole military structure 

had been built around this assumption,” he told the NSC. “We simply do not have 

the requisite number of air bases to permit effective air attack against Communist 

China, using conventional as opposed to atomic weapons.” Likely targets identified 

by the Joint Staff and CINCPAC included Communist Chinese airfields adjacent 

to Quemoy and Matsu and petroleum storage facilities as far away as Shanghai and 

Guangzhou (Canton). To minimize collateral damage, Radford insisted that only 

“precision atomic weapons” would be used.72

By then, Radford had a majority of the Service chiefs behind him in support of 

some form of military action, with Ridgway the lone dissenting voice.73 Believing 
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that talk of war had gotten out of hand, Eisenhower rejected the JCS majority view 

favoring “full-out defense of Quemoy and Matsu,” and sought instead a cooling off 

period, as much to reassure nervous allies in Europe as to head off a confrontation 

with China.74 He seemed to feel, given the uncertainty of the situation, that the use 

of atomic weapons was becoming more and more a course of last resort.75 In late 

April, he sent Admiral Radford and Assistant Secretary of State Walter S. Robertson 

(both of whom knew Chiang Kai-shek personally) to Taipei to explain the situation.76 The Communist Chinese also appeared to be having second thoughts, and at 

the Bandung conference on April 23, Premier Zhou Enlai declared the PRC’s readiness to discuss “relaxing tensions” in the Far East, “especially in the Taiwan area.”77

By the end of May 1955, an informal ceasefire had settled over the offshore 

islands, causing the issue to drop off the JCS agenda. A revival of tensions in 1958 

produced a second offshore islands crisis, replete with renewed bombardment of 

Quemoy and Matsu, a buildup of forces by both sides, and invasion threats from the 

PRC. Once again, the Joint Chiefs considered a possible nuclear response but held 

a decision in abeyance pending a clearer picture of the situation. The crisis ended, 

like the first, inconclusively and was the last time the Eisenhower administration 

contemplated the use of tactical nuclear weapons against the People’s Republic 

of China.78 Only on two further occasions—during the 1961 Laotian crisis and 

the 1968 siege of Khe Sanh during the Vietnam War—did the JCS again actively 

consider recourse to nuclear weapons in Asia. In both instances, the advantages to 

be gained seemed incompatible with the risk.79 Seizing on the many advances in 

nuclear technology in the decade following World War II, the New Look gave the 

Joint Chiefs access to unprecedented power and a wealth of innovative tools for 

waging war. But it did not do much to clarify how or in what circumstances they 

might be applied.

The “New Approach” in Europe 

Doubts and uncertainty among the JCS notwithstanding, the Eisenhower administration remained firmly committed to developing a military posture that stressed 

nuclear weapons. Nowhere was this commitment more strongly pursued than in 

Europe where the New Look took the form of the “New Approach,” adopted by 

the North Atlantic Council in December 1954 as MC 48, the new basic blueprint 

for NATO strategy. While MC 48 affirmed the continuing need for conventional 

forces, it cited superiority in atomic weapons and the capacity to deliver them as 

“the most important factor in a major war in the foreseeable future.” At the time, 
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NATO had a mere handful of atomic weapons at its disposal; within a decade, 

largely as a result of steps taken by the Eisenhower administration, it would have a 

dedicated arsenal of 7,000 nuclear bombs and warheads.80

NATO’s embrace of a nuclear response to Soviet aggression in Europe stood 

in marked contrast to the Allies’ opposition to the Eisenhower administration’s 

threatened use of such weapons in Asia. The explanation for this paradox lies in 

NATO’s underlying philosophy of deterrence and defense, and the historic role 

nuclear weapons had played in NATO strategy. For the European Allies, actually 

using nuclear weapons and threatening their use were two wholly different matters. 

Nuclear weapons had been a fundamental part of NATO’s politico-military culture 

since the Alliance’s inception in 1949 and had grown steadily in importance. As 

Stanley R. Sloan and others have shown, not only were nuclear weapons essential 

for military purposes as NATO’s primary deterrent and first line of defense; they 

were a key ingredient in the political bond holding the Atlantic Alliance together. 

The U.S. commitment to come to Europe’s protection in the event of a Soviet invasion, exposing itself to nuclear retaliation on Europe’s behalf, was central to what the 

American diplomat Harlan Cleveland called the “transatlantic bargain,” a community of reinforcing interests. American nuclear weapons, in effect, sealed the deal.81

Nonetheless, prior to the Eisenhower administration, the JCS had tried to play 

down NATO’s dependence on nuclear weapons, partly because they remained few 

in number and out of concern that increased reliance might discourage European 

conventional rearmament. With the impending advent of nuclear plenty, however, 

views began to change. The first to acknowledge the opportunities were the British 

Chiefs of Staff, whose 1952 “white paper” on global strategy offered an alternative 

course linked directly to the utility of a growing arsenal of nuclear weapons in 

lieu of conventional capabilities.82 As British defense planners described it, the aim 

would be “to increase the effectiveness of existing [NATO] forces rather than to 

raise additional forces.”83

With the exception of the Air Force, the military Services in the United States 

paid little attention to these proposals, believing it premature to write off conventional rearmament efforts. But by the summer of 1953, a combination of factors—the 

ongoing review of U.S. defense policy that included discussions of withdrawing U.S. 

troops from Europe, planned cutbacks in U.S. military aid, a slumping European 

economy, and an embryonic initiative by the British to place their own version of 

the New Look before NATO—put pressure on the JCS to reexamine their position and to come up with fresh ideas on how to satisfy European security needs. 

The chiefs agreed that because of the European Allies’ economic difficulties, there 

was little likelihood of NATO meeting declared force goals on time and that a 
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reexamination of NATO strategy would certainly be in order. But there was no unanimity on what the United States ought to suggest.84 Earlier, as SACEUR, General 

Ridgway had requested five battalions of the new 280-mm cannon, which could 

fire either conventional or atomic shells, and had initiated studies on using tactical 

nuclear weapons to bolster NATO’s forward defense strategy and to offset reductions 

in troop strength. However, the results of these inquiries, based on sketchy data and 

limited familiarity with nuclear weapons, had disappointed those seeking a relatively 

cheap and convenient replacement for expensive conventional forces. Now, as Army 

Chief of Staff, Ridgway shied away from the further nuclearization of NATO and 

enlisted Admiral Carney in support of keeping the status quo until completion of the 

U.S. military review then underway. General Twining, the Air Force member, was the 

only Service chief who ventured to speculate that the solution to NATO’s problems 

might require a sharp departure from current policy and doctrine.85

Unable to elicit unanimous advice from the Joint Chiefs, President Eisenhower gave Secretary of State Dulles a free hand to come up with a plan of action. 

Moving quickly to avoid being preempted by the British, Dulles achieved highlevel interagency agreement by late September 1953 on a “new concept” to expand 

NATO’s application of tactical nuclear weapons. At Admiral Radford’s request, the 

State Department postponed a final decision until the JCS had a chance to review 

the plan.86 But the chiefs’ response, when it came on October 22, skirted the issue by 

suggesting that the matter be held over for review by the NATO Standing Group, 

where a final recommendation might have been held up indefinitely.87 Ignoring 

the chiefs’ proposal, Dulles sounded out his British and French counterparts at the 

Bermuda conference in December 1953. He then put the issue before the North 

Atlantic Council, which adopted a resolution instructing NATO’s top commanders 

to review their strategy and force structure, taking account of recent breakthroughs 

in military technology.88

As a result of these actions, the initiative shifted from the JCS in Washington 

to NATO planners in Paris working under the direction of General Alfred M. 

Gruenther, USA, Ridgway’s successor as SACEUR, and his air deputy, General 

Lauris Norstad, USAF. Gruenther, a former Director of the Joint Staff, was also one 

of Eisenhower’s closest personal friends. Using fresh intelligence and doctrinal and 

tactical assumptions in line with the known effects of nuclear weapons, Gruenther 

and his staff recast the studies Ridgway had done.89 It was from these “New Approach” studies that MC 48, a 3-year plan for reorganizing NATO’s forces, emerged. 

The key finding was that while the level of M-day forces would remain essentially 

unchanged, the substitution of nuclear weapons for conventional firepower would 

cause requirements for follow-on reserve forces to go down.90 Midway through the 
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NATO review, in August 1954, the French Assembly voted to defer action on the 

European Defence Community (EDC), effectively killing the project and throwing 

the whole question of German rearmament into confusion. Gruenther had always 

said that, even with an enhanced nuclear capability, NATO would still need a credible conventional “shield” to prevent Western Europe from being overrun. For this 

reason, he remained a staunch proponent of a full German contribution to NATO 

and a strong conventional component. But with the EDC a shambles, NATO’s 

credibility now rested more than ever on sharpening its nuclear “sword.”91

While the Joint Chiefs endorsed the New Approach, two members—Ridgway 

and Carney—did so with reservations, warning that the collateral damage from 

nuclear weapons to cities and civilians would be almost catastrophic. They embraced 

the New Approach and, in the Army’s case, the pentomic divisions and other paraphernalia that went along with it, not because they thought these changes would 

improve European security or save money, but because they were convinced that 

nuclear weapons would inevitably be used in a major conflict. Plausible deterrence, 

in the JCS view, therefore dictated that NATO had to be prepared to fight both a 

conventional and a nuclear war.92 At the time, deterrence theory rested largely on 

balancing the raw military power of one side against that of another. Intelligence 

confirmed that the Soviets continued to devote high priority to their atomic energy 

program, and following Stalin’s demise, there were mounting indications that, like 

the Eisenhower administration, the Soviet Union’s new leaders were shifting the 

burden of defense from conventional forces to nuclear weapons to cut costs.93

The Joint Chiefs expected to be busy for years sorting out how the New Approach should be interpreted and applied. Though convincing the NAC to accept 

the idea came more easily than expected, there remained a distinct anxiety among 

the Europeans over who would have the authority to order the use of tactical 

nuclear weapons if deterrence failed. Since the United States was the only NATO 

power at the time with a significant nuclear capability (British forces began receiving production nuclear bombs late in 1954), the fate of Western Europe could well 

rest in U.S. hands. The solution favored by the Joint Chiefs was to give NATO’s 

supreme commanders preexisting approval to carry out agreed defense plans in 

full.94 Recognizing the need for greater flexibility but unwilling to go quite so far, 

the Eisenhower administration in December 1953 liberalized its policy on sharing 

atomic energy information with other countries where legally permissible.95 A new 

Atomic Energy Act, which cleared Congress in the summer of 1954, paved the way 

for closer collaboration.96

The Joint Chiefs allocated nuclear weapons as needed to satisfy NATO requirements and stockpiled them at various locations in Western Europe under the 
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custody and control of the American theater commander (USCINCEUR), also 

serving as SACEUR.97 This arrangement allowed Europeans access to U.S. weapons for planning purposes and ostensibly a voice in deciding how and where these 

weapons would come into play during a conflict. But it did not go far enough to 

suit some, and by the end of the decade there was growing talk on both sides of the 

Atlantic of creating a “NATO common stockpile.” Proponents contended that the 

Alliance should have the capacity to operate independently with its own nuclear 

assets, including not only tactical weapons but also land- and/or sea-based IRBMs 

that could threaten strategic targets in the Soviet Union.98 The Joint Chiefs opposed 

such a move since it would unhinge U.S. war plans from NATO’s and duplicate 

some targeting. But as the Eisenhower administration drew to a close, the momentum within the Alliance was moving toward creation of a NATO-led multilateral 

nuclear force.99

NATO’s Conventional Posture 

Despite the increased emphasis on nuclear deterrence, most of the weapons NATO 

needed for its new strategy did not reach Europe in appreciable numbers until the 

late 1950s and early 1960s. Until then, conventional “shield” forces remained the 

core of NATO’s defense posture. Over the course of the decade, the limited introduction of improved tanks, armored personnel carriers, and heavy, self-propelled 

artillery gradually transformed NATO from a largely foot infantry force into a 

modern, combined-arms force.100 Overall, however, these qualitative improvements 

were insufficient to provide a credible conventional alternative. Nor did they prevent NATO’s capabilities from eroding as assets previously allocated for a conventional role (e.g., tactical aircraft) were reconfigured for nuclear missions and as 

Alliance members unilaterally reduced their contributions in the expectation that 

nuclear weapons would fill the gaps. The largest and most significant reductions 

were by the French, whose growing concern over the insurgency in Algeria from 

1954 on prompted the eventual transfer of five divisions from NATO to North 

Africa. By the end of the decade, France had 500,000 troops tied down in Algeria 

and the equivalent of only one division dedicated to NATO, instead of the 15 to 20 

once envisioned.101

Other members failed to pick up the slack. As long-time proponents of German rearmament, the JCS expected the admission of the Federal Republic of Germany (FRG) to NATO in 1955 to go far toward solving manpower problems. 

However, they were taken aback when, a year later, the FRG decided to slow its 

rearmament program by shortening the length of service for draftees and to seek 
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access to nuclear weapons. The planned structure of the Bundeswehr remained 12 divisions and 40 air squadrons, but manpower would be cut by roughly one-third and 

the target date for completion of the buildup would be moved from 1961 to 1965.102

Around the same time, bowing to fiscal constraints, Britain, Belgium, and the Netherlands also began to prune their conventional contributions to NATO.103 In May 

1957, the NAC adopted a new formal strategy statement (MC 14/2) confirming that 

tactical nuclear weapons would be NATO’s mainstay against a Soviet invasion, and 

tentatively set new conventional force goals (formally approved in 1958 as MC 70) 

of 30 ready divisions in the Central Region for lesser contingencies. But with only 

about 19 divisions on hand, NATO was still well below its goal.104

Even the United States, by far the strongest member of the Alliance, had trouble meeting its commitments. Though U.S. deployments held steady at around six 

division-equivalents, Army units were often under strength and unevenly equipped. 

Only the Air Force maintained a level of preparedness consistent with agreed force 

goals.105 Uneasy over NATO’s prospects, the JCS continued to incorporate provisions in U.S. war plans (as distinct from NATO plans) for a withdrawal of American 

forces to defensive positions along the Alps and the Pyrenees should the RhineIjssel line be breached.106 Among Europeans, speculation was rife that the Eisenhower administration had secret plans to reduce its commitment to NATO and that 

it intended to rely more than ever on Reserve units based in the United States and 

swing forces in the Pacific to meet its obligations. 

Matters came to a head in the summer of 1956 when, in a money-saving move, 

Admiral Radford attempted to persuade the JCS to accept a radical restructuring of 

the Armed Forces that included reducing U.S. troops in Europe by 50,000 and reorganizing American ground units into small atomic-armed task forces. The Service 

chiefs acknowledged the need to reduce overseas deployments, but they could see 

no place in either the Far East or Europe where this could be done without enormous risks.107 Secretary of State Dulles and Secretary of Defense Charles E. Wilson 

backed the plan, and in October 1956 President Eisenhower added his concurrence. However, unauthorized “leaks” making it appear that the United States was 

preparing to abandon NATO soon followed, provoking an international incident. 

Embarrassed and chagrined, the administration hastily backtracked, and most of the 

proposed reductions were restored during the final mark-up of the defense budget 

at the end of the year, keeping U.S. forces in Europe more or less intact.108

Fortunately for NATO, Soviet bloc forces around this time were no better prepared than those in the West, and in certain categories they were probably 

weaker. Neither side appeared to possess decisive conventional power. Estimates of 

Soviet capabilities originated within the Services’ intelligence offices and focused 
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on counting units and equipment. Owing to a lack of reliable data, these estimates 

tended to be on the high side and paid little attention to manning levels or the 

quality, training, and readiness of enemy forces. Studies done in the West routinely 

depicted the Soviets overrunning NATO even with the Allies using nuclear weapons.109 The benchmark figure of 175 Soviet divisions remained intact and did not 

come under close scrutiny until the end of the decade, when the CIA found Soviet 

divisions to be at various levels of preparedness. Most of those opposite NATO in 

East Germany proved to be fully ready front-line units. However, only about a third 

of the Soviet divisions fell into this category, and the rest were either under-strength 

reserve units or cadres.110 The creation in 1955 of the Warsaw Pact, an alliance dominated by Moscow, increased the scope of Soviet strategic control in East Europe 

but probably added little to the Kremlin’s immediate capabilities. Political instability 

within the satellite countries, highlighted by the 1953 East German uprising and 

the 1956 Hungarian rebellion, cast doubt on the reliability of non-Soviet Warsaw 

Pact forces.111

In sum, NATO planning during the Eisenhower years yielded mixed results. 

Shaped by essentially the same philosophy and budgetary pressures that were driving defense policy in the United States, the New Approach promised a powerful 

deterrent against all-out Soviet aggression and a convenient way for NATO’s members to save money on defense, but it limited their ability to cope with lesser contingencies. While it did not do away with conventional forces, the New Approach 

definitely downplayed their role. Missing from this strategy was any provision for 

a “nuclear pause” or “firebreak” during a crisis to avoid rapid escalation. It was 

largely for these reasons—the threat of unforeseen consequences and the absence 

of flexibility—that the Joint Chiefs split over whether a nuclear-oriented strategy 

significantly improved NATO’s defense posture and European security. Radford did 

his best to promote the President’s cause, but he repeatedly ran into strong resistance 

from the Army and Navy. Though both Services eventually signed off on the New 

Approach, they did so reluctantly, sensing that they had no choice, and because they 

knew they would not get the larger conventional forces they wanted. 

Curbing the Arms Race 

With nuclear weapons in the forefront of American defense policy during the 1950s, 

the size, composition, and readiness of the U.S. nuclear stockpile became a matter 

of utmost JCS concern. The Joint Chiefs had conducted a detailed annual review 

since 1947 to make sure the stockpile was satisfying military requirements. Bowing 

to JCS requests, the Truman administration in 1949, 1950, and 1952 approved three 
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separate increases in the production capacity for fissionable materials. According to 

historian David Alan Rosenberg, these decisions recast the country’s defense posture by launching the United States into an era of “nuclear plenty” and by generating a construction program capable of providing U.S. forces with nuclear weapons 

for the duration of the Cold War and beyond.112 Without the production increases 

initiated during the Truman years, the New Look would never have been conceivable. From a base of around 1,100 weapons when the Eisenhower administration 

took office, the nuclear stockpile grew to about 22,000 by the time the President 

stepped down. Though the Soviets kept the details of their atomic energy program 

a closely guarded secret, retrospective estimates compiled in the West suggest that 

their nuclear stockpile increased from a handful of weapons in 1950 to between 

1,700 and 4,500 ten years later.113

Ironically, this rapid and sustained growth in nuclear weapons production came 

at a time when the United States and the Soviet Union were taking the first serious 

steps in nearly a decade to find common ground for resuming arms control and disarmament negotiations. While the JCS had no objection to arms control per se, they 

were constantly on guard against ill-considered and unenforceable schemes that 

could compromise national security. With memories of the ill-fated Baruch Plan as 

a constant reminder, they resisted renewed calls for international control of atomic 

energy and turned a cold eye on measures that might stifle the development of the 

nuclear stockpile, like India’s 1954 call for a moratorium on atmospheric nuclear 

testing. Popular and international pressure to curb the “arms race,” however, kept 

the arms control and disarmament issue very much alive and compelled the Joint 

Chiefs to revisit it more often than they would have preferred.114

Eisenhower and the JCS agreed that a significant improvement in the international situation and concrete demonstrations of Soviet goodwill should precede 

major reductions in either conventional or nuclear arms. Convinced that the SinoSoviet bloc’s vast reservoir of manpower gave it a distinct advantage in a conflict, 

they believed that the West’s most effective counter was its lead in technology—

most of all, its superiority in nuclear weapons. The ability of the Soviet Union to 

duplicate American achievements, including most recently the H-bomb, and to develop delivery systems comparable to those in the U.S. inventory, may have diluted 

the West’s advantage, but it did not, in Eisenhower’s or the chiefs’ view, negate or 

lessen the fundamental importance of nuclear weapons to national security. Nuclear 

weapons, the JCS argued, gave the United States an “indeterminate advantage” over 

the Soviet Union and its allies that should be nourished and preserved at all costs.115

When the Eisenhower administration took office in 1953, ongoing multinational disarmament negotiations before the United Nations still concentrated on 
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sweeping proposals to eliminate conventional and nuclear weapons. While President Eisenhower professed a strong personal interest in arms limitation, the absence of reliable verification measures and the administration’s decision to structure 

the country’s defense posture around nuclear weapons raised serious questions of 

whether the United States should continue to participate in these kinds of negotiations. Lengthy NSC discussions of this issue yielded the affirmation in August 1954 

that, from a public relations standpoint, the United States had no choice and needed 

to be seen as still favoring “a practical arrangement for the limitation of armaments 

with the USSR.”116 Still, the consensus within the administration was that the time 

for such agreements had passed and that a more sensible alternative was to pursue 

limited objectives. While the Joint Chiefs offered no specific opinion during the 

administration’s internal debate, this approach seems to have accorded more closely 

with their preferences than any other.117

Indicative of the administration’s shift in focus was the increasing use of “arms 

control” rather than “disarmament” to describe the goals of American policy. The 

initial test of the limited-objectives strategy was President Eisenhower’s “Atoms for 

Peace” speech to the United Nations in December 1953. Sidestepping the stalled 

disarmament debate, the President stressed the peaceful potential of nuclear power 

and the need to “hasten the day when fear of the atom will begin to disappear.” 

To coordinate peaceful applications, he proposed the creation of an International 

Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), a watered-down version of the international control body envisioned under the Baruch Plan. Based in Vienna, Austria, the IAEA 

began operating in 1957.118

The administration’s most ambitious initiative, unveiled by the President on 

July 21, 1955, at the Geneva summit, was the “Open Skies” proposal to allow aerial 

photography of U.S. and Soviet military installations. Devoid of any direct arms 

control content, the proposal aimed to build trust and confidence and to improve 

the prospects for verification, which Eisenhower and his senior advisors regarded 

as an essential prerequisite to an effective and credible arms control agreement.119

Though the precise origins of the offer remain vague, Eisenhower claimed that it 

arose from studies done by his assistant, Nelson A. Rockefeller, in the weeks leading up to the conference, on avoiding a surprise attack through a system of mutual 

inspections.120 The threat of a Pearl Harbor with atomic weapons was practically an 

obsession within the Eisenhower administration, and over the years it had given rise 

to numerous schemes to penetrate the veil of secrecy surrounding Soviet military 

programs and possible preparations for a surprise attack. With the exception of an 

Air Force–run program to monitor Soviet nuclear experiments, none of these efforts had yielded much useful information.121
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By the mid-1950s, the most promising means of acquiring reliable data on 

Soviet capabilities and intentions was the U–2, a photo-reconnaissance plane that 

Lockheed Aircraft was building on a crash basis for the Central Intelligence Agency. 

Intelligence analysts assumed that orbiting satellites in outer space would someday 

provide the bulk of the information they needed. But space-based reconnaissance 

satellites seemed years away and, until then, manned aircraft were the best option. A 

jet-powered sailplane, the U–2 incorporated design features allowing it to fly above 

Soviet radar and take pictures with a special high-resolution camera.122 The Joint 

Chiefs knew of the U–2, and through the CJCS, who sat on the program’s interagency oversight committee, they stayed closely abreast of its progress.123

The development of a relatively invulnerable aerial reconnaissance capability 

was increasingly a source of friction between the CIA and the Air Force. Around the 

same time as the CIA initiated the U–2, the Air Force came up with a competing 

proposal using a Bell Aircraft design known as the X–16. Eisenhower, however, opposed putting the military in charge of such a program. His main concern was that 

if uniformed personnel flew the planes over the Soviet Union, the United States 

might be committing an act of war. He also suspected that if the Defense Department got involved and tried to manage it, the project would become “entangled in 

the bureaucracy” and mired in “rivalries among the services.”124 Taking these factors 

into account, Eisenhower decided in late November 1954 that the CIA would have 

overall authority and that the Air Force would provide assistance as needed to get 

the planes operational. Moving quickly to exercise its mandate, the CIA redoubled 

security on all aspects of the U–2, both because of its sensitivity and to minimize 

what the agency saw as the danger of Air Force encroachment.125

By early spring 1955, the U–2 program was nearing the point of its first flight 

test. Around this same time, the Technological Capabilities Panel (TCP), a select scientific advisory body chaired by James R. Killian, Jr., president of the Massachusetts 

Institute of Technology, tendered a new, top secret threat assessment to the NSC. 

Addressing the problem of surprise attack, the TCP warned of dire consequences 

should the Soviets launch a preemptive strike. “For the first time in history,” it 

found, “a striking force could have such power that the first battle could be the final 

battle, the first punch a knockout.” To avoid such a calamity, the panel urged the 

administration to increase its intelligence gathering, expand its early warning capabilities, and accelerate previously planned improvements in offensive and defensive 

strategic capabilities.126 In a separate annex on intelligence available only to the 

President, the CJCS, and a handful of others, the TCP confirmed the U–2 program’s 

progress and the potential of a follow-on system involving space-based satellites.127

Though Rockefeller appears not to have been privy to this annex, he probably 
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suspected its gist from his access to the main report and from having attended a 

briefing given by Killian and Edwin H. Land, designer of the U–2’s camera, to the 

NSC on March 17, 1955.128

At the President’s request, Rockefeller organized a special “vulnerabilities panel” made up of social scientists and intelligence experts to assess the prospects for 

improved verification. The group met at the Quantico, Virginia, Marine Corps base 

in early June 1955, and it was from these discussions that the aerial inspections proposal emerged.129 With time running short, Rockefeller made no attempt to solicit 

JCS views. Instead, he met a few days prior to the Geneva conference in Paris with 

Radford and Gruenther to discuss the plan. Both agreed that the United States 

stood to gain more than it would lose. According to Secretary of State Dulles, who 

was also present, Radford was “in complete accord and indeed enthusiastic.”130

With foreknowledge of the U–2, Eisenhower presented the Open Skies proposal, certain that he would have access to information derived from overflights of 

the Soviet Union with or without Soviet cooperation. The Joint Chiefs’ first opportunity to comment as a corporate body did not come until after the conference 

when Secretary of Defense Wilson asked them for suggestions on how to implement the Open Skies proposal. But by then, Soviet Communist Party leader Nikita 

Khrushchev had vetoed the plan, making any further action on it rather pointless.131

The U–2 made its first test flight in early August 1955 and began reconnaissance of the Soviet Union 11 months later, on July 4, 1956. Though never directly 

involved in the program, the JCS provided advisory and logistical support and assigned a representative to the Ad Hoc Requirements Committee, chaired by the 

CIA, which decided the planes’ missions.132 Little more was heard of the Open Skies 

plan and it survives mainly as a footnote to history. At the time, however, it seemed 

a daring and ambitious initiative and a possible turning point in the Cold War. “I 

wonder,” recalled Ray S. Cline, a veteran intelligence officer who had been with 

Eisenhower at Geneva, “if [the Soviets] ever regretted it in the following years as the 

U–2s began doing unilaterally over the USSR what Eisenhower had proposed they 

do on a reciprocal basis.”133

Despite Soviet rejection of the Open Skies proposal, Eisenhower persisted in 

exploring ways of mitigating the threat of a surprise attack, and by September 1958 

he persuaded the Soviets to participate in a conference of technical experts to address the issue.134 By then, however, the focus of arms control efforts had shifted. 

Widespread public fear of radioactive fallout from atmospheric nuclear testing now 

overshadowed the danger of another Pearl Harbor and forced the United States to 

contemplate a moratorium, resisted by the JCS, on above-ground testing.135 At the 

same time, with the information gleaned from U–2 flights over the Soviet Union, 
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the JCS and the President had far better photographic intelligence on Soviet capabilities than ever before. The threat of surprise attack remained, but increasingly 

it took the form of a Soviet long-range missile program of as yet indistinct proportions, against which existing countermeasures were of questionable value. The 

strategic environment was again in flux by the mid-to-late 1950s, and as it changed 

it put renewed pressure on the chiefs to devise appropriate responses.

Notes

1 Dwight D. Eisenhower, The White House Years: Mandate for Change, 1953–1956 (Garden 

City, NY: Doubleday, 1963), 455.

2 Alice C. Cole et al., eds., The Department of Defense: Documents on Establishment and Organization, 1944–1978 (Washington, DC: Office of the Secretary of Defense, Historical 

Office, 1978), 149–159.

3 Robert J. Watson, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 1953–1954 (Washington, 

DC: Historical Division, Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1998), 14–15.

4 Eisenhower quoted in Michael T. Isenberg, Shield of the Republic: The United States Navy 

in an Era of Cold War and Violent Peace (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1993), 589; Arthur 

W. Radford, From Pearl Harbor to Vietnam (Stanford, CA: Hoover Institution Press, 1980), 

305–318; and Richard M. Leighton, History of the Office of the Secretary of Defense: Strategy, 

Money, and the New Look, 1953–1956 (Washington, DC: Historical Office, Office of the 

Secretary of Defense, 2001), 36–37.

5 Maxwell Taylor, The Uncertain Trumpet (New York: Harper & Row, 1959), 21; Paul R. 

Schratz, “The Military Services and the New Look, 1953–1961: The Navy,” in David H. 

White, ed., Proceedings of the Conference on War and Diplomacy, 1976 (Charleston, SC: The 

Citadel, 1976), 141.

6 Joint Strategic Capabilities Plan, August 14, 1953, JCS 1844/151, approved and reissued 

with amendments under SM-285-54, April 2, 1954 as JCS 1844/156; and the first Joint 

Strategic Objectives Plan for July 1, 1961 (JSOP-61), April 13, 1957, and Decision on 

January 3, 1958, JCS 2143/69. For the development of these plans, see Watson, JCS and 

National Policy, 1953–54, 94–109; Byron R. Fairchild and Walter S. Poole, The Joint Chiefs 

of Staff and National Policy, 1957–1960 (Washington, DC: Office of Joint History, Office 

of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, 2000), 36–37; and Poole, “Evolution of the 

Joint Strategic Planning System,” 3–5.

7 Fred I. Greenstein, “Dwight D. Eisenhower: Leadership Theorist in the White House,” 

in Fred I. Greenstein, ed., Leadership in the Modern Presidency (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988), 91.

8 E. Bruce Geelhoed, Charles E. Wilson and Controversy at the Pentagon, 1953 to 1957 (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1979), 19, 37–39; Leighton, 44–45 and passim; and 

Dale R. Herspring, The Pentagon and the Presidency: Civil-Military Relations from FDR to 

George W. Bush (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2005), 88–89.

9 Robert R. Bowie and Richard H. Immerman, Waging Peace: How Eisenhower Shaped 

an Enduring Cold War Strategy (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 83–95; and

Stanley L. Falk, “The National Security Council under Truman, Eisenhower, and 
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Kennedy,” Political Science Quarterly 79 (September 1964), 403–434, are excellent overviews 

of the NSC during the Eisenhower years. See also John Prados, Keepers of the Keys: A History of the National Security Council from Truman to Bush (New York: William Morrow and 

Co., 1991), 57–65; David J. Rothkopf, Running the World (New York: Public Affairs, 2005), 

65–75; and Henry M. Jackson, ed., The National Security Council: Jackson Subcommittee Papers on Policy–Making at the Presidential Level (New York: Praeger, 1965), 33–38.

10 D. Condit, Test of War, 139–153.

11 Mark W. Clark, From the Danube to the Yalu (New York: Harper & Bros., 1954), 267.

12 James F. Schnabel and Robert J. Watson, History of the Joint Chiefs of Staff: The Joint Chiefs 

of Staff and National Policy—The Korean War, 1950–1951 (Washington, DC: Office of 

Joint History, Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1998), Pt. 2, 190–193. 

Atomic weapons production figures derived from U.S. Department of Defense and 

Department of Energy, “Summary of Declassified Nuclear Stockpile Information,” 

DOE Office of Public Affairs, August 22, 1995.

13 Schnabel and Watson, 193.

14 History of the Custody and Deployment of Nuclear Weapons: July 1945 Through September 1977

(Office of the Assistant to the Secretary of Defense for Atomic Energy, February 1978), 

19 (declassified).

15 Memo, CoS, USA to JCS, March 12, 1953, “Overseas Deployment of Toxic Chemical 

Agents,” JCS 1837/46; Conrad C. Crane, American Airpower Strategy in Korea, 1950–1953

(Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2000), 153–154; Schnabel and Watson, 192–193.

16 Bradley and Blair, A General’s Life, 658–659; Robert Frank Futrell, The United States Air 

Force in Korea, 1950–1953 (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1983, rev. ed.), 

617–629, 666–667; Crane, American Airpower in Korea, 157–162.

17 Memo, Cutler to Wilson, March 21, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54, XV, Part I, 815.

18 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, March 27, 1953, “Future Course of Action in Connection with 

the Situation in Korea,” JCS 1776/367; Schnabel and Watson, 200–203.

19 Memo of Discussion, 143d Meeting of the NSC, May 6, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54, XV, Part 

I, 975–978.

20 Memo of Substance of Discussion at State-JCS Meeting, March 27, 1953, ibid., 818.

21 Schnabel and Watson, 203–207; Memo, JCS to SECDEF, May 19, 1953, “Courses of 

Action in Connection with Situation in Korea,” FRUS, 1952–54, XV, 1059–64; Memo 

of Discussion, 145th Meeting of the NSC, May 20, 1953, ibid., 1064–1068; Bradley and 

Blair, A General’s Life, 658–661.

22 Futrell, 666–670.

23 McGeorge Bundy, Danger and Survival: Choices About the Bomb in the First Fifty Years

(New York: Random House, 1988), 242–244. See also Rosey J. Foot, “Nuclear Coercion and the Ending of the Korean Conflict,” International Security 13 (1988–1989), 

92–112; and Barry M. Blechman and Robert Powell, “What in the Name of God Is 

Strategic Superiority?” Political Science Quarterly 97 (Winter 1982–1983), 589–602.

24 Clayton D. Laurie, “A New President, a Better CIA, and an Old War: Eisenhower and 

Intelligence Reporting on Korea, 1953,” Studies in Intelligence 54, no. 4 (Unclassified 

Extracts, December 2010), 7–8.
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25 Glenn H. Snyder, “The ‘New Look’ of 1953,” in Warner R. Schilling, Paul Y. Hammond, and Glenn H. Snyder, Strategy, Politics, and Defense Budgets (New York: Columbia 

University Press, 1962), is still the best treatment of the origins of Eisenhower’s defense 

policy. See also Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 127–163; Saki Dockrill, Eisenhower’s 

New Look National Security Policy, 1953–61 (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1996), 19–47; 

and Samuel F. Wells, Jr., “The Origins of Massive Retaliation,” in Robert H. Connery 

and Demetrious Caraley, eds., Nuclear Security and Nuclear Strategy (New York: Academy 

of Political Science, 1983), 52–73.

26 Notes by L.A. Minnich, Jr., on Legislative Leadership Meeting, April 30, 1953, Eisenhower Papers, Ann Whitman File, DDE Diary, Eisenhower Library.

27 Leighton, 148–151; Watson, JCS and National Policy, 1953–54, 11–14.

28 Interview with General Andrew J. Goodpaster, Jr., USA, by Malcolm S. McDonald, 

April 10, 1982, Eisenhower Library Oral History Collection.

29 Watson, JCS and National Policy, 1953–54, 17–20; Leighton, 151–167.

30 SE–46, “Probable Long Term Development of the Soviet Bloc and Western Power 

Positions,” July 8, 1953, in Scott A. Koch, ed., Selected Estimates on the Soviet Union, 

1950–1959 (Washington, DC: History Staff, Central Intelligence Agency, 1993), 159.

31 David Holloway, Stalin and the Bomb: The Soviet Union and Atomic Energy, 1939–1956

(New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), 307. The first test of a deliverable U.S. thermonuclear weapon took place on March 1, 1954.

32 See, for example, Memo, CJCS to SECDEF, July 14, 1955, “Comparison U.S. and USSR 

Technical and Production Capabilities,” Nathan F. Twining Papers, box 81, 1955 SecAF 

(1) folder, Library of Congress.

33 Memo of Discussion, 143d Meeting of the National Security Council, May 6, 1953, 

Eisenhower Papers, Ann Whitman File, NSC series, Eisenhower Library.

34 Eisenhower quoted in Memo of Conference with the President, May 24, 1956, Eisenhower Papers, Ann Whitman File, Diary Series, Eisenhower Library.

35 NSC 162/2, October 30, 1953, “Review of Basic National Security Policy,” FRUS, 

1952–54, II, Pt. 1, 577–97.

36 Eisenhower, Mandate for Change, 449.

37 Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 164.

38 U.S. Department of Defense, National Defense Budget Estimates for FY 1988/1989 (Washington, DC: Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense [Comptroller], May 1987), 

68–69, 122.

39 See D. Condit, 285–305; and Wells, “Origins of Massive Retaliation,” 68–72.

40 National Defense Budget Estimates FY 1988/89, 76, 107.

41 Marcella Size Knaack, ed., Encyclopedia of U.S. Air Force Aircraft and Missile Systems, vol. 

II, Post–World War II Bombers, 1945–1973 (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 

1988), 292–293 and passim.

42 John Prados, The Soviet Estimate: U.S. Intelligence Analysis and Russian Military Strength

(New York: Dial Press, 1982), 38–45; Lawrence Freedman, U.S. Intelligence and the Soviet 

Strategic Threat (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986, 2d ed.), 65–67.
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43 David Alan Rosenberg, “The Origins of Overkill: Nuclear Weapons and American 

Strategy, 1945–1950,” International Security 7 (Spring 1983), 3–71, gives in-depth treatment of SAC’s problems. See also William S. Borgiasz, The Strategic Air Command: Evolution and Consolidation of Nuclear Forces, 1945–1955 (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1996), 128–133 

and passim.

44 Robert W. Love, Jr., History of the U.S. Navy, 1942–1991 (Harrisburg, PA: Stackpole 

Books, 1992), 378; Lawrence S. Kaplan, Ronald D. Landa, and Edward J. Drea, History 

of the Office of the Secretary of Defense: The McNamara Ascendancy, 1961–1965 (Washington, 

DC: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, 2006), 496.

45 George W. Baer, One Hundred Years of Sea Power: The U.S. Navy, 1890–1990 (Stanford, CA: 

Stanford University Press, 1994), 334–335.

46 Love, 372–379.

47 See Matthew B. Ridgway, Soldier (New York: Harper, 1956), 286–294.

48 Memo, Discussion at 176th Meeting of the NSC, December 16, 1953, Eisenhower Papers, Ann Whitman File, NSC Series, Eisenhower Library.

49 John B. Wilson, Maneuver and Firepower: The Evolution of Divisions and Separate Brigades

(Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 1998), 250–254.

50 Goodpaster Memcon, October 2, 1956, FRUS, 1955–57, IV, 100.

51 A.J. Bacevich, The Pentomic Era: The U.S. Army Between Korea and Vietnam (Washington, 

DC: National Defense University Press, 1986), 103–127 and passim; Ingo Trauschweizer, 

The Cold War U.S. Army: Building Deterrence for Limited War (Lawrence: University Press 

of Kansas, 2008), 81–113; and Wilson, Maneuver and Firepower, 263–290. Army sources 

are inconsistent and give various figures for the size of pentomic divisions, ranging 

from 11,000 to 13,500.

52 Leighton, 478–482; Trauschweizer, 56.

53 NIE 91, “Probable Developments in Indochina Through Mid-1954,” June 4, 1953, 

FRUS, 1952–54, XIII, 592–602.

54 Special Estimate prepared by the CIA (SE-52), “Probable Consequences in Non–

Communist Asia of Certain Possible Developments in Indochina Before Mid–1954,” 

November 16, 1953, ibid., 866–867.

55 Watson, JCS and National Policy, 1953–54, 248–251; and Joint Chiefs of Staff and the First 

Indochina War, 1947–1954 (Washington, DC: Office of Joint History, Joint Chiefs of Staff, 

2004), 152.

56 “Report by Staff Planners to the Military Representatives of the Five Powers on the 

Conference Held 21 Sept–2 Oct 1953 at Pearl Harbor,” n.d., and Message, JCS 956811 

to CINCPAC, February 9, 1954, both in JCS 1992/274; Message, JCS 955782 to COMSAC, January 19, 1954, JCS 2118/62.

57 See John Lewis Gaddis, The Long Peace: Inquiries Into the History of the Cold War (New 

York: Oxford University Press, 1987), 130.

58 Memo of Discussion, 179th Meeting of the NSC, January 8, 1954, FRUS, 1952–54, 

XIII, 947–954; NSC 5405 (formerly NSC 177), January 16, 1954, “U.S. Objections and 

Courses of Action with Respect to Southeast Asia,” ibid., 971–976.

59 JCS and Indochina War, 147.
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60 “Report by the President’s Special Committee on Indochina,” March 2, 1954, FRUS, 

1952–54, XIII, 1116.

61 Memo, Radford to Eisenhower, March 24, 1954, quoted in JCS and Indochina War, 155. 

See also Ronald H. Spector, Advice and Support: The Early Years, 1941–1960 (Washington, 

DC: Center of Military History, 1983), 191–194.

62 Laurent Césari and Jacques de Folin, “Military Necessity, Political Impossibility: The 

French Viewpoint on Operation Vautour,” in Lawrence S. Kaplan, Denise Artaud, and 

Mark R. Rubin, eds., Dien Bien Phu and the Crisis in Franco–American Relations, 1954–

1955 (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1990), 108–109. Ely’s recollections are the 

only surviving record of this meeting. 

63 Spector, Advice and Support, 200–202; Watson, JCS and National Policy, 1953–54, 253.

64 Memo, Ridgway to JCS, April 6, 1954, “Indo–China,” FRUS, 1952–54, XIII, 1270.

65 Memo, Discussion at 209th Meeting of the NSC, August 5, 1954, FRUS, 1952–54, II, 

706–707.

66 Memo, CJCS to SECDEF, September 11, 1954, “U.S. Policy Regarding Off–Shore Islands,” FRUS, 1954, XIV, 598–600.

67 Memo of Discussion, 221st Meeting NSC, November 2, 1954, FRUS, 1952–54, XIV, 836.

68 Memo of Discussion, NSC Meeting, August 5, 1954, ibid., 519.

69 See Matthew Jones, After Hiroshima: The United States, Race and Nuclear Weapons in Asia, 

1945–1965 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 240–288.

70 Memo, CJCS to SECDEF, September 11, 1954, “U.S. policy regarding off-shore Islands held by Chinese Nationalist Forces, NSC Action 1206–f,” FRUS, 1952–54, XIV, 

598–609.

71 FRUS, 1952–54, XIV, 619, 699. See also Jones, After Hiroshima, 269–273; Gaddis, Long 

Peace, 134–135; H.W. Brands, Jr., “Testing Massive Retaliation: Credibility and Crisis 

Management in the Taiwan Strait,” International Security 12 (Spring 1988), 124–151; and 

Bennett C. Rushkoff, “Eisenhower, Dulles and the Quemoy–Matsu Crisis, 1954–1955,” 

Political Science Quarterly 96 (Fall 1981), 465–480.

72 Memo of Discussion, 240th Meeting NSC, March 10, 1955, FRUS, 1955–57, II, 349; 

Memo of Discussion, 243d Meeting NSC, March 31, 1955, ibid., 432–433; Kenneth W. 

Condit, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 1955–1956 (Washington, DC: Historical Office, Joint Staff, 1992), 205–206.

73 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, March 27, 1955, “Improvement of the Military Situation in 

the Far East in the Light of the Situation Now Existing in the Formosa Area,” JCS 

1966/100; FRUS, 1955–57, II, 406–408.

74 Diary entry, March 26, 1955, in Ferrell, ed., Eisenhower Diaries, 296; Memo, Eisenhower 

to John Foster Dulles, April 5, 1955, “Formosa,” FRUS, 1955–57, II, 445–450. Emphasis 

in original.

75 MFR by Cutler, March 11, 1955, “Meeting in President’s Office,” ibid., 358–359.

76 Message, Hoover to Robertson and Radford, April 22, 1955, ibid., 501–502.

77 Quoted in Dockrill, Eisenhower’s National Security Policy, 112. See also Gordon H. 

Chang, “To the Nuclear Brink: Eisenhower, Dulles, and the Quemoy–Matsu Crisis,” 

International Security 12 (Spring 1988), 96–123.
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78 Fairchild and Poole, 209–215.

79 See Richard K. Betts, Soldiers, Statesmen, and Cold War Crises (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1977), 106–107.

80 MC 48, “Report by the Military Committee on the Most Effective Pattern of Military 

Strength for the Next Few Years,” November 22, 1954, approved December 17, 1954, 

NATO Strategy Documents, 1949–1969, 246. For NATO nuclear stockpile figures, see 

below, chapter 8.

81 Stanley R. Sloan, NATO’s Future: Toward a New Transatlantic Bargain (Washington, DC: 

National Defense University Press, 1985), 74–76 and passim.

82 “Defence Policy and Global Strategy: Report by the Chiefs of Staff,” June 17, 1952, 

reprinted in full in Alan Macmillan and John Baylis, eds., A Reassessment of the Global 

Strategy Paper of 1952 (College Park, MD: Center for Internal and Security Studies at 

Maryland, 1994), 19–63.

83 Joint Planners’ Minute, February 6, 1953, quoted in Dockrill, Eisenhower’s National Security Policy, 86.

84 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, September 11, 1953, “Certain European Issues Affecting the 

United States,” JCS 2073/634.

85 Robert A. Wampler, NATO Strategic Planning and Nuclear Weapons, 1950–1957 (College 

Park, MD: Center for International Security Studies at Maryland, 1990), 10–11; Watson, 

JCS and National Policy, 1953–54, 290–291, 298; Memo, CoS/AF to JCS, August 31, 1953, 

“Certain European Issues Affecting the United States,” JCS 2073/633.

86 Message, Acting SecState to U.S. Embassy France, October 15, 1953, FRUS, 1952–54, V, 

444–446.

87 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, October 22, 1953, “U.S. Guidance for 1953 Annual Review,” 

JCS 2073/671.

88 Watson, JCS and National Policy, 1953–54, 299–301.

89 Wampler, 12–13.

90 For a summary, see SG 241/3, “Report by the Military Committee to the NSC on the 

Most Effective Pattern of NATO Military Strength for the Next Few Years,” August 19, 

1954, enclosure to JCS 2073/900.

91 Robert S. Jordan, ed., Generals in International Politics: NATO’s Supreme Allied Commander, Europe (Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1987), 57–60; Steven 

L. Rearden, “American Nuclear Strategy and the Defense of Europe, 1954–1959,” in 

David H. White, ed., Proceedings of the Conference on War and Diplomacy, 1976 (Charleston, 

SC: The Citadel, 1976), 133–138; Watson, JCS and National Policy, 1953–54, 305–306.

92 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, September 24, 1954, “NATO Capabilities Studies,” with attachment, JCS 2073/900.

93 NIE 11-5-54, June 7, 1954, “Soviet Capabilities and Main Lines of Policy Through Mid1959,” in Scott A. Koch, ed., Selected Estimates on the Soviet Union, 1950–1959 (Washington, DC: Central Intelligence Agency, 1993), 209–211.

94 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, June 11, 1954, “Use of Atomic Weapons,” JCS 2073/823.

95 NSC 151/2, December 4, 1953, “Disclosure of Atomic Information to Allied Countries,” FRUS, 1952–54, II, 1256–1284.
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E I S E N H O W E R AN D THE N EW LOO K

96 Richard G. Hewlett and Jack M. Holl, Atoms for Peace and War, 1953–1961: Eisenhower 

and the Atomic Energy Commission (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1989), 

113–143.

97 “The Basis for the U.S. Position on the Provision of U.S. Atomic Weapons for the 

Common Defense of the NATO Area,” Appendix to Enclosure A to Memo, CJCS to 

JCS, November 9, 1957, “Provision of Atomic Weapons to Non–U.S. NATO Forces,” 

JCS 2019/257. For a more detailed discussion, see Fairchild and Poole, 104–105.

98 The most ardent advocate of giving NATO an independent nuclear capability was 

Gruenther’s successor as SACEUR, General Lauris Norstad. See Robert S. Jordan, 

“Norstad: Can the SACEUR Be Both European and American?” in Jordan, ed., Generals in International Politics, 79–82.

99 Fairchild and Poole, 104–112.

100 See Richard L. Kugler, Commitment to Purpose: How Alliance Partnership Won the Cold War

(Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1993), 98.

101 John S. Duffield, Power Rules: The Evolution of NATO’s Conventional Force Posture (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1995), 141–142; Kugler, 92.

102 Fairchild and Poole, 114–115; James L. Richardson, Germany and the Atlantic Alliance (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1966), 40–48; Stanley M. Karanowski, The German Army 

and NATO Strategy (Washington, DC: National Defense University Press, 1982), 43–49.

103 Duffield, 137–42.

104 Kugler, 89, 95.

105 K. Condit, 134–135.

106 See Joint Strategic Capabilities Plan July 1, 1955 to July 1, 1956, March 2, 1955, approved 

April 13, 1955, JCS 1844/178.

107 Leighton, 664–666; Discussion at 307th Meeting of the NSC, December 21, 1956, 

Whitman File, DDE Papers.

108 FRUS, 1955–57, IV, 93–95, 99–102; Robert J. Watson, History of the Office of the Secretary 

of Defense: Into the Missile Age, 1956–1960 (Washington, DC: Historical Office, Office of 

the Secretary of Defense, 1997), 501–502. 

109 See for example the 1955 study (WSEG 12) done by the Weapons Systems Evaluation 

Group, summarized in Wampler, 19–21; and Radford’s Briefing on WSEG Report No. 

12, undated, available at <http://www.alternatewars.com/WW3/WW3_Documents/

JCS/WSEG_12.htm>.

110 Raymond L. Garthoff, “Estimating Soviet Military Force Levels,” International Security

14 (Spring 1990), 93–116.

111 James D. Marchio, “U.S. Intelligence Assessments and the Reliability of Non–Soviet 

Warsaw Pact Armed Forces, 1946–89,” Studies in Intelligence 51 (Extracts, December 19, 

2007), 17–18.

112 David Alan Rosenberg, “U.S. Nuclear War Planning, 1945–1960,” in Desmond Ball and 

Jeffrey Richelson, eds., Strategic Nuclear Targeting (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 

1986), 41.

113 U.S. stockpile figures from U.S. Department of Defense and Department of Energy, 

“Declassified Nuclear Stockpile Information,” DOE Office of Public Affairs, August 
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22, 1995. Soviet stockpile figures are those compiled by Albert Wohlstetter, summarized 

in Thomas B. Cochran et al., Nuclear Weapons Databook, vol. IV, Soviet Nuclear Weapons

(New York: Harper & Row, 1989), 25.

114 Watson, JCS and National Policy, 1953–54, 193–194.

115 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, April 30, 1954, “A Proposal for a Moratorium on Future Testing of Nuclear Weapons,” JCS 1731/98.

116 NSC 5422/2, August 7, 1954, “Guidelines Under NSC 162/2 for FY 1956,” FRUS, 

1952–54, II, 717.

117 For the gist of JCS thinking, see Memo, JCS to SECDEF, June 23, 1954, “Negotiations 

with the Soviet Bloc,” FRUS, 1952–54, II, 680–686; and Watson, JCS and National Policy, 

1953–54, 197–198.

118 “Address Before the General Assembly of the United Nations on Peaceful Uses of 

Atomic Energy,” December 8, 1953, Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States: 

Dwight D. Eisenhower, 1953 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1960), 813–822.

119 John Prados, “Open Skies and Closed Minds,” in Günter Bischof and Saki Dockrill, 

eds., Cold War Respite: The Geneva Summit of 1955 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 2000), 216–220.

120 Eisenhower, Mandate for Change, 519–520.

121 Gaddis, Long Peace, 197.

122 Gregory W. Pedlow and Donald E. Welzenbach, The CIA and the U–2 Program, 1954–

1974 (Washington, DC: Central Intelligence Agency, 1998), 24–37.

123 Dwight D. Eisenhower, The White House Years: Waging Peace, 1956–1961 (Garden City, 

NY: Doubleday, 1965), 544–545. The other members of the oversight panel were the 

Secretaries of State and Defense, the Director of Central Intelligence, and Richard M. 

Bissell, Jr., of the CIA, the program’s manager.

124 Eisenhower quoted in James R. Killian, Jr., Sputnik, Scientists, and Eisenhower (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1977), 82.

125 Pedlow and Welzenbach, CIA and the U–2, 36–37; Richard M. Bissell, Jr., Reflections of 

a Cold Warrior (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996), 108–110. See also William E. 

Burrows, “Satellite Reconnaissance and the Establishment of a National Technical Intelligence Apparatus,” in Walter T. Hitchcock, ed., The Intelligence Revolution: A Historical 

Perspective (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1991), 233–250, which traces 

the evolution of the Air Force–CIA rivalry.

126 Technological Capabilities Panel of the Science Advisory Committee, Office of Defense Mobilization, “Meeting the Threat of Surprise Attack,” (MS, February 14, 1955), 

Vol. I, 5, 14, Eisenhower Papers, Ann Whiteman File, NSC Series, DDEL.

127 Killian, 79–82; R. Cargill Hall, “The Eisenhower Administration and the Cold War: 

Framing American Astronautics to Serve National Security,” Prologue 27 (Spring 1995), 

62.

128 Memo by J. Patrick Coyne, March 18, 1955, “Discussion at 241st Meeting of the NSC, 

March 17, 1955,” Eisenhower Papers, Ann Whitman File, NSC Series, DDEL.

129 Prados, “Open Skies,” 220–221.

130 Message, Dulles to State Department, July 21, 1955, FRUS, 1955–57, V, 434.
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E I S E N H O W E R AN D THE N EW LOO K

131 Philip Taubman, Secret Empire: Eisenhower, the CIA, and the Hidden Story of America’s Space 

Espionage (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2003), 141–142; K. Condit, 97–98.

132 Anne Karalekas, History of the Central Intelligence Agency, S. Report. No. 94–755 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1976), 59.

133 Ray S. Cline, The CIA Under Reagan, Bush and Casey (Washington, DC: Acropolis 

Books, 1981), 181.

134 Held in Geneva between November 10 and December 7, 1958, the conference was 

largely unproductive. While the Soviets’ first concern was the threat of a surprise attack 

coming from West Germany, the U.S. delegation concentrated on the danger posed 

by Soviet strategic systems. See Robin Ranger, Arms and Politics, 1958–1978 (Toronto: 

Macmillan of Canada, 1979), 31–39.

135 JCSM-337-59 to SECDEF, August 21, 1959, “Study of Nuclear Tests,” JCS 2179/183.
General Nathan F. Twining, USAF, Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1957–1960
173

Chapter 6

Change and 

Continuity

On October 4, 1957, the Soviet Union stunned the world by sending an artificial satellite, “Sputnik I,” into orbit around the Earth. This achievement was the first of its kind 

and followed the successful launch of a Soviet multistage intercontinental ballistic 

missile (ICBM) the previous August. It would be more than a year before the United 

States successfully tested an ICBM.1

 Suggesting a higher level of Soviet technological 

development than previously assumed, Sputnik I and the Soviet ICBM cast doubt 

on a key assumption that had shaped U.S. national security policy since World War 

II—that America’s supremacy in science and technology gave it a decisive edge over 

the Soviet Union. Not since the Soviets tested their first atomic bomb in 1949 had the 

United States seemed so unprepared and vulnerable. According to James R. Killian, Jr., 

President Eisenhower’s assistant for science and technology, Sputnik I “created a crisis 

of confidence that swept the country like a windblown forest fire.”2

A dramatic wake-up call, Sputnik was actually one of several indications of the 

larger strategic transformation taking place. Around the world, other forces were at 

work laying the foundations for a new international order in which the underdeveloped countries of the Third World would play a larger and more active part. The most 

striking changes were those resulting from the end of European colonialism and a 

rising tide of Third World nationalism and socioeconomic discontent. Starting in Asia, 

the process had spread to the Middle East and Africa by the mid to late 1950s, creating new security problems as it went along. Meanwhile, a surge of anti-Americanism 

in Latin America presented fresh challenges there. Most Third World countries were 

too preoccupied with internal difficulties or regional rivalries to take much interest in 

the ongoing ideological struggle between East and West. But they were not averse to 

playing off one superpower against another if they saw it to their advantage. 

During this period of transformation, the need for reliable military advice and 

sound strategic planning continued to place heavy demands on the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff. Nonetheless, they were slow to rise to the challenge. Quarreling over Service functions and the allocation of resources continued to hobble their ability to 
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address problems of a cross-Service nature and to present consensus recommendations. Rarely did the JCS speak with a single voice on key issues of national strategy 

and military policy. Despite extensive organizational and administrative reforms introduced in 1958, the JCS system was slow to embrace more efficient and effective 

ways. While there was some progress toward improving operational planning, clashes and disagreements among the chiefs persisted. Frustrated, the President looked 

elsewhere for advice in addressing key politico-military problems. 

Evolution of the Missile Program

The most urgent question raised by Sputnik was whether the United States was as 

far behind the Soviets as it seemed. When the Eisenhower administration adopted the 

New Look in 1953, it assumed that while the Soviets would continue to modernize 

their armed forces, they would be in no position to rival U.S. superiority in nuclear 

weapons or sophisticated delivery systems for up to 5 years. The initial challenge to 

this assumption came almost immediately with the detonation of the Soviet H-bomb 

in the summer of 1953, a smaller-yield but more usable weapon than the H-bomb assemblies in the U.S. arsenal.3

 A year later, the first signs appeared that the Soviets might 

be developing a long-range heavy bomber force significantly larger than previously 

believed. Fears of a “bomber gap” eventually proved unfounded. But the episode drew 

attention to a potentially serious weaknesses in the administration’s defense posture 

and its ability to assess Soviet capabilities. Never again would the Eisenhower administration be quite so sure of its long-term strategic superiority over the Soviets. 

By the mid-1950s, concern had shifted from the Soviet Union’s long-range 

bombers to its ballistic missile program. In assessing the Soviet missile effort, the 

Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Admiral Radford, warned that it could pose “a major danger” to the continental United States and give Moscow sufficient leverage 

“to force a showdown” by the end of the decade.4

 To counter that threat, the JCS 

agreed that the United States needed to step up its development of offensive ballistic 

missiles, but they were at odds over the objective size and configuration of the U.S. 

missile force. Seeking to check further growth in the Air Force share of the budget, 

Army and Navy leaders favored a dispersed missile force tailored to a variety of strategic and tactical missions. For deterrence, they argued, the required force could be 

kept fairly small as long as it had a high degree of survivability against a Soviet attack 

and the ability to inflict unacceptable area damage against Soviet cities in retaliation, 

in effect a posture of “minimum deterrence” resting on “countervalue” targeting.

The Air Force took a more expansive view of missile requirements. Dismissing 

minimum deterrence as ineffectual, its leaders argued for a “counterforce” posture 
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C H AN GE AN D C ON T INUI T Y

composed of bombers and missiles that accorded first priority to the destruction of Soviet war-making capabilities. Air Force planners expected manned bombers to remain 

the principal weapon for this purpose for the foreseeable future, partly owing to a shortage of funds for missile development and also because the size and weight of nuclear 

weapons limited their application.5

 But with the confirmation in February 1954 by 

the Teapot Committee, an Air Force scientific advisory panel, that high-yield thermonuclear warheads could be miniaturized, Air Force attitudes began to change in favor of 

giving ballistic missiles a larger role.6

 Based on the Teapot Committee’s findings, Trevor 

Gardner, the Secretary of the Air Force’s special assistant for research and development 

(R&D), projected an initial operational capability (IOC) of 100 ICBM-type missiles 

deployed at 20 launch sites around the United States by the end of the decade.7

Limited intelligence left U.S. policymakers guessing about the status of Soviet 

ballistic missile development for most of the 1950s. Citing Moscow’s reliance on 

German scientists to bolster native resources, the Intelligence Community routinely insisted that the Soviets could one day match the United States in missile 

technology. But lacking hard data, intelligence analysts hedged the date when the 

Soviet strategic missile program would pose a direct danger. Early estimates, calibrated from the progress in U.S. research programs, placed the IOC for a Soviet 

ICBM in the 1960–1963 timeframe.8

 But as they gradually pieced together the 

available information, analysts became concerned that the Soviets might be catching up faster than expected. Prior to the availability of U–2 photographs, practically everything the Joint Chiefs and senior policymakers knew about the Soviet 

missile program derived from a worldwide complex of seismic and infrared sensors 

built and maintained by the National Security Agency (NSA).9

 By the mid-1950s, 

the NSA had detected that the Soviets were testing an intermediate range ballistic 

missile (IRBM), which many scientists considered the first step in developing an 

ICBM. In a national intelligence estimate (NIE 11-5-57) issued a few months prior 

to the Soviet ICBM test of August 1957 and Sputnik, the Intelligence Community 

predicted that by 1959 the Soviets “probably” would have an IRBM that could 

strike targets in Western Europe and Japan, and an ICBM prototype for limited 

operational use against the continental United States by 1960−1961.10

Accepting the need to accelerate U.S. missile programs, President Eisenhower 

decided in September 1955 to make the development of both an ICBM and an 

IRBM a top priority, but set no target date for acquiring either capability.11 Later, 

the Air Force projected that it could have an IRBM ready for deployment in Europe and the Near East by mid-1959 and a small operational force of ICBMs by 

March 1961.12 Eisenhower was a committed proponent of ballistic missiles, but not 

a very enthusiastic one. Hoping to avoid a costly missile competition with the 
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Soviets, he downplayed the need to preserve strategic superiority and publicly spoke 

of settling for a posture of “adequacy” or “sufficiency” in overall nuclear capabilities. 

Though the changes he had in mind were more matters of emphasis than substance, 

some observers detected the emergence of a “new” New Look that would no longer strive to maintain strategic superiority over the Soviets.13 On several occasions, 

Eisenhower denigrated the military value of ballistic missiles and stated that he 

backed them only for their “psychological and political significance.”14 Other times, 

he questioned whether much more than a demonstration capability was needed and 

offered no objection when Secretary of Defense Wilson once estimated that, given 

the high yield of thermonuclear weapons, “one hundred and fifty well-targeted 

missiles might be enough.” By and large, Eisenhower regarded long-range ballistic 

missiles as redundant. “We must remember,” he told associates, “that we have a great 

number of bombardment aircraft programmed, and great numbers of tankers that 

are now being built, and we must consider how to use them.”15

Eisenhower cautioned against overemphasis on ballistic missiles not only because they were a new and unproven technology, but also because he saw as yet no 

clear-cut assignment of Service responsibilities for their development and ultimate 

use. His main regret, he later admitted, was that he had allowed missile development 

to remain under Service control and had not made it a direct responsibility of the 

Secretary of Defense.16 Under the original assignment of functions approved by 

Secretary of Defense Wilson in November 1955, the Air Force had developmental 

authority for two first-generation liquid-propellant ICBMs (the Atlas and a backup, 

the Titan) and an IRBM (the Thor). The Army and Navy were to share responsibility for a fourth missile, a 1,500-mile liquid-propellant medium-range ballistic missile (MRBM) named Jupiter, for launch from land or at sea.17

Almost immediately, the Services quarreled over the allocation of resources and access to production facilities. Strife between the Air Force and Army was especially acute. 

Meanwhile, the Navy lost interest in Jupiter and within a year had shifted its attention 

to a new missile, the solid-propellant Polaris. More versatile than the Jupiter, the Polaris 

could be carried aboard submarines and launched from underwater, making the system 

practically invulnerable. Its principal drawbacks were a limited range (1,000 to 1,500 

miles), a relatively small warhead, and questionable accuracy and reliability. Recognizing 

the advantages of solid-propellant missiles, the Air Force began developing several of its 

own, including a second-generation ICBM known as Minuteman.18

The Joint Chiefs ordinarily confined their participation in R&D to setting general goals and identifying broad categories for exploration. After the1949 Navy and Air 

Force clash over airpower, the JCS shied away from participating in decisions assigning specific weapons-development responsibilities to one Service or another. But in 
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C H AN GE AN D C ON T INUI T Y

August 1956, with the missile program degenerating into a free-for-all, Secretary 

Wilson requested JCS help in sorting out functional responsibilities. Not since 

the Key West and Newport conferences of 1948 had a Secretary of Defense relied so heavily on the JCS to help him resolve a roles-and-missions question of 

such importance.19

Wilson was, of course, asking a lot, since the Joint Chiefs (except the Chairman) served both as military advisors to the Secretary and the President and as 

the uniformed heads of their Services, in which capacity they were under a moral 

obligation to defend the interests of their organizations. The ensuing deliberations 

yielded no consensus that might have pointed to a long-term solution, but they did 

find the Chairman, the Air Force, and the Navy in basic agreement that three strategic missile programs were too many and that the logical course was to eliminate 

or curb the Army program. Secretary Wilson agreed and in November 1956 set a 

range limit (loosely enforced) of 200 miles on future Army missiles and turned the 

Jupiter over to the Air Force.20

While Wilson’s clarification of Service functions restored a semblance of order to 

the ballistic missile program, it left the door open to a resumption of conflict between 

the Air Force and Navy for control of the strategic bombardment mission. Clearly, 

the Air Force was in no immediate danger of being displaced. Nor was the Navy’s 

Polaris force, once it became operational in the 1960s, apt to rival the Strategic Air 

Command’s reach and striking power. But as the Services proceeded down the path 

laid out in the mid-1950s, the country was again heading toward the development of 

two strategic forces—one run by the Air Force and the other by the Navy—with all 

the overlapping and duplication of effort separate systems implied. The JCS had yet 

to address this issue, and, if the past were any guide, they would do everything in their 

collective power to avoid it. Yet sooner or later the day of reckoning would arrive.

The Gaither Report 

With the U.S. missile program mired in inter-Service rivalry, feuding, and confusion, the task of formulating an effective response to Sputnik became all the more 

challenging. As it happened, it took an outside inquiry by a group of experts known 

as the Gaither Committee to break the logjam. The findings, summarized in a top 

secret report, reached the President and NSC in early November 1957, barely a 

month after the first Sputnik. Taking a broad-brush approach, the Gaither Committee confirmed the need for vigorous steps to counter Soviet progress in space and 

ballistic missiles and suggested that U.S. vulnerability might be even greater than 

previously supposed.
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The Joint Chiefs resented intrusions by outsiders like the Gaither Committee but 

were virtually powerless to do much about it. The panel’s origins lay in growing pressure 

from congressional Democrats who wanted the Eisenhower administration to do more 

in the area of civil defense against the threat of a Soviet nuclear attack. At issue was a 

Federal Civil Defense Administration (FCDA) plan, presented to the President in January 1957, urging large-scale civil defense improvements, including a $32 billion nationwide shelter program in lieu of a less expensive evacuation plan.21 Some administration 

officials dismissed the shelters as a diversion of resources; others, including former Secretary of the Army Gordon Gray, now the director of the Office of Defense Mobilization 

(ODM), considered them a valuable contribution to deterrence.22

Adopting a neutral position, the Joint Chiefs concurred in the NSC Planning 

Board’s finding that the shelter system needed further study. Seizing on this approach, President Eisenhower arranged in the spring of 1957 with H. Rowan Gaither, a West Coast attorney and chairman of the boards of the Ford Foundation and 

the RAND Corporation, to conduct an inquiry under ODM auspices. Officially 

designated the Security Resources Panel (SRP), the group was commonly known 

as the Gaither Committee. After Gaither fell ill in August, Robert C. Sprague, an 

electronics company executive who specialized in air and missile defense problems, 

and former Deputy Secretary of Defense William C. Foster, co-chaired the panel.23

Soon after agreeing to head the effort, Gaither persuaded the President’s national security advisor, Robert Cutler, to expand the scope of the panel’s investigation. 

Gaither argued that to place civil defense in its proper perspective, he and his committee needed to examine the whole range of the country’s preparations for offensive 

and defensive strategic warfare, much as the Killian Report had done 2 years earlier.24 Armed with an expanded writ, the SRP launched a wholesale inquiry into the 

country’s strategic posture. Offering limited cooperation, the JCS turned down the 

committee’s request for a list of documents but did provide three briefings—a general 

review of the Soviet threat, a status report on continental defenses, and an analysis of 

U.S. retaliatory capabilities.25 For most of its data, the committee relied on the military 

Services, the Intelligence Community, and government “think tanks.” James Phinney 

Baxter, the president of Williams College and author of the Pulitzer Prize–winning 

book, Scientists Against Time (1947), the official history of the Office of Scientific Research and Development in World War II, oversaw the preparation of the final report. 

Unable to devote full time to the project because of his college duties, Baxter 

depended on two associates: Colonel George A. Lincoln, USA, a senior planner on 

General Marshall’s staff in World War II and since 1947 a member of the U.S. Military Academy faculty, and Paul H. Nitze, who as director of the State Department’s 

Policy Planning Staff helped write NSC 68 and orchestrate the Truman rearmament 
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C H AN GE AN D C ON T INUI T Y

program. Lincoln was detached and impartial; Nitze was anything but. An outspoken 

critic of the Eisenhower administration’s heavy reliance on nuclear weapons, he was a 

leading proponent of the emerging doctrine of flexible response that would reshape 

American defense policy during the Kennedy-Johnson administrations.26

Written in a style reminiscent of NSC 68, the Gaither Report examined the 

entire panorama of U.S.-Soviet relations. The heart of the report was its assessment 

of the ominous progress of the Soviet ICBM program, which in the committee’s 

estimation exposed U.S. retaliatory forces to unprecedented risk. “By 1959,” the 

report warned, “the USSR may be able to launch an attack with its ICBMs carrying megaton warheads, against which the Strategic Air Command (SAC) will be 

almost completely vulnerable under present programs.” To address this threat, the 

committee recommended a $44 billion effort spread over 5 years—$19 billion to 

expand and upgrade offensive capabilities and $25 billion for active and passive defense programs—with future allocations giving roughly equal priority to offensive 

and defensive capabilities. Even with these improvements, the committee doubted 

that the United States could achieve complete security. Looking into the future, 

it predicted “a continuing race between the offense and the defense” and “no end 

to the technical moves and countermoves” to gain an advantage. Only through “a 

dependable agreement” limiting arms and “other measures for the preservation of 

peace” did the panel see any prospect of ending this vicious cycle.27

Despite the Gaither Report’s foreboding tone, neither President Eisenhower nor his military advisors saw cause for panic. U–2 photographs (which were 

off-limits to the Gaither Committee because of their sensitivity) showed a Soviet 

ICBM capability limited to a single above-ground launch pad at a previously undetected test site near Tyuratam.28 Whether this information would have changed the 

Gaither Committee’s findings is uncertain. But it made a strong impression on the 

President’s thinking. “Until an enemy has enough operational capability to destroy 

most of our bases simultaneously and thus prevent retaliation by us,” Eisenhower 

believed, “our deterrent remains effective.”29 Having access to the same intelligence 

as the President, the Joint Chiefs agreed that the Gaither Committee had exaggerated the threat. Finding little new or unusual in the report, they dismissed its recommendations as excessive, overdrawn, and probably underpriced.30

The “Missile Gap” and BMD Controversies 

Though classified top secret, key findings of the Gaither Report soon “leaked” to 

the press, giving rise to speculation that the United States had fallen uncomfortably 

behind the Soviet Union in missile technology. Under pressure from Congress and 
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the media, President Eisenhower grudgingly requested small increases for missile development and other measures mentioned in the report. Hoping to keep critics at bay, 

he merely whetted their appetite for more. The ensuing controversy, known as the 

“missile gap,” dogged the Eisenhower administration until it left office. A serious impediment to maintaining stability in military spending, the missile gap also became a 

major issue in the 1960 Presidential campaign. In fact, Soviet space and missile accomplishments tapered off after a second Sputnik launched in November 1957. However, 

a well-orchestrated propaganda and deception campaign spearheaded by Soviet leader 

Nikita S. Khrushchev gave the impression that Soviet missiles were coming off assembly lines “like sausages” and could devastate the United States and Western Europe on 

a moment’s notice. Eisenhower recalled that “there was rarely a day when I failed to 

give earnest study to reports of our progress and to estimates of Soviet capabilities.”31

Struggling to hold the line, the White House received relatively little support or 

cooperation from the two sources—the Intelligence Community and the Joint Chiefs 

of Staff—that might have given the debate a more rational framework. Closely linked 

in their day-to-day activities, the JCS organization and the Intelligence Community 

used much of the same information but tended to interpret the data differently. While 

all agreed that that the United States still held a commanding lead in strategic nuclear 

power, there was no consensus on how long it would last. Sputnik had severely rattled 

the Intelligence Community, and in its aftermath intelligence analysts scrambled to 

figure out where they went wrong. Generally speaking, their assessment of the Soviet submarine-launched ballistic missile program was always fairly accurate.32 But 

having underestimated Soviet ICBM capabilities earlier, they now compensated by 

overestimating what the Soviets could do. The most excessive estimates were those 

of Air Force intelligence, which depicted the Soviets as having a more robust missile 

program than the United States, purposefully designed to produce capabilities for 

launching a disarming first strike by the early to mid-1960s.33

Based in part on these divergent interpretations of intelligence, “splits” persisted among the Joint Chiefs over how the United States should respond in allocating 

resources. Though hardly conclusive, the best visual evidence the JCS found came 

from U–2 photographs. For diplomatic reasons, however, President Eisenhower decided in March 1958 to suspend U–2 flights over the Soviet Union, a suspension 

that lasted until July 1959.34 Thus, the JCS for all practical purposes were “blind” to 

the progress in Soviet missile technology for well over a year. Even so, the evidence 

collected up until the suspension offered uneven support for the Air Force’s highend estimates and its contention that the Soviets were building the infrastructure for 

a first-strike ICBM force. Not only did launch facilities appear limited to a handful 

of above-ground pads, but also there was no designated organization to plan and 
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carry out nuclear delivery missions until the formation of the Strategic Rocket 

Forces (SRF) command in December 1959.35

A key figure in eventually settling these debates was General Nathan F. Twining, USAF, who succeeded Admiral Radford as CJCS in August 1957. Twining was 

not the most forceful or innovative Chairman, but he was well versed in strategic air 

warfare and did his best to function as an impartial arbiter in settling disputes. The 

Soviet missile program’s ominous potential notwithstanding, Twining believed that 

the most serious threat to the United States was still the Soviet Union’s long-range 

air force, estimated at 110–115 planes.36 Looking at these numbers and at the U–2’s 

findings, Twining agreed with his Army and Navy colleagues that there was no need 

for the “crash” program of ICBM development the Air Force favored. Offering an 

interim solution, he proposed allowing the missile program to proceed at a measured production rate until the United States had a better picture of the threats it 

faced and its strategic needs.37 After further give and take, it was largely on this basis 

that the Eisenhower administration framed its response to the missile gap.38

Meanwhile, an even larger controversy was brewing over the allocation of resources for ballistic missile defense (BMD), one of the programs identified in the 

Gaither Report as being in urgent need of bolstering. Prior to Sputnik, the Defense 

Department supported two competing BMD systems: an Air Force program for widearea defense known as “Wizard” and the Army’s Nike-Zeus for point defense, the 

outgrowth of an earlier antiaircraft missile-radar system. Though both were essentially 

drawing-board concepts, the Army’s was more refined, making it the frontrunner in 

the competition.39 Alarmed by the success of Sputnik, Secretary of Defense Neil H. 

McElroy told President Eisenhower that it might be necessary to launch an initiative comparable to the World War II Manhattan Project to produce an anti-ICBM as 

quickly as possible.40 Raising objections, the Air Force and the Navy argued that no 

program was as yet sufficiently advanced to warrant such action.41 But with the pressure building, McElroy decided in January 1958 to end further debate by giving the 

Army primary responsibility for developing an anti-ballistic missile (ABM) system.42

Having won the battle for control of the ABM mission, the Army now wanted 

Nike-Zeus elevated to the same national priority enjoyed by the Air Force and the 

Navy in offensive missile programs. Projecting deployment by the early 1960s, Army 

planners sought to move from R&D into full production as quickly as possible. But 

the high cost of a deployed Nike-Zeus system, estimated at $7 billion to $15 billion, 

invited further technical analysis which the JCS assigned to the Weapons Systems 

Evaluation Group (WSEG). While WSEG found Nike-Zeus to have “significant” 

potential, it also cited the need for more information on technical problems, including the effects of high-altitude nuclear explosions, decoy discrimination, and the 
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vulnerability of incoming nuclear weapons.43 Bowing to strong congressional pressure 

to overlook the system’s shortcomings, an OSD technical steering group urged the 

Secretary of Defense in November 1958 to approve a limited production budget.44 At 

this stage, a firm, unanimous, and unambiguous response from the Joint Chiefs might 

have settled the matter. But under the consensus rules that governed JCS deliberations, no such answer emerged. The only area of agreement among the chiefs was that 

there should be further R&D, a course that McElroy and Eisenhower, hard-pressed to 

hold down military spending, found more appealing than deployment.45

By chance, the President’s decision to forego BMD production coincided with a 

surge in Soviet propaganda and assertions of nuclear superiority. Many Democrats in 

Congress and some members of the Intelligence Community accepted Soviet claims 

at face value. An added complication was that the Soviet Union carried out no ICBM 

tests between May 1958 and March 1959, a hiatus that produced new disputes among 

intelligence experts. The CIA and most other intelligence organizations interpreted the 

moratorium on testing as a sign that the Soviet program was having technical difficulties. 

Air Force intelligence disagreed, however, arguing that an equally plausible explanation 

was that the Soviets had ceased testing because they had solved their technical problems 

and were now gearing up for mass production.46 To settle the matter, McElroy and 

Twining appealed to the President to resume U–2 overflights of the Soviet Union. At 

first, the President refused, fearing that the possible loss of a U–2 might provoke a diplomatic incident or worse. Apprised that the reconnaissance satellite project was “coming 

along nicely” and that the A–12, a faster and more sophisticated spy plane than the U–2, 

was waiting in the wings, he preferred to wait. But at the urging of both the CIA and 

State Department, the President changed his mind and in July 1959 authorized a single 

mission directed against the ICBM test facility at Tyuratam.47

The mission found no trace of launch sites other than at the Tyuratam test facility but could neither confirm nor deny whether the Soviets had a large-scale ICBM 

buildup under way. Still, the absence of new sites was reassuring news and led to a 

gradual reappraisal of the Soviet missile program. A new NIE, appearing in January 1960, 

downplayed the likelihood of a Soviet crash program to produce and deploy ICBMs. 

Based on these findings, George B. Kistiakowsky, the President’s special assistant for science and technology, concluded that “the missile gap doesn’t look to be very serious.”48

The new estimate (NIE 11-8-59) projected a deployed Soviet force of 140 to 

200 ICBMs by mid-1961, with the Joint Staff endorsing the higher number.49 At the 

President’s request, General Twining, Secretary of Defense Thomas S. Gates, Jr., and 

Director of Central Intelligence (DCI) Allen W. Dulles appeared before Congress to 

explain the new intelligence. All agreed that the fresh data cast doubt on the missile 

gap. Unfortunately, however, their testimony was poorly coordinated and diverged 
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on critical details, most notably the number of missiles the Soviets might deploy. In 

closed hearings, Gates and Dulles stressed the lower numbers while Twining stood 

by the Joint Staff’s figures. Seizing on this and other discrepancies, some congressional Democrats questioned the reliability of the administration’s assessments, keeping 

the missile gap controversy alive and well despite growing evidence that the Soviet 

lead was overblown.50

Determined to end the missile gap debate, DCI Dulles persuaded President 

Eisenhower to increase the frequency of U–2 flights over the Soviet Union. Even 

before the program began in 1956, Richard M. Bissell, Jr., the coordinator of the 

effort, had predicted that the U–2 would be able to fly over the Soviet Union with 

impunity for only about 2 years.51 Hence, the development of the A–12, a faster 

plane that could cruise at 90,000 feet. Based on Bissell’s estimate, by 1960 the U–2 

was living on borrowed time. Increasingly uneasy, Eisenhower reluctantly supported 

Dulles in hopes of bringing the controversy to a definitive conclusion. The result 

was a new series of flights, culminating in Francis Gary Powers’ ill-fated mission of 

May 1, 1960, which the Soviets ended abruptly with an SA–2 missile.52 In addition 

to wrecking a summit conference between Eisenhower and Khrushchev, the downing of Powers’ plane brought an immediate cessation of U–2 flights over the Soviet 

Union. Thus ended the most reliable source of information the Joint Chiefs and 

the Intelligence Community had on the Soviet missile buildup until the Discoverer 

satellite program began to provide detailed pictures later that summer.53

Even with the missile gap issue unresolved, the U.S. response was well formed, 

with much of it in place by the time the Eisenhower administration left office. Unable to agree on an overall strategic blueprint, the Joint Chiefs let the Services pursue their own often overlapping interests and left it up to the Secretary of Defense 

and the President to resolve conflicts. The result was a fairly predictable allocation 

of functions that essentially allowed each Service to push its preferred programs—

ICBMs and IRBMs for the Air Force, Polaris for the Navy, and Nike-Zeus for the 

Army. A new strategic buildup driven by dynamic advances in missile technology 

and energized by arguable claims of Soviet accomplishments had begun.

Reorganization and Reform, 1958–1960 

The inter-Service rivalry and competition that plagued the missile program left 

President Eisenhower more convinced than ever that the Department of Defense—

and in particular the Joint Chiefs of Staff—needed fundamental organizational reform. Despite the changes made in 1953, Eisenhower was far from satisfied with the 

results. While the 1953 reforms had streamlined and strengthened the Office of the 
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Secretary of Defense, they had produced only limited improvements in JCS performance. The central problems, in Eisenhower’s view, continued to be the institutional 

weakness of the Chairman and the influence of “narrow Service considerations” in 

JCS deliberations. The “original mistake in this whole business,” he believed, had 

been the failure to create a single Service in 1947.54 Ideally, he wanted the Chairman to have broader powers and the authority to make decisions in the absence 

of unanimity among the chiefs. He also wanted to simplify lines of command and 

control, make the JCS members of the Secretary’s staff, and turn the Joint Staff into 

an integrated, all-Service organization similar to the combined staffs he had commanded in Europe in World War II and at SHAPE in the early 1950s.55

The Joint Chiefs recognized that their internal differences threatened serious consequences for their role and influence. By failing to reconcile their differences, warned 

the Air Force Chief of Staff General Thomas D. White, the JCS were placing themselves 

in jeopardy of ceding important military policy functions to civilians in OSD.56 Despite 

the risk, however, none of the chiefs, including White, favored a sharp departure from 

current practices and procedures; only the Chairman, General Twining, showed significant interest in organizational reform. The most determined of all to preserve the status 

quo was Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Arleigh A. Burke, who openly denounced 

“public pressures toward centralization and authoritarianism in defense.”57 To help make 

their case, the JCS in December 1957 appointed an ad hoc inter-Service panel headed 

by Major General Earle G. Wheeler, USA, who would later become Chairman of the 

JCS. Working quickly, the committee came up with an interim report in less than a 

month, but its findings, which were generally in line with the view that radical changes 

were to be avoided, proved too little too late to affect the ensuing debate.58

The opening salvo in the administration’s drive to reform the Pentagon came 

on January 9, 1958, in the President’s State of the Union address. Insisting that defense 

reorganization was “imperative,” he called for “real unity” among the Services, clear 

subordination of the military to civilian control, improved integration of resources, 

simplification of scientific and industrial effort, and an end to inter-Service rivalry and 

disputes.59 To translate the President’s goals into specific recommendations, Secretary 

of Defense McElroy turned to Charles A. Coolidge, a former assistant secretary, who 

had worked on defense organizational problems in the past. For assistance, Coolidge 

formed an advisory group that included General Twining, his two predecessors, Admiral Radford and General Bradley, and General Alfred M. Gruenther, USA (Ret.), 

the former NATO commander and the first director of the Joint Staff.60

Drawing on the findings of the Coolidge group, Eisenhower submitted reform 

recommendations to Congress on April 3, 1958. Declaring that “separate ground, sea 

and air warfare is gone forever,” the President called for legislation to facilitate closer 
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inter-Service unity and cooperation. Among the changes he sought were authority for the Secretary of Defense to transfer, reassign, consolidate, or abolish military 

functions; a simplified chain of command; enhanced authority for the Secretary to 

carry out military research and development through a director of defense research 

and engineering; removal of the ceiling on the size of the Joint Staff; and stronger 

powers for the Chairman, allowing him to vote in JCS deliberations and to select 

(subject to the Secretary’s approval) the Joint Staff’s director.61

Opponents of the President’s plan rallied behind Democratic Representative 

Carl Vinson of Georgia, Chairman of the House Armed Services Committee and a 

longtime supporter of the Navy.62 A critic of Service unification, Vinson knew that 

more power for the Secretary of Defense and the Chairman meant less power and 

authority for him and his committee. To blunt the President’s initiative, he accused 

the administration of seeking a “blank check” to remake the Joint Staff and revived 

arguments that the White House was flirting with a Prussian-style general staff. 

Eventually, he sent proposed legislation to the House floor that fell short of meeting 

administration requests for changes. Stymied in the House, the administration relied 

on the Senate to produce a bill more to its liking and trusted a conference committee to iron out the differences in its favor. Although many in Congress shared 

Vinson’s concerns to one degree or another, the overriding sentiment among legislators was that the Commander in Chief should have the latitude to organize the 

Department of Defense as he saw fit. The resulting compromise, signed into law on 

August 6, 1958, gave the President nearly everything he sought, but retained a ceiling on the size of the Joint Staff (increased from 210 to 400 officers) and banned its 

use in any capacity approximating “an overall Armed Forces General Staff.”63

While most of the President’s reforms required enabling legislation from Congress, those affecting the internal organization and operation of the JCS were largely 

carried out under the existing authority of the Secretary of Defense. Expressing no 

particular preferences, McElroy left the details to be worked out by the Joint Chiefs 

themselves. Foremost among the changes thus made was the creation of a conventional military staff structure, which replaced the Joint Staff’s committee-group system. In April 1958, Director of the Joint Staff Major General Oliver S. Picher, USAF, 

suggested establishing functional numbered directorates: J-1 (personnel), J-2 (intelligence), J-3 (operations), J-4 (logistics), J-5 (plans and policy), and J-6 (communications and electronics). The most innovative feature under this arrangement was the 

creation of the operations directorate, J-3, which had no corresponding organization under the old group system. President Eisenhower had often said that he wanted the JCS more involved in operational matters, but he had never been specific.64

Arguing that the Joint Staff would be exercising executive authority, Admiral Burke 
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and Commandant of the Marine Corps General Randolph McC. Pate objected to 

these new arrangements, but offered no alternative other than retention of the status 

quo. In view of the caveats inserted by Congress into the final legislation, Twining 

and McElroy agreed that the problems Burke and Pate envisioned appeared highly 

unlikely, and in late August 1958 they assured Eisenhower that the restructuring of 

the Joint Staff would proceed as planned.65

The 1958 amendments also streamlined relationships under the unified command 

plan. As the President had stated, a major goal of the reorganization was to establish a 

more direct chain of command by ending the designation of a military department as 

the executive agency for each unified command. Under the new law, the chain of command ran from the President to the Secretary of Defense to the unified and specified 

commanders. The intent was that all combatant forces should operate under the control 

of a unified or specified commander who would be responsible directly to the Secretary 

of Defense. The Secretary would exercise control by orders issued through the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff. In consonance with this intention, the 1958 amendments deleted existing provisions that had authorized a Service chief to command the operating forces of 

his Service. From this point on, each military department was to organize, equip, train, 

support, and administer combatant forces but not direct their operations.66

Implementing these provisions fell to Secretary McElroy, who issued a revised version of DOD Directive 5100.1, “Functions of the Department of Defense and its Major 

Components,” on December 31, 1958. The directive designated the Joint Chiefs of Staff 

as the Secretary’s “immediate military staff” and described the chain of operational command as extending from the President to the Secretary via the Joint Chiefs to the unified 

and specified commanders. In effect, the JCS became the conduit through which the 

National Command Authority, or NCA (i.e., the President, the Secretary of Defense, 

and the NSC), communicated with the combatant commanders. The new directive 

also charged the Joint Chiefs with responsibility for recommending to the Secretary of 

Defense the establishment and force structure of unified and specified commands, the 

assignment to the military departments of responsibility for providing support to these 

commands, and the review of the unified commanders’ strategic plans and programs.67

No less important than the reforms enacted in 1958 was the creation, 2 years later, 

of the Joint Strategic Target Planning Staff (JSTPS). An administrative extension of 

the JCS, the JSTPS’s function was to plan and coordinate strategic nuclear targeting, a 

key part of the Joint Chiefs’ statutory responsibility for strategic planning. Though the 

majority of the officers serving on the JSTPS were from the Air Force, it also included 

naval officers and representatives from each major combatant command allocated nuclear weapons. The origins of the JSTPS lay in the growth of the missile program and 

the need for better command, control, and coordination of targeting. At issue was how 
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Figure 6–1.

JCS Organization Chart, 1959

to integrate the Navy’s Polaris submarine fleet with other strategic forces when the 

Polaris boats began deployment in the early 1960s. Initially, there were two competing 

plans on the table—an Air Force plan to centralize the control of all strategic nuclear 

forces under an overarching U.S. Strategic Command that would replace SAC, and a 

Navy plan, supported by the Army and the Marine Corps, to place the Polaris boats 

under the command and control of unified commanders with major naval forces 

(Commander in Chief, Atlantic; Commander in Chief, Pacific; and U.S. Commander 

in Chief, Europe).68 During the early months of 1959, the debate became, as one senior Air Force planner described it, “an all-out battle” that could shape budget shares 

and the control of forces and missions for decades to come.69

Despite the 1958 reforms, unity among the Joint Chiefs remained more a hope 

than a reality, frustrating the possibility of an early resolution of the Polaris issue. In 

May 1959, the Joint Chiefs notified the Secretary that they could only produce a split 

recommendation on command and control of strategic forces.70 Absent on medical 

leave, General Twining had played no part in the chiefs’ deliberations. When he resumed his duties that summer he set about finding a solution to the problem, which 

he identified as essentially the selection of targets, the development of appropriate 

plans, and the right allocation of resources.71 Since the Strategic Air Command had 
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most of the assets and experience in these matters, Twining expected any solution to 

center around SAC. Viewing the creation of a new unified command as the last resort, 

he preferred to start with the development of a comprehensive target list and a jointly 

prepared single integrated operational targeting plan. All Polaris submarines would 

remain under the Navy’s tactical control, but the targeting of their weapons would be 

a joint endeavor, to avoid overlap and unnecessary duplication with other forces. It 

was from this blueprint that the JSTPS eventually emerged.72

Twining urged the Secretary and the President to defer action until they had 

the results of an ongoing review of targeting priorities by the Net Evaluation Subcommittee (NESC), an inter-Service technical advisory body under the NSC. While 

the NESC had conducted limited inquiries of this nature before, this was the most 

in-depth examination of targeting policy since the Joint Chiefs systematized targeting categories in the summer of 1950. Such a review should have been an in-house 

function, but because of the Joint Staff’s limited size, the JCS had yet to develop 

a war-gaming capability. For technical analysis, they relied on the NESC, WSEG, 

RAND, the Defense Atomic Support Agency (DASA), and the Services.73 The key 

question was whether to concentrate strategic attacks against targets that were primarily military (the preferred Air Force approach), primarily urban-industrial (the Army 

and Navy view), or an “optimum mix.” Toward the end of October 1959, the NESC 

recommended adopting the latter approach, thereby covering all bases.74 At this point, 

a lengthy and acrimonious debate ensued among the Joint Chiefs over the organizational arrangements that should be adopted to implement the NESC report. Resisting 

pressure from the Air Force, Admiral Burke insisted that there should be no merger of 

strategic forces and that SAC should have no authority over Polaris.75 To accommodate Burke’s objections, the new Secretary of Defense, Thomas S. Gates, Jr., pushed the 

idea of a separate joint targeting staff—the JSTPS—responsible to the JCS. Gates told 

the President that, to reach this point, he had held 15 meetings with the Joint Chiefs.76

Patience paid off, and on August 11, 1960, despite continuing objections from 

Admiral Burke, President Eisenhower gave the go-ahead for the integration of strategic targeting. The decision came at the end of a contentious 2-hour White House 

meeting involving the President, Gates, and the Joint Chiefs. The most heated exchanges were between Twining, who accused the Navy of habitually operating on 

its own agenda and flouting the principles of unified command, and Burke, who 

counterattacked that the proposed targeting system undermined JCS authority and 

was nothing more than a thinly disguised attempt by the Air Force to seize control of Polaris. Agreeing with Burke that strategic targeting should remain a JCS 

responsibility, President Eisenhower reminded the chiefs that they should keep the 
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matter under close periodic review. But he found the behavior of all involved in the 

controversy appalling and admonished them “to try to make arrangements work.”77

Activated about a month later, the JSTPS operated from Strategic Air Command 

headquarters at Offut Air Force Base near Omaha, Nebraska, where it had access to 

SAC’s computers and vaults of targeting data. The head of the organization was the 

commander in chief, Strategic Air Command (CINCSAC), an Air Force four-star 

general who served as the director of Strategic Target Planning (DSTP). Under him 

was a Navy vice admiral deputy director in charge of day-to-day management. The 

JSTPS had an initial strength of just over 200 officers—half the size of the Joint Staff at 

the time—of which roughly 15 percent were from the Navy.78 The DSTP communicated directly with the JCS through a liaison office in the Pentagon.79 Broadly speaking, the JSTPS had two tasks: to maintain and update a comprehensive list of targets, 

known as the National Strategic Targeting List (NSTL); and to prepare a Single Integrated Operational Plan (SIOP) for the execution of strategic operations against the 

Soviet Union, Communist China, and the Warsaw Pact countries of Eastern Europe.80

By the end of 1960, the JSTPS had produced the first SIOP, designated SIOP–

62. A hurry-up job, it contained only one “plan,” which was meant for execution as 

a whole. Though it supposedly conformed to the NESC “optimum mix” philosophy, SIOP–62 was essentially a recapitulation of previous SAC war plans, oriented 

toward massive retaliation, with the assets of available Polaris boats added in. Eighty 

percent of the planned attacks were against “military targets.” These included not 

only atomic energy facilities, ICBM sites, air bases, and other military installations, 

but also factories turning out military equipment located in urban-industrial centers. Planners acknowledged that it was practically impossible to distinguish an attack against a military target from an attack against an urban-industrial target.81

Eisenhower’s reaction to SIOP–62 was that it did not appear “to make the most 

effective use of our resources.” He said that if the planning had been in his hands, he 

would have held the Polaris boats in reserve for follow-on attacks. Though Eisenhower 

still approved the plan, his science advisor, George B. Kistiakowsky, thought the next 

administration should subject it to a “thorough revision.”82 Herbert F. York, director of 

Defense Research and Engineering and a key figure in the development of strategic 

weapons, agreed. York recalled that the programmed attacks were so indiscriminate that 

their purpose seemed to be “simply to strip-mine much of the USSR.”83

Eisenhower wanted the targeting controversy settled and the JSTPS up and running 

before he left office; he did not want to saddle his successor “with the monstrosity we 

now see in prospect as Polaris and other new weapons come into operating status.”84 But 

like other organizational reforms initiated toward the end of his Presidency, it was hard 

to predict how successful the new targeting procedures would be. As the inter-Service 
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quarreling over guided missiles and targeting policy demonstrated, it would take more 

than an act of Congress to instill unity of spirit and action among the Services. The 1958 

reforms had taken the Joint Chiefs of Staff about as far as they could go without discarding the concept of an inter-Service corporate advisory body, creating a full-blown 

general staff, and giving the Chairman complete control. But at the same time, these 

reforms had not done much to make the JCS a more efficient and effective entity.

Defense of the Middle East 

As the Joint Chiefs struggled with the impact of guided missiles, new security 

problems were emerging abroad. At the outset of the Eisenhower administration, 

the principal Cold War battlegrounds were in Europe and East Asia. But by the 

mid-1950s, attention turned increasingly to the Middle East, where continuing friction between Israel and the Arab states and a growing Soviet presence created new 

concerns. To the Joint Chiefs, the strategic importance of the Middle East was selfevident. It contained the largest petroleum reserves in the world, the Suez Canal, 

and ideal locations for military bases from which to launch strategic air and missile 

attacks against the Soviet Union in the event of general war. Were the Middle East 

to become part of the Sino-Soviet block, the results would doubtless have a seriously adverse impact on American interests and the strategic balance. 

In considering defense arrangements for the Middle East, the Joint Chiefs moved 

with caution, partly because of limited resources and partly because British interests 

and influence predominated there. While the United States had formidable capabilities nearby—the Sixth Fleet in the Mediterranean and air bases in Morocco, Libya, 

and Turkey—the only U.S. forces assigned to the Middle East were the MIDEASTFOR, a task force of four or five ships in the Persian Gulf under the control of 

the Commander in Chief, U.S. Naval Forces, Eastern Atlantic and Mediterranean 

(CINCNELM).85 Considerably larger, the British presence included a network of 

military and naval bases, economic holdings, and intelligence assets scattered across 

the region. Most of the initial defense planning thus occurred in London, where the 

British Chiefs of Staff took the lead. The organizing concept that emerged from these 

discussions was the Baghdad Pact, a loose coalition created early in 1955 that included 

Britain, Turkey, Iraq, Iran, and Pakistan. With NATO to the west and the Southeast 

Asia Treaty Organization (SEATO) to the east, the Baghdad Pact completed “a globegirdling wall of containment against communist expansion.”86 The JCS favored full 

U.S. adherence to the Baghdad Pact, but ran into opposition from the State Department, which worried that U.S. membership would complicate American efforts to 
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ease Arab-Israeli tensions. Eventually, the JCS had to settle for “observer” status, which 

gave them back-door access to the Pact’s military planning.87

Conceived as an anti-Communist alliance, the Baghdad Pact’s main military function was to block a Soviet invasion of the Middle East and Southwest Asia. At Iran’s insistence, the Pact adopted a strategy to defend a line along the rugged Elburz Mountains 

stretching from the borders of Armenia to the Caspian Sea. JCS planners assessed the 

concept as “sound” in theory, but found it needing closer coordination than Alliance 

members seemed prepared to accept.88 At bottom, the members of the Baghdad Pact 

had little in common other than their desire for U.S. military assistance, which Iran and 

Iraq appeared to want to prop up their regimes and preserve internal order rather than 

to fight the Soviets. Easily destabilized monarchies ruled in both countries, and neither 

was keen on developing a defense establishment that might become a rival for power. 

Rating Iran and Iraq of dubious reliability, the JCS viewed a successful defense of the 

Middle East as resting on Turkey (a NATO ally) and Pakistan, owing to their strategic 

locations, historic anti-Communism, and commitment to a strong defense posture.89

JCS efforts to fashion a credible defense under the Baghdad Pact were further 

complicated by the rising tempo of anti-Zionism in the Muslim world and the 

intensification of Arab nationalism. The leading political figure in the region was 

now Gamal Abdel Nasser, president of Egypt, who had maneuvered his way into 

power following a 1952 putsch that had toppled the dissolute King Farouk. Nasser 

aspired to unite the Arab world and mounted unrelenting propaganda campaigns 

against Israel and the Baghdad Pact. He also aided and abetted Palestinian guerrilla 

raids into Israel from the Gaza Strip and threatened major military action to wipe 

out the Jewish state. For support, he turned to the Soviets who obligingly sold 

him arms through Czechoslovakia. Recognizing Nasser’s growing popularity in the 

Third World, Eisenhower thought it necessary to “woo” him and hesitated to put 

too much overt pressure on Egypt lest it provoke an anti-American backlash in the 

Muslim world “from Dakar to the Philippine Islands.” Normally, the Joint Chiefs 

would have agreed. But according to Admiral Burke, the consensus among the 

chiefs was that one way or another Nasser needed to be “broken.”90

Nasser’s most audacious move was to nationalize the British-owned Suez Canal 

on July 26, 1956, in retaliation for the withdrawal of American and British financing of the Aswan Dam project. In Admiral Radford’s view, Nasser was “trying to be 

another Hitler.”91 With tensions between Israel and Egypt also escalating, the JCS 

and the British chiefs quietly began staff talks on possible combined military action 

in the Middle East in the event of another Arab-Israeli war.92 After nationalization, 

the British signaled that they would welcome a collaborative effort along these 

lines to regain control of the canal.93 Assuming the President would support the 
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British, the JCS proposed moving ahead with contingency planning under which 

the United States would contribute economic and logistical support to a combined 

operation against Egypt in the event diplomacy failed. Should “third parties” (i.e., 

the Soviets) intervene, the JCS favored an immediate commitment of U.S. combat 

forces.94 Eisenhower, however, refused even to look at such plans. Unless there was a 

major threat to the Persian Gulf oil fields, he could not perceive U.S. interests to be 

seriously at risk and had no desire to be accused of coming to the rescue of AngloFrench colonialism. While he acknowledged that “there may be no escape from 

the use of force” in the current crisis, he did not want the United States directly 

involved in a confrontation that could draw in the Soviets.95

Instead of direct military action, Eisenhower favored weakening Soviet influence and undermining Nasser’s regime through covert operations under a combined Anglo-American plan (code-named OMEGA), which he sanctioned in late 

March 1956. Limited initially to political and economic pressure, the plan’s purpose, as Eisenhower described it, was to “help stabilize the situation” in the Middle 

East and “give us a better atmosphere in which to work.”96 Though the JCS had 

no direct role in OMEGA, Admiral Radford was in on the planning and aware 

of the details practically from its inception.97 OMEGA’s chances of success, however, were far from certain, and as planning progressed there were veiled hints that 

the President’s British counterpart (and personal friend) Prime Minister Anthony 

Eden might take preemptive action on his own. Months before the nationalization, Eden was “quite emphatic that Nasser must be got rid of.” But despite their 

shared antipathy for Nasser, Eden could not persuade the President to participate 

beyond OMEGA.98

Unable to enlist anything other than nominal American support, Eden turned to 

the French and Israelis and began secretly organizing a military operation against Egypt. 

Known as MUSKETEER, the British plan called for Israel to feign an invasion of Egypt, 

giving France and Britain an excuse to intervene, take control of the Suez Canal, and 

install a new regime in Egypt “less hostile to the West.”99 As preparations for the operation 

unfolded, the National Security Agency intercepted a new and unfamiliar French code, 

followed by a “vast increase” in cable traffic between the French and the Israelis.100 Suspecting something was afoot, President Eisenhower authorized U–2 flights that detected 

unusual concentrations of British forces on Malta and Cyprus and early signs of Israeli 

mobilization.101 An elaborate deception plan mounted by British intelligence sought to 

convince the CIA and President Eisenhower that the Israeli mobilization was aimed 

against Jordan, not Egypt, and that the British buildup was to protect Jordan, with whom 

the UK had a security treaty. Eventually, the Intelligence Community and the Joint 

Chiefs uncovered the ruse, but by that time it was too late to make much difference.102
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The invasion began on October 29, 1956, when an estimated six Israeli brigades crossed into the Sinai, breaking through Egyptian defenses. Shortly after hostilities commenced, the Joint Chiefs increased the alert status of selected U.S. forces 

and deployed additional naval units to the eastern Mediterranean, some to assist in 

the evacuation of U.S. citizens from Egypt, Israel, Jordan, and Syria. But beyond this, 

the JCS adopted a low profile and played a limited role in the crisis. In line with 

declarations from the White House calling on the invaders to cease and desist, the 

JCS were careful to avoid giving the appearance that the United States was taking 

sides. Still, the mere presence of increased American forces in the region had the de 

facto effect of working to the advantage of the Anglo-French-Israeli coalition.103

 Initially, the attack was a stunning success. Within days, having easily routed the 

Egyptians, the Israelis were astride the Suez Canal. But after the landing of British and 

French troops at Port Said on November 6, the invasion began to lose steam. Eden assumed that once the operation was under way, Eisenhower would see the opportunities 

it presented and throw his support to Britain, France, and Israel.104 Eden, however, was 

wrong. The fatal flaw in the allies’ plan was that, while the operation seriously crippled 

Nasser’s military machine, it failed to undermine his popularity or bring down his regime. Persuaded that Nasser would survive the setback and that further efforts to unseat 

him could only harm U.S. interests in the Third World, Eisenhower insisted that the coalition halt its operations, accept an immediate ceasefire, and promptly withdraw. Eden 

reluctantly agreed, knowing that he would be admitting defeat and have to resign his 

premiership with no chance of ever regaining control of the canal.

The Suez crisis coincided with two other major events: a popular uprising in 

Hungary against Soviet domination, which eventually failed to dislodge Communist 

rule; and the Presidential election in the United States, which Eisenhower won handily. As it turned out, the Hungarian uprising kept the Soviets so preoccupied that they 

were in no position to provide much help to the Egyptians. Based on the information 

available at the senior levels in Washington, there was little likelihood that Moscow 

would intervene on Egypt’s behalf. Though Moscow at one point rattled its nuclear 

sabers against the invaders, Eisenhower dismissed the threats as bluster aimed more at 

shoring up Moscow’s bona fides with Nasser than at influencing decisions in London, 

Paris, or Tel Aviv. As a precaution, the Joint Chiefs recommended to the President on 

November 6—election day—that the Strategic Air Command increase its readiness 

status for an emergency. Eisenhower, however, saw no need.105

In the aftermath of the Suez crisis, there emerged a politico-military vacuum 

in the Middle East which the United States and the Soviet Union rushed to fill—

the Soviets by stepping up arms aid and political backing for their major clients, 

Egypt and Syria, and the United States by offering similar benefits and planning 
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advice to the members of the Baghdad Pact. The operative U.S. policy, unveiled in 

January 1957, was the “Eisenhower Doctrine,” a broad promise of economic and 

military help for any Middle East country threatened with a Communist takeover.106 Developed to give the President greater leverage in a future Middle East 

crisis, the doctrine emerged without even a pro forma review by the Joint Chiefs 

and had only tepid support in Congress. Even so, it filled an obvious void and gave 

the JCS a better idea of how far they could go in formulating plans and strategy.107

With British influence on the wane, the United States emerged as the de facto 

leader of the Baghdad Pact. By the summer of 1957, JCS representatives were working 

directly with pact planners to coordinate defense of the region with assigned taskings 

for U.S. forces under the Joint Strategic Capabilities Plan. While offering air and naval 

support, the JCS sought to avoid a commitment of U.S. ground troops and looked 

to indigenous forces, primarily those of Turkey and Pakistan, to lead the fight on the 

ground.108 However, the CINCNELM, Admiral Walter F. Boone, who exercised operational planning responsibility for the region, envisioned a significantly broader U.S. 

commitment. Citing the Eisenhower Doctrine, Boone requested authority at the first 

signs of escalating tensions to insert elite combat forces and enlarged military advisory 

units into the Middle East.109 In preparation, Boone held exploratory talks with Army 

commanders at his headquarters in London in September 1957, and in November 

he hosted a joint conference of Army, Navy, and Air Force representatives to develop 

joint plans for airborne operations and air transport support in the Middle East.110

Several members of the Joint Chiefs expressed concern that Boone was moving 

too far too fast. Citing the limited availability of resources, the Army and Air Force 

chiefs of staff questioned the feasibility of Boone’s plans and suggested that he had 

exceeded his authority by presuming to interpret U.S. policy needs under the Eisenhower Doctrine.111 In February 1958, Boone and the JCS reached an understanding 

that restricted CINCNELM’s planning for intervention to Lebanon and Jordan. Later, 

the JCS extended this mandate to include the prevention of a coup d’état, rumored to 

have Egyptian support, aimed at toppling the government of Saudi Arabia.112

The first test of these plans came in Lebanon where in May 1958 a Muslim-led 

revolt broke out against the pro-Western Christian government of Camille Chamoun. Earlier that same year, Egypt and Syria had joined forces to form a United Arab 

Republic (UAR). Suspecting UAR involvement in the disturbances, President Eisenhower ordered Marines with the Sixth Fleet to be prepared to intervene. But by the 

end of the month, tensions in Lebanon had eased and U.S. forces stood down. Fearing the unrest would resume and spread, King Hussein of Jordan requested assistance 

from his cousin, King Faisal II of Iraq. Faisal ordered the Nineteenth Brigade to go 

to Hussein’s aid. Instead of marching on Jordan, dissident units loyal to Brigadier 
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Abdul-Karim Kassim staged a rebellion in Baghdad against the monarchy. On July 

14–15, the insurgents murdered Faisal, his family, and Premier Nuri al-Said and established a military regime allied with Egypt and Syria. Alarmed, Chamoun requested 

immediate U.S. military intervention under the Eisenhower Doctrine, and on July 15 a 

Marine battalion landing team went ashore south of Beirut in the first phase of Operation Blue Bat. At the same time, demonstrating that it was still a power to be reckoned 

with, Britain deployed 3,000 paratroopers to Jordan to shore up Hussein’s rule.

In contrast to the debates over Korea, Indochina, and the Chinese off-shore islands, the decision to launch Operation Blue Bat was relatively quick and easy. Having ironed out most of their differences during the planning phase, the Joint Chiefs 

were able to move promptly when the time arrived. Though there was some talk of 

mounting a combined operation with the British, events moved too quickly for the 

necessary arrangements to be finalized and put into effect. While briefing congressional leaders immediately before U.S. troops landed, General Twining speculated 

that involvement in Lebanon might require intervention elsewhere in the region.113

Still, the uneasiness of Congress over an expanded operation, the absence of overt 

Soviet, Egyptian, or Syrian involvement, and President Eisenhower’s own reluctance 

to make open-ended commitments confined the operation to Beirut. Finding no 

concrete evidence of Communist involvement, the President declined to justify 

U.S. intervention as a function of the Eisenhower Doctrine.

The Lebanon incident was the only time during his Presidency, other than during the final months of the Korean War, that Eisenhower resorted to the use of military power. Among other things, Operation Blue Bat served to rebut critics (including 

Army Chief of Staff General Maxwell D. Taylor) who argued that the administration’s 

cutbacks and reallocation of military resources under the New Look had eviscerated 

the country’s conventional forces. To be sure, some of the equipment used in the 

operation was obsolescent. But within 2 weeks, the JCS were able to deploy the bulk 

of the Sixth Fleet off-shore and a division-equivalent of Marines and Army troops in 

and around Beirut, with two more Army divisions standing by in Germany.114 Initially, 

Admiral James L. Holloway, Jr., who had succeeded Admiral Boone as CINCNELM 

in February, directly commanded the entire operation.115 Evolving quickly into a joint 

enterprise, the growing scale and scope of the intervention necessitated an expanded 

command structure, with an Air Force major general in charge of tactical support 

and air transport operations and an Army major general commanding ground forces 

ashore. Holloway remained in charge overall.116 As historian Stephen E. Ambrose later 

observed: “Lebanon, in short, was a show of force—and a most impressive one.”117

The Lebanon intervention was the final episode in a fast-paced 2 years since 

the Suez crisis that witnessed dramatic changes in the political, strategic, and 
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military makeup of the Middle East. From this point until the Six Day War of 1967, 

the Middle East seemed to quiet down. Even so, the alignment of Egypt and Syria 

with the Soviet Union, the overthrow of the pro-Western government in Iraq and, 

with it, the effective collapse of the Baghdad Pact (replaced by a rump alliance calling itself the Central Treaty Organization, or CENTO, in 1959), and continuing 

tensions between Israel and its Arab neighbors, all made for a sensitive situation that 

the Joint Chiefs continued to watch carefully. The United States had yet to make 

a major military commitment to the Middle East. But from the seeds sown in the 

1950s, something along those lines seemed unavoidable sooner or later.

Cuba, Castro, and Communism

Like the Middle East, Latin America experienced growing social, economic, and 

political turmoil during the 1950s. Building steadily as the decade progressed, these 

pressures culminated in 1959 in the Cuban revolution, which brought to power a 

Marxist regime under Fidel Castro. Denouncing the United States, Castro eventually aligned his country with the Soviet Union. At the time these events were taking 

shape, the Joint Chiefs of Staff had one overriding strategic concern in Latin America—the security of the Panama Canal. They also assisted in training military officers 

at Defense Department schools and in establishing military advisory programs to 

assist friendly governments. But as a rule, the JCS dedicated few forces to the region 

and exercised limited influence over U.S. policy there during the Eisenhower years. 

If the President needed advice or information, he usually relied on a small circle that 

included his brother, Milton Eisenhower, a specialist on Latin America, Secretary of 

State John Foster Dulles, and Allen W. Dulles, the Director of Central Intelligence. 

Throughout Eisenhower’s years in office, it was axiomatic that a Communist 

presence in the Western Hemisphere would be intolerable and that the United 

States should do all it could to prevent Moscow from making inroads. The preferred approach was to use diplomatic channels or covert operations. Prior to the 

Cuban revolution, the most serious challenge to U.S. policy came from Guatemalan 

strongman Jacobo Árbenz Guzmán, a former military officer with leftist political 

sympathies. Installed as president in 1951 after a controversial and violent election, Árbenz adopted tolerant policies toward Communists and made overtures to 

the Soviet Union, which reciprocated by sending Guatemala a shipload of small 

arms. Convinced that Árbenz was “merely a puppet manipulated by Communists,” 

Eisenhower gave the Central Intelligence Agency the go-ahead to mount a “black” 

propaganda campaign against Árbenz’s authority and to organize and arm a paramilitary group that ousted Árbenz from power in June 1954.118
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Following the overthrow of the Árbenz regime, the Eisenhower administration 

set about bolstering anti-Communist governments in Latin America through, among 

other things, expanded military training and assistance.119 The Joint Chiefs supported 

the administration’s overall goal but objected to State Department efforts to micromanage these programs.120 As time went on, friction over this issue centered increasingly on assistance to Cuba, where dissidents under Fidel Castro, a lawyer turned 

revolutionary, had been waging a guerrilla war against the country’s heavy-handed 

dictator, Fulgencio Batista, since 1953. Having lost confidence in Batista’s honesty and 

leadership, the State Department charged him with improperly diverting American 

aid earmarked for hemispheric defense to internal security functions, mainly to fight 

Castro. In March 1958, without consulting the JCS, State suspended all arms shipments to Cuba.121 A furious Admiral Burke accused the State Department of committing an “unfriendly act” toward the Cuban government that amounted to aiding the 

rebels.122 However, legislators on Capitol Hill supported the State Department, and 

in the summer of 1958 Congress tightened the terms under which American military 

assistance could be used for internal security functions in Latin America. The JCS 

hoped to work around these restrictions, but by the end of the year the tide had so 

turned in Castro’s favor that lifting the arms embargo would have had little effect. On 

January 1, 1959, Batista fled the country, leaving it in the hands of the rebels.123

Castro’s almost overnight rise to power ushered in a turbulent era in CubanAmerican relations, leading to mutual hostility that would outlive the Cold War. Citing Castro’s Marxist rhetoric and anti-American diatribes, the Joint Chiefs were inclined from the beginning to regard him as a Communist who would someday ally 

himself with the Soviet Union. Others, however, including key figures in the Intelligence Community, found the evidence inconclusive. Not until early 1960, when 

Cuba and the Soviet Union concluded a series of trade and technical support deals, 

was Castro’s alignment with the Eastern Bloc confirmed beyond all doubt. From that 

point on, the United States and Castro’s Cuba were in a virtual state of war.

In light of the Castro regime’s hostility toward the United States and reliance on 

the Soviet Union, the Joint Chiefs began looking at military options, with Admiral 

Burke and the Navy in the forefront of advocating a forceful policy. Convinced that 

a Communist Cuba would be anathema to U.S. interests across the Western Hemisphere, Burke saw military action against Cuba as practically unavoidable, and in February 1960 he suggested that the JCS consider steps to topple Castro’s regime. Burke 

envisioned three possible scenarios: unilateral overt action by the United States; multilateral overt action through the Organization of American States (OAS); and covert 

unilateral action.124 The JCS agreed that Burke’s suggestions merited a closer look, 

and by mid-March the Joint Staff had generated preliminary plans to reinforce the 
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defenses around the U.S. naval base at Guantanamo Bay while initiating a naval blockade of Cuba and landing an invasion force of two Army airborne battle groups.125

Like the Joint Chiefs, President Eisenhower wanted Castro—a “little Hitler” as 

he called him—out of the way and was not averse to “drastic” action to achieve his 

goal.126 Realizing, however, that Castro appeared as “a hero to the masses in many 

Latin American nations” and the “champion of the downtrodden,” he feared an ugly 

anti-American backlash across Latin America if U.S. forces became directly involved 

in Castro’s overthrow.127 Alerted to Eisenhower’s concerns, the CIA in January 1960 

began assembling plans and supervisory personnel for covert action against Castro, 

using the Árbenz operation as a model. The original concept envisioned a modest 

venture in which a small force of Cuban expatriates would invade the island, establish 

a perimeter, and hold until a provisional government could declare itself and be recognized. Other guerrilla forces would intensify their operations in anticipation that 

these activities, coupled with unspecified U.S. pressure, would produce a mass uprising 

leading to Castro’s ouster. At a White House conference on March 17, 1960, attended 

by Admiral Burke, President Eisenhower approved the CIA’s plan in principle, noting 

that he knew of “no better plan for dealing with the situation.” It was from this decision that the ill-fated Bay of Pigs operation evolved a little over a year later.128

Coordination and oversight for planning Castro’s overthrow fell to the supersecret 5412 Committee. Composed of the President’s assistant for national security 

affairs, Undersecretary of State, Deputy Secretary of Defense, and Director of Central Intelligence, the 5412 Committee routinely reviewed and advised on covert operations. Despite earlier discussions of including the JCS in the panel’s deliberations, 

President Eisenhower had seen no need, apparently hoping to keep the committee’s 

activities as closely held as possible.129 From the outset of planning, the JCS were excluded from direct involvement in the operation. The division of labor that emerged 

over the summer and autumn of 1960 gave the CIA exclusive jurisdiction over 

organizing, training, and arming the Cuban exile force, while the Joint Chiefs concentrated on improving security around Guantanamo and in the adjacent airspace. 

On August 18, 1960, President Eisenhower approved approximately $13 million for 

the operation and sanctioned the limited use of DOD equipment and personnel for 

training purposes. At the same time, he reiterated his firm opposition to involving 

the United States in a combat role.130

The Joint Chiefs were finally “read into” the CIA’s plans for Cuba on January 

11, 1961. Now scheduled for March, the operation had grown from a limited paramilitary venture meant to arouse opposition to the Castro regime into a full-blown 

invasion involving a “brigade” of 600 to 750 Cuban exiles with their own air support. 

An ambitious enterprise, the CIA’s plan had yet to identify who would take power 
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in Cuba should the invasion succeed, or how to deal with the situation should it fail. 

At this point, the Joint Chiefs were convinced that a Communist Cuba would pose 

an intolerable situation and that a failed invasion, leaving Castro in place, would make 

matters worse. Persuaded that the current plan was seriously flawed, they ordered the 

Director of the Joint Staff to prepare an alternative course of action. Drawing on Admiral Burke’s earlier plan and inputs from the Air Force, the Joint Staff recommended 

closer politico-military coordination and a reassessment of U.S. military support to assure the operation’s tactical success.131 With a new administration about to take office, 

however, and with pressure building to move ahead, it was unclear what impact the 

JCS proposals would have. Eisenhower had set the wheels in motion; it would be up 

to John F. Kennedy to make the decision to proceed.

Berlin Dangers 

At the same time the Joint Chiefs were contemplating actions against Cuba, they 

faced renewed Soviet pressure on Berlin, a source of East-West friction since the 

city was placed under four-power rule in 1945. The most serious flare-up had been 

the blockade crisis of 1948–1949, which had nearly provoked a nuclear response 

from the United States. Since then, even though tensions had eased, the status of the 

city remained one of the most contentious issues of the Cold War. “Berlin,” Nikita 

Khrushchev reportedly said, “is the testicles of the West. Every time I want to make 

the West scream, I squeeze on Berlin.”132

The source of pressure this time was the Soviet Union’s demand of November 

27, 1958, that the Allies terminate their occupation of Berlin within 6 months and 

convert the city into a demilitarized zone. If not, the Soviets threatened to conclude 

a separate agreement with East Germany, end the occupation, and nullify allied access rights to the city. In light of the recent apparent surge in Soviet missiles and 

nuclear power, it looked as if the Kremlin was trying to flex its muscles and test 

how far it could go in using its newly found power to exact concessions. Refusing 

to be blackmailed, the Western powers issued a stiff diplomatic rejection and invited 

the Soviets to explore a peaceful resolution of the problem through negotiations.133

Should diplomacy fail, it would be largely up to the United States to take the 

lead in formulating a fall-back position. Existing preparations for a replay of the Berlin crisis centered on a set of contingency plans maintained by the U.S. European 

Command (USEUCOM). Derived from policies adopted in the National Security 

Council, these plans reflected U.S. thinking at the time that limited wars were to be 

avoided and that the threat of massive retaliation should be the primary deterrent to 

aggressive Soviet behavior. Approved by the Joint Chiefs in May 1956, USEUCOM’s 
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plans envisioned a narrow range of American and/or allied responses. Assuming that 

another full-scale airlift would be impractical, USEUCOM proposed to mount a limited resupply by air and initiate a test of Soviet intentions using a platoon of foot soldiers. Rather than risk a firefight that might escalate, the platoon would have orders to 

withdraw at the first sign of trouble.134 But by late 1958–early 1959, the Service chiefs 

regarded these plans as obsolete. Basking in the success of the Lebanon operation, they 

saw a reemerging role for conventional forces as a means of applying pressure without 

threatening all-out nuclear war. Urging a policy of firmness in the current crisis, they 

recommended heightened security along the Autobahn into Berlin and a large-scale 

mobilization of conventional forces by the Western Allies to demonstrate resolve.135

Both the JCS Chairman, General Twining, and President Eisenhower were 

skeptical of this assessment and did not believe that a conventional buildup would 

do much to impress Soviet leaders. Both felt that it might instead inadvertently result in a confrontation that could escalate out of control. Convinced that the Service 

chiefs—Taylor especially—favored a buildup for budgetary reasons, the President 

dismissed their advice as self-serving and alarmist and told Twining to remind his 

JCS colleagues that they were “not responsible for high-level political decisions.” 

Adopting a low-key approach, the President authorized limited military preparations, sufficient to be detected by Soviet intelligence but not so great as to cause 

public alarm, and declared his intention of relying on a combination of diplomacy 

and deterrence based on “our air power, our missiles, and our allies.”136

Instead of the JCS, Eisenhower looked to General Lauris Norstad, USAF, the 

NATO Supreme Commander (SACEUR) since 1956, to handle further military 

planning. The architect of NATO’s air defense system and a key figure in planning NATO’s nuclear-oriented New Approach, Norstad stood very high on Eisenhower’s list of talented officers. Indeed, when scandal forced his top administrative 

aide Sherman Adams to resign in September 1958, Eisenhower considered bringing Norstad into the White House as his chief of staff. He realized, however, that 

Norstad was more valuable in Europe where he enjoyed the absolute trust and confidence of the NATO allies. An ardent proponent of giving NATO its own nuclear 

stockpile, Norstad treated the New Approach as the first step in that direction. But 

he also recognized that overreliance on nuclear weapons could have drawbacks and 

worked assiduously throughout the Berlin crisis to develop and refine other options 

that would satisfy the both White House and the Joint Chiefs.137

Norstad’s mechanism for dealing with the crisis was a tripartite (U.S.-UKFrench) planning body known as “Live Oak.” Established in April 1959, with offices 

at USEUCOM headquarters outside Paris, Live Oak reported directly to Norstad 

and operated on its own, separate from NATO, the Joint Chiefs, or any national 
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command structure. Recognizing that the Federal Republic of Germany (FRG) 

had a major interest in the outcome, Norstad and his Live Oak staff maintained 

close liaison with West German military planners through the FRG’s representative 

to SHAPE.138 While Norstad endorsed the concept of a military buildup, he proposed confining it to a token increase of 7,000 troops.139 Like the Chairman and the 

President, he was concerned that a large augmentation of allied forces would appear 

provocative and exacerbate tensions. Above all, he wanted the authority to coordinate the operation as he saw fit and to use minimal conventional force to keep 

access routes open. He repeatedly cautioned, however, that any military action had 

to be backed by nuclear weapons and the willingness to use them to be effective.140

By late summer 1959, Live Oak’s planning was starting to bear fruit. Many of 

the measures Norstad endorsed avoided the direct use of military power and applied pressure on the Soviets through other means, including covert operations and 

stepped-up propaganda. Norstad wanted to divert Soviet attention from Berlin by 

sowing unrest and political instability in the East European satellite countries. Convinced that direct retaliatory measures would only escalate the conflict, he preferred 

to respond with naval operations that harassed Soviet shipping in a tit-for-tat fashion. Norstad had no doubt that sooner or later a sizable military buildup followed 

by an “initial probe” might be necessary to determine the extent of Soviet and/or 

East German resistance should traffic into Berlin be impeded. But he wanted to 

explore other avenues first to throw the Soviets off balance.141

The Service chiefs, meanwhile, continued to take an opposing view. Believing 

that Eisenhower and Norstad both underestimated the seriousness of the Soviet 

threat, they were averse to risking nuclear war without a back-up plan. Even though 

a nuclear confrontation might eventually prove unavoidable, they could see no better way of avoiding one than through a conventional buildup—a concrete demonstration of the West’s resolve to defend its rights. But until such time as their advice 

carried more weight, their only choice was to bide their time and treat Norstad’s 

recommendations as “a suitable basis” for further planning.142

Whether the Live Oak plans would be used remained to be seen. Letting the 

6-month ultimatum deadline pass without taking action, Khrushchev accepted an 

invitation to visit the United States, where he and Eisenhower conferred for 2 

days in September. While generally unproductive, the meeting seemed to signal a 

mild improvement in U.S.-Soviet relations and a cooling-off of the Berlin crisis. 

In January 1960, however, Khrushchev revived his threat to sign a separate peace 

treaty with the East Germans. A quadripartite summit meeting, held in Paris in May, 

ended in disarray over the U–2 incident and Khrushchev’s tirade denouncing the 

United States for clandestine overflights of the Soviet Union. Berlin thus became 

one of a list of high-profile Cold War issues—others being Cuba, the smoldering 
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Middle East, tensions in Asia, and an escalating competition in ballistic missiles—

that the Eisenhower administration passed to its successor. 

At the outset of his Presidency, Eisenhower was cautiously optimistic that he 

could rely on the Joint Chiefs to play a major role in national security affairs, from 

participating in crisis management to meeting the “long haul” needs of the Cold 

War by developing a defense posture that would not cripple the economy. But by 

the end of his administration, he had practically given up using the JCS for those 

purposes. Increasingly, he turned elsewhere for politico-military advice and assistance that the JCS should have rendered. One side effect was to nudge the administration toward covert operations and the use of surrogates, recruited and organized 

by the CIA, in lieu of regular military forces and military planners. Though the 

chiefs had some notable successes (e.g., Lebanon), they were too few and far between to alter the overall picture. Far more typical were the fractious debates that 

accompanied the Joint Chiefs’ deliberations on the guided missile program and 

related issues like nuclear targeting. The reforms of 1953 and 1958 notwithstanding, 

there was more dissatisfaction with the Joint Chiefs’ performance by the end of the 

Eisenhower administration than at any time to that point in their history.

Notes

1 The Air Force flight-tested an Atlas ICBM for the first time in June 1957, but the 

launch went awry and technicians had to destroy the missile after less than 1 minute in 

the air. On November 28, 1958, the Air Force finally conducted a fully successful Atlas 

test that covered a 5,500 nm range.

2 James R. Killian, Jr., Sputnik, Scientists, and Eisenhower: A Memoir of the First Special Assistant to the President for Science and Technology (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1977), 7.

3 David Holloway, Stalin and the Bomb: The Soviet Union and Atomic Energy, 1939–1956

(New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), 303–312.

4 Radford’s comments in Memo of Discussion, June 4, 1954, “200th Meeting NSC, June 

3, 1954,” Eisenhower Papers, Ann Whitman File, NSC Series.

5 Jacob Neufeld, The Development of Ballistic Missiles in the United States Air Force, 1945–1960

(Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1990), 95–118. George F. Lemmer, “The Air 

Force and Strategic Deterrence, 1951–1960” (USAF Historical Division Liaison Office, December, 1967), traces the evolution of Air Force strategic conceptual planning in the 1950s.

6 Max Rosenberg, “USAF Ballistic Missiles, 1958–1959” (USAF Historical Division Liaison 

Office, July 1960), 2–3; Robert Frank Futrell, Ideas, Concepts, Doctrine: Basic Thinking in the 

United States Air Force, 1907–1984, 2 vols. (Maxwell AFB: Air University Press, 1989), I, 489–490.

7 Memo, Trevor Gardner to Talbot and Twining, March 11, 1954, “Intercontinental Ballistic Missile System Acceleration Plan,” Nathan F. Twining Papers, Library of Congress.

8 See Peter Hofmann, “The Making of National Estimates during the Period of the ‘Missile Gap,’” Intelligence and National Security 1 (September 1986), 336–356.
203

C H AN GE AN D C ON T INUI T Y

9 Thomas R. Johnson, American Cryptology during the Cold War, 1945–1989, Book I, The 

Struggle for Centralization, 1945–1960 (Washington, DC: National Security Agency, 1995), 

177 (declassified).

10 John Prados, The Soviet Estimate: U.S. Intelligence Analysis and Russian Military Strength

(New York: Dial Press, 1982), 35–36; NIE 11-5-57, “Soviet Capabilities and Probable 

Programs in the Guided Missile Field,” March 12, 1957, in Donald P. Steury, ed., Intentions and Capabilities: Estimates on Soviet Strategic Forces, 1950–1983 (Washington, DC: 

Central Intelligence Agency, 1996), 59–62.

11 NSC Action No. 1433, September 13, 1955, FRUS, 1955–57, XIX, 121.

12 Robert J. Watson, Into the Missile Age, 1956–1960 (Washington, DC: Historical Office, 

Office of the Secretary of Defense, 1997), 166–167.

13 See Eisenhower Public Papers, 1955, 303; Eisenhower Public Papers, 1956, 463–466; NSC 

5602/1, March 15, 1956, “Basic National Security Policy,” FRUS, 1955–57, XIX, 246–

247; and Samuel P. Huntington, The Common Defense: Strategic Programs in National 

Politics (New York: Columbia University Press, 1961), 88–105.

14 Memo of Discussion, December 2, 1955, “Meeting of the National Security Council, 

December 1, 1955,” Eisenhower Papers, Whitman File, NSC Series.

15 Memo by Goodpaster, December 15, 1956, “Meeting with SECDEF Wilson and Others, December 7, 1956”; and Goodpaster Memcon, December 20, 1956, “Conference 

with the President December 19, 1956,” both in DDE Diary Series, Ann Whitman File, 

Eisenhower Papers.

16 Memo by Goodpaster, February 6, 1958, “Conference with the President, February 4, 

1958,” DDE Diary Series, Ann Whitman File, Eisenhower Papers.

17 Neufeld, 119–147.

18 Harvey M. Sapolsky, The Polaris System Development: Bureaucratic and Programmatic Success in Government (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1972), 21–34; I.J. Galantin, 

Submarine Admiral: From Battlewagons to Ballistic Missiles (Urbana: University of Illinois 

Press, 1995), 227–232; Neufeld, 182.

19 K. Condit, JCS and National Policy, 1955–56, 71. Advising the Secretary on Service functions was not a JCS statutory responsibility; it was an assigned function under the 1948 

Key West agreement, reaffirmed in DOD Directive 5100.1, March 16, 1954, “Functions 

of the Armed Forces and the Joint Chiefs of Staff.” Since Key West, however, Secretaries 

of Defense had rarely approached the JCS to help resolve roles and missions questions.

20 K. Condit, 66–72; Memo, SECDEF to AFPC, November 26, 1956, “Clarification of 

Roles and Missions,” in Alice Cole et al., The Department of Defense: Documents on Establishment and Organization, 1944–1978 (Washington, DC: Historical Office, Office of the 

Secretary of Defense, 1978), 311.

21 Harry B. Yoshpe, Our Missing Shield: The U.S. Civil Defense Program in Historical Perspective (Washington, DC: Federal Emergency Management Agency, 1981), 225–234.

22 Memo of Discussion, 318th Meeting NSC, April 4, 1957, FRUS, 1955–57, XIX, 460.

23 Morton H. Halperin, “The Gaither Committee and the Policy Process,” in Thomas 

E. Cronin and Sanford D. Greenberg eds., The Presidential Advisory System (New York: 

Harper and Row, 1969), 185–187; David L. Snead, The Gaither Committee, Eisenhower, 

and the Cold War (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1999), 43–49.

24 Robert Cutler, No Time for Rest (Boston: Little, Brown, 1965), 354–355.
204

Coun c il of War

25 Prados, 69; Snead, 97.

26 Paul H. Nitze, with Ann M. Smith and Steven L. Rearden, From Hiroshima to Glasnost: 

At the Center of Decision—A Memoir (New York: Grove Weidenfeld, 1989), 166–167.

27 Security Resources Panel of the Science Advisory Committee, Deterrence & Survival in 

the Nuclear Age (Washington, DC: GPO, 1976), 14, 17, and passim.

28 Gregory W. Pedlow and Donald E. Welzenbach, The CIA and the U–2 Program, 1954–

1974 (Washington, DC: Central Intelligence Agency, 1998), 135–139.

29 Memo by Goodpaster, February 6, 1958, “Conference with the President, 4 February 

1958,” DDE Diary Series, Ann Whitman File, Eisenhower Papers.

30 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, December 4, 1957, “Report to the President by the Security Resources Panel of the ODM Science Advisory Committee,” with appendix, JCS 

2101/284.

31 Michael Mihalka, “Soviet Strategic Deception, 1955–1981,” Journal of Strategic Studies

5 (March 1982), 40–48; Dwight D. Eisenhower, The White House Years: Waging Peace, 

1956–1961 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1965), 390.

32 Peter J. Roman, Eisenhower and the Missile Gap (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 

1995), 46–47.

33 Prados, 66–95; Lawrence Freedman, U.S. Intelligence and the Soviet Strategic Threat (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986; 2d ed.), 74–77.

34 Pedlow and Welzenbach, 144.

35 Johnson, Struggle for Centralization, 175–177.

36 Memo by John S.D. Eisenhower, February 10, 1959, “Conference with the President, 

February 9, 1959,” DDE Diary Series, Ann Whitman File, Eisenhower Papers.

37 CM-407-59 to SECDEF, October 12, 1959, “Minuteman Program,” 1st N/H to JCS 

1620/277.

38 Watson, 363–379; Fairchild and Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1957–60, 45–51; Snead, 

137.

39 Benson D. Adams, Ballistic Missile Defense (New York: American Elsevier Publishing, 

1971), 22–27.

40 Memo by Goodpaster, October 11, 1957, “Conference with the President, October 11, 

1957,” DDE Diary Series, Ann Whitman File, Eisenhower Papers.

41 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, December 16, 1957, “Anti–Intercontinental Ballistic Missile 

Developments, JCS 1899/372.

42 History of Strategic Air and Ballistic Missile Defense: Volume II, 1956–1972 (Washington, DC: 

Center of Military History, ca. 1975, reprint), 179–182; Adams, Ballistic Missile Defense, 

27–28; Donald R. Baucom, The Origins of SDI, 1944–1983 (Lawrence: University Press 

of Kansas, 1992), 11.

43 Appendix, “WSEG Final Report No. 30: Offensive and Defensive Weapons Systems,” 

[July 15, 1958], 10, JCS 1620/189.

44 Watson, 379.
205

C H AN GE AN D C ON T INUI T Y

45 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, November 24, 1958, “Guided Missile Systems,” JCS 1620/204; 

Memo by John S.D. Eisenhower, December 9, 1958, “Conference with the President 

November 28, 1958,” DDE Diary Series, Ann Whitman File, Eisenhower Papers.

46 Freedman, 70.

47 Pedlow and Welzenbach, 159–163. David Robarge, Archangel: CIA’s Supersonic A–12 Reconnaissance Aircraft (Washington, DC: Central Intelligence Agency, 2007), treats the origins and development of the A–12, precursor of the SR–71. Neither the A–12 nor the 

SR–71 was ever used for its intended purpose: reconnaissance over the Soviet Union. 

The A–12 was retired in the mid-1960s; the SR–71 continued to fly until 1997.

48 George B. Kistiakowsky, A Scientist at the White House: The Private Diary of President 

Eisenhower’s Special Assistant for Science and Technology (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1976), 219.

49 NIE 11-8-59, February 9, 1960, “Soviet Capabilities for Strategic Attack Through Mid1964,” FRUS, 1958–60, III, 378; Steury, Intentions and Capabilities, 71–107.

50 Watson, 354–355; Roy E. Licklider, “The Missile Gap Controversy,” Political Science 

Quarterly 85 (December 1970), 608–609.

51 Pedlow and Welzenbach, 148.

52 Ibid., 165–177. The suspicion at the time was that the Soviets had shot down Powers’ 

plane with a surface-to-air missile. Confirmation came in March 1963 when the U.S. 

air attaché in Moscow learned that that the Sverdlovsk SA–2 battery had fired a threemissile salvo which, in addition to disabling Powers’ aircraft, also scored a direct hit on 

a Soviet fighter aircraft sent aloft to intercept the U–2.

53 Discoverer was one of two U.S. spy satellite programs at the time. The other was SAMOS (Satellite and Missile Observation System). Between October 1960 and December 1961, there were five SAMOS launchings, only two of which went into orbit. The 

pictures they provided were of poor quality. See Freedman, 72–73.

54 Memo by John S.D. Eisenhower, July 6, 1960, “Conference with the President: Secretary Gates, July 6, 1960,” DDE Diary Series, Ann Whitman File, Eisenhower Papers.

55 Memo for the Record by Goodpaster, November 6, 1957, [Meeting of November 4, 

1957, with JCS and Service Secretaries], Eisenhower Papers, Ann Whitman File, Diary 

Series; Eisenhower, Waging Peace, 245–250; Watson, 247–248.

56 CSAFM-306-57 to JCS, December 10, 1957, “Reorganization of the Department of 

Defense,” JCS 1977/24.

57 Watson, 249–251.

58 Report by Ad Hoc Committee to JCS, January 24, 1958, “Organization of the Department of Defense,” JCS 1977/26; Fairchild and Poole, 5; and Watson, 250, 252.

59 “Annual Message to the Congress on the State of the Union,” January 9, 1958, Eisenhower Public Papers, 1958, 7–9.

60 Watson, 251–252. Gruenther served only in a part-time capacity.

61 President’s Message, April 3, 1958, in Alice Cole et al., The Department of Defense: Documents on Establishment and Organization, 1944–1978 (Washington, DC: Historical Office, 

Office of the Secretary of Defense, 1978), 175–186.

62 Years later, in recognition of Vinson’s faithful service, the Navy named a nuclear-powered supercarrier in his honor.
206

Coun c il of War

63 DOD Reorganization Act of 1958, August 6, 1958 (PL 253), Cole et al., Defense Documents, 218. Watson, 264–275, summarizes the legislative origins of the 1958 amendments.

64 As J-3 evolved, its principal functions were to synchronize operational planning and to 

monitor the execution and conduct of military operations.

65 Memo by Goodpaster, August 30, 1958, “Conference with the President, August 28, 

1958, Following Cabinet Meeting,” DDE Diary Series, Ann Whitman File, Eisenhower 

Papers. See also Fairchild and Poole, 6–7.

66 JCS Chronology, “Substantive Changes to the Unified Command Plan, 1958–1969,” 

undated, 1–2, JHO 7-0014.

67 DOD Directive 5100.1, December 31, 1958, “Functions of the Department of Defense 

and its Major Components,” Military Documents Collection, Pentagon Library.

68 Fairchild and Poole, 51–52; David Alan Rosenberg, “The Origins of Overkill: Nuclear 

Weapons and American Strategy, 1945–1960,” International Security 7 (Spring 1983), 60–

61.

69 Letter, Maj. Gen. Hewitt T. Wheless to Maj. Gen. Charles B. Westover, May 12, 1959, 

Thomas D. White Papers, Library of Congress.

70 JCSM-171-59 to SECDEF, May 8, 1959, “Concept of Employment and Command 

Structure for the POLARIS Weapon System,” JCS 1620/257.

71 “History of the Joint Strategic Planning Staff: Background and Preparation of SIOP–

62” (History and Research Division, Headquarter, Strategic Air Command, n.d.), 7 

(declassified).

72 CM-380-59 to SECDEF, August 17, 1959, “Target Coordination and Associated Problems,” JCS 2056/131.

73 Watson, 479. In 1960, to fill the gap, the Joint Chiefs established the Joint War Games 

Agency which operated outside the Joint Staff. In 1968 it became part of J-5 and in 

1970 it merged with the Chairman’s Special Studies Group to form the Studies, Analysis, and Gaming Agency (SAGA), reconstituted as the Joint Analysis Directorate (JAD) 

in 1984.

74 Net Evaluation Subcommittee, National Security Council, “Appraisal of Relative 

Merits, from the Point of View of Effective Deterrence, of Alternative Retaliation Efforts,” October 30, 1959, Enclosure to JCS 2056/145; Fairchild and Poole, 52.

75 Rosenberg, “Origins of Overkill,” 4–5, 61; Watson, 485–490.

76 Fairchild and Poole, 52–53; Memo by John S.D. Eisenhower, July 6, 1960, “Conference 

with the President: Secretary Gates, July 6, 1960,” Eisenhower Papers, Ann Whitman 

File, Diary Series.

77 Memo by Goodpaster, August 13, 1960, “Conference with the President, August 11, 

1960,” DDE Diary Series, Ann Whitman File, Eisenhower Papers; Rosenberg, “Origins 

of Overkill,” 3–4.

78 “History of the JSTPS and SIOP–62,” 14. Considered a separate entity, the JSTPS did 

not fall under the personnel ceiling that governed the size of the Joint Staff.

79 Memo, SECDEF to CJCS, August 16, 1960, “Target Coordination and Associated Problems,” Enclosure A to JCS 2056/164.
207

C H AN GE AN D C ON T INUI T Y

80 SM-810-60 to DSTP et al., August 19, 1960, “Implementation of Strategic Targeting 

and Attack Policy,” Enclosure C to JCS 2056/165. See also Desmond Ball, “Development of the SIOP, 1960–1983,” in Desmond Ball and Jeffrey Richelson, eds., Strategic 

Nuclear Targeting (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1986), 58–61.

81 See “Briefing for the President by CJCS on the Joint Chiefs of Staff Single Integrated 

Operational Plan 1962 (SIOP-62),” September 13, 1961, JCS 2056/281 (sanitized).

82 Memo by Goodpaster, December 1, 1960, “Conference with the President, November 

25, 1960,” DDE Diary Series, Ann Whitman File, Eisenhower Papers.

83 Herbert F. York, Making Weapons, Talking Peace (New York: Basic Books, 1987), 185.

84 Goodpaster Memcon, August 13, 1960, loc. cit.

85 Michael A. Palmer, Guardians of the Gulf: A History of America’s Expanding Role in the 

Persian Gulf, 1833–1992 (New York: Free Press, 1992), 46–49. Known as the Middle East 

Force (MEF), the U.S. flotilla operated out of a British base in Bahrain.

86 Fairchild and Poole, 167.

87 K. Condit, 151–160.

88 Report by JSPC to JCS, June 29, 1956, “Force Requirements for Defense of the Baghdad Pact Area,” JCS 1887/220.

89 Memo of Discussion, 231st Meeting of the NSC, January 13, 1955, FRUS, 1955–57, XII, 

687.

90 Stephen E. Ambrose, Eisenhower: The President (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1984), 

331; Memo by Goodpaster of Conference with the President, July 31, 1956, FRUS, 

1955–57, XVI, 64.

91 Memo of Discussion at 292d Meeting of the NSC, August 9, 1956, FRUS, 1955–57, XVI, 174.

92 K. Condit, 169–174.

93 Cole C. Kingseed, Eisenhower and the Suez Crisis of 1956 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State 

University Press, 1995), 47.

94 Memo, JCS to SECDEF, July 31, 1956, “Nationalization of the Suez Maritime Canal 

Company by the Egyptian Government,” JCS 2105/38; Memo, JCS to SECDEF, August 3, 1956, “Nationalization of the Suez Canal; Consequences and Possible Related 

Actions,” JCS 2105/39.

95 Letter, Eisenhower to Anthony Eden, September 8, 1956, in Eisenhower, Waging Peace, 

669–671.

96 Memo, Dulles to Eisenhower, March 28, 1956, “Near Eastern Policies,” FRUS, 1955–57, 

XV, 419–421; Diary entry, March 28, 1956, in Robert H. Ferrell, ed., The Eisenhower 

Diaries (New York: W.W. Norton, 1981), 323–324.

97 See FRUS, 1955–57, XV, 421–424.

98 W. Scott Lucas, Divided We Stand: Britain, the U.S. and the Suez Crisis (London: Hodder 

& Stoughton, 1991), 109–113 and passim; Diary entry, March 12, 1956, in Evelyn Shuckburgh, Descent to Suez: Diaries, 1951–56 (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1986), 346.

99 Lucas, 160.

100 Ambrose, 353; Eisenhower, Waging Peace, 82.

101 Pedlow and Welzenbach, 112–117.
208

Coun c il of War

102 Ricky-Dale Calhoun, “The Musketeer’s Cloak: Strategic Deception During the Suez 

Crisis of 1956,” Studies in Intelligence 51, no. 2, 47–58 (unclassified edition); K. Condit, 185.

103 Watson, 60–61; K. Condit, 186–188.

104 Christopher Andrew, For the President’s Eyes Only (New York: HarperPerennial, 1996), 227.

105 K. Condit, 189.

106 “Special Message to the Congress on the Situation in the Middle East,” January 5, 1957, 

Eisenhower Public Papers, 1957, 6–16.

107 Ambrose, 381–383; Fairchild and Poole, 135–136.

108 Report by Joint Middle East Planning Committee, “Strategic Guidance and Concept 

for the Development and Employment of the Middle East Baghdad Pact Forces,” October 18, 1957, and decision on October 23, 1957, JCS 2268/6.

109 CINCNELM, “Annual Report 1 January 1959 to 31 December, 1959,” 2–4, copy in 

JHO Collection, summarizes the scale and scope of planned operations. CINCNELM 

was the Navy component commander to USCINCEUR; he functioned also as Commander in Chief, U.S. Specified Command, Middle East (CINCUSSPECOMME). In 

February 1960 CINCNELM became Commander in Chief U.S. Naval Forces Europe 

(CINCNAVEUR) and CINCSPECOMME was discontinued.

110 “The U.S. Army Task Force in Lebanon” (Headquarters, U.S. Army, Europe, 1959), 9.

111 Memo, CNO to JCS, November 7, 1957, “Draft CINCSPECOMME Operation Plan 

215-58,” JCS 2034/34; CSAM 183-57 to JCS, November 14, 1957, same subject, JCS 

2034/36; CSAFM 291-57 to JCS, November 20, 1957, same subject, JCS 2034/38.

112 Report by JSPC to JCS, January 31, 1958, “Military Planning for the Middle East,” and 

decision on February 5, 1958, JCS 1887/433; Message, JCS to USCINCEUR et al., 

March 22, 1958, enclosure A to JCS 1887/438; Fairchild and Poole, 140–142.

113 Memo of Conference with the President, July 14, 1958, FRUS, 1958–60, XI, 225.

114 H.H. Lumpkin, “Operation Blue Bat” (Paper Prepared by Office of Command Historian, USEUCOM, November 4, 1958), 2–3, JHO Collection.

115 Holloway’s son, James L. Holloway III, also participated in the Lebanon operation as a 

naval aviator. Later, from 1974 to 1978, he served as Chief of Naval Operations and a 

member of the JCS.

116 Fairchild and Poole, 156–158; Bernard C. Nalty, “The Air Force Role in Five Crises, 

1958–1965,” USAF Historical Division Liaison Office, June 1968, 13.

117 Ambrose, 472.

118 Eisenhower, Mandate for Change, 421–427; Richard H. Immerman, “Guatemala as Cold 

War History,” Political Science Quarterly 95 (Winter 1980–81), 629–653.

119 NSC 5432/1, September 3, 1954, “United States Objectives and Courses of Action 

With Respect to Latin America,” FRUS, 1952–54, IV, 81–88.

120 FRUS, 1955–57, VI, 266–268, 270, 294–295, 297–298; FRUS, 1958–60, VI, 117–119.

121 Jules R. Benjamin, The United States and the Origins of the Cuban Revolution (Princeton, 

NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990), 151–153.
209

C H AN GE AN D C ON T INUI T Y

122 Memo, CNO to JCS, April 19, 1958, “Suspension of Delivery of Military Equipment 

and Military Sales to Cuba,” JCS 1976/243; Memo of Discussion at DoS–JCS Meeting, 

June 27, 1958, FRUS, 2958–60, VI, 118.

123 Fairchild and Poole, 179–180.

124 Memo, CNO to JCS February 19, 1960, “U.S. Action in Cuba,” JCS 2304/2.

125 Memo of Discussion 437th Meeting of the NSC, March 17, 1960, FRUS, 1958–60, VI, 

857; Watson, 763–764.

126 Ferrell, ed., Eisenhower Diaries, 379; Andrew, For the President’s Eyes Only, 252.

127 Eisenhower, Waging Peace, 525.

128 Goodpaster Memo of Conference with the President, March 17, 1960, FRUS, 1958–60, 

VI, 861–863. For the approved plan, see 5412 Committee Paper, March 16, 1960, “A 

Program of Covert Action Against the Castro Regime,” ibid., 850–851.

129 Ambrose, 507.

130 Memo of Meeting with the President, August 18, 1960, FRUS, 1958–60, VI, 1057–1060; 

Watson, 764.

131 Report by Director, Joint Staff to JCS, January 24, 1961, “U.S. Plan of Action in Cuba,” 

JCS 2304/19.

132 Khrushchev quoted in Gaddis, We Now Know, 140.

133 Jack M. Schick, The Berlin Crisis, 1958–1962 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania 

Press, 1971), 10–27 and passim.

134 Fairchild and Poole, 125–126.

135 See JCSM-16-59 to SECDEF, January 13, 1959, “Berlin Situation,” JCS 1907/162; 

JCSM-82-59 to SECDEF, March 11, 1959, “U.S. Position on Berlin,” JCS 1907/175; 

Talking Paper Approved by JCS for Conference on March 14, 1959, JCS 1907/179; and 

JCSM-93-59 to SECDEF, March 16, 1959, “Statement of Policy on Berlin and Germany,” JCS 1907/180. See also Fairchild and Poole, 126–129.

136 Eisenhower, Waging Peace, 341; Memo by John S.D. Eisenhower of Conference with the 

President, March 9, 1959, quoted in Ambrose, Eisenhower the President, 515–516. See also 

Fairchild and Poole, 128.

137 Eisenhower, Waging Peace, 318. Robert S. Jordan, Norstad: Cold War NATO Supreme 

Commander: Airman, Strategist, Diplomat (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000), 103–136.

138 H.H. Lumpkin, “Live Oak: A Study in Thirty Months of Combined Planning: February 1959–September 1961” (Study prepared at Headquarters U.S. European Command, 

August 19, 1961), 25–26; Jordan, Norstad, 157.

139 FRUS, 1958–60, VIII, 423.

140 Jordan, 155–166.

141 Live Oak Planning Group Paper, July 24, 1959, “Berlin Contingency Planning: More 

Elaborate Military Measures,” JCS 1907/231.

142 JCSM-355-59 to SECDEF, August 21, 1959, “Berlin Contingency Planning: More Elaborate Military Measures,” JCS 1907/237.
Confrontation in Berlin, 1961
Chapter 7

Kennedy and the 

Crisis Presidency

For an organization that did not adapt easily to change, John F. Kennedy’s Presidency 

was one of the most formidable challenges ever to face the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Representing youth, enthusiasm, and fresh ideas, Kennedy entered the White House in 

January 1961 committed to blazing a “New Frontier” in science, space, and the “unresolved problems of peace and war.”1

 As a Senator and Presidential candidate, Kennedy 

had been highly critical of the Eisenhower administration’s defense program, faulting 

it for allowing the country to lag behind the Soviet Union in missile development 

and for failing to develop a credible conventional alternative to nuclear war. “We have 

been driving ourselves into a corner,” Kennedy insisted, “where the only choice is all 

or nothing at all, world devastation or submission—a choice that necessarily causes us 

to hesitate on the brink and leaves the initiative in the hands of our enemies.”2

 Instead 

of threatening an all-out nuclear response, Kennedy advocated graduated levels of 

conflict tailored to the needs of the situation and the degree of provocation, in line 

with the “flexible response” doctrine put forward by retired General Maxwell Taylor, 

former Secretary of State Dean Acheson, and others. 

Refining and implementing the President’s concepts fell mainly to the new 

Secretary of Defense, Robert S. McNamara, who served both Kennedy and his successor, Lyndon B. Johnson. President of the Ford Motor Company before coming 

to Washington, McNamara had no prior experience in defense affairs other than 

his service as a “statistical control” officer in the Army Air Forces during World War 

II. Applying an active management style, McNamara soon became famous for his 

aggressive, centralized administrative methods and sophisticated approach toward 

evaluating military programs and requirements. To assist him, McNamara installed 

a management team that mixed experienced officials with younger “whiz kids” 

adept at “systems analysis,” a relatively new science based on complex, computerized quantitative models. The net effect by the time McNamara stepped down in 

1968 was a veritable revolution in defense management and acquisition and an 

unprecedented degree of civilian intrusion into military planning and decisionmaking. “I’m here to originate and stimulate new ideas and programs,” McNamara 

declared, “not just to referee arguments and harmonize interests.”3

211
212

Coun c il of War

As the McNamara revolution unfolded, the Joint Chiefs looked on with a mixture of awe and apprehension. Made up initially of holdovers appointed by Eisenhower, the JCS were generally older than McNamara and his entourage and skeptical 

of making abrupt changes to practices and procedures built on years of experience, 

painstaking compromise, and meticulous planning. To the incoming Kennedy administration, the JCS seemed overly cautious, tradition-bound, and impervious to new 

ideas. Inclined to give McNamara the benefit of the doubt, Chief of Naval Operations 

(CNO) Admiral Arleigh A. Burke at first lauded the Secretary’s “sharp, decisive” style 

and expected him to be “extremely good.” By the time he retired as CNO in August 

1961, however, Burke saw McNamara and the JCS as working at cross purposes. Air 

Force Chief of Staff General Thomas D. White agreed. In White’s opinion, McNamara 

and his staff were “amateurs” who had little or no appreciation of military affairs. Most 

uneasy of all was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Lyman L. Lemnitzer, 

USA, an Eisenhower appointee steeped in “old school” ways. Though McNamara 

promised not to act on important matters without consulting his military advisors, 

he offered no assurances that he would heed their views. All too often, Lemnitzer 

recalled, the JCS would deliberate “long and hard” to resolve a problem and reach 

a consensus, only to have McNamara turn their recommendations over to a systems 

analysis team “with no military experience” to reshape their advice.4

In addition to their difficulties with McNamara, the JCS faced an uphill struggle 

to retain influence at the White House. Believing the National Security Council system had become unwieldy and unresponsive under Eisenhower, Kennedy opted for 

a simplified organization and a streamlined NSC Staff with enhanced powers. The 

principal architect of the new system was Kennedy’s assistant for national security affairs McGeorge Bundy, who believed that simplified methods would give the President a broader range of views. “[T]he more advice you get,” he assured the President, 

“the better off you will be.”5

 Soon to go were the Planning Board, the Operations 

Coordinating Board, and the other support machinery created by Eisenhower that 

had given the JCS direct and continuous access to the top echelons of the policy 

process. As one sign of their diminished role, the Joint Chiefs closed their office of 

special assistant for national security affairs, which they had maintained in the White 

House since the early 1950s, and conducted business with the NSC through a small 

liaison office located next door in the Old Executive Office Building.6

Under Kennedy, the NSC became a shadow of its former self. Cutting staff by 

one-third, he abandoned the practice of developing broad, long-range policies in 

the NSC and used it primarily for addressing current problems and crisis management. Meetings followed an irregular schedule and were informal compared with 

the two previous administrations. In addition to the statutory members, regular 
K E NN EDY AN D THE C RI S I S P R E S I D E N C Y

213

participants at NSC meetings came to include the President’s brother, Attorney 

General Robert F. Kennedy, and White House political consultant Theodore C. 

Sorensen. By law, the JCS remained advisors to the council, but under the new 

structure and procedures they were further removed than ever from the President’s 

“inner circle.” Still, whatever problems or weaknesses Kennedy’s deconstruction of 

the NSC may have introduced, there was no rush to correct them under the succeeding Johnson administration, which seemed content with the status quo.7

A further blow to the Joint Chiefs’ influence was Kennedy’s decision in the 

aftermath of the Bay of Pigs fiasco in April 1961 to give retired Army Chief of Staff 

General Maxwell D.Taylor an office in the White House as the President’s Military 

Representative (MILREP). The President originally had Taylor in mind to succeed 

Allen Dulles as Director of Central Intelligence, but after the Bay of Pigs embarrassment, Kennedy wanted an experienced military advisor close at hand to avoid 

another “dumb mistake.”8

 Taylor’s position was analogous in some ways to Admiral 

Leahy’s during World War II, though Taylor did not participate in the Joint Chiefs’ 

deliberations or represent their views. Upon taking the job as the President’s MILREP, Taylor assured Lemnitzer that he did not intend to act as a White House “roadblock” to JCS recommendations.9

 His assigned tasks were to provide the President 

with an alternative source of military advice, to review recommendations from the 

Pentagon before they went to the Oval Office, and to serve as the President’s liaison 

for covert operations.10 Taylor’s appointment actually worked out better than the 

JCS expected because they now had someone between McNamara and the President. According to Henry E. Glass, who served as special assistant to the Secretary 

of Defense, McNamara resented having his advice second-guessed and eventually 

persuaded Kennedy that Taylor would be more valuable at the Pentagon as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs (where McNamara would have control over him) than at 

the White House. Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr., historian-in-residence at the White 

House, had a different view. He characterized Taylor’s appointment as a temporary 

measure until General Lemnitzer’s term expired and Kennedy could move Taylor 

to the Pentagon as CJCS. In any event, on October 1, 1962, Taylor became Chairman, replacing Lemnitzer, who went to Europe as NATO Supreme Commander.11

The Bay of Pigs 

Kennedy’s early months in office were the formative period in his relationship with 

the Joint Chiefs and left an indelible impression on all involved. His primary aim in 

defense policy was to move away from Eisenhower’s heavy reliance on nuclear weapons by developing a more balanced and flexible force posture. Most of the JCS at the 
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time—the Army and Navy especially—agreed with Kennedy’s basic objective and 

welcomed his efforts to make changes. However, the JCS soon found McNamara’s 

methods of carrying out the President’s orders heavy-handed and counterproductive to the development of smooth and efficient civil-military relations. Efforts to 

convince McNamara and his staff that it would take time and patience to implement 

the changes the President wanted initially met with strong quizzical objections. The 

honeymoon between the administration and the JCS was brief. Rumors of growing 

tensions and discontent at the Pentagon surfaced within weeks after the inauguration.

No episode more aptly captured these difficulties of adjustment than the Joint 

Chiefs’ role in the Bay of Pigs operation, the ill-fated attempt by the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), using Cuban expatriates, to invade Cuba and overthrow Fidel 

Castro in the spring of 1961. By the time Kennedy took office, the Bay of Pigs invasion had been in gestation for nearly a year, though few outside the CIA knew of 

the program’s existence. Not until early January 1961 did the Joint Chiefs officially 

became privy to the details, though even then, by Admiral Burke’s account, they were 

“kept pretty ignorant” and told only “partial truths.” All the same, what the CIA revealed of its preparations up to that point was far from reassuring and left the Joint 

Chiefs and their special operations staff decidedly uneasy over achieving stated goals.12

Similar misgivings had raced through President-elect Kennedy’s mind when he 

first learned of the operation during a CIA briefing on November 18, 1960.13 On the 

eve of the inauguration, realizing that Kennedy had doubts, Eisenhower assured him 

that nothing was firm and that it would be up to the new administration to decide 

whether to proceed. Taking Eisenhower at his word, Kennedy gave the matter top 

priority and during his early days in office he held a round of meetings with the Director of Central Intelligence, Allen Dulles, the Joint Chiefs, and other senior advisors 

to examine the details and explore options. Much to the President’s surprise, the CIA 

described plans and preparations that were substantially farther along than Eisenhower 

had let on, leaving the distinct impression that it might be too late to turn back.14

Indications are that, at this stage, Kennedy looked to the Joint Chiefs to provide 

him with ongoing analysis of the invasion plans and to apply a brake on any ill-conceived actions by the CIA. With the new administration still organizing itself, Kennedy 

had practically nowhere to turn other than the JCS for the professional expertise and 

insights he needed. Somewhere along the way, however, lines of communication broke 

down. Having had limited involvement in the operation from its inception and knowing only what the CIA chose to disclose to them about the invasion force, the Joint 

Chiefs were uncomfortable offering much more than a general assessment. Weighting one thing against another, Joint Staff planners (J-5) rated the chances of success as 

“very doubtful.”15 But in their formal submission to the Secretary of Defense and the 
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President, the JCS appeared to offer a more upbeat evaluation and suggested that the 

operation as originally conceived stood a “fair chance of ultimate success.” The chiefs 

neglected to mention, however, that “fair chance” meant one in three.16

Perhaps sensing his military advisors’ uneasiness over the operation, Kennedy 

continued to evince misgivings. The initial plan presented to him by the CIA called 

for the exiles to land in force near the town of Trinidad, a popular seaside resort 

on Cuba’s south-central coast. But at the State Department’s urging, the President agreed to tone down the operation lest it provoke adverse reactions in Latin 

America and the United Nations. Terming the Trinidad plan too “spectacular,” he 

directed the CIA to find a “quiet” site for the landing. The upshot was the selection 

of the Bay of Pigs, a swampy but relatively secluded area in Cuba’s Zapata region to 

the west.17 After examining the amended plan, Admiral Burke upped the odds for 

success slightly and told the President he thought they were about fifty-fifty. Burke, 

however, was offering a personal opinion. Later, Kennedy complained that the JCS 

had let him down by not giving him better warning of the risks and pitfalls.18

The landing, which took place on April 17, 1961, was probably doomed before 

the invaders hit the shore. Inadequately equipped, ill-trained, and ineptly led, the 1,400 

Cuban expatriates in the invasion force were no match for Castro’s larger veteran army. 

Poorly coordinated air attacks launched from bases in Central America failed to suppress 

the Cuban air force. The action was over in 3 days. Whether a more hospitable landing 

site and/or stronger air support would have changed the outcome is a matter of conjecture. The Joint Chiefs had taken a dim view of moving the landing from Trinidad to the 

Bay of Pigs and had considered effective air support the key to the entire operation. But 

they had never pressed their views in the face of the President’s obvious determination 

to minimize overt U.S. involvement. Nor had McNamara, still new to dealing with the 

military, insisted that the JCS be more forthcoming and specific. Never again would he 

hesitate to second-guess the chiefs or to offer an opinion on their advice. 

To sort out what went wrong, President Kennedy persuaded General Taylor 

to oversee an investigation. Assisting him were Attorney General Kennedy, Director 

of Central Intelligence Dulles, and Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Burke. During the inquiry, General Taylor and Robert Kennedy developed a close and lasting 

friendship. Taylor and the study group took extensive testimony from those who had 

been in on the planning and decisionmaking. On June 13, 1961, they presented their 

findings to the President. Written almost exclusively by Taylor, the group’s final report 

took the Joint Chiefs to task for not critiquing the CIA’s plan more closely and for 

not being more forthcoming in offering the President options. “Piecing all the evidence together,” Taylor recalled, “we concluded that whatever reservations the Chiefs 

had about the Zapata plan . . . they never expressed their concern to the President in 
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such a way as to lead him to consider seriously a cancellation of the enterprise or the 

alternative of backing it up with U.S. forces.”19

Despite the study group’s findings, Kennedy never publicly blamed anyone other 

than himself for the debacle. Seeking to avoid similar incidents, he told the chiefs that 

in the future he expected them to provide “direct and unfiltered” advice and to act 

like “more than military men.”20 All the same, it was Taylor’s impression that the whole 

experience “hung like a cloud” over Kennedy’s relations with the JCS. Attempting to 

clear the air, Kennedy met with them in the Pentagon on May 27, 1961. Though no 

detailed records of the meeting survived, Kennedy at one point apparently lectured 

the chiefs on their responsibility for providing him with unalloyed advice, drawing on 

a paper Taylor wrote earlier. But the response he got was “icy silence.”21 Henceforth, 

Kennedy remained respectful but skeptical of JCS advice. “They always give you their 

bullshit about their instant reaction and their split-second timing,” he later remarked, 

“but it never works out. No wonder it’s so hard to win a war.”22

Berlin under Siege 

No sooner had the fallout from the Bay of Pigs begun to settle when a more 

ominous crisis arose over access rights to Berlin. Kennedy knew that the city was 

a frequent flashpoint and had named former Secretary of State Dean Acheson as 

his special advisor on NATO affairs in February 1961, with the Berlin question 

part of his mandate.23 Existing plans for defending Western access rights to the city 

rested on NATO doctrine of the 1950s, stressing the early use of nuclear weapons, 

and bore the strong imprint of the NATO Supreme Commander General Lauris 

Norstad, USAF, a leading proponent of deterrence through the threat of massive 

retaliation. In a preliminary assessment that reached the Oval Office in early April 

1961, Acheson dismissed these plans as dangerous and ineffectual and urged Kennedy to call the Soviets’ bluff by pursuing a combination of diplomatic initiatives 

and nonnuclear military options that involved, among other things, sending a heavily armed convoy down the Autobahn to Berlin.24

The Joint Chiefs recommended a more cautious response. Given the limitations 

of U.S. conventional forces at the time, they would not rule out possible recourse to 

nuclear weapons if the crisis escalated, though as a practical matter they seemed to 

feel that with skillful diplomacy the situation need not go that far. Treating Acheson’s 

proposals as overly provocative, they assured the President that they had already explored the convoy idea and similar military actions and had reached the conclusion 

that the use of substantial ground forces “even if adequately supported by air is not 

militarily feasible.” A smaller probe, they argued, would serve just as well as a test of 
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Soviet intentions and would be far less confrontational than a heavily armed convoy. 

Two years earlier, with strengthening deterrence their main objective, the JCS had 

recommended a large-scale conventional buildup in Europe, both to impress the Soviets with the West’s resolve and to be better prepared if a showdown did occur. This 

continued to be the Joint Chiefs’ preferred approach to addressing the crisis.25

To be effective, the Joint Chiefs’ recommended strategy would have required a 

mobilization of forces, increased defense spending, and an acceptance that, should all 

else fail, recourse to nuclear weapons might be unavoidable. As yet, President Kennedy 

was unprepared to go quite that far. With memories of the Bay of Pigs still fresh, he 

was doubly cautious in listening to JCS advice or endorsing a course of military action. But after his disastrous Vienna summit meeting with Khrushchev in early June, he 

steadily revised his thinking. Hoping the Vienna meeting would lay the groundwork 

for a peaceful settlement, Kennedy was instead taken aback by Khrushchev’s bullying 

and refusal to engage in serious negotiations. When Khrushchev finished brow-beating 

Kennedy, he placed another ultimatum on the table, threatening to sign a treaty with 

the East Germans by the end of the year. “I’ve got a terrible problem,” Kennedy observed afterwards. “If [Khrushchev] thinks I’m inexperienced and have no guts, until 

we remove those ideas we won’t get anywhere with him.”26 In late June 1961, convinced that a showdown was coming, Kennedy created an interdepartmental Berlin 

Task Force to coordinate overall policy and directed McNamara to take a closer look 

at military preparations to counter Khrushchev’s ultimatum.27

The ensuing review confirmed that the United States had yet to achieve a 

credible flexible-response force posture. In a rough estimate of requirements, the 

Joint Chiefs recommended a supplemental appropriation of $18 billion, mobilization of Reserve units, and an increase in the size of the Armed Forces by 860,000. 

Yet even with these increases in strength, “main reliance” would still come down 

to a nuclear response.28 Meeting with McNamara, Lemnitzer, Taylor, and Secretary of State Dean Rusk at his Hyannis Port home on July 8, Kennedy declared 

the chiefs’ recommendations to be unacceptable and said he wanted a “political 

program” backed by enhanced conventional military power “on a scale sufficient 

both to indicate our determination and to provide the communists time for second 

thoughts and negotiation.”29 With the President’s goals further clarified, the Joint 

Staff assembled revised estimates that became part of the discussion at a series of 

ad hoc meetings involving McNamara, Acheson, Rusk, and senior White House 

staff.30 The upshot was the President’s nationally televised speech on July 25 warning of grave dangers over Berlin and calling for a supplemental budget increase of 

$3.2 billion to augment the Armed Forces by 217,000, with most of the increase in 

ground troops.31
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Congress acted quickly to give the President practically everything he wanted. 

But the need to develop an agreed position with U.S. allies and problems associated with mobilizing the Reserves posed unexpected delays. Moreover, from conversations between McNamara and Norstad in Paris in late July, it was clear that 

SACEUR lacked a workable plan for assuring access to Berlin using solely or even 

primarily conventional forces.32 Until these problems were resolved, the administration had no choice but to fall back on the nuclear-oriented posture it inherited 

from Eisenhower, a decision that became almost automatic after the increase in 

tensions precipitated by erection of the Berlin Wall on August 13. Seeing the wall 

as a major escalation of the crisis, Kennedy resolved to meet the challenge head on, 

telling McNamara that the time had come to adopt “a harder military posture.”33

Behind the President’s decision to toughen his stance over Berlin was a growing body of credible evidence debunking the missile gap and the artificial constraints it imposed on the administration’s behavior. As early as February, a skeptical 

McNamara had acknowledged that the missile gap was probably more myth than 

reality during a background briefing for reporters. But he retracted his statement 

under pressure from the White House.34 Based on information provided by Colonel 

Oleg Penkovskiy, the CIA’s “mole” inside the Soviet General Staff, and photos from 

the Discoverer satellite program, it became apparent over the summer that earlier 

intelligence estimates had overstated Soviet long-range missile capabilities and that 

the United States retained overall strategic nuclear superiority. Though Kennedy 

refused to treat the new evidence as conclusive, there was no denying that the gap, 

if it existed at all, was far less extreme than previously assumed.35

On September 13, 1961, the Joint Chiefs gave President Kennedy his first formal 

briefing on SIOP–62, the current war plan for strategic bombardment of the SinoSoviet bloc. Afterwards proclaiming the plan to be overly rigid, he ordered changes 

(already initiated by McNamara) that would allow greater choice in the selection of 

targets and the timing and sequence of attacks.36 At the same time, however, knowing 

that the United States retained the edge in strategic power, Kennedy and key aides 

adopted a significantly tougher line toward the Berlin crisis, both to reassure U.S. 

allies and to pressure the Soviets. Thus, in the weeks following the SIOP briefing, 

McNamara, Rusk, and Deputy Secretary of Defense Roswell L. Gilpatric all made 

high-profile public appearances in support of administration policy. Echoing the policies of the previous 8 years, they reaffirmed the President’s determination to stand fast 

and their certainty that the United States had the resources to prevail. “Our nuclear 

stockpile,” McNamara confirmed, “is several times that of the Soviet Union and we 

will use either tactical weapons or strategic weapons in whatever quantities wherever, 

whenever it’s necessary to protect this nation and its interests.”37
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The blueprint for carrying out these declarations was National Security Decision Memorandum (NSDM) 109, a compendium of phased responses for the defense 

of Western rights to Berlin, also known as the “poodle blanket” paper. The first three 

phases involved pressure through diplomatic channels, economic sanctions, and maritime harassment, followed by or in conjunction with military pressures and escalation 

to the full use of nuclear weapons. Adopted by the NSC in late October 1961, NSDM 

109 was largely the product of the Office of International Security Affairs in OSD, 

headed by Assistant Secretary of Defense Paul H. Nitze. “In case one response failed,” 

Nitze recalled, “we would go to the next and then the next, and so on.” Many of the 

proposed measures in the “preferred sequence,” such as the use of diplomatic protests, 

small unit probes, and the coercion of Soviet shipping in retaliation for obstruction 

of access to Berlin, resembled the options compiled the year before by Norstad’s Live 

Oak planners in Paris. But as far as Nitze and his staff were concerned, Live Oak had 

barely scratched the surface. Early drafts of NSDM 109 listed so many possible courses 

of action that the joke around Nitze’s office was that it would take a piece of paper the 

size of a horse blanket to list them all. A condensed version reduced the horse blanket 

to the size of a “poodle blanket.” Hence the paper’s nickname.38

Although the Joint Chiefs belatedly offered their own “preferred sequence” 

paper, it was almost entirely oriented toward military sanctions and too detailed, in 

the opinion of Deputy Secretary Gilpatric, to serve as policy guidance.39 Moreover, 

during a meeting with the President on October 20, it slipped out that the JCS 

had yet to reach full agreement on how their preferred sequence plan should be 

implemented. In a scene reminiscent of their internal quarrels over Laos (see below), 

Lemnitzer and Army Chief of Staff General George H. Decker wanted to move 

quickly with the deployment of forces once mobilization reached its peak, while Air 

Force Chief of Staff General Curtis LeMay and Chief of Naval Operations Admiral 

George W. Anderson, Jr., urged patience and delay. Assured by McNamara that a final decision need not be taken until November, Kennedy politely shrugged off the 

matter as an honest difference of professional opinion.40

A week later, on October 27–28, the crisis peaked with the dramatic confrontation between U.S. and Soviet tanks at “Checkpoint Charlie,” a key transit point 

between the Soviet and U.S. sectors in Berlin. Anticipating trouble, the Joint Chiefs 

had taken steps to bolster the city’s garrison but had warned the President that there 

was little chance allied forces could hold against a determined Soviet attack. Taylor 

agreed, describing it as “a hell of a bad idea” to try to defend the city.41 Despite 

the face-off, however, neither side seemed eager for a fight and the incident ended 

peacefully, with Soviet tanks the first to withdraw. From that point on, though the 

wall remained, tensions gradually relaxed. 
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Exactly why the Soviets backed down may never be known. But thanks to 

the limited opening of Soviet and East European archives following the end of the 

Cold War, the explanation that suggests itself is that the Warsaw Pact high command 

lacked confidence in the ability of its forces to prevail in a showdown. On September 25, 1961, with the crisis gathering momentum, the Warsaw Pact announced that 

over the next few weeks it would conduct a command post exercise called BURIA. 

The Warsaw Pact’s largest exercise to date, BURIA simulated a military conflict 

arising from ongoing tensions over Berlin and tested the Eastern Bloc’s ability to 

conduct unified operations. With the exercise under way, the CIA assessed BURIA’s 

purpose as two-fold: to convince the West of the Soviet bloc’s military strength, 

readiness, and determination in the current crisis, and to increase pressure on the 

West to make concessions or to acquiesce to Communist demands.42

BURIA lasted from September 28 to October 10, 1961, and proved a disappointment to the Warsaw Pact high command. Once fighting erupted, the Soviets 

and their East European allies were supposed to shift quickly from a defensive to 

an offensive posture. Using tactical nuclear weapons and fast-moving tank divisions 

to spearhead the assault, Warsaw Pact forces planned to smash through NATO defenses and occupy Paris within a fortnight. But as the exercise unfolded, it encountered unexpected command and control, mobilization, transportation, and logistical 

problems. Assuming nuclear retaliation by the West, Soviet army doctors reckoned 

a 50 percent loss of strength in front line units. A shortage of interpreters and faulty 

radio equipment crippled coordination among East German, Soviet, Polish, and 

Czech commanders. Communications between land and sea forces off the north 

German coast were practically nonexistent. Soviet maps provided to East European 

forces proved largely useless because they were written in Russian.43

Whether Kennedy and the Joint Chiefs paid much attention to BURIA is 

unclear. Even though Western intelligence monitored the exercise, there are few 

references to it in subsequent estimates. Still, those in Washington with access to the 

intelligence on BURIA knew that Warsaw Pact forces were poorly organized and 

in a relatively weak position to risk a military confrontation with the West. About 

their only option would have been to use nuclear weapons, a dangerous course that 

the Joint Chiefs expected the Soviets to avoid unless they felt seriously threatened. 

Precipitating a nuclear conflict was never the U.S. intention in any event. Despite 

their differences over the scale and scope of the Western military buildup, Kennedy 

and the JCS agreed that its fundamental purpose was to pressure the Soviets into 

respecting the status quo. With the exception of the Berlin Wall, which remained 

in place for nearly three decades, they by and large succeeded. “It’s not a very nice 

solution,” Kennedy conceded, “but a wall is a hell of a lot better than a war.”44
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Laos 

At the same time President Kennedy and the Joint Chiefs were wrestling with Soviet threats to Berlin, there loomed an equally grave crisis on the other side of the 

world, in the small, remote kingdom of Laos, formerly part of French Indochina. 

Like Cuba and Berlin, Laos was another of the unresolved problems passed from 

Eisenhower to Kennedy. At issue was a steadily escalating political and military conflict between the Communist Pathet Lao, supported by neighboring North Vietnam, Communist China, and the Soviet Union, and the U.S.-backed Royal Lao 

Government (RLG) dominated by General Phoumi Nosavan. By the beginning of 

1961, the two sides were locked in a see-saw battle for control of the Laotian administrative capital of Vientiane. In alerting Kennedy to the situation as he was leaving 

office, Eisenhower warned of larger implications: “If Laos is lost to the Free World, 

in the long run we will lose all of Southeast Asia.” By comparison, the gathering 

conflict in neighboring South Vietnam was a mere sideshow.45

The Joint Chiefs initially advised the incoming administration to do all it could 

to keep Laos from going Communist, up to and including unilateral U.S. intervention with “sizable” military forces.46 Even though the Laotian army (Forces Armées 

de Laos, or FAL) had seldom made effective use of U.S. assistance, Kennedy agreed 

to consider increasing American help. But he strongly opposed the go-it-alone approach and leaned toward a negotiated settlement that would neutralize the country 

under a coalition government. Above all, he wanted it understood that intervention 

with U.S. combat troops was a last resort. Apparently not expecting the President to 

take such a firm stand, General Lemnitzer assured him that the JCS did not advocate 

the deployment of “major U.S. forces” and that their main concern was to bolster 

“indigenous” capabilities. Guarding his options, Kennedy directed the JCS to continue to study U.S. intervention but indicated he would hold a decision in abeyance 

until efforts to reach a diplomatic solution ran their course.47

Throughout the crisis, the Joint Chiefs and their superiors had less than reliable intelligence on the situation inside Laos. SIGINT was virtually nonexistent and 

U–2s had limited applicability.48 The information the JCS received came mainly 

from the U.S. Embassy in Vientiane and U.S. military advisors working with the 

FAL. In early March 1961, with the military balance tipping in favor of the Communists, the President approved an interagency plan (MILL POND) for limited 

overt and covert assistance to the RLG and its allies.49 Over the next several weeks, 

Pacific Theater Commander (CINCPAC) Admiral Harry D. Felt stepped up the delivery of arms and equipment to the FAL. At the same time, he began assembling a 

command staff and earmarking U.S. units for a joint task force (JTF 116) that would 
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form the nucleus of a Southeast Asia Treaty Organization (SEATO) Field Force 

should he be ordered to intervene. Estimates assembled by the Joint Staff projected 

an intervention force of some 60,000 U.S. troops, augmented by token units from 

nearby SEATO countries. Anything smaller, JCS planners insisted, would fail to impress or pressure either the Soviets or North Vietnamese and could draw the United 

States into an open-ended war on the Asian mainland.50

Despite preparations to intervene, the preferred U.S. solution remained a diplomatic settlement. As Secretary of State Dean Rusk described the administration’s strategy, “Even if we move in, the object is not to fight a big war but to lay the foundation 

for negotiation.”51 During talks with British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan toward 

the end of March, Kennedy acknowledged that he did not accord much strategic 

importance to Laos and was prepared to accept “anything short of the whole of Laos 

being overrun.” Should intervention become unavoidable, he was thinking of deploying four or five U.S. battalions to hold Vientiane and a few bridges across the Mekong 

River long enough to reach an agreement. But he had yet to settle on a specific course 

of action and looked to the British to help find a solution through diplomacy.52

Convinced that the President was underestimating the seriousness of the situation and Laos’ importance, the Joint Chiefs of Staff continued to favor a strong 

show of force as the only way of avoiding a larger conflict. But as time passed with 

no new decisions from the White House and as the FAL suffered one setback after 

another, the JCS saw the opportunity for effective action slipping away. With largescale intervention appearing unlikely, they advised staying out. At a pivotal meeting 

on April 29 with the Secretary of Defense and Attorney General Kennedy, they 

made their concerns known and urged shelving plans for intervention, provoking 

McNamara to remark snidely that “we had missed having government troops who 

were willing to fight.” Most cautious of all was Army Chief of Staff Decker, who 

considered a conventional war in Southeast Asia a losing cause. Decker offered one 

reason after another why going into Laos at this point had drawbacks. Ultimately, in 

his view, it came down to a question of whether the results would be worth the cost. 

“[I]f we go in,” he said, “we should go in to win, and that means bombing Hanoi, 

China, and maybe even using nuclear bombs.”53

Decker’s reference to the use of nuclear weapons was not the first time the 

subject came up with respect to Laos, but it put the potential consequences of an 

escalating and widening conflict in Southeast Asia into sharper focus than ever before. Whether the JCS had a specific plan for mounting nuclear operations in Laos 

is unclear. Detailed planning for a Laotian operation was a function of Admiral 

Felt’s staff, which produced several operational and concept plans during the crisis, 

none involving nuclear weapons other than against the threat of large-scale Chinese 
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intervention.54 But in light of the nuclear-oriented tactics and strategy introduced 

during the Eisenhower years, it was practically routine for the use of nuclear weapons to be considered at one point or another in the planning process. The Kennedy 

administration had vowed to change that practice, but its preferences had yet to affect 

the planning guidance employed by the Joint Staff and the combatant commanders.55

The use of nuclear weapons was thus present, if not explicit, in policymakers’ and 

military planners’ minds throughout the Laos crisis. Yet the decisive factors that steered 

Kennedy away from military intervention were the absence of congressional support 

for military action and his own concern, in the aftermath of the Bay of Pigs, about 

the quality and soundness of JCS advice. In early May, Kennedy polled the chiefs for 

their views. All, to one degree or another, still favored the application of some form 

of military power, but speaking individually, they offered no coherent courses. Instead, 

they described a series of separate measures which, taken together, might invite a fullscale war with North Vietnam and Communist China.56 With the Joint Chiefs unable 

to offer a credible military option, Kennedy continued to rely on diplomacy to yield 

a settlement. “Thank God the Bay of Pigs happened when it did,” he later remarked. 

“Otherwise we’d be in Laos by now—and that would be a hundred times worse.”57

Meanwhile, a fragile ceasefire descended on Laos, opening the way by mid-May 

for the 14-nation Geneva Conference to reconvene work on a negotiated settlement. 

Without the continuing threat of U.S. and/or SEATO military intervention, the Joint 

Chiefs doubted that there could ever be an agreement that did not favor the absorption of Laos into the Sino-Soviet bloc. W. Averell Harriman, the senior U.S. representative to the Geneva talks and, in President Kennedy’s eyes, a highly respected authority on negotiating with the Communists, took a similar view.58 Consequently, as the 

talks went forward, the Joint Staff, with White House approval, continued to review 

plans and preparations to insert U.S. or SEATO forces into Laos. But by September, 

the administration’s preoccupation with Berlin and the diversion of military assets to 

meet the crisis there left the Joint Chiefs skeptical of achieving a favorable outcome at 

the bargaining table. JCS efforts to interest senior policymakers in a limited SEATO 

buildup in the region, backed by U.S. air, sea, and logistical support, met with the cold 

rebuff from OSD that such actions might “dilute other deployments.”59

The Laotian situation heated up again in the spring of 1962. Blatantly disregarding the ceasefire, Pathet Lao and North Vietnamese troops laid siege to the 

provincial capital of Nam Tha. As the crisis unfolded, General Lemnitzer and Secretary McNamara were in Athens for a NATO ministerial meeting. Ordered by 

Kennedy to take a first-hand look at the situation, they arrived in Southeast Asia 

soon after Nam Tha had fallen to the Communists, with the remnants of the FAL 

in full retreat. An aerial inspection confirmed that the Mekong River offered little 
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or no defense against a Communist invasion of either Thailand or South Vietnam. 

Arriving back in Washington on May 12, McNamara and Lemnitzer immediately 

debriefed the President and the NSC and urged a prompt but restrained show of 

force in line with “precautionary steps” recommended by Admiral Felt. This time 

Kennedy agreed, giving CINCPAC the go-ahead to move a Marine battalion with 

its helicopters and other air support to Thailand and to shift a U.S. Army battle 

group already there for maneuvers to the strategically important town of Ubon.60

Should the Communist advance fail to stop, Kennedy sanctioned planning for a 

larger intervention, mainly to protect South Vietnam. The JCS and CINCPAC were 

still working out the details when, in mid-June 1962, the warring parties in Laos 

announced agreement on a coalition government, ending the crisis but leaving 

Laos effectively partitioned along lines that gave the North Vietnamese avenues to 

infiltrate troops and weapons into South Vietnam and to threaten Thailand as well.61

The battle for Laos was essentially over, and for all practical purposes the Communists had won. Gaining what they had wanted all along, they now had unfettered 

access into South Vietnam and beyond. Once again, the Joint Chiefs and President 

Kennedy had failed to see eye-to-eye on a crucial issue. After the Bay of Pigs Kennedy never fully trusted JCS advice. As a result, JCS efforts to persuade Kennedy to 

take a strong stand on Laos fell largely on deaf ears until it was too late. Unlike the 

President, the JCS never regarded Laos as expendable. Rather, they saw it as a small 

but strategically important country whose fate would determine that of its neighbors. In the chiefs’ view, once Laos was lost it was only a matter of time before the 

United States faced larger conflicts in South Vietnam, Thailand, and beyond. 

Origins of the Cuban Missile Crisis 

The last major foreign crisis of Kennedy’s presidency was the October 1962 confrontation with the Soviets over their deployment of strategic nuclear missiles in 

Cuba. By then, Kennedy had replaced the military advisors he inherited from 

Eisenhower with people of his own choosing. Two of these personnel changes came 

on October 1, when General Earle G. Wheeler replaced Decker as Army Chief of 

Staff and Maxwell Taylor returned to active duty, succeeding Lemnitzer as Chairman. Earlier, Anderson had replaced Burke as CNO and General Curtis E. LeMay 

had succeeded Thomas D. White as Air Force Chief of Staff. In Taylor’s view, LeMay 

was a superb operational commander, as demonstrated by his accomplishments in 

World War II and during the years he ran the Strategic Air Command. But his appointment as Air Force Chief of Staff was a “big mistake.” Kennedy, on the other 

hand, felt he had no choice. Though he found LeMay coarse, rude, and overbearing, 
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he felt he had to promote him in view of the general’s seniority and strong popular 

and congressional following.62

In contrast, President Kennedy regarded Taylor as “absolutely first-class.” Indeed, he was one of the few military professionals he respected and felt comfortable 

with.63 To his JCS colleagues, however, Taylor’s return to the Pentagon was less than 

welcome owing to the political overtones surrounding his appointment, his identification with administration policies, and his criticism of the Joint Chiefs following 

the Bay of Pigs. As Chairman, he saw himself mainly as the agent of his civilian 

superiors and tried to craft military recommendations that harmonized with civilian views and administration programs. Aware that the JCS were losing influence, 

he attributed this situation in part to the Joint Staff, which he characterized as only 

“marginally effective” because of its “inherent slowness” in addressing issues and 

providing timely responses.64 Some of the Service chiefs believed they could not 

always count on Taylor to convey their views fairly and accurately to the President. 

Nor could they rely on him to report precisely what the President or other senior 

officials said, a problem that Taylor’s hearing difficulties may have exacerbated.65

Taylor was still in the White House as the President’s military representative when 

the Cuban missile crisis unfolded. Its origins went back to the spring of 1961, in the 

aftermath of the Bay of Pigs episode, when the Kennedy administration resolved to 

isolate Castro’s Cuba and to undermine its authority and influence. The Joint Chiefs’ 

contribution was a set of plans for a swift and powerful U.S. invasion of Cuba to overthrow Castro’s government in an 8-day campaign.66 Meeting with Secretary McNamara and Admiral Burke on April 29, 1961, President Kennedy concurred in the general outline of the plan.67 But after further review, the NSC decided against military 

intervention at that point and elected to put pressure on Castro through diplomatic 

and economic means and a covert operations program known as MONGOOSE. To 

coordinate the effort, the President turned to his brother, Robert, who preferred to 

draw on Taylor—a family friend—rather than the JCS for military advice.68

Like the struggle for Laos, the Kennedy administration’s growing obsession 

with Cuba reflected a fundamental shift in the focus of Cold War politics. During the late 1940s and 1950s, Europe and Northeast Asia had been at the center 

of the Cold War. But by the early 1960s, despite occasional flare-ups over Berlin 

and along the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea, the contest for 

control in these areas was essentially over and a stalemate had settled in. Realizing 

that further gains in the industrialized world were unlikely, the Soviets turned their 

attention to the emerging Third World countries of Asia, Africa, and Latin America 

where Khrushchev in a celebrated speech of January 6, 1961, proposed to unleash 

a wave of Communist-directed “liberation wars.” President Kennedy referred to 
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Khrushchev’s speech often and considered it clear evidence that the United States 

needed to pay more attention to the Third World. In particular, he stressed the development of aid programs to improve living conditions and the acquisition of more 

effective tools for counterinsurgency warfare.69

Khrushchev found the temptation of establishing a strong Soviet presence in 

Cuba, 90 miles from the southern coast of the United States, irresistible. Not only 

would these weapons counterbalance the deployment of American forces in Europe 

and the Near East, but Cuba would also serve as a hub for spreading Communism 

throughout Latin America. Less clear is why Khrushchev risked losing his foothold 

in Cuba by placing strategic nuclear missiles there, a provocation that was almost 

certain to draw a sharp U.S. response. In his memoirs, Khrushchev justified his actions as providing Castro with deterrence against American attack. “Without our 

missiles in Cuba, the island would have been in the position of a weak man threatened by a strong man.”70 The missiles in question, however, were strategic offensive 

weapons, not defensive ones, which would have afforded Cuba better protection. 

Though there may also have been a handful of Soviet tactical nuclear weapons in 

Cuba at the time, the evidence of their presence is sketchy and has never been positively confirmed. Nor is it clear who, if anyone, had authority to use them.71 The 

most plausible explanation for Khrushchev’s actions is that he was trying to bolster 

the Soviet Union’s strategic posture and overplayed his hand. The consensus among 

Kennedy loyalists like diplomat George Ball was that Khrushchev was a “crude” 

thinker who miscalculated that he could push the President around with impunity. 

According to Ball, Khrushchev’s decision to place offensive missiles in Cuba resulted from his desire to “bring the U.S. down a peg, strengthen his own position with 

respect to China, and improve his standing in the Politburo with one bold stroke.”72

Whatever the reasons, Khrushchev was adept at refining and carrying out his plan. 

The decision to deploy missiles in Cuba emerged from an informal meeting in the 

spring of 1962 between Khrushchev and Marshal Rodion Malinovskiy, the minister of 

defense, at Khrushchev’s dacha in the Crimea. Malinovskiy complained about the presence of 15 U.S. Jupiter medium-range ballistic missiles (MRBMs) in Turkey and the 

need to redress this situation. The Jupiters had been operational for about a year. While 

not in Malinovskiy’s view a serious military threat, they were an irritant requiring a diversion of resources. One thing led to another and it was from these conversations that 

Khrushchev seized on the idea of putting strategic missiles in Cuba.73

To implement his policy, Khrushchev relied on the Soviet General Staff to concoct an elaborate deception scheme. Code-named ANADYR, the operation involved 

assembling and outfitting in total secrecy over 50,000 soldiers, airmen, and sailors, 

calculating the weapons, equipment, supplies, and support they would need for a 
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prolonged stay in Cuba, finding 85 freighters for transportation, and completing the 

mission in 5 months.74 Apparently, senior members of the Soviet Defense Council 

initially resisted the idea, but as a practiced expert in bullying people, Khrushchev 

got his way.75 Toward the end of May, a high-level Soviet military delegation, posing 

as engineers, visited Havana and secured Castro’s agreement to the plan. Preparations 

continued over the summer, and on September 8, 1962, the first SS–4 MRBMs were 

unloaded in Cuba. Their nuclear warheads began arriving a month later, though their 

presence went undetected by U.S. intelligence.76

Despite tight security and elaborate deception measures, the Soviets could not 

fully conceal their activities. By summer, rumors were rife within intelligence circles 

and the Cuban exile community in south Florida that the Soviets were up to something. Attention focused on an apparent buildup of conventional arms, which the 

CIA confirmed in July and August through U–2 photographs, HUMINT sources, 

and NSA surveillance of Soviet ships passing through the Dardanelles.77 The CIA 

also detected increased construction activity for SA–2 antiaircraft missile installations (the same weapon used to shoot down Gary Powers’s U–2 in 1960) and a 

partially finished surface-to-surface missile complex at the Cuban coastal town of 

Banes, reported to President Kennedy on September 7. The Banes installation was 

for short-range anti-ship cruise missiles and did not pose a serious threat to U.S. 

vessels, but the discovery caused President Kennedy to impose tight compartmentalization on all intelligence dealing with offensive weapons. Earlier, he had imposed 

similar constraints on the dissemination of SA–2 surface-to-air missile (SAM) information. These precautions severely limited the distribution of intelligence data, even 

among high-level officials and senior intelligence analysts. Whether they prevented 

critical intelligence from reaching the JCS is unclear.78

As part of the deception operation, the Soviets maintained that they had no plans 

to deploy offensive nuclear missiles in Cuba. Until U–2 pictures proved otherwise, 

the Intelligence Community accepted these assurances at face value.79 Monthly U–2 

overflights of Cuba had been routine since the Bay of Pigs and by September 1962, 

with reports of increased Soviet activity, the Kennedy administration fell under growing pressure to step up surveillance. But as more SA–2 sites became operational, the 

U–2s were increasingly vulnerable, raising fears of a repetition of the Powers incident. 

Over CIA objections, National Security Advisor McGeorge Bundy and Secretary of 

State Dean Rusk persuaded President Kennedy in mid-September to suspend U–2 

flights across Cuba and to approve new routes along the periphery of the island. To 

gloss over the loss of coverage, the White House termed these “additional” flights, 

which technically they were. But the overall result, as one CIA analyst characterized 

it, was “a dysfunctional surveillance regime in a dynamic situation.”80
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These procedural changes took place at the very time Soviet offensive missiles 

were starting to arrive in Cuba and delayed their discovery by a full month. As late as 

September 24, however, General Lemnitzer still considered U.S. surveillance of Cuba 

to be “adequate” in light of current policy and military requirements.81 Though the 

JCS were well aware of the danger posed by the growing Soviet presence in Cuba, 

it was Castro’s stubborn hold on power despite ongoing economic, diplomatic, and 

covert efforts to loosen his grip that concerned them even more. Convinced that 

the time was fast approaching when only a military solution would suffice, the JCS 

continued to focus on various contingency plans to cripple or topple Castro’s regime. 

By the end of September, their attention had settled on three concepts: a large-scale 

air attack (OPLAN–312–62); an all-out combined arms invasion (OPLAN–314–61) 

that would take approximately 18 days to organize; and a quick reaction version of the 

invasion plan (OPLAN–316–61) that could be launched with immediately available 

forces in 5 days.82 Also on the table was a Joint Strategic Survey Council proposal to 

impose a naval blockade of Cuba. However, the JCS paid less attention to this option 

than the others because there was no guarantee it would assure Castro’s downfall.83

Treating these plans as exceedingly sensitive, the Joint Chiefs did not discuss 

them in any detail with senior administration figures outside the Pentagon. Consequently, their possible political and diplomatic impact remained unassessed. The President’s views, insofar as they were known to the JCS, favored continuing surveillance of 

the island and avoidance of a military confrontation.84 As a concession to preparedness, 

Kennedy asked Congress in September for authority to call up 150,000 Reservists, 

and in early October he and McNamara discussed the possibility of an air strike to 

take out the SA–2 sites.85 But before taking further action, the President wanted better information. On October 12, with the SA–2 threat still his uppermost concern, he 

transferred operational command and control of U–2 flights over Cuba from the CIA 

to the Strategic Air Command and authorized the resumption of direct overflights, 

limited to the western tip of the island for the time being. Two days later, SAC’s first 

U–2 mission confirmed that the Soviets were deploying SS–4 medium-range surfaceto-surface missiles on the island. Subsequent flights revealed that the Soviets were also 

constructing SS–5 intermediate-range ballistic missile (IRBM) sites.86

Showdown over Cuba 

The discovery that the Soviets were deploying offensive strategic missiles in Cuba 

and that the weapons were on the verge of activation presented Kennedy with the 

most serious foreign policy crisis of his Presidency. Militarily, the MRBMs and 

IRBMs the Soviets were deploying in Cuba were comparable to the Thor and 
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Jupiter missiles the United States had deployed to Britain, Italy, and Turkey the previous few years. With ranges of up to 1,200 miles for the MRBMs and 2,500 miles 

for the IRBMs, the Soviets could threaten most of the eastern half of the United 

States with nuclear destruction. By themselves, these weapons may have done little 

or nothing to change the overall strategic balance since the United States continued 

to hold a substantial lead in ICBMs and long-range strategic bombers. All the same, 

the threat was much too large and close to home to ignore. With the congressional 

mid-term elections looming, a decisive response became all the more certain.

To manage the crisis, Kennedy improvised through an ad hoc body known as 

the Executive Committee, or ExCom. Hurriedly assembled, ExCom operated for security reasons with no pre-set agenda and initially consisted of Cabinet-level officials, 

a handful of their close aides, and a few outside advisors.87 As time passed, the list of 

attendees steadily grew to more than seventy people, mostly civilians. Even though 

the Joint Chiefs were actively engaged in contingency planning throughout the crisis, 

they were not directly privy to ExCom’s deliberations or even much of the information that passed through it. General Taylor was the sole JCS member on the ExCom 

and one of its few members with significant military experience. During the crisis, the 

Joint Chiefs met privately with the President only once—on October 19. The rest of 

the time, Taylor or McNamara acted as intermediary. In his memoirs, Taylor acknowledged that some of the chiefs distrusted him. He added, however, that over the course 

of the crisis he repeatedly volunteered to arrange more meetings with the President, 

but that none of the Service chiefs showed any interest.88

The main advantage of a larger and more conspicuous JCS presence in the ExCom would have been closer coordination. Policymakers would have had a clearer 

understanding of the military options and the Joint Chiefs a fuller appreciation of the 

political and diplomatic dimensions of the problem.89 In the JCS view, the deployment 

of offensive missiles in Cuba was a serious provocation that more than justified Castro’s 

removal from power by force if necessary. Thus, from the onset of the crisis, the JCS 

(including Taylor) favored a direct and unequivocal military response to eliminate all 

Soviet missiles from Cuba and, in the process, to “get rid” of Castro.90 It was a position 

Kennedy found both too extreme and too risky. During the Bay of Pigs, he had wanted 

the Joint Chiefs to speak out more. By the time of the Cuban missile crisis, he had little 

interest in what they had to say. By keeping them at arm’s length, he could acknowledge their suggestions but ignore them as well. “The first advice I’m going to give my 

successor,” he later observed, “is to watch the generals and to avoid feeling that just 

because they are military men their opinions on military matters are worth a damn.”91

The Joint Chiefs came to their position during the early days of the crisis and 

stuck to it. Throughout their deliberations, there was little repetition of the squabbling 
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that had exposed their disunity and marred their effectiveness during the Berlin and 

Laos episodes. Treating military action as inevitable, their initial preference was for 

a strong air attack to take out all known IR/MRBM sites, SA–2 installations, and 

other key military facilities, followed by implementation of the quick-reaction invasion plan (OPLAN–316). From mid-October on, the JCS carried out a steady buildup 

of airpower in Florida, reaching a strength of over 600 planes, and positioned supplies 

and ammunition for an invasion. They also designated Admiral Robert L. Dennison, 

Commander in Chief, Atlantic, a unified command, to exercise primary responsibility 

for Cuban contingencies. Facing a shortage of conventional munitions, McNamara 

authorized U.S. combat aircraft to fly with nuclear weapons.92

While treating an invasion as unavoidable, the Joint Chiefs accepted McNamara’s 

advice and confined their presentation to the President on October 19 to the air attack 

phase. Predictably, the most ardent advocate of this course was LeMay, the Air Force 

chief, who doubted whether a naval blockade or lesser measures would permanently 

neutralize the missile threat. Kennedy seemed to like the idea of a “surgical” air strike 

against the IR/MRBM sites alone. However, a large-scale air campaign (especially 

one that might involve tactical nuclear weapons) was another matter, and in exploring options with the JCS, he expressed concern that it might invite Soviet reprisals 

against Berlin. “We would be regarded,” he said, “as the trigger-happy Americans who 

lost Berlin.” And, he added: “We would have no support among our allies.” Kennedy 

also feared that an American attack of any sort on Cuba with the Soviets there could 

escalate into a nuclear exchange. “If we listen to them and do what they want us to 

do,” Kennedy later said of the Joint Chiefs, probably with LeMay in mind more than 

any of the others, “none of us will be alive later to tell them that they were wrong.”93

If it resolved anything, the President’s meeting with the Joint Chiefs left Kennedy more convinced than ever that he urgently needed to find an alternative to 

direct military action. The next day, after a rambling 2-hour ExCom session, the 

President decided to put both an air campaign and an invasion on hold and to 

impose a blockade, or “quarantine” as he publicly called it since a blockade amounted to a declaration of war in international law. During the ExCom debate, General 

Taylor strenuously defended the JCS position in favor of air strikes and played down 

the possibility that the use of nuclear weapons against Cuban targets would invite 

nuclear retaliation from the Soviets.94 Afterwards Taylor returned to the Pentagon 

to brief his JCS colleagues. “This was not,” he told them, “one of our better days.” 

In explaining the President’s blockade decision, Taylor said that the decisive votes 

had come from McNamara, Rusk, and UN Ambassador Adlai E. Stevenson, all of 

whom strongly opposed air attacks. Pulling Taylor aside as the meeting broke up, 

the President had added: “I know that you and your colleagues are unhappy with 
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the decision, but I trust that you will support me in this decision.” The Chairman 

assured him that the JCS would back him completely.95

Kennedy and the Joint Chiefs were not, in fact, as far apart as it seemed. Even 

though the President preferred the quarantine, he had not categorically ruled out 

either an air attack or an invasion, and over the next several days, while the Navy 

was organizing the quarantine, he directed the Joint Chiefs to proceed with the 

military buildup opposite Cuba. As part of the show of force, the Joint Chiefs ordered the Commander in Chief, Strategic Air Command, to begin generating his 

forces toward DEFCON 2 (maximum alert) and to launch SAC bombers up to 

the “radar line” where the Soviets would detect them. Shelving OPLAN–314 for a 

large-scale invasion, the Joint Chiefs instructed Admiral Dennison on October 26 to 

concentrate his preparations on OPLAN–316, which he could execute on shorter 

notice. By leaving the invasion and other military options open, McNamara told the 

ExCom, the United States would “keep the heat on” the Russians. Kennedy thus 

found military power indispensable, even if at times he felt events were taking over. 

But to go beyond a show of force, as he demonstrated time and again during the 

crisis, was out of the question without the most extreme provocation.96

As the showdown approached, the accompanying tensions further exacerbated 

the already strained relationship between the Joint Chiefs and their civilian superiors. The most serious clash was between McNamara and Chief of Naval Operations 

Admiral George Anderson. Though Anderson professed the utmost respect for civilian authority, he vehemently objected to the intrusion of civilians into the management of naval operations, as evidenced by the run-in he had with McNamara 

on October 24. The night before, the Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI) had received unconfirmed reports that, rather than risk inspections under the quarantine, 

many Soviet merchant ships heading for Cuba, including some suspected of carrying missiles, had slowed, changed course, or turned back. However, ONI insisted 

on visual verification from U.S. warships and reconnaissance aircraft before giving 

the information wide distribution. As a result, it was not until noon the next day 

that Secretary McNamara and the White House finally received the information. 

Furious at the delay, McNamara confronted Anderson that evening in the Navy’s 

Flag Plot command center in the Pentagon where, according to one account, he 

delivered “an abusive tirade.” Anderson declined to explain why it had taken so long 

for the information to reach McNamara and took umbrage at the Secretary’s manner. Tempers flared and the Secretary of Defense stalked out, resolving as he left to 

be rid of Anderson at the earliest convenient opportunity.97

A similar communications lapse took place a few days later, on October 27, 

during the height of the crisis, as chances for a negotiated settlement seemed to 
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dwindle. At issue was a truculent letter from Khrushchev linking the removal of the 

U.S. Jupiter MRBMs from Turkey to the removal of Soviet offensive missiles from 

Cuba.98 Deployed above ground at “soft” fixed sites, the Jupiters were vulnerable 

to a preemptive attack and had a low level of readiness because they used nonstorable liquid fuel. Kennedy had never attached much military value to them and, 

treating them as “obsolete,” was inclined to deal. But there was little support in the 

ExCom, where the prevailing opinion held that such a trade could seriously harm 

U.S. relations with Turkey and perhaps drive a wedge between the United States 

and NATO.99 That evening back at the Pentagon, Taylor briefed the chiefs on the 

stalemate regarding the Jupiters and added: “The President has a feeling that time is 

running out.” At this point the Joint Chiefs began making preparations to go to the 

White House the next morning to bring the President up to date on the status of 

war plans and to secure his approval to initiate direct military action.100

Unknown to Taylor and the Service chiefs, Secretary of State Rusk had come 

up with a scheme to break the impasse, and early that evening he and the President 

held a short meeting in the Oval Office. Others present were McGeorge Bundy, McNamara, Gilpatric, Robert Kennedy, George Ball, Theodore Sorensen, and Llewellyn 

E. Thompson, the former U.S. Ambassador to Moscow. It was at this gathering that 

Kennedy approved a secret initiative, which his brother Robert conveyed to Soviet 

Ambassador Anatoly Dobrynin a short while later.101 The offer was in two parts. The 

first was a pledge by the United States not to invade Cuba or to overthrow Castro in 

exchange for removal of the Soviet missiles; the second, at Rusk’s instigation, was an 

informal assurance that in the not-too-distant future the United States would quietly 

remove its Jupiter missiles from Turkey. The concession on the Jupiters appears to 

have been unnecessary since an offer to discuss the matter at a later date probably 

would have sufficed. But in his eagerness to avoid coming to blows, Kennedy chose 

to sweeten the deal and give Khrushchev fewer grounds for objecting.102

The Joint Chiefs were never consulted, nor were they given an opportunity to 

comment on the strategic implications of this settlement. General LeMay was disappointed that the President, with a preponderance of strategic and tactical nuclear 

power on his side, had not demanded more concessions from the Soviets. “We could 

have gotten not only the missiles out of Cuba,” LeMay insisted, “we could have gotten the Communists out of Cuba at that time.”103 The first inkling the chiefs had 

of the deal ending the Cuban missile crisis came the next morning from a ticker 

tape news summary announcing Moscow’s acceptance of the American no-invasion 

pledge in exchange for the withdrawal of Soviet offensive missiles.104 Little by little 

over the next few days the Joint Chiefs learned more about the deal and about “a 

proposal” to withdraw the Jupiters from Turkey and to assign Polaris boats in their 
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place. The consensus on the Joint Staff was that the United States had come out 

on the poorer end of the bargain. Not only did the Jupiters make up one-third of 

SACEUR’s Quick Reaction Alert Force, they also carried a much larger payload 

than Polaris and were more reliable and accurate. Believing withdrawal of the Jupiters to be ill-advised, the Joint Chiefs considered sending the Secretary of Defense 

a memorandum recommending against it. But upon discovering that it was a done 

deal, they let the matter drop. Kennedy had what he wanted most of all—removal 

of the Soviet missiles from Cuba—and the crisis was winding down.105

Aftermath: The Nuclear Test Ban 

By the time the Cuban missile crisis ended, relations between the Kennedy administration and the Joint Chiefs of Staff (Taylor excepted) were at an all-time low. In 

contrast, Kennedy’s public stature and esteem had never been higher. Lauded by his 

admirers and critics alike for showing exemplary statesmanship, fortitude, and wisdom in steering the country through the most dangerous confrontation in history, 

the President emerged with his credibility and prestige measurably enhanced. But 

to end the crisis he made compromises and concessions that his military advisors 

considered in many ways unnecessary and excessive. Worst of all, in the chiefs’ view, 

the United States had left Castro’s regime in place. The presence of an outpost of 

communism in the Western Hemisphere left the JCS no choice but to continue 

allocating substantial military and intelligence resources for containment purposes. 

Looking back, McGeorge Bundy acknowledged that Kennedy had kept the Joint 

Chiefs “at a distance” throughout the crisis, sensing that their perception of the 

problem “was not well connected with his own real concerns.” “The result,” Bundy 

added, “was an increased skepticism in his view of military advice which only increased the difficulty of exercising his powers as commander in chief.”106

Despite the estrangement between Kennedy and his military advisors, the only 

member of the Joint Chiefs to become a casualty of the episode was Admiral Anderson, whose 2-year term as Chief of Naval Operations expired in August 1963 

and was not extended. Sending Anderson to Portugal as U.S. Ambassador, Kennedy 

selected the more even-tempered David L. McDonald to be CNO. Well liked and 

highly respected among his peers, McDonald was serving with NATO at the time 

of his selection and would have preferred to stay in London.107 Kennedy and McNamara might have gone further in purging the chiefs, but they knew that LeMay, 

the other candidate for removal, had strong support in Congress and was virtually 

untouchable. Furthermore, in the aftermath of the missile crisis, the administration’s 

foreign policy agenda began to move away from the confrontational approach that 
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had characterized its first 2 years, toward a rapprochement with the Soviets based 

on the negotiation of outstanding differences. The Cuban missile crisis settlement 

was the opening wedge. 

To realize his policy goals, Kennedy knew he would need the agreement if not 

the outright support of the JCS. Central to Kennedy’s quest to improve relations with 

the Soviet Union was the nuclear test ban, a measure that had been on the back burner since the waning days of the Eisenhower administration. Before winning the White 

House, Kennedy had spoken in favor of curbs on nuclear testing and in his inaugural 

address he listed “the inspection and control of [nuclear] arms” as a major objective 

of his Presidency.108 But at his meeting with Khrushchev in Vienna in June 1961, he 

had been unsuccessful in enlisting the Soviet leader’s cooperation. The United States 

was then observing a voluntary moratorium on nuclear testing both above and below 

ground that Eisenhower had introduced in October 1958. Without progress in negotiations, however, Kennedy knew that at some point he would face concerted pressure 

from Congress, the Atomic Energy Commission, and the JCS to resume testing.

The Joint Chiefs had been urging Kennedy to resume testing almost from the 

moment he took office, if not in the atmosphere then underground, underwater, 

and in outer space. Some of their arguments were highly technical, but their overall 

position was relatively simple and straightforward: without testing they could neither verify the effectiveness of the existing nuclear deterrent nor be assured of new 

weapons to protect future security.109 After the Soviets resumed atmospheric testing 

in September 1961, Kennedy gave in.110 One of the experiments the Soviets conducted, on October 30, 1961, was a colossal “super bomb” nicknamed Tsar Bomba

(King of Bombs) that had an explosive yield of 58 megatons, the largest nuclear device ever detonated. Seeing no practical military requirement for a bomb that size, 

the Joint Chiefs dismissed the test as a stunt, designed for propaganda purposes and 

to intimidate other countries.111

The U.S. testing program resumed in a less flamboyant fashion, getting off to 

a shaky and slower start. Owing to the moratorium, U.S. expertise in conducting 

nuclear experiments had “gone to pot,” as one of those in charge put it, causing delays 

and difficulties during the first round of underground tests (Operation Nougat) in 

Nevada during the fall of 1961. Problems persisted into the spring of 1962, when the 

AEC and the Defense Atomic Support Agency (DASA), the organization in charge of 

proof-testing weapons, resumed atmospheric testing in the Pacific (Operation Dominic). Near the outset of the series, several important experiments connected to the development of an antiballistic missile system went awry. Subsequent tests were notably 

more successful. For the first time, a Polaris submarine launched one of its missiles 

and detonated the nuclear warhead. Other experiments demonstrated the feasibility 
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of increasing the yield-to-weight ratio and the shelf life of warheads. From these data 

eventually emerged a new generation of more advanced nuclear weapons.112

Ending in November 1962, with its final experiments carried out during the 

Cuban missile crisis, Dominic was the last series of atmospheric tests the United 

States conducted. As the missile crisis wound down, Kennedy and Khrushchev 

expressed interest in reducing international tensions, starting with a renewed effort 

to reach a nuclear test ban. A major stumbling block then and for years to come 

was the need for reliable and effective verification. Khrushchev’s agreement to permit aerial inspections by the United Nations to verify the removal of the missiles 

from Cuba was for some in the Kennedy administration a promising sign that the 

Soviets were becoming more open-minded about accepting reliable verification 

measures.113 The Joint Chiefs were less optimistic, and in formulating a negotiating 

position they raised numerous objections.114 While he went along with his colleagues’ recommendations, Taylor felt increasingly frustrated and wanted to do more 

to further the President’s agenda. Seeking to put a positive face on the chiefs’ approach to the problem, he asked the Joint Staff what would constitute an “acceptable” agreement to the JCS. But to his disappointment, the Joint Staff found each 

option to contain shortcomings “of major military significance.”115

Uncertain whether the Joint Chiefs would support a test ban, Kennedy worked 

around them as he did during the Cuban missile crisis. Conspicuously absent from 

the 13-member U.S. delegation that went to Moscow in July 1963 to do the negotiating was a JCS representative.116 Kennedy would have preferred a comprehensive 

agreement barring all forms of testing. But he realized that there was insufficient 

support for such an accord either at home or in the Kremlin. A complete ban would 

have been tantamount to proscribing new nuclear weapons. Curbing his expectations, he authorized his chief negotiator, W. Averell Harriman, to pursue a treaty 

banning atmospheric, outer space, and underwater explosions.117 With the negotiations entering their final stage, Kennedy summoned the Joint Chiefs to the White 

House on July 24, 1963, to urge their cooperation. As Taylor recalled, the Service 

chiefs reacted with “controlled enthusiasm.”118 At the time, the Joint Chiefs were 

considering a draft memorandum to the Secretary of Defense urging rejection of 

the accord unless “overriding nonmilitary considerations” dictated otherwise. Yielding to pressure from Taylor and the President, the chiefs shelved their objections and 

during Senate review of the treaty they grudgingly endorsed it.119

Signed in Moscow on August 5, 1963, the Limited Test Ban Treaty entered into 

force the following October. A major breakthrough in arms control, it helped set 

the stage for the Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT) later in the decade. Weak 

as it was, JCS support was crucial to the treaty’s passage and rested on acceptance 
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by Congress and the President of four safeguards: an aggressive program of underground testing; maintenance of up-to-date research and development facilities; 

preservation of a residual capability to conduct atmospheric testing; and improved 

detection capabilities to guard against Soviet cheating. Had the Joint Chiefs opposed the treaty, it almost certainly would have failed of adoption.120

Taylor’s role, both personally and as Chairman, was crucial to the treaty’s approval. Without his persistence in nudging the Service chiefs along and keeping 

them in line, the outcome almost certainly would have been different. Institutionally, the test ban episode demonstrated that power and influence within the JCS 

organization were moving slowly but surely into the hands of the Chairman, as 

Eisenhower’s 1958 amendments had largely intended. No longer merely a presiding 

officer or spokesman, the Chairman emerged from the treaty debate as a key figure 

in interpreting the chiefs’ views and in shaping their advice and recommendations. Henceforth, the Chairman would become more and more the personification 

of the military point of view, and thus his interpretation of his colleagues’ advice 

would be the final word.

In contrast, the overall authority, prestige, and influence of the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff as a corporate advisory body had never been lower than by the time the test 

ban debate drew to a close. Though JCS views still carried considerable weight 

on Capitol Hill, the same was not true at the White House and elsewhere in the 

executive branch. Having lost faith in the Joint Chiefs after the Bay of Pigs, Kennedy never regained confidence in his military advisors. Except for Taylor, a trusted 

personal friend, he kept the JCS at arm’s length. Rarely ever openly critical of their 

superiors, the Joint Chiefs accepted these ups and downs in their fortunes as part 

of the job. Reared in a tradition that stressed civilian control of the military, they 

instinctively deferred to the Commander in Chief’s lead and were not inclined to 

challenge his decisions lest it appear they were impugning his authority. But in so 

doing, it became increasingly difficult for them to maintain their credibility and to 

provide reliable professional advice. 

Notes

1 Kennedy first used the phrase “New Frontier” in his acceptance speech at the 1960 

Democratic National Convention. See Theodore C. Sorensen, Kennedy (New York: 

Bantam Books, 1966), 187–189.

2 John F. Kennedy in Allan Nevins, ed., The Strategy of Peace (New York: Harper, 1960), 184.

3 Quoted in Joseph Kraft, “McNamara and His Enemies,” Harper’s Magazine (August 

1961), 42.
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K E NN EDY AN D THE C RI S I S P R E S I D E N C Y

4 Lawrence S. Kaplan, Ronald D. Landa, and Edward J. Drea, History of the Office of the Secretary of Defense: The McNamara Ascendancy, 1961–1965 (Washington, DC: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, 2006), 10–11; Charles A. Stevenson, SECDEF: 

The Nearly Impossible Job of Secretary of Defense (Washington, DC: Potomac Books, 2006), 

30; and L. James Binder, Lemnitzer: A Soldier for His Time (Washington, DC: Brassey’s, 

1997), 279.

5 Andrew Preston, The War Council: McGeorge Bundy, the NSC, and Vietnam (Cambridge: 

Harvard University Press, 2006), 41.

6 Steven L. Rearden, “The Secretary of Defense and Foreign Affairs, 1947–1989” (MS, 

Study Prepared for the Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, December 

1995), chap. IV, 3–5; Chronology of JCS Organization, 1945–1984 (Historical Division, 

Joint Secretariat, Joint Chiefs of Staff, December 1984), 178.

7 Sorensen, 284; John Prados, Keepers of the Keys: A History of the National Security Council 

from Truman to Bush (New York: William Morrow, 1991), 102; and Stanley L. Falk, “The 

National Security Council Under Truman, Eisenhower, and Kennedy,” Political Science 

Quarterly 79 (September 1964), 428–433.

8 Edgar F. Raines, Jr., and David R. Campbell, The Army and the Joint Chiefs of Staff

(Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 1986), 106–108; H.R. McMaster, Dereliction of Duty: Lyndon Johnson, Robert McNamara, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the Lies That 

Led to Vietnam (New York: Harper Perennial, 1997), 8–9.

9 Binder, 285.

10 Memo, Bundy to CJCS, June 28, 1961, “Functions of the Military Representative to the 

President,” and Letter, Kennedy to Taylor, June 26, 1961, both attached to JCS 1977/141. 

See also Maxwell D. Taylor, Swords and Plowshares (New York: W.W. Norton, 1972), 

195–203.

11 Interview with Henry E. Glass by Maurice Matloff et al., October 28, 1987, OSD Historical Office, cited in Kaplan et al., 6, 556 (note no. 18); Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr., A 

Thousand Days: John F. Kennedy in the White House (Cambridge, MA: Houghton, Mifflin, 

1965), 297.

12 Memo of ADM Burke’s Conversation with CDR Wilhide, April 18, 1961, in Mark J. 

White, ed., The Kennedys and Cuba: The Declassified Documentary History (Chicago: Ivan 

R. Dee, 1999), 33; Walter S. Poole, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 1961–1964 

(Washington, DC: Office of Joint History, Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs 

of Staff, 2011), 109–111.

13 Schlesinger, A Thousand Days, 232–233. Also see An Analysis of the Cuban Operation

(Study prepared by the Deputy Director [Plans], Central Intelligence Agency, January 

18, 1962), sec. IV, 4 (declassified).

14 Sorensen, 331; Stephen E. Ambrose, Eisenhower: The President (New York: Simon and 

Schuster, 1984), 615; Kaplan et al., 176.

15 Enclosure C to Report by the DJS to JCS, January 24, 1961, “U.S. Plan of Action in 

Cuba,” JCS 2304/19.

16 JCSM-57-61 to SECDEF, February 3, 1961, “Military Evaluation of the CIA Para–Military Plan, Cuba,” FRUS, 1961–63, X, 67–78; Peter Wyden, Bay of Pigs: The Untold Story

(New York: Simon and Schuster, 1979), 89.
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Coun c il of War

17 Haynes Johnson, The Bay of Pigs (New York: W.W. Norton, 1964), 65–66; “Narrative of 

the Anti–Castro Operation Zapata,” June 13, 1961, 8–10, JHO 16–0061, JHO Collection.

18 Kaplan et al., 176–177, 183; Sorensen, 341–342; Taylor, 189.

19 Taylor, 188.

20 NSAM 55, June 28, 1961, “Relations of the JCS to the President in Cold War Operations,” Kennedy Papers, National Security Files, JFK Library.

21 Taylor, 189; Mark Perry, Four Stars (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1989), 115.

22 Quoted in Richard Reeves, President Kennedy: Profile of Power (New York: Simon & 

Schuster, 1993), 363.

23 Douglas Brinkley, Dean Acheson: The Cold War Years, 1953–71 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992), 117.

24 Memo, Acheson to Kennedy, April 3, 1961, “Berlin,” JCS 1907/293.

25 JCSM-287-61 to SECDEF, April 28, 1961, “Berlin,” JCS 1907/295; Kaplan et al., 148–

49.

26 Kennedy quoted in John Lewis Gaddis, We Now Know: Rethinking Cold War History

(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997), 146.

27 Note by Secretaries to JCS, July 1, 1961, “Berlin Planning,” JCS 1907/315; Report by 

J5 to JCS, July 9, 1961, “Berlin Contingency Planning,” JCS 1907/318; Paul H. Nitze, 

with Ann M. Smith and Steven L. Rearden, From Hiroshima to Glasnost: At the Center of 

Decision—A Memoir (New York: Grove Weidenfeld, 1989), 196–202.

28 JCSM-464-61 to SECDEF, July 1, 1961, “Berlin Planning,” JCS 1907/316; JCSM-476-61 

to SECDEF, July 12, 1961, “Partial Mobilization,” JCS 1907/321; Kaplan et al., 152–153.

29 Schlesinger, Thousand Days, 388–389.

30 J-5 Report on Partial Mobilization, July 12, 1961, JCS 1907/321.

31 Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1961–64, 145–147; “Radio and Television Report to the 

American People on the Berlin Crisis,” July 25, 1961, Public Papers of the Presidents of the 

United States: John F. Kennedy, 1961 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1962), 535.

32 Nitze, From Hiroshima to Glasnost, 200–201.

33 Memo, Kennedy to McNamara, August 14, 1961, Kennedy Papers, NSF, quoted in Fred 

Kaplan, The Wizards of Armageddon (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1983), 298.

34 Kaplan et al., 12–13. 

35 NIE 11-8/1-61, [September 21, 1961], “Strength and Deployment of Soviet Long 

Range Ballistic Missile Forces,” in Donald P. Steury, ed., Intentions and Capabilities: Estimates on Soviet Strategic Forces, 1950–1983 (Washington, DC: History Staff, Center for the 

Study of Intelligence, Central Intelligence Agency, 1996), 121–138; Jerrold L. Schecter 

and Peter S. Deriabin, The Spy Who Saved the World (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 

1992), 271–283.

36 “Briefing for the President by the CJCS on the JCS Single Integrated Operational 

Plan 1962 (SIOP–62),” September 13, 1961, JCS 2056/281 (sanitized). Scott D. Sagan, 

“SIOP-62: The Nuclear War Plan Briefing to President Kennedy,” International Security

12 (Summer 1987), 22–51, reproduces the briefing in full.
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K E NN EDY AN D THE C RI S I S P R E S I D E N C Y

37 “Interview with Peter Hackes,” September 28, 1961, in Alice C. Cole, ed., Public Statements of the Secretaries of Defense: Robert S. McNamara, 1961 (Washington, DC: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, n.d.), III, 1443. See also Kaplan et al., 

161–162; and McGeorge Bundy, Danger and Survival (New York: Random House, 1988), 

378–383.

38 NSDM 109, October 23, 1961, “U.S. Policy on Military Actions in a Berlin Conflict,” 

Kennedy Papers, NSF, JFK Library; Letter, VADM John Marshall Lee, USN (Ret.) to 

author, May 18,1984, Nitze Papers, Library of Congress; Nitze, From Hiroshima to Glasnost, 202–204.

39 JCSM-728-61 to SECDEF, October 13, 1961, “Preferred Sequence of Military Actions 

in a Berlin Conflict,” JCS 1907/433; Memo, DepSECDEF to CJCS, October 17, 1961, 

“Preferred Sequence,” JCS 1907/435.

40 Bundy, Memo of State-Defense Meeting, October 20, 1961, FRUS, 1961–63, XIV, 517.

41 Quoted in John Newhouse, War and Peace in the Nuclear Age (New York: Alfred A. 

Knopf, 1989), 156.

42 SNIE 11-10/1-61, October 5, 1961, “Soviet Tactics in the Berlin Crisis,” in Donald P. 

Steury, ed., On the Front Lines of the Cold War: Documents on the Intelligence War in Berlin, 

1946 to 1961 (Washington, DC: CIA History Staff, Center for the Study of Intelligence, 

1999), 621–622.

43 Matthias Uhl, “Storming on to Paris: The 1961 Buria Exercise and the Planned Solution 

of the Berlin Crisis,” in Vojtech Mastny, Sven G. Holtsmark, and Andreas Wenger, eds., 

War Plans and Alliances in the Cold War (London: Routledge, 2006), 52–71. Uhl’s analysis 

of the exercise makes no mention of the role of airpower in Warsaw Pact plans.

44 Quoted in Gaddis, 149.

45 Memo, McNamara to Kennedy, January 24, 1961, [Meeting with Eisenhower, January 

19, 1961], FRUS 1961–63, XXIV, 41–42. Eisenhower may also have advised intervention 

with ground troops, but the various records of the meeting are unclear on this point. 

See Fred I. Greenstein and Richard H. Immerman, “What Did Eisenhower Tell Kennedy about Indochina? The Politics of Misperception,” Journal of American History 79 

(September 1992), 568–587.

46 JCSM-34-61 to SECDEF, January 24, 1961, “Courses of Action in Laos,” JCS 1992/903.

47 Memo, Nitze to McNamara, January 23, 1961, “White House Meeting on Laos, January 

23, 1961,” FRUS 1961–63, XXIV, 26–27; Goodpaster Memo, January 25, 1961, “Conference with Kennedy,” ibid., 42–44.

48 Pedlow and Welzenbach, CIA and the U–2 Program, 221.

49 Memo, CJCS to JCS, March 16, 1961, “Funding for Mill Pond Operations,” JCS 

1991/932; Kaplan et al., 237.

50 CINCPAC Command History 1961, Pt. II, 83–84; Schlesinger, A Thousand Days, 332.

51 MFR by Nitze, March 21, 1961, “Discussion of Laos at White House Meeting,” FRUS 

1961–63, XXIV, 95.

52 Harold Macmillan, Pointing the Way, 1959–1961 (New York: Harper and Row, 1972), 

337–338.
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Coun c il of War

53 Memcon, April 29, 1961, “Laos,” FRUS, 1961–63, XXIV, 150–154; Kaplan et al., 242; 

Richard K. Betts, Soldiers, Statesmen, and Cold War Crises (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1977), 178.

54 See “Concept for the Recapture of the Plaine des Jarres,” March 9, 1961, JCS 1992/929; 

and CINCPAC Command History 1961, Pt. II, 85–89.

55 Victor B. Anthony and Richard R. Sexton, The War in Northern Laos, 1954–1973 (Washington, DC: Center for Air Force History, 1993), 46; a previously classified USAF study 

released in 2008 asserts that the JCS had plans to use nuclear weapons, but it cites only 

unclassified sources.

56 JCS views summarized in editorial note, FRUS 1961–63, XXIV, 169–170. See also Poole, 

JCS and National Policy, 1961–64, Pt. II, 104–109; and Kaplan et al., 242–243.

57 Quoted in Sorensen, 726.

58 See Kaplan et al., 243.

59 JCSM-688-62 to SECDEF, September 29, 1961, “Military Intervention in Laos,” JCS 

2344/14; Memo, DepSECDEF to CJCS, October 3, 1961, “Planning for Southeast 

Asia,” JCS 2344/17.

60 Chronological Summary of Significant Events Concerning the Laotian Crisis, Sixth Installment: 

1 May 1962 to 31 July 1962 (Historical Division, Joint Secretariat, Joint Chiefs of Staff, 

n.d.), 33–34, 53–54.

61 Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1961–64, Pt. II, 126–140.

62 Taylor quoted in Dino A. Brugioni, Eyeball to Eyeball: The Inside Story of the Cuban 

Missile Crisis, Robert F. McCort, ed. (New York: Random House, 1990), 266; Reeves, 

182–183.

63 Benjamin C. Bradlee, Conversations with Kennedy (New York: Pocket Books, 1976), 117.

64 Letter, Taylor to McNamara, July 1, 1964, FRUS, 1964–68, X, 97–98.

65 Betts, Soldiers, Statesmen, and Cold War Crises, 68–69; and McMaster, 22–23. Jeffrey G. 

Barlow, “President John F. Kennedy and His Joint Chiefs of Staff” (Ph.D. Diss., University of South Carolina, 1981), 202, points out Taylor’s hearing problems.

66 Memo, SECDEF to CJCS, April 20, 1961, no subject, JCS 2304/29; JCSM-278-61 to 

SECDEF, April 26, 1961, “Cuba,” JCS 2304/30.

67 Memo, SECDEF to JCS, May 1, 1961, “Cuba Contingency Plans,” JCS 2304/34.

68 Memo, SECDEF to SecArmy et al., May 9, 1961, “U.S. Policy Toward Cuba,” JCS 

2304/36; Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr., Robert Kennedy and His Times (Boston: Houghton, 

Mifflin, 1978), 476–477.

69 Schlesinger, A Thousand Days, 302–304.

70 Nikita Khrushchev, Khrushchev Remembers: The Last Testament, trans. and ed. by Strobe 

Talbott (Boston: Little, Brown, 1974), 511.

71 The notion that the Soviets had tactical nuclear weapons in Cuba comes from General Anatoli I. Gribkov, head of the operations directorate of the Soviet General Staff 

in 1962, speaking at a 1992 conference in Havana. For an elaboration of his views, 

see Anatoli I. Gribkov and William Y. Smith, Operations ANADYR: U.S. and Soviet 

Generals Recount the Cuban Missile Crisis (Chicago: Edition Q, Inc., 1994), 4–7, 63–68. 

Mark Kramer, “Tactical Nuclear Weapons, Soviet Command Authority, and the Cuban 
241

K E NN EDY AN D THE C RI S I S P R E S I D E N C Y

Missile Crisis,” Cold War International History Project Bulletin, no. 3 (Fall 1993), 40–46, 

debunks the notion that the Soviets were preparing to use tactical nuclear weapons. 

Other than Gribkov, no Soviet official ever mentioned the presence of these weapons 

in Cuba. Nor do the documents Gribkov cites confirm that tactical nuclear weapons 

had actually reached Cuba at the time of the crisis.

72 James G. Blight and David A. Welch, eds., On the Brink: Americans and Soviets Reexamine 

the Cuban Missile Crisis, 2d ed. (New York: Noonday Press, 1990), 33–34.

73 Steven Zaloga, “The Missiles of October: Soviet Ballistic Missile Forces During the 

Cuban Crisis,” Journal of Soviet Military Studies 3 (June 1990), 307–308. Aleksandr Fursenko and Timothy Naftali, “One Hell of a Gamble”: Khrushchev, Castro, and Kennedy, 

1958–1964 (New York: Norton, 1997), 171, suggest that the idea of putting missiles in 

Cuba was Khrushchev’s all along.

74 Gribkov and Smith, 23–24. Anadyr was the name of a river in the extreme northeastern 

Soviet Union.

75 Fursenko and Naftali, 180–182.

76 James H. Hansen, “Soviet Deception in the Cuban Missile Crisis,” Studies in Intelligence 

46, no. 1 (2002), 49–58 (unclassified edition).

77 Matthew M. Aid, The Secret Sentry: The Untold History of the National Security Agency

(New York: Bloomsbury Press, 2009), 65.

78 Pedlow and Welzenbach, CIA and the U-2 Program, 200–201; Current Intelligence Memorandum, September 13, 1962, “Analysis of the Suspect Missile Site at Banes, Cuba,” in 

Mary S. McAuliffe, ed., CIA Documents on the Cuban Missile Crisis, 1962 (Washington, 

DC: History Staff, Central Intelligence Agency, 1992), 71–73; Dino A. Brugioni, Eyeball 

to Eyeball: The Inside Story of the Cuban Missile Crisis (New York: Random House, 1990), 

120–126.

79 See SNIE 85-3-62, September 19, 1962, “The Military Buildup in Cuba,” in McAuliffe, 

ed., Cuban Missile Crisis, 1962, 91–93.

80 Max Holland, “The ‘Photo Gap’ that Delayed Discovery of Missiles in Cuba,” Studies in 

Intelligence 49, no. 4 (2005), 21 (unclassified edition).

81 CM-977-62 to SECDEF, September 24, 1962, “A U.S. Position for Presentation to the 

Foreign Ministers of the American States,” JCS 2304/61.

82 Report by J3 to the JCS, October 14, 1962, “Cuba,” JCS 2304/69.

83 Memo, JSSC to JCS, September 19, 1962, “Cuban Situation,” JCS 2304/58; 1st N/H to JCS 

2304/58, October 3, 1962. Also see Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1961–64, Pt. II, 231–232.

84 JCS Meeting, October 15, 1962, Notes Taken by Walter S. Poole on Transcripts of Meetings of the JCS, October–November 1962, dealing with the Cuban Missile Crisis, JHO 

07-0035 (declassified and released 1996), hereafter cited as “Poole Notes.” Why the 

President specified 3 months is unknown, but it would have taken him beyond the 

November elections and into the new Congress.

85 Letter to President of the Senate and Speaker of the House Transmitting Bill Authorizing Mobilization of Ready Reserve, September 7, 1962, Kennedy Public Papers, 1962, 665; 

Memo, McNamara to Kennedy, October 4, 1962, “Presidential Interest in SA–2 Missile 

System and Contingency Planning for Cuba,” Kennedy Papers, National Security File, 

Kennedy Library.
242

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86 Pedlow and Welzenbach, CIA and the U–2 Program, 207–208.

87 NSAM 196, October 22, 1962, “Establishment of an Executive Committee of the 

National Security Council,” Kennedy Papers, National Security Files, JFK Library. 

Though not officially constituted until October 22, 1962, ExCom began functioning 

on October 16.

88 Taylor, 269.

89 See the roundtable discussion of this issue in Blight and Welch, eds., On the Brink, 

85–86.

90 See JCSM-828-62 to SECDEF, October 26, 1962, “Nuclear-Free or Missile-Free 

Zones,” JCS 2422/1, a good overall summary of the JCS position.

91 Quoted in Bradlee, Conversations with Kennedy, 117.

92 Kaplan et al., 206 and 582, fn. 48; Bernard C. Nalty, “The Air Force Role in Five Crises, 1958–1965” (Study done for USAF Historical Division Liaison Office, June 1968), 

39–40 (declassified).

93 “Meeting with the JCS on the Cuban Missile Crisis,” October 19, 1962, in Timothy 

Naftali and Philip Zelikow, eds., The Presidential Recordings: John F. Kennedy—The Great 

Crises, Volume Two (New York: W.W. Norton & Co.: 2001), II, 580–599; Reeves, 379.

94 “NSC Meeting on the Cuban Missile Crisis,” October 20, 1962, Naftali and Zelikow, 

eds., Presidential Recordings, II, 605.

95 JCS Meeting, October 20, 1962, Poole Notes. See also Walter S. Poole, “The Cuban 

Missile Crisis: How Well Did the Joint Chiefs of Staff Work?” (Paper presented to the 

Colloquium on Contemporary History, Washington, DC, September 22, 2003); and 

editorial comments in Naftali and Zelikow, eds., Presidential Recordings, II, 614.

96 Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1961–64, Pt. II, 281–296; McNamara quoted in “ExCom 

Meeting of the NSC on the Cuban Missile Crisis,” October 27, 1962, in Philip Zelikow 

and Ernest May, eds., The Presidential Recordings: John F. Kennedy—The Great Crises, Volume Three (New York: W.W. Norton, 2001), 360.

97 Thomas R. Johnson, American Cryptology during the Cold War, 1945–1989: Book II—Centralization Wins, 1960–1972 (Washington, DC: National Security Agency, 1995), 329 (declassified); Aid, Secret Sentry, 73–76; Brugioni, Eyeball to Eyeball, 398–400; and Deborah 

Shapley, Promise and Power: The Life and Times of Robert S. McNamara (Boston: Little, 

Brown, 1993), 176–178.

98 Letter, Khrushchev to Kennedy, October 27, 1962, FRUS 1961–63, XI, 257–260.

99 Memo by Bromley Smith, “Summary Record of NSC Executive Committee Meeting 

No. 7, October 27, 1962, 10:00 AM,” Kennedy Papers, National Security File, Kennedy 

Library.

100 JCS Meeting, October 27, 1962, Poole Notes.

101 Memo, Robert F. Kennedy to Rusk, October 30, 1962, FRUS 1961–63, XI, 270–271.

102 Bundy, 432–434.

103 LeMay Interview in Richard H. Kohn and Joseph P. Harahan, eds., Strategic Air Warfare

(Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1988), 114.

104 JCS Meeting, October 28, 1962, Poole Notes.
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K E NN EDY AN D THE C RI S I S P R E S I D E N C Y

105 Draft Memo, JCS to SECDEF, enclosure to Report, J5 to JCS, October 29, 1962, “Proposal for Substitution of Polaris for Turkish Jupiters,” JCS 2421/73. In mid-November 

1962, Kennedy sought to reopen the deal he had cut with Khrushchev by including 

Soviet IL–28 fighter-bombers as among the weapons banned from Cuba. The Soviets 

agreed to remove their IL–28s, but offered no pledge not to reintroduce them or some 

similar plane.

106 Bundy, 458.

107 Interview with McDonald by Harold Joiner, June 1, 1963, for Atlanta Journal-Constitution, available at <http://victorianmaysville.com/history/notables/dlm/1963_story.

htm>.

108 “Inaugural Address,” January 20, 1961, Kennedy Public Papers, 1961, 2.

109 JCSM-99-61 to SECDEF, February 21, 1961, “Resumption of Nuclear Testing,” JCS 

2179/230; JCSM-182-61 to SECDEF, March 23, 1961, “Nuclear Arms Control Measures,” FRUS, 1961–63, VII, 21–27; JCSM-445-61 to SECDEF, June 26, 1961, “Proposed 

Letter to the President on Resumption of Nuclear Weapons Testing,” JCS 1731/466.

110 “Statement by the President on Ordering Resumption of Underground Nuclear Tests,” 

September 5, 1961, Kennedy Public Papers, 1961, 589–590. On November 30, 1961, Kennedy approved the resumption of atmospheric testing but delayed announcing the 

decision until March 1962 just as tests were scheduled to begin.

111 SNIE 11-14-61, November 1961, “The Soviet Strategic Military Posture, 1961–1967,” in 

Gerald K. Haines and Robert E. Leggett, eds., CIA’s Analysis of the Soviet Union, 1947–

1991: A Documentary Collection (Washington, DC: Center for the Study of Intelligence, 

2001), 234–235; Glenn T. Seaborg, Kennedy, Khrushchev, and the Test Ban (Berkeley, CA: 

University of California Press, 1981), 114; Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1961–64, Pt. I, 

371.

112 Christian Brahmstedt, Defense’s Nuclear Agency, 1947–1997 (Washington, DC: Defense 

Threat Reduction Agency, 2002), 160–163.

113 Seaborg, 176.

114 See JCSM-160-63 to SECDEF, February 22, 1963, “Draft Treaty Banning Nuclear 

Weapon Tests in All Environments,” JCS 1731/672; JCSM-234-63 to SECDEF, March 

19, 1963, “Draft Treaty Banning Nuclear Weapons Tests,” JCS 1731/684; JCSM-241-63 

to SECDEF, March 21, 1963, “US/USSR Weapons Capabilities,” JCS 1731/668; and 

JCSM-327-63 to SECDEF, April 20, 1963, “Nuclear Test Ban Issue,” JCS 1731/696.

115 CM-643-63 to DJS, June 4, 1963, “Test Ban Hearings before the Stennis Subcommittee,” JCS 1731/707; Report, Special Assistant to JCS for Arms Control to JCS, June 11, 

1963, “JCS Views on Important Aspects of the Test Ban Issue,” JCS 1731/707–3.

116 Ronald J. Terchek, The Making of the Test Ban Treaty (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 

1970), 22.

117 “Instructions for Hon. W. Averell Harriman,” July 10, 1963, FRUS 1961–63, VII, 786.

118 Taylor, 285–287.

119 Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1961–64, Pt. I, 399–402.

120 “Statement of Position of the Joint Chiefs of Staff on the Three–Environment Nuclear 

Test Ban Treaty,” August 12, 1963, Enclosure A to JCS 1731/711–30. See also Seaborg, 

269–270.
Robert S. McNamara, Secretary of Defense, 1961–1968
Chapter 8

The McNamara Era

The assassination of President Kennedy on November 22, 1963, shook the Joint 

Chiefs as much as the country at large and left a void that the new President, Lyndon B. Johnson, moved quickly to fill. To reassure the Nation and to promote stability, he pledged continuity between his administration and Kennedy’s. “I felt from 

the very first day in office,” he recalled, “that I had to carry on for President Kennedy. I considered myself the caretaker of both his people and his policies.”1

 One of 

those who stayed on was Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara. The dominant 

figure at the Pentagon before Kennedy’s death, McNamara would exercise even 

more power and authority during Johnson’s Presidency.

By the time Johnson became President, the Joint Chiefs were grudgingly coming to terms with McNamara’s policies and methods. Under Kennedy, McNamara 

had firmly established his authority, using it to carry out two major revolutions 

within the department—one, to redesign the military strategy and Armed Forces of 

the United States to achieve greater flexibility and effectiveness; the second, to install 

new methods of analysis and decisionmaking in the areas of planning, management, 

and acquisition.2

 Like Kennedy, McNamara grew to be skeptical of JCS advice and 

once characterized the Joint Chiefs as “a miserable organization” hamstrung by collegial and parochial interests.3

 For analytical support, he established his own group 

of advisors known as the “whiz kids,” made up predominantly of young and eager 

civilians who routinely checked and double-checked the programmatic recommendations of the military Services and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Out of this process 

emerged both a new approach to solving defense problems and a significant expansion of the power and authority vested in the Office of the Secretary of Defense.

The McNamara System

By late 1963, when the Johnson administration assumed office, McNamara had largely 

accomplished what he initially set out to do—transform the Department of Defense 

into a more tightly knit and efficient organization. The original impetus for these 

changes lay in the increased defense spending during the final years of the Eisenhower 

administration in response to Sputnik and the perceived Soviet lead in missile technology. To cope with these issues, Eisenhower had backed away from the rigid budget 

245
246

Coun c il of War

ceilings he had imposed earlier and began accepting increases in military spending 

that soon threatened to get out of hand. Further additions to defense spending at 

the outset of the Kennedy administration exacerbated the situation. In assessing the 

underlying causes of the problem, McNamara and his staff identified two principal 

culprits: a compliant Congress, which was prone to overspend on defense programs; 

and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, whose elaborate but ineffectual strategic planning process 

had failed to apply the necessary discipline in determining military requirements, curb 

excessive expenditures, and eliminate unnecessary duplication in Service programs. 

Though there was not much McNamara could do to reform Congress, he used his 

newly minted authority under the 1958 amendments to the National Security Act to 

bring defense planning and programming under his direct control.

The system McNamara imposed during the first 2 years of the Kennedy administration came into effect with limited consultation between the Secretary’s office and the 

Joint Chiefs of Staff. Kennedy wanted a more robust defense posture, which he expected 

McNamara to achieve, in part, through better management. At the heart of McNamara’s 

reforms was the use of computer modeling techniques known as “systems analysis,” 

which the Secretary and his staff used to develop 5-year projections of military spending 

based on “program packages” in various functional areas such as strategic nuclear forces, 

general purpose forces, continental defense, and airlift and sealift forces. The organizing 

mechanism was the planning, programming, budgeting system (PPBS), a sophisticated 

decisionmaking apparatus for integrating Service requirements and national objectives. 

Recommendations to the President took the form of draft Presidential memorandums 

(DPMs) detailing force levels and their funding for the upcoming fiscal year and projections for the next 4 years. Initially in 1961, McNamara submitted two DPMs for the 

President’s consideration; by 1968, when he stepped down, he was submitting 16.4

Through refinements to the Joint Program for Planning, the JCS had tried, 

with mixed success, to develop something similar in the 1950s. The focus of the JCS 

effort had been the Joint Strategic Objectives Plan (JSOP), a mid-range projection 

of military requirements.5

 When the Joint Chiefs adopted the JSOP format in the 

early 1950s, they envisioned it serving as a statement of integrated requirements that 

would be updated annually to assist in smoothing out the ups and down of the budget cycle. But because of disagreements over basic strategy—especially the relative 

balance between strategic and general purpose capabilities—the Services were constantly at odds over force-level recommendations, known in JCS parlance as “force 

tabs.” By the end of the decade, the Joint Chiefs had given up trying to produce an 

integrated plan and had turned the JSOP into a compilation of unilateral Service 

estimates, organized in no particular order of priority, as their projection of future 

needs. Invariably, these estimates exceeded available funding.6
THE MC NA M ARA E RA

247

As a rule, McNamara and his staff paid little serious attention to the JSOP, which 

they and other critics of the JCS system dismissed as a “wish list.” In the spring of 1962, 

McNamara introduced an alternative means of calculating requirements known as the 

Five-Year Defense Program (FYDP), a mission-oriented projection of future costs and 

manpower. To justify the estimates in the FYDP, the Office of the Secretary of Defense 

prepared a lengthy and detailed analysis known as the Secretary’s “posture statement.” 

Under Lemnitzer’s leadership, the Joint Chiefs sought more generalized guidance and 

supported the adoption of a broad basic policy paper, similar to those generated under 

the Truman and Eisenhower administrations. However, after General Maxwell Taylor’s 

arrival as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the JCS position changed. Finding little practical value in such papers, Taylor prevailed in getting the project cancelled.7

 In January 

1963, President Kennedy confirmed that the project was dead and indicated that the 

Secretary’s posture statement, along with other “major policy statements” by senior officials, would constitute the country’s basic national security policy.8

McNamara hoped that, using his posture statement as guidance, the Joint Chiefs 

would turn the JSOP into “a primary vehicle for obtaining the decisions on force 

structure necessary for validating the ensuing budget.”9

 The first Chairman to take 

up the task was General Taylor, whose efforts yielded mixed results. Knowing how 

intractable the JCS system could be, Taylor had no illusions and told Joint Staff officers assigned to preparing the JSOP that reaching a consensus on the rationale for 

force requirements was imperative, no matter how difficult the task. As a first step, he 

ordered the JSOP redesigned to incorporate some of the same supporting rationales 

as in the Secretary’s DPMs. But even though there was some progress toward harmonizing Service interests, neither he nor his successor, General Earle G. Wheeler, USA, 

could ever totally eliminate Service “splits” and present the Secretary with a fully integrated statement of military requirements. On the contrary, instead of going down, 

the number of splits went up, from 13 in 1962 to 43 in 1963 and 47 a year later.10 From 

the mid-1960s on, with Wheeler in charge and attention focused on meeting requirements in Vietnam, the Joint Chiefs lost interest in trying to reform the JSOP and left 

it as it was—a compilation of Service estimates in no particular order of priority that 

routinely averaged 25 to 35 percent above authorized levels.11

Reconfiguring the Strategic Force Posture 

McNamara’s most ambitious reforms were in reconfiguring the size and composition of the strategic nuclear deterrent. Kennedy wanted a more flexible force posture with less emphasis on nuclear retaliation, but he had also campaigned for the 

Presidency on claims that the United States had fallen behind the Soviet Union in 
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ICBMs. Though McNamara suspected soon after taking office that the infamous 

“missile gap” was overstated, it was not until August–September 1961 that Kennedy 

came to a similar view.12 In consequence, during the administration’s early months, 

McNamara was under heavy pressure from the White House to make “quick fixes” 

to bolster strategic forces that would shore up the defense posture. Paying little attention to the slow-moving Joint Chiefs, he turned to his systems analysis experts 

to produce the program he needed. Drawing heavily on work done earlier at the 

RAND Corporation and in the Weapons Systems Evaluation Group, McNamara 

and his staff promptly assembled a list of remedial measures—acceleration of the 

Polaris missile submarine program, increased production of Minuteman ICBMs, 

and improved alert measures for portions of the manned-bomber fleet.13 To help 

offset the cost of these improvements, McNamara accelerated the phase-out of older systems (notably the Atlas and Titan I ICBMs, the Snark intercontinental cruise 

missile, and the B–47 bomber, long the work horse of the Strategic Air Command) 

and ordered a closer look at several other high-profile programs. Most prominent 

among the latter was the B–70 supersonic bomber, the planned follow-on to the 

B–52, which McNamara canceled over strenuous objections from Air Force Chief 

of Staff General Curtis E. LeMay.14

McNamara was concerned that “some in the U.S. Air Force” were striving 

under the massive retaliation doctrine for nothing less than a first-strike capability that would completely disarm the Soviet Union.15 Persuaded that such a force 

posture was neither sound nor practicable, he asked the Joint Chiefs to develop a 

“doctrine” ending reliance on massive retaliation and establishing in its place a set of 

controlled responses allowing for pauses to negotiate an end to nuclear exchanges.16

The JCS cautioned that acquiring the requisite capabilities would be expensive; 

in April 1961 they added a further caveat that to pursue the matter at the present 

time could “gravely weaken” nuclear deterrence.17 These replies seem only to have 

whetted McNamara’s interest all the more, and for the next several years he and the 

Joint Chiefs engaged in a running battle to redefine U.S. strategic doctrine. Much 

of the conflict centered on the particulars of the SIOP—the Single Integrated Operational Plan for nuclear retaliation against the Sino-Soviet bloc—but there were 

also broader considerations affecting the worldwide disposition of forces and the 

design and acquisition of new weapons systems. By the time all was said and done, 

the United States had adopted a new principle as the basis for its nuclear strategy. 

Known as “assured destruction,” the new concept rested on a “triad” of land-based 

ICBMs, submarine-launched ballistic missiles (SLBMs), and long-range bombers.

 Assured destruction was part massive retaliation and part controlled response. As McNamara described it to President Johnson in December 1963, assured 
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destruction was “our ability to destroy, after a well planned and executed Soviet 

surprise attack on our Strategic Nuclear Forces, the Soviet government and military 

controls, plus a large percentage of their population and economy (e.g., 30 percent 

of their population, 50 percent of their industrial capacity, and 150 of their cities).” 

Damage beyond those levels, McNamara believed, would be gratuitous and not 

cost-effective.18 McNamara would have preferred a more controlled and measured 

execution of strategic options, and on two occasions—at a closed meeting of the 

NATO ministers in Athens early in 1962 and publicly at Ann Arbor, Michigan, 

that spring—he lofted the trial balloon of a “counterforce/no-cities” doctrine that 

downplayed attacks on urban-industrial areas in favor of retaliation against highpriority politico-military targets. Yet the counterforce doctrine, as McNamara conceived it, failed to catch on. Considered impractical by the Joint Chiefs, it received 

an even cooler reception in Europe, where many leaders viewed it as weakening 

deterrence by relieving the Soviets of the threat of wholesale nuclear destruction.19

Khrushchev, for his part, suspected a ruse. Upon learning of the Ann Arbor speech, 

he thought McNamara was trying to conceal a secret expansion of America’s nuclear arsenal.20

JCS skepticism rested on the high demands that the counterforce/no-cities 

doctrine would place on strategic assets. Except for LeMay, a die-hard proponent of 

massive retaliation, the Joint Chiefs were amenable to adding flexibility to the SIOP 

and to strategic plans in general.21 But they insisted on firm assurances of having 

the time and money to make the necessary changes in plans and force structure. To 

execute something as complex as the no-cities strategy, the JCS estimated, would 

involve expanded requirements for weapons and supporting command, control, 

communications, and intelligence (C3I) that would necessitate funding well above 

current and foreseeable levels. Though McNamara and his systems analysts routinely 

picked apart the JCS numbers, they were never able to overcome the chiefs’ fundamental argument that it would take an unstinting dedication of resources extended 

over a period of years, if not decades, to achieve reasonable confidence of success. In 

consequence, McNamara gave up on seeking sweeping revisions in the SIOP and 

settled for piecemeal changes resulting in the gradual introduction of greater flexibility and more selective targeting options.22

To meet the Secretary’s targeting requirements, the Commander in Chief, 

Strategic Air Command (CINCSAC), General Thomas S. Power, estimated that 

SAC would need 10,000 ICBMs by the end of the decade.23 Favoring quantity 

over quality, Power wanted as many weapons as possible with which to threaten the 

Soviets.24 Taking a more reserved approach, the Joint Chiefs recommended between 

1,350 and 2,000 deployed ICBMs.25 Comparing JCS estimates with the intelligence 
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on existing and projected Soviet capabilities, McNamara concluded that the decisive factor was the number of targetable bombs and warheads, not delivery vehicles. 

Operating on this premise, he persuaded President Johnson to accept the eventual 

leveling-off of strategic programs at 41 ballistic missile submarines with a total of 

656 launchers, 1,054 ICBMs, and approximately 600 long-range (B–52) bombers. 

According to those familiar with McNamara’s thinking, the numbers he chose were 

arbitrary, but to give them greater credibility he paired them with the concept of 

assured destruction.26

Air Force leaders, who were most directly affected by the new force structure, 

were dismayed and openly critical. Having struggled for years to gain a decisive advantage over the Soviet Union, they saw their efforts coming to naught. As one later 

put it, McNamara and his OSD staff “did not understand what had been created and 

handed to them. SAC was about at its peak. We had, not supremacy, but complete 

nuclear superiority over the Soviets.”27 Yet to McNamara, nuclear superiority was an 

ephemeral thing, perhaps attainable for a short while but difficult if not impossible 

to perpetuate without an open-ended commitment of resources. Convinced that 

neither side could ever “win” a nuclear war, he opted for lesser capabilities, which 

he thought would do more to save money, promote deterrence, and achieve a stable 

strategic environment in the long run.

The impact of these decisions extended well beyond restructuring the strategic 

deterrent. First, it ended the Joint Chiefs’ exclusive monopoly on strategic nuclear 

planning, a function they had exercised without serious challenge as one of their 

statutory responsibilities since World War II. Henceforth, insofar as basic policy and 

targeting doctrine were concerned, strategic nuclear planning became a shared responsibility of the JCS and civilian analysts in OSD. Only the actual preparation of 

SIOP remained firmly under JCS control. Second, it brought about a reordering 

of spending priorities that dramatically reshaped both the military budget and the 

Pentagon’s claim on resources. From consuming nearly 27 percent of defense spending when the Kennedy administration took office in 1961, strategic forces declined 

to slightly over 9 percent by the end of the decade. During this same time, national 

defense (comprising the Department of Defense and related security programs) 

dropped from 9.1 percent of the country’s gross national product, to 7.8 percent. 

McNamara hoped that, out of the savings realized from cuts in strategic programs, 

he could bolster conventional capabilities. Yet the demands of the Vietnam War and 

competition for funds from President Johnson’s “Great Society” and other civiliansector programs disrupted his plans. As a result, spending on general purpose forces 

increased only slightly over the decade, from 33 percent to just under 37 percent of 

the military budget.28
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Still, when McNamara was finished, the country’s defense posture was vastly 

different from when he became Secretary. Most notably, strategic doctrine placed 

less emphasis on carrying out preemptive attacks than at any time since the end of 

World War II. In terms of size, composition, and destructive power, U.S. strategic 

nuclear forces functioned largely as a second-strike deterrent geared toward inflicting punishing retaliation. Meanwhile, as the United States was reining in its strategic 

programs, the Soviet strategic buildup was starting to surge with the deployment 

of a second generation of ICBMs (see below). In consequence, by the early 1970s 

the two sides had reached approximate parity in strategic nuclear power. With the 

United States then preoccupied in Vietnam, the loss of strategic superiority was 

barely noticed at the time other than by the Joint Chiefs, a few astute Members 

of Congress, and a small coterie of academics and strategic analysts. But from that 

point on, the Joint Chiefs’ confidence in being able to confront and deal with the 

Soviets would never be the same.

NATO and Flexible Response 

The quest for greater choice and flexibility that drove the Joint Chiefs to accept 

changes in U.S. strategic doctrine also inspired the Kennedy and Johnson administrations to seek a reordering of military priorities in Europe. During the 1961 

Berlin crisis, President Kennedy had set great store in a nonnuclear buildup, both 

to impress upon the Soviets the seriousness of Western resolve and to expand the 

range of plausible military options to lessen the need for early recourse to nuclear 

weapons. But he had had trouble explaining to the Joint Chiefs and to the European 

Allies what he wanted to do and how. While flexible response was well formed in 

theory, it was less refined in practice. As a deterrent, its reliability and effectiveness 

were untested. In contrast, the concept of nuclear deterrence was widely known 

and accepted, and while it entailed great risks, it was also far more affordable to 

Europeans than a conventional defense, since the United States shouldered most of 

the costs of nuclear forces. Despite its ominous implications and potential dangers, 

a nuclear-oriented defense posture continued to enjoy strong support in Europe. 

At the outset of the 1960s, NATO strategy (MC 14/2) rested on the Eisenhower era concept of massive retaliation and made no allowance for trying to defend 

Europe by fighting a large-scale conventional war.29 The product of painstaking negotiation and delicate compromise, MC 14/2 embodied the “trip wire” theory, under which the primary function of conventional forces was to delay a Warsaw Pact 

invasion until NATO could mount a nuclear response. Some of the nuclear weapons at NATO’s disposal were British, in accordance with a pledge made by Prime 
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Minister Clement R. Attlee in December 1950 dedicating his country’s nuclear 

arsenal (once it came into being) to NATO.30 But the bulk of the Alliance’s atomic 

capabilities consisted of American bombs, warheads, and delivery systems assigned 

and/or deployed to Europe under bilateral agreements with the host countries and 

targeted by SACEUR in collaboration with the Joint Strategic Target Planning Staff 

in Omaha.31 At the time, the United States still had Thor IRBMs in the United 

Kingdom and Jupiter MRBMs in Italy and Turkey. While the missiles were in the 

operational hands of the host governments, their warheads were under a “dual key” 

system, according to which the United States and the host country shared custody 

and control.32 Looking beyond the current situation, General Lauris Norstad, USAF, 

who served as SACEUR until 1962, and his successor, General Lyman Lemnitzer, 

USA, both subscribed to the view that NATO should eventually have its own organic nuclear capability. With this end in view, the United States had come up with 

the idea of a multilateral nuclear force (MLF) in the late 1950s.33

Under the revised (flexible response) strategy that McNamara proposed, the 

trip wire would give way to a conventional defense as far forward as possible to 

meet and defeat Soviet aggression near the point of attack. McNamara could see 

no practical application for tactical nuclear weapons and lacked confidence in using 

them without risking escalation to a full-scale nuclear exchange. Rather than relying on tactical nuclear weapons, he stressed the security NATO enjoyed under the 

protective “umbrella” of the U.S. strategic deterrent, a concept known as “extended 

deterrence.” But with U.S. policy and doctrine in flux, European leaders wanted 

more concrete assurances of nuclear support. Hence their continuing interest, now 

stronger than ever, in achieving something along the lines of the MLF. On both sides 

of the Atlantic, military planners continued to believe that tactical nuclear weapons 

were NATO’s first line of defense and that selective use of atomic firepower, even 

though it might heighten risk, would not necessarily result in total war. Weighing 

one thing against another, the Joint Chiefs urged McNamara to move cautiously in 

making changes in NATO’s strategy and defense posture and to observe “a proper 

balance between nuclear and non-nuclear forces.”34

Had this been the Truman or Eisenhower administration, there probably would 

have been an in-depth interagency study, with detailed inputs from the Joint Chiefs 

and other agencies, coordinated through the NSC, to develop a master plan of action. But neither President Kennedy nor those close to him, including McNamara, 

had the patience for what they considered the tedious consensus-building and hairsplitting staff work of the past. As usual, McNamara paid less attention to professional military advice than to his civilian systems analysts. First up for review was 

the Soviet Order of Battle. Using computerized models, OSD analysts concluded 
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that it was practically impossible for the Soviet economy to train, equip, and sustain, 

along with other forces, 175 front-line divisions, the benchmark figure applied by 

Western intelligence since the late 1940s for “sizing” the Soviet army. Applying different methods, the CIA reached a similar conclusion. Based on a reexamination of 

evidence accumulated over the past decade, the CIA calculated that instead of 175 

divisions, the Soviets had closer to 140, with at least half at reduced strength, some 

no more than cadres. Persuaded that previous estimates had exaggerated the Soviet 

threat, McNamara became convinced that with modest increases in Alliance spending (about $8.5 billion spread over 5 years) and technical improvements, NATO 

could carry out a “forward strategy” and hold its own in a conventional confrontation with the Warsaw Pact.35

While McNamara had some valid points, he and his staff presented their arguments clumsily to the Europeans. In so doing they antagonized the NATO allies 

and made them more resistant than ever to change. As a result, the Europeans became suspicious of the Kennedy administration’s whole approach to nuclear deterrence, from its contemplated shift at the strategic level to a counterforce/no-cities 

doctrine, to its proposed curbs on theater and tactical weapons.36 What most European political leaders and military planners wanted was more nuclear support, not 

less, and greater control over the assets at hand in case the United States reneged on 

its commitments. McNamara, conversely, was set on limiting both. 

The Skybolt Affair 

Throughout the debate over Europe’s nuclear future, the Joint Chiefs found themselves increasingly marginalized as McNamara and his whiz kids took matters more 

and more into their own hands. While it was one thing for the JCS to be ignored, 

it was quite another to have a majority recommendation blatantly overruled as 

happened with the “Skybolt” program, which McNamara decided to cancel in November 1962. Initiated under Eisenhower, Skybolt was a strategic air-to-surface 

ballistic missile being developed by the Air Force in collaboration with the British, 

who planned to use it to prolong the active service life of their obsolescent Vulcan 

bombers. Late in 1959, seizing on an offer from Washington to codevelop Skybolt, 

the British shelved a similar program (“Blue Streak”), which they had been pursuing on their own.37 With a planned range of over 1,000 miles, Skybolt’s mission was 

to carry out stand-off attacks against targets inside the Soviet Union. By the end of 

the Eisenhower administration, however, technical problems and rapidly escalating 

costs threatened the program’s future. Aware that these issues could scuttle Skybolt, 

President Kennedy saw an opportunity to pressure the British into phasing out their 
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nuclear deterrent, in keeping with the administration’s policy of curbing nuclear 

proliferation. In April 1961, he authorized McNamara to explore such a possibility if 

the missile failed to measure up.38 McNamara continued to nurse the project along, 

but in August 1962 both the OSD Comptroller, Charles J. Hitch, and the Director of Defense Research and Engineering, Harold Brown, advised McNamara to 

terminate Skybolt. From the technical data laid before him, McNamara concluded 

that Skybolt was “a pile of junk.”39

Despite his growing skepticism concerning Skybolt, McNamara hedged a final 

decision on the program’s future. On November 8, he told the British ambassador 

that the United States was “reconsidering” the program, but conveyed the impression that any action was conditional upon the receipt of JCS views.40 As part of 

their annual review of the Secretary’s budget submission, the Joint Chiefs weighed 

in with a split recommendation. Insisting that Skybolt was necessary to maintain a 

“clear margin of superiority,” the Service chiefs unanimously favored retaining the 

program. However, the Chairman, General Taylor, disagreed. The newest member 

of the JCS, Taylor had no vested interests to protect and felt that he could view 

the situation more objectively. Terming Skybolt “a relatively marginal program,” 

he shared the prevailing view in OSD that the money could be better spent on 

other systems.41

In the past, upon receiving a split recommendation, the Secretary of Defense 

invariably sided with the majority or sought a compromise. But in this case, Taylor’s 

lone dissent prevailed. While taken on technical and cost-effectiveness grounds, McNamara’s decision to cancel Skybolt nevertheless had strong geopolitical overtones. 

Without Skybolt, McNamara knew that the only readily available alternative the 

British had was the Blue Steel Mk I, an air-launched missile with limited range and 

penetration capabilities. Lacking a more up-to-date and effective system, Britain’s 

entire nuclear weapons program would face an uncertain future.42 In early December, McNamara flew to London and presented British Minister of Defence Peter 

Thorneycroft with three options—continue Skybolt as a solely British program, 

adopt a less capable U.S. weapon, the “Hound Dog,” or participate in whatever arrangements emerged from ongoing discussions to create an MLF. Lurking in the 

background was a fourth possibility—British acquisition of Polaris technology. But 

to McNamara’s surprise, Thorneycroft did not raise it. In fact, the British Ministry 

of Defence had explored this option earlier but considered it too costly and incompatible with Britain’s overall weapons and shipbuilding program.43

Just before Christmas, at a mini-summit between President Kennedy and 

Prime Minister Harold Macmillan at Nassau, a solution emerged. In preparation 

for the meeting, Taylor asked McNamara whether he should attend to assure the 
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availability of a senior military advisor should the need arise. McNamara told the 

Chairman to stay home since “substantive discussions” appeared unlikely.44 Whether 

McNamara simply misread the situation or was purposefully excluding the CJCS is 

unclear. Yet even if Taylor had been there, the outcome doubtless would have been 

the same. Conceding that Skybolt was a lost cause, Macmillan agreed that acquiring Polaris was the only choice that made sense if Britain were to remain a strategic nuclear power. While the British would supply their own nuclear warheads, 

the boats and missiles would conform to U.S. design. The decision was technically 

without prejudice to the future of the UK’s independent deterrent, but it came with 

strings attached that severely limited British freedom of action. Most constraining 

of all was the requirement that all forces acquired by the UK under the agreement 

be “assigned and targeted” as part of a NATO nuclear force in keeping with current 

practice. Only if Britain’s “supreme national interests” were at stake could it withdraw its Polaris boats from NATO command and control.45

Demise of the MLF

Over the long run, the Nassau agreement probably created more problems than 

it solved. Not only did it show the Kennedy administration backtracking from its 

declared policy of curbing nuclear proliferation; it also resurrected the notion of a 

U.S.-UK “special relationship,” which the French, Germans, and other Europeans 

resented. In fact, the close links forged between Washington and London in World 

War II were long gone. But by agreeing to share some of its most sensitive military 

technology with the British—technology to which no other Alliance member had 

comparable access—the Kennedy administration had left itself vulnerable to charges 

of favoritism. 

Earlier, anticipating that problems of this sort might arise, the Kennedy White 

House had endorsed a variation on the theme of a NATO-wide multilateral force. 

The original MLF concept of the late 1950s had the strong personal imprint of 

the Supreme Allied Commander, General Lauris Norstad, who envisioned a mix 

of land- and sea-based medium-range ballistic missiles to replace aging aircraft and 

the obsolescent Thor and Jupiter missiles in the United Kingdom, Italy, and Turkey.46 Had Norstad’s conception of the MLF prevailed, NATO would have become, in effect, the fourth nuclear power, alongside the United States, the United 

Kingdom, and the Soviet Union. But with the advent of the Kennedy administration, Norstad’s vision faded almost immediately. Determined to reduce nuclear 

proliferation, President Kennedy discouraged the creation of an autonomous nuclear force under NATO and proposed in May 1961 that NATO concentrate on 
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strengthening its conventional forces rather than its nuclear posture. To minimize 

the risk, he reaffirmed an offer made by President Eisenhower that the United States 

would dedicate five U.S. Polaris submarines to NATO and move toward the next 

stage—the creation of a full-blown MLF—“once NATO’s nonnuclear goals have 

been achieved.”47

Though McNamara and the Joint Chiefs saw no compelling military need 

for the MLF, they went along with the idea largely in deference to the enthusiastic 

backing it had among Kennedy loyalists in the State Department. To this group, 

the MLF was a crucial component of the President’s “Grand Design” for European political, military, and economic integration, and another step toward eventually achieving European union. The Pentagon’s main contribution was to push the 

concept in the direction of a predominantly, if not exclusively, sea-based system to 

expedite the project and to minimize costs through the use of existing technologies. 

The proposed force would comprise 25 surface vessels armed with 200 Polaris A–3 

missiles, manned by multinational crews and funded collectively by contributions 

from NATO members. Costs would be limited to 1 to 5 percent of a nation’s military budget. Though SACEUR would have operational command and control of 

the ships and their missiles, the United States would retain custody of the warheads 

and exercise ultimate veto power over their use. Many Europeans disparaged these 

arrangements as being not much better than the current system.48

The Kennedy administration’s recasting of the MLF concept encountered no 

strong objections from the JCS. Lukewarm toward the MLF from the start, the 

chiefs supported it as long as it posed no excessive drain on American resources and 

caused no major diversion of assets from SAC or other major commands. Their most 

serious concerns had to do with the composition of the force. Siding with Norstad, 

they repeatedly urged McNamara to include mobile land-based MRBMs in the 

MLF, along with Polaris. More accurate and reliable than sea-based missiles, landbased MRBMs would give NATO a broader range of capabilities and options and 

help dissuade the FRG and others from developing independent nuclear capabilities outside of NATO.49 McNamara, however, believed that a European land-based 

missile force would drive up costs and duplicate functions already assigned to U.S. 

strategic forces. Still, in deference to growing pressures, he agreed to think about it 

and acknowledged to NATO leaders in May 1962 that a land-based MRBM might 

be acceptable to the United States under the right conditions.50

Despite efforts by Washington to come up with an acceptable plan, European 

opponents of the MLF, led by the French, continued to make headway. Turning 

their back to a multilateral solution, the French remained focused on acquiring 

an independent nuclear force de frappe. A low-key affair for much of the 1950s, the 
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French nuclear program grew out of theoretical studies dating from 1951 and gathered momentum quickly in the aftermath of the Suez affair when the United States 

failed to support Britain, France, and Israel in their attack on Egypt. Convinced 

that the Americans were capricious friends, the French sought a “trigger” that was 

certain to bring U.S. nuclear power to bear regardless of American policy. Denied 

American assistance, France pursued collaboration with Italy and West Germany. 

With the return to power of General Charles de Gaulle in 1958, this brief partnership ended and France embarked on unilateral development. In February 1960, 

France detonated its first atomic explosion, a plutonium bomb, in the Sahara desert. 

At first, the French relied on air-delivered weapons using Mirage IV bombers. But 

as the 1960s progressed, they expanded their arsenal to include silo-based IRBMs 

and submarine-launched ballistic missiles.51

For de Gaulle, the force de frappe was part of a larger effort to restore France’s 

faded power, glory, and international prestige. Leader of the Free French in World 

War II, de Gaulle had emerged from his wartime experience feeling that the British 

and Americans had slighted him. According to diplomatic historian Erin R. Mahan, 

de Gaulle carried “a smoldering animosity toward les Anglo-Saxons” practically his 

entire adult life.52 Dismissing the MLF as “a web of liaisons,” he opposed any measure that did not give France a veto over the use of nuclear weapons. In place of the 

MLF, he wanted a tripartite (Anglo-French-American) directorate, with each country having an equal voice in decisions on when and where to use nuclear weapons. 

After the Nassau conference, he became convinced that NATO was in the hands of 

an Anglo-Saxon cabal and redoubled his efforts to assure France its independence 

in foreign and defense affairs, a process leading eventually to the announcement in 

February 1966 that French forces would cease to operate under NATO’s integrated 

command. 

Never excessively strong to begin with, the momentum behind the MLF 

slowed to a crawl in the face of unrelenting French resistance and the lukewarm 

support of other NATO members. Scrambling to salvage what he could, President 

Kennedy sent veteran diplomat Livingston Merchant to Europe in the spring of 

1963 to mobilize British and West German support for the beleaguered MLF. Despite Merchant’s upbeat reports, he achieved no major breakthroughs.53 About the 

same time, under pressure from McNamara, the Joint Chiefs offered a tepid endorsement of the MLF, not for its military value (which they assessed as negligible) 

but as a brake on nuclear proliferation. The chiefs’ support, however, made little difference. By the time of Kennedy’s assassination, the MLF was practically moribund, 

the victim of its own muddled objectives and shortcomings and waning interest on 

both sides of the Atlantic.54
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Learning from his predecessor’s experience, President Johnson distanced himself from the MLF and never seriously pursued it.55 Nevertheless, on the off chance 

that there might be a revival of the idea, McNamara asked the Joint Chiefs in the 

summer of 1964 for a fresh analysis of the MLF’s command and control procedures, 

with particular attention given to the prevention of an unauthorized or accidental 

detonation. McNamara wanted to reassure anxious Members of Congress that a 

“pilot project” involving a NATO crew operating a U.S. guided-missile destroyer, 

USS Claude V. Ricketts, would not compromise the custody and control of any U.S. 

nuclear weapons.56 But even though the Navy rated the Ricketts experiment a success, it failed to generate any appreciable renewed support for the MLF. Dropped 

from further discussion at NATO meetings, the MLF passed into the history 

books sometime in late 1964 or early 1965, with the exact date of its obsequy still 

unknown.

A New NATO Strategy: MC 14/3 

Following the MLF’s demise, the Johnson administration sought other arrangements 

for nuclear sharing and coordination. The JCS wanted to explore closer cooperation 

through military channels between U.S. and French nuclear forces, with the goal of 

eventually integrating the force de frappe into NATO.57 But as it became apparent 

that Paris was determined to pursue an independent course, not only in nuclear 

affairs but in all aspects of military planning, the United States dropped efforts to 

placate de Gaulle and refocused on strengthening neglected ties with the FRG and 

other NATO members. Meanwhile, with McNamara in the forefront, the Johnson 

administration continued to push for formal adoption of a forward defense strategy 

resting on flexible response. The upshot during 1966–1967 was the creation of a 

new high-level consultative body, the Nuclear Planning Group (NPG), to guide the 

Alliance in nuclear matters, and a reconfiguration of basic NATO strategy around 

a new policy directive (MC 14/3) that finally brought the era of massive retaliation 

to a close.

Overshadowing these accomplishments was a perceptible diminution of 

American power and influence within the Alliance, accelerated by the American 

preoccupation with Vietnam and the attendant diversion of resources. Unable to 

give NATO the time and attention accorded it in the past, the Johnson administration struggled to preserve U.S. leadership. The most serious challenger remained 

de Gaulle, whose assault on the U.S. dollar and unrelenting criticisms of American 

foreign policy left the Alliance in tension and disarray until February 1966, when 

France announced the withdrawal of the last of its forces from NATO command. 
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By any measure, de Gaulle’s decision to secede from the NATO military structure 

(the first and only defection of its kind until Greece withdrew its forces in 1974 over 

the Cyprus issue) was a severe blow to Alliance solidarity and to American prestige. Summarily evicted from its facilities in France, NATO’s weighty military and 

civilian bureaucracy had to scramble to find new offices and headquarters. Though 

relocating to Belgium proved less difficult than the Joint Chiefs expected, it was 

still a major disruption that left the Alliance dependent in the short term on hastily 

organized and largely untested lines of support and communication.58

The erosion of the American presence in Europe was especially apparent from 

the shrinking size and quality of the U.S. forces committed to NATO. As of the 

mid-1960s, just as the Vietnam buildup was beginning, the United States had almost 

5 Army divisions, 3 regimental combat teams, and 28 combat air squadrons assigned 

to Europe. But because of rising costs, the French drain on U.S. gold reserves, and 

growing requirements in Southeast Asia, it was only a matter of time before the 

United States reassessed its military role in Europe. The Joint Chiefs invariably opposed cutbacks in U.S. forces. Arguing that it would weaken NATO’s defenses, 

they saw any lessening of the U.S. presence as setting a poor example and making 

it harder for the United States to elicit troop contributions from the European Allies. As time passed, however, and as the requirements for Vietnam grew, the chiefs’ 

position became increasingly untenable. The solution pushed by McNamara and his 

systems analysts was “dual-basing”—the prepositioning of supplies and equipment 

in Europe and the rotation of selected units between there and the United States. 

Initially opposed to the idea, the JCS became more amenable when Presidential 

preferences for McNamara’s approach left them no choice. The near-term practical 

results were a 10 percent troop reduction and the withdrawal from Europe of two 

combat brigades of the 24th Mechanized Division and three tactical air squadrons. 

Pleading financial difficulties, the British, Dutch, and Belgians soon followed suit 

with similar troop reductions.59

Pressures on the force structure complicated the work of NATO planners 

in translating flexible response into concrete plans. Once skeptical of the whole 

idea, the Joint Chiefs had gradually come to accept it as long as it did not rule 

out recourse to nuclear weapons should a defense with conventional firepower 

falter.60 Accordingly, throughout the 1960s, the Joint Chiefs continued to stockpile 

tactical-sized nuclear weapons and delivery systems in Europe. By the end of the 

decade, the nuclear arsenal earmarked for NATO had doubled in size to more than 

7,000 bombs and warheads.61 At the same time, because of overriding priorities in 

Vietnam, U.S. reserves available to NATO declined drastically. In 1961 when Kennedy and McNamara began talking about flexible response, the United States had a 
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strategic reserve force of one infantry and two airborne divisions earmarked for immediate deployment to Europe. By 1968, the NATO-committed reserve was down 

to two airborne brigades available by M+30 and one airborne, one mechanized, 

and two infantry brigades by M+60. Time and again, from the mid-1960s on, the 

Joint Chiefs urged a call-up of Reservists and an increase in Active-duty strength 

to overcome the shortfall. For fiscal and political reasons, President Johnson turned 

them down.62

Meanwhile, efforts to achieve a nonnuclear defense continued to meet strong 

resistance from NATO’s European members. The most difficult to convince (once 

the French took themselves out of the debate by withdrawing from NATO’s Military Committee in 1966) were the West Germans, who feared that flexible response 

would increase the risk of a conventional conflict. Clinging to the defense doctrines 

of the 1950s, West German military leaders contended that threatening the Soviets 

with the early use of nuclear weapons constituted “the very nature of the strategy 

of deterrence.” Operating on this premise, they insisted that nuclear weapons continued to be “the most significant political instrument for the defense of NATO 

Europe.”63 But under persistent American pressure, their resistance gradually wore 

down, paving the way for NATO planners to reconcile differences and adopt the 

new flexible response strategy in December 1967.

A tribute to McNamara’s hard work and determination, MC 14/3 was the 

most far-reaching revision of NATO strategy since adoption of the original strategic concept in 1950. Ending primary reliance on nuclear weapons, it mandated an 

initial defense “as far forward as is necessary and possible,” supported by “sufficient 

ground, sea and air forces in a high state of readiness.” While MC 14/3 did not dictate exclusive reliance on conventional arms, it clearly stated that the “first objective” 

should be to “counter the aggression without escalation.”64 In interpreting these 

instructions, the rule of thumb for Alliance planners was that NATO should be capable of mounting sustained conventional operations for up to 30 days.65 According 

to Sir Michael Quinlan, Britain’s leading nuclear strategist and a key participant in 

the debate leading up to the adoption of MC 14/3, one of the purposes behind the 

new strategy was to send a clear signal to the Soviets. “We rightly believed,” Quinlan 

later related, “[that] Soviet Intelligence would obtain accounts of the policy discussions that had taken place behind closed doors, so we tried to ensure that two key 

messages got through to Moscow—first, NATO had faced up to the tough issues 

of nuclear use; and second, NATO would not take provocative or hasty action.”66

A companion document—MC 48/3—dealt with implementation measures. 

Framed in broad language, MC 48/3 called for improved intelligence, coordination, readiness, and logistical support to increase NATO’s capacity for flexibility in 
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response to aggression. Unlike earlier exhortations, however, this one fell mostly on 

deaf ears and remained unapproved in NATO’s military committee system for the 

next several years.67 A more accurate barometer of NATO sentiment was the Harmel Report, adopted in conjunction with MC 14/3. Named for Belgian Foreign 

Minister Pierre Harmel, the chairman of the committee that produced it, the report 

addressed “future tasks which face the Alliance” and reflected a distinctly European 

perspective in urging a dual policy of defense and détente. As part of this process, it 

suggested exploring confidence-building measures to improve East-West relations 

and stepped up efforts toward arms control and disarmament. “Military security and 

a policy of détente,” the report argued, “are not contradictory but complementary.” 

Given the overall tenor of the Harmel panel’s findings, it was clear that, while the 

European Allies accepted flexible response in principle, they viewed it as a less than 

credible form of deterrence unless accompanied by a fundamental change in the 

East-West political climate. Before proceeding much further in implementing flexible response, they wanted to explore relaxing tensions and improving relations with 

the Soviet bloc.68

Whether flexible response would reduce the dangers of a nuclear war never 

ceased to be a hotly contested issue. With the United States preoccupied in Vietnam and with many European Allies skeptical of the American commitment, the 

link between the security of NATO territory and nuclear weapons was as strong 

and as close as ever, the adoption of MC 14/3 notwithstanding. Acknowledging 

as much, McNamara told President Johnson that, despite “years of effort,” NATO 

still had a long way to go “to deal successfully with any kind of nonnuclear attack 

without using nuclear weapons ourselves.” Concurring with this assessment, the 

Joint Chiefs continued to see no other choice than “early selective employment of 

nuclear weapons” to counter even a limited Warsaw Pact attack. An agreed concept 

on paper, flexible response still had a long way to go before becoming an attainable 

objective on the battlefield.69

The Damage Limitation Debate 

NATO’s adoption of flexible response marked a major turning point in Alliance 

strategy. In theory, it moved away from dependence on massive retaliation and, by 

positing a broader range of conventional responses, lessened the dangers of a nuclear 

war in Europe. But by the mid-1960s, the larger and more urgent problem facing 

the Joint Chiefs and other Western military planners was the relentless expansion of 

the Soviet ICBM force. As these deployments continued, they threatened to negate 

the U.S. advantage in strategic nuclear power and, with it, the concept of extended 
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deterrence on which transatlantic security ultimately rested. With their own strategic force levels effectively frozen, the JCS sought qualitative enhancements to U.S. 

capabilities, largely in two areas. One was a new system of multiple independently 

targetable reentry vehicles, or MIRVs, which enhanced the capabilities of a single 

long-range missile by increasing the number of warheads it could carry. The other 

was the advent of improved interceptors and tracking radars for ballistic missile 

defense, which made an American ABM a more credible and attractive option for 

countering the growing Soviet missile force. Out of the debate over these issues, 

summarily referred to by the Joint Chiefs as “damage limitation” measures, emerged 

not only a series of fateful decisions affecting refinements in the strategic posture, 

but also a new realm of negotiations with the Soviets—the Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT).

MIRV appealed to McNamara and the JCS alike, but for different reasons. 

For the Joint Chiefs, MIRV was a way of upgrading strategic capabilities while 

staying within the limits of the programmed missile force, which the Secretary of 

Defense had capped at 1,054 ICBMs and 41 ballistic missile submarines. For McNamara, it was a convenient way of fending off JCS requests for new systems—an 

advanced manned strategic bomber (the AMSA, later the B–1) to replace the 

obsolescent B–52 and a larger, more powerful ICBM (the MX)—on the grounds 

that, with MIRV factored in, programmed delivery systems would more than satisfy targeting requirements. As McNamara saw it, in other words, MIRV enhanced 

the Services’ capabilities, but it was also a mechanism for imposing restraint on 

the acquisition process.

Proposals for deploying multiple warheads on a missile dated from the late 

1950s. The earliest missile that actually incorporated a multiple warhead design was 

the Navy’s Polaris A–3, first tested in 1962 and declared operational aboard submarines 2 years later. Capable of carrying three 200 kiloton warheads, the A–3 

employed a system of multiple reentry vehicles (MRVs) that, instead of being independently targeted, applied a “shotgun” pattern against a single target. Since SLBMs 

were less accurate and reliable than land-based ICBMs, targeting planners in Omaha 

generally held them in reserve for follow-on attacks against “soft” targets like troop 

concentrations and urban-industrial facilities.70

Fully developed MIRV systems came along later, emerging from design studies done by the Air Force’s Ballistic Systems Division in the early 1960s and the 

Navy’s Special Projects Office. More sophisticated and versatile than the A–3, a 

MIRVed reentry vehicle (known as a “bus”) could attack several separate targets 

simultaneously or one target redundantly. The Joint Chiefs considered it imperative to develop a submarine-launched MIRV missile (the Poseidon), and indicated 
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that they would also welcome MIRVed versions of the Minuteman ICBM (known 

as Minuteman III), which the Air Force planned to deploy in the late 1960s.71 To 

increase the versatility and effectiveness of programmed forces, the JCS sought and 

obtained penetration aids, improvements in command and control, and increased 

missile accuracy. However, they were unsuccessful in persuading McNamara to accept higher-yield warheads and other qualitative improvements that would have 

further boosted counterforce potential by threatening “hardened” targets like Soviet missile silos and command bunkers. Although McNamara conceded that these 

measures would limit damage to the United States, he refused to embrace damagelimitation as his overriding priority.72

McNamara believed that were he to accept the full range of the Joint Chiefs’ 

proposed enhancements and make damage limitation a high-priority objective, he 

would be signaling to the Soviets that the United States was striving for a firststrike capability. The result, he feared, would destabilize relations with Moscow and 

increase the risk of a Soviet preemptive attack in a crisis. Thus, as plans and preparations for MIRV deployment went forward, McNamara continued to think in terms 

of assured destruction. For Poseidon, he rejected a counterforce MIRV package 

consisting of warheads in the three-megaton range, and opted instead for the C–3 

reentry vehicle, which could deliver a large number of relatively small warheads and 

was best suited for urban-industrial attacks. He likewise insisted that the Air Force’s 

Minuteman III use a three-warhead “light” version of the MK–12 RV, a configuration the Air Force considered best suited for attacking soft targets, rather than the 

MK–12 “heavy” design (also known as the MK–17), which could have delivered a 

larger payload.73

Unable to make much headway with McNamara in configuring offensive 

forces for damage-limitation purposes, the Joint Chiefs eyed recent advances in 

ballistic missile defense technology to help achieve their goals. By 1965, the JCS 

had changed their minds about ABM and now embraced it as an essential strategic 

requirement in the JSOP, their annual mid-range estimate of military programs.74

What sparked the shift in the JCS position is not clear. British historian Lawrence 

Freedman explains it as a reaction within the military to McNamara’s policies, a 

feeling that the time had come to challenge his whole strategic philosophy.75 Morton H. Halperin, who served on McNamara’s staff, remembered it more as the 

product of tradeoffs between the Services and bureaucratic politics.76 Personalities 

also played a part. As Air Force Chief of Staff, LeMay had never had much confidence in ABM being able to cope with a large-scale enemy attack. Preferring to 

invest in offensive weapons, LeMay had probably done as much as anyone other 

than McNamara to block JCS endorsement of the ABM program. However, his 
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successor, General John P. McConnell, USAF, who joined the JCS in February 1965, 

was more open-minded and flexible on the missile defense issue.77 Also, with Taylor’s departure in July 1964 to become Ambassador to South Vietnam and General 

Earle G. Wheeler’s appointment as Chairman, the JCS were again under “one of 

their own,” in whom they had greater confidence to present their views and argue 

their case with the Secretary and the President.

Whatever their motivations, the Joint Chiefs had a strong incentive, based on 

intelligence reports, to review and change their position on missile defense. From 

about 50 ICBM launchers in mid-1962 and a handful of ballistic missile submarines, 

Soviet capabilities had increased to an estimated strength to 350–400 ICBMs and 

36 ballistic missile submarines by the mid-1960s. As part of this buildup, the Soviets 

had phased out their first generation SS–6 ICBMs, and were proceeding posthaste 

with the deployment of a more effective and easier-to-use second generation (the 

SS–7, the SS–9, and the SS–11). Though about 40 percent of the Soviet ICBM 

force remained above ground in “soft” configurations, all new deployments were 

in hardened underground silos. The Intelligence Community projected Soviet capabilities of approximately a thousand ICBM launchers by the end of the decade 

(equal in number to the programmed U.S. deployment) and 40–50 ballistic missile 

submarines.78

No less unsettling was evidence that the Soviets were pursuing a well-defined 

ballistic missile defense R&D program, which could complicate U.S. targeting and 

reduce the attainment of assured destruction goals. Like the Soviet ICBM program 

a few years earlier, Soviet BMD development had become a source of intense controversy within the Intelligence Community. The Army and Air Force saw the Soviets engaged in a massive BMD effort, while the CIA, State Department, National 

Security Agency, and Naval Intelligence reserved judgment.79 Under study were the 

characteristics and capabilities of three known systems: one around Leningrad, apparently started as an air-defense system, which the Soviets suddenly dismantled in 1964 

prior to completion; a second, known as the “Tallinn Line,” also for air defense with 

discernible ABM capabilities; and a third, known as “Galosh,” the most advanced and 

sophisticated, under construction around Moscow. All three exhibited design features 

seen at the Soviet ABM development and test center at Shary Sagan.80

Worried that the Moscow system might give the Soviets a critical advantage, 

the Joint Chiefs recommended in early December 1966 that Secretary McNamara 

and President Johnson begin full-scale ABM production and deployment without 

delay.81 The ABM the Joint Chiefs proposed to field was the Nike-X, successor to 

the Army’s earlier Nike-Zeus, which offered initial protection for up to 25 American cities. In contrast to the point defense concept used in Nike-Zeus, Nike-X was 
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a layered defense with area-wide applications. Employing the basic Zeus missile (later renamed Spartan) for long-range interception, it would use a second interceptor, 

the Sprint, to destroy whatever leaked through the first line of defense. The principal advantage of Nike-X over any of its predecessors was its phased array radar, 

a major breakthrough in battle management pioneered by the Advanced Research 

Projects Agency (ARPA; later, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency) 

under a set of studies known as Project Defender. Faster and more accurate than 

the manually operated Nike-Zeus radar system, phased array radar used solid-state 

electronics and high-capacity computers to process large amounts of data quickly, 

track multiple reentry vehicles, and guide interceptor missiles to their targets all at 

the same time. While there were still serious “bugs” in the system, not the least of 

which was its limited capacity to distinguish decoys from real warheads, Nike-X 

seemed a giant stride toward more effective missile defense.82

Nike-X had originally been McNamara’s idea, an outgrowth of his efforts during the Kennedy administration to find a more reliable and cost-effective alternative 

to Nike-Zeus.83 But as he drifted away from the counterforce/no-cities doctrine 

and became increasingly committed to the assured destruction concept, he lost 

interest in pursuing strategic defense and related damage-limitation options such as 

civil defense.84 “It is our ability to destroy an attacker,” he argued, “. . . that provides 

the deterrent, not our ability to partially limit damage to ourselves.”85 For advice, he 

turned to scientists who opposed the whole notion of ABM and contractors who 

doubted whether Nike-X was sufficiently advanced for deployment.86 Contrary 

assessments, like the 1964 Betts Report, an internal DOD study that endorsed missile defense as both feasible and compatible with the preservation of mutual nuclear 

deterrence, had no apparent impact on his thinking.87 Indeed, McNamara became 

firmly convinced that the pursuit of BMD by both sides was provocative and destabilizing and that it represented an open-ended invitation to a costly escalation of 

the arms race. He seemed to feel also that the responsibility for showing restraint 

fell more on the United States than the Soviet Union. “Were we to deploy a heavy 

ABM system throughout the United States,” he maintained, “the Soviets would 

clearly be strongly motivated to so increase their offensive capability as to cancel out 

our defensive advantage.”88

The showdown over Nike-X came during the final markup of the FY 1968 

defense budget in early December 1966, shortly after the JCS recommended proceeding with deployment. By now, the Moscow “Galosh” ABM was public knowledge, and there was growing support for missile defense among key Democrats in 

Congress. Among these were some of the President’s closest friends, including Senators Richard Russell, Jr., Henry M. Jackson, and John C. Stennis, whose continuing 
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cooperation the White House needed in the face of mounting opposition to the administration’s Vietnam policies.89 While the President shared McNamara’s concerns 

over an expensive and dangerous arms race with the Soviets, he leaned toward the 

JCS position that the time had come to settle the ABM debate. 

Matters reached a head at a budget review meeting attended by McNamara, 

the Joint Chiefs, and the President in Austin, Texas, on December 6, 1966. Though 

aware that the decision could go either way, the JCS had good reason to be confident that the momentum was moving in their favor. Taking steps to outmaneuver them, McNamara offered a compromise that consisted of two components—a 

token deployment of Nike-X in the mid-1970s against an as-yet nonexistent (but 

expected) Chinese ICBM threat, to show the Soviets and critics alike that the administration was serious about missile defense, in tandem with exploratory talks 

to see if Kremlin leaders would be interested in a negotiated “freeze” on future 

ABMs. The deal was too good for Johnson to pass up. Not only would it confirm 

the administration’s determination to respond to an increasingly dangerous situation, it would also save money at a time when the costs for the Vietnam War were 

becoming onerous. Above all, both elements of the compromise would shore up the 

President’s image as a peacemaker. Making no secret of their disappointment, the 

Joint Chiefs acquiesced.90

The President’s decision proved neither firm nor final. Returning to Washington, he met in early January 1967 with a group of distinguished scientists who 

convinced him (apparently without much difficulty) that even a limited ABM deployment would accelerate the arms race, undermine the chances for arms control, 

and be “extremely dangerous.”91 Johnson accepted the scientists’ advice and in his 

budget message to Congress toward the end of the month he announced his intention to continue “intensive development” of Nike-X, but to hold production 

and deployment in abeyance pending exploratory talks with the Soviets to curb or 

freeze ABMs.92

Whether the talks with the Soviets would be productive remained to be seen. 

Until then, arms control negotiations involving the United States and the Soviet 

Union had yielded only two agreements—the 1963 Limited Test Ban Treaty negotiated under Kennedy, and a pending Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT), 

with key clauses still in draft form. Doubtful whether the NPT would significantly 

improve U.S. security, the JCS hoped the administration would not “aggressively 

pursue” it.93 In the case of the proposed freeze on ABMs, as with practically all 

other arms control matters, the Joint Chiefs’ uppermost concern was the adequacy 

and effectiveness of verification measures. To avoid any misunderstanding of their 

position, they notified McNamara that they would resist “any proposal” that might 
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foreclose deployment of missile defenses or prevent planned improvements to offensive forces.94

Seeking a breakthrough, President Johnson and Secretary McNamara arranged 

a meeting with Soviet Premier Alexei N. Kosygin at Glassboro, New Jersey, in late 

June 1967, while Kosygin was in the United States addressing the UN General Assembly. A showy, impromptu affair, the Glassboro summit benefited from none of 

the detailed staff work and prior exchanges that might have narrowed differences 

and paved the way for an agreement. Neither side brought along any senior military 

representatives. Despite a vigorous presentation of his views, McNamara failed to 

convince Kosygin that a freeze on ABM deployments was in the best interests of all 

concerned. By stressing curbs on missile defense, he apparently misled Kosygin into 

believing that the United States was indifferent toward restraints on offensive arms. 

McNamara and Johnson rushed to assure Kosygin that this was not so. But the damage was irremeable. As McNamara recalled the scene, Kosygin “absolutely erupted.” 

Turning red in the face, he pounded the table. “Defense is moral,” he declared, “offense is immoral.” Concluding that the Soviet leader probably lacked the authority 

to make a deal, Johnson and McNamara shrugged off their disappointment and 

returned to Washington empty-handed.95

Sentinel and the Seeds of SALT 

If it accomplished nothing else, the Glassboro summit confirmed that the administration had no choice but to move ahead on ABM. Indeed, once Kosygin rejected 

American overtures for a freeze, deployment by the United States became virtually 

certain. In addition to the Soviet threat, there was now the danger posed by the 

Communist Chinese, who had detonated a thermonuclear device the week before 

the Glassboro summit. Speculation was rife that even if the administration opted 

against a “heavy” ABM aimed against the Soviets, it would still deploy a “thin” defense against the Chinese.96 A heated debate developed in Congress, while at the 

Pentagon the Joint Chiefs put renewed pressure on McNamara to lift the prohibition on deployment and approve the heavy system they had recommended earlier. 

The JCS rarely prioritized military or Service programs. But in this instance, they 

told McNamara that they could think of “no other action . . . more necessary” to the 

Nation’s security than full production and deployment of Nike-X. Not only would 

a firm decision remove all doubt about American resolve, they maintained, but 

also it “would either stimulate Soviet participation in meaningful negotiations or 

disclose their lack of serious interest in this matter.” Here in a nutshell was the conundrum of Cold War arms control: to convince the other side to curb or eliminate 
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weapons, one had first to demonstrate one’s readiness to bear the risk and expense 

of acquiring them, if only to see them later negotiated away as a bargaining chip.97

With the JCS and powerful figures in Congress pushing for deployment, McNamara launched a feverish search for a credible alternative. Above all, he wanted to preserve the arms control option and avoid giving the Soviets an excuse to increase their 

offensive arsenal. For budgetary planning purposes, he notified the JCS in early August 

1967 that he was still leaning toward a limited ballistic missile defense to deal with the 

emerging Chinese threat and, as a bonus, to provide a small degree of protection for 

Minuteman missile fields.98 The JCS did not doubt the potential threat posed by the 

Chinese, but they saw that threat as rather remote and could find no urgent need for the 

protection of missile fields, given the imperfect accuracy of Soviet missiles and the hardness of U.S. silos. They continued to believe that the first order of business should be a 

full-scale nationwide ABM deployment.99 As far as McNamara was concerned, however, 

the matter was closed. In a well publicized speech in San Francisco on September 18, 

1967, he confirmed that the United States was going ahead with a limited ABM deployment aimed against Communist China rather than the Soviet Union. While this was 

a volte-face from his previous position on missile defense, McNamara insisted that his 

strategic objectives were unchanged and that preserving assured destruction (“the very 

essence of the whole deterrence concept”) remained his paramount concern.100

Attempting to put the best possible interpretation on the Secretary’s decision, 

the Joint Chiefs treated it not as the beginning of the end for ABM, but as the end 

of the beginning.101 Nonetheless, ABM faced an uncertain future and over the ensuing year it remained the subject of intense legislative debate, diplomatic maneuvering, and Pentagon infighting. As he was leaving office in February 1968, McNamara 

was still cautioning against an anti-Soviet ABM and insisting that assured destruction constituted the only reliable and effective form of deterrence. Skeptical, the 

Joint Chiefs in April 1968 urged McNamara’s successor, Clark M. Clifford, and his 

deputy, Paul H. Nitze, to approve a nationwide ABM system (now dubbed Sentinel) 

for full deployment by FY77. Their efforts, however, were no more successful with 

Clifford and Nitze than they had been with McNamara.102 Even though the Army 

began acquiring Sentinel deployment sites during this time, it remained to be seen 

whether the incoming Nixon administration would carry the program forward.103

As the Johnson Presidency drew to a close, it was increasingly likely that the 

fate of ABM would be decided at the negotiating table, as McNamara had hoped. 

Though the Glassboro summit had failed to achieve a breakthrough, behind-thescenes talks held afterwards in conjunction with the final negotiation of the NPT 

yielded broad agreement between Washington and Moscow that the time was ripe 

to address larger arms controls issues. On July 1, 1968, in conjunction with the 
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signing of the NPT, the two sides announced their intention to discuss limiting 

offensive and defensive strategic weapons systems.104 The date and place of these 

talks were about to be announced when, on August 20, Warsaw Pact forces invaded 

Czechoslovakia, crushing that country’s nascent democracy and causing the Johnson 

administration to postpone arms control negotiations indefinitely. But as the Nixon 

administration was taking office on January 20, 1969, the Soviet Foreign Ministry 

expressed renewed interest in limitations on strategic arms. The long-anticipated 

SALT negotiations were soon to begin.

For the Joint Chiefs, as for others in the military establishment, McNamara’s 

departure and the end of the Johnson administration constituted a watershed. In the 

corridors of the Pentagon it was said that the history of the Defense Department fell 

into two periods—before McNamara and after. Not only did the administrative and 

managerial reforms he instituted reshape Pentagon business practices; they also had 

profound effects in the areas of weapons procurement, force structure, and military 

doctrine. More than any other Secretary of Defense, he fundamentally transformed 

the way the country thought about and approached armed conflict. Prior to McNamara, the decisions affecting the force structure, its composition, and the strategic 

concepts under which it operated had been largely in the hands of military professionals—the Joint Chiefs of Staff—who worked under broad guidance from the 

President, the Secretary of Defense, and the National Security Council. But during 

McNamara’s tenure, such decisions became a joint function of the JCS organization 

and analysts in the Office of the Secretary of Defense, with the latter often having 

the final word. Combined with the handling and political repercussions of the war 

in Vietnam, the net effect was a dramatically reduced role and influence for the 

military in national security affairs, to a level not seen since the 1930s.

Notes

1 Lyndon Baines Johnson, The Vantage Point: Perspectives of the Presidency, 1963–1969 (New 

York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1971), 19.

2 William W. Kaufmann, The McNamara Strategy (New York: Harper & Row, 1964), 2–3.

3 Interview with Stephen Ailes by Maurice Matloff, June 6, 1986, 22–23, OSD Oral History Collection, OSD Historical Office.

4 Alain C. Enthoven and K. Wayne Smith, How Much Is Enough? Shaping the Defense Program, 1961–1969 (New York: Harper & Row, 1971), 54.

5 Report, J-5 to JCS, May 29, 1959, “Joint Program for Planning,” JCS 2089/13. Limited 

to 3 years at first, the JCS extended the timeframe of the JSOP to 5 years because, by 

the late 1950s, that was about the length of time it took to develop and field a new 

weapon. In the mid-1960s, it was extended to 8 to make it more comprehensive.
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6 See Memo, JCS to SECDEF, June 6, 1958, “JSOP for July 1, 1962,” JCS 2143/78; and 

Byron R. Fairchild and Walter S. Poole, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 

1957–1960 (Washington, DC: Office of Joint History, 2000), 37–42.

7 Walter S. Poole, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 1961–1964 (Washington, DC: 

Office of Joint History, Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, 2011), 20–23.

8 Lawrence S. Kaplan, Ronald D. Landa, and Edward J. Drea, The McNamara Ascendancy, 

1961–1965 (Washington, DC: OSD Historical Office, 2006), 296–297. From FY72 on, 

the term “posture statement” applied to the annual threat assessment submitted to 

Congress by the CJCS.

9 CM-109-62 to DJS, November 14, 1962, “Planning Directive for Reorienting JSOP68,” JCS 2143/177.

10 JCS Decision Statistics, 1958–1982, JCS “Splits” folder, JHO 14-003.

11 Walter S. Poole, The Evolution of the Joint Strategic Planning System, 1947–1989 (Washington, DC: Historical Division, Joint Secretariat, Joint Staff, 1989), 7–8; Enthoven and 

Smith, 94–95.

12 See Lawrence Freedman, U.S. Intelligence and the Soviet Strategic Threat, 2d ed. (Princeton, 

NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986), 73, 205 fn. 36.

13 Memo, SECDEF to SecArmy et al., February 10, 1961, “Military Budgets and National Security Policy,” JCS 1800/401; Letter, McNamara to Kennedy, February 20, 1961, 

FRUS, 1961–63, VIII, 35–48.

14 Memo, SECDEF to Director BoB, March 10, 1961, “Revisions to Defense FY 1962 

Budget,” FRUS,1961–63, VIII, 56–65.

15 Robert S. McNamara, Blundering into Disaster (New York: Pantheon Books, 1987), 51.

16 Item No. 2, “Projects Within the Dept of Defense Assigned 8 March 1961,” enclosure to 

Memo, SECDEF to Secretaries Military Departments et al., March 8, 1961, JCS 2101/413.

17 JCSM-153-61 to SECDEF, March 11, 1961, “Foreign Policy Considerations Bearing 

on the U.S. Defense Posture,” JCS 2101/412; CM-190-61 to SECDEF, April 18, 1961, 

“Doctrine on Thermonuclear Attack,” JCS 1899/640.

18 DPM, December 6, 1963, “Recommended FY 1965–1969 Strategic Retaliatory Forces,” FRUS,1961–63, VIII, 549. See also Edward J. Drea, McNamara, Clifford, and the Burdens of Vietnam, 1965–69 (Washington, DC: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of 

Defense, 2011), 347.

19 See Kaplan et al., 305–309; and Janne E. Nolan, Guardians of the Arsenal: The Politics of 

Nuclear Strategy (New York: Basic Books, 1989), 74–77.

20 Aleksandr Fursenko and Timothy Naftali, Khrushchev’s Cold War: The Inside Story of an 

American Adversary (New York: W.W. Norton, 2006), 442.

21 See JCSM-252-61, April 18, 1961, “Doctrine on Thermonuclear Attack,” JCS 1899/640.

22 Desmond Ball, “The Development of the SIOP, 1960–1983,” in Desmond Ball and 

Jeffrey Richelson, eds., Strategic Nuclear Targeting (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 

1986), 57–70; David Alan Rosenberg, “U.S. Nuclear Strategy: Theory and Practice,” 

Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists (March 1987), 23–26; and Kaplan et al., 310–311, 316–319.

23 McNamara Interview in Michael Charlton, From Deterrence to Defense: The Inside Story 

of Strategic Policy (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1987), 9–10. The 10,000 missile 

figure was apparently Powers’ personal estimate and had no official Air Force standing.
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24 Bernard C. Nalty, “USAF Ballistic Missile Programs, 1962–1964” (Study Prepared for 

the USAF Historical Division Liaison Office, April 1966), 10–11.

25 JSOP FY 68–70, Vol. I, Pt. I, April 19, 1963, JCS 2143/201; Kaplan et al., 123.

26 Robert S. McNamara, The Essence of Security (New York: Harper & Row, 1968), 51–67; 

author’s conversations with Paul H. Nitze, Henry Glass, and others.

27 Interview with General David A. Burchinal, USAF, in Richard H. Kohn and Joseph P. 

Harahan, eds., Strategic Air Warfare (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1988), 

113.

28 U.S. Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense (Comptroller), National Defense Budget 

Estimates for FY 1985 (Washington, DC: DOD, March 1984), 80, 128.

29 See Fairchild and Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1957–60, 96–97.

30 Humphrey Wynn, The RAF Strategic Nuclear Deterrent Forces: Their Origins, Roles, and 

Deployment, 1946–1969 (London: HMSO, 1994), 104.

31 Report, J-5 to JCS, April 24, 1961, “NATO-U.S. Targeting,” JCS 2305/462.

32 Office of the Assistant to the Secretary of Defense (Atomic Energy), “History of the 

Custody and Deployment of Nuclear Weapons: July 1945 through September 1977” 

(February 1978), 59–61, 83–91 (declassified). Available at http://www.dod.gov/pubs/

foi/reading_room/306.pdf.

33 Kaplan et al., 386–387.

34 JCSM-175-61, with Letter, JCS to Acheson, March 20, 1961, JCS 2305/414; Poole, JCS 

and National Policy, 1961–64, 188; Kaplan et al., 360–362.

35 Enthoven and Smith, 132–142; Raymond L. Garthoff, “Estimating Soviet Military 

Force Levels,” International Security 14 (Spring 1990), 93–116; Poole, JCS and National 

Policy, 1961–64, 189–190.

36 See Jane E. Stromseth, The Origins of Flexible Response: NATO’s Debate over Strategy in the 

1960s (New York: St. Martin’s, 1988), 48–53; Kaplan et al., 362 and passim; and Edward 

Drea, “The McNamara Era,” in Gustav Schmidt, ed., A History of NATO: The First Fifty 

Years (London: Palgrave, 2001; 3 vols.), III, 183–195.

37 Wynn, 373–402.

38 Memo, Acting Exec Sec NSC to NSC, April 24, 1961, “NATO and the Atlantic Nations,” JCS 2305/466.

39 Richard E. Neustadt, “Skybolt and Nassau: American Policy-Making and Anglo-American Relations” (Report to the President, November 15, 1963, sanitized), 4–9 (copy in 

Kennedy Library); McNamara quoted in Kaplan, 376, from an Oral History Interview by 

Alfred Goldberg and Maurice Matloff, April 3, 1986, 25–26, OSD Oral History Collection.

40 Kaplan et al., 380; Neustadt, 18.

41 JCSM-907-62 to SECDEF, November 20, 1962, “Recommended FY 1964–FY 1968 

Strategic Retaliatory Forces,” JCS 1800/644; CM-128-62 to SECDEF, November 20, 

1962, same subject, JCS 1800/649. See also Neustadt, 22.

42 See Wynn, 403–441.

43 Peter Nailor, The Nassau Connection: The Organization and Management of the British 

POLARIS Project (London: HMSO, 1988), 3–7.

44 Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1961–64, 201.
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45 Harold Macmillan, At the End of the Day, 1961–1963 (New York: Harper & Row, 1973), 

356–361; Kaplan et al., 402–403; Wynn, 420–421.

46 All Thors and Jupiters were retired in 1963. Removal of the Jupiters from Turkey was 

part of the settlement ending the Cuban missile crisis. See above, chap. 7.

47 “Address Before the Canadian Parliament in Ottawa,” May 17, 1961, Kennedy Public 

Papers, 1961, 385.

48 SM-763-63, June 13, 1963, “Basic Elements of Future MLF Agreement,” enclosure 

to JCS 2421/434; Lawrence S. Kaplan, “The MLF Debate,” in Douglas Brinkley and 

Richard T. Griffiths, eds., John F. Kennedy and Europe (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State 

University Press, 1999), 52–55; Stromseth, 79–81.

49 See JCSM-407-61 to SECDEF, June 15, 1961, “NATO Force Requirements for 1966,” 

JCS 2305/498; and Appendix to JCSM-594-61 to SECDEF, August 30, 1961, “NATO 

Force Requirements for End–1966,” JCS 2305/578.

50 Kaplan et al., 393–397. The missile in question did not actually exist. Barely a drawingboard concept, it became known in NATO circles as “Missile X.” Later, McNamara 

backtracked and told the JCS that he would resist a new MRBM for Europe. See 

Memo, SECDEF to CJCS, September 11, 1965, “DPM on NATO,” JCS 2450/77.

51 Georges–Henri Soutou, The French Military Program For Nuclear Energy, 1945–1981, trans. 

by Preston Niblack (College Park, MD: Center for International Security Studies at 

Maryland, 1989), 1–5; Wilfrid L. Kohl, French Nuclear Diplomacy (Princeton: Princeton 

University Press, 1971), 84; Beatrice Heuser, NATO, Britain, France and the FRG: Nuclear 

Strategies and Forces for Europe, 1949–2000 (London: Macmillan, 1997), 93–123.

52 Erin R. Mahan, Kennedy, de Gaulle and Western Europe (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 

2002), 14.

53 Kaplan, “MLF Debate,” 60–62.

54 JCSM-350-63 to SECDEF, May 2, 1963, “Multilateral Seaborne Ballistic Missile Force,” 

JCS 2421/434; Kaplan, “The MLF Debate,” 62–65.

55 Philip Geyelin, Lyndon B. Johnson and the World (New York: Praeger, 1966), 159–180.

56 Kaplan et al., 414.

57 JCSM-1014-64 to SECDEF, December 4, 1964, “French Nuclear Weapons Program,” 

JCS 2278/78-4.

58 Walter S. Poole, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 1965–1968 (Washington, DC: 

Historical Division, Joint Secretariat, Joint Chiefs of Staff, May 1985), Pt. I, 285–317.

59 Poole, JCS and National,1965–1968, Pt. I, 323–337; Johnson, Vantage Point, 308–309; 

Richard L. Kugler, Commitment to Purpose: How Alliance Partnership Won the Cold War

(Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1993), 207, 220.

60 See Stromseth, 71–72.

61 Stockpile figures from McNamara’s unclassified statement accompanying his FY69 

budget submission in U.S. Congress, Senate, Committee on Armed Services, Hearings 

on Authorization for Military Procurement, Research and Development, Fiscal Year 1969, and 

Reserve Strength, 90th Cong., 2d Sess., 1968, 183.

62 Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1965–68, Pt. I, 111–198, 395–396.
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63 Letter, Heinz Trettner (Inspector General of the German Army) to Wheeler, May 13, 

1966, JCS 2124/370.

64 See MC 14/3 (Final), January 16, 1968, “Overall Strategic Concept for the Defense of 

the North Atlantic Treaty Organization Area,” in Gregory W. Pedlow, ed., NATO Strategy Documents, 1949–1969 (Brussels: North Atlantic Treaty Organization, 1999), 345–370.

65 Ivo H. Daalder, The Nature and Practice of Flexible Response: NATO Strategy and Theater 

Nuclear Forces since 1967 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1991), 74–76.

66 Quoted in Gordon S. Barrass, The Great Cold War: A Journey Through the Hall of Mirrors

(Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2009), 194.

67 MC 48/3 (Final), December 8, 1969, “Measures to Implement the Strategic Concept for 

the Defence of the NATO Area,” in Pedlow, ed., NATO Strategy Documents, 371–400.

68 “The Future Tasks of the Alliance (The Harmel Report),” December 1967, reprinted in 

Stanley R. Sloan, NATO’s Future: Toward a New Transatlantic Bargain (Washington, DC: 

National Defense University Press, 1985), 219–222.

69 McNamara quoted in Drea, McNamara, Clifford, and the Burdens of Vietnam, 391; JCS 

assessment from SM-863-67, December 12, 1967, enclosing Joint Strategic Capabilities 

Plan, July 1, 1968–June 30, 1969 (JSCP–69), JCS 1844/488.

70 Graham Spinardi, From Polaris to Trident: The Development of U.S. Fleet Ballistic Missile 

Technology (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 66–67.

71 JCSM-131-65 to SECDEF, March 1, 1965, “Joint Strategic Objectives Plan for FY 

1970–74 (JSOP–70),” JCS 2143/248.

72 Kaplan et al., 319–320; Drea, McNamara, Clifford, and the Burdens of Vietnam, 346–356; 

Jerome H. Kahan, Security in the Nuclear Age: Developing U.S. Strategic Arms Policy (Washington, DC: Brookings, 1975), 105–106.

73 Spinardi, 89–94; Ted Greenwood, Making the MIRV: A Study of Defense Decision Making

(Cambridge, MA: Ballinger Publishing, 1975), 3–11, 64–65; Bernard C. Nalty, “USAF 

Ballistic Missile Programs, 1964–1965” (Study Prepared by the USAF Historical Division Liaison Office, March 1967), 34–37 (declassified).

74 See JCSM-131-65 to SECDEF, March 1, 1965, loc. cit.

75 Lawrence Freedman, The Evolution of Nuclear Strategy (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 

1983), 253.

76 Morton H. Halperin, The Decision to Deploy the ABM: Bureaucratic Politics in the Johnson 

Administration (Washington, DC: Brookings, 1973), 67–69, 83–84, 93.

77 Ernest J. Yanarella, The Missile Defense Controversy: Strategy, Technology, and Politics, 1955–

1972 (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1977), 92–93.

78 See NIE 11-8-62, [July 6, 1962], “Soviet Capabilities for Long Range Attack,” in Donald P. Steury, ed., Intentions and Capabilities: Estimates on Soviet Strategic Forces, 1950–83 

(Washington, DC: Center for the Study of Intelligence, 1996), 181–183; and NIE 11-

8-66 [October 20, 1966], amended by M/H NIE 11-8-66, “Soviet Capabilities for 

Strategic Attack,” ibid., 209–224.

79 Prados, Soviet Estimate, 155–157; Freedman, U.S. Intelligence and the Soviet Strategic Threat, 

86–94; NIE 11-3-65, November 18, 1965, “Soviet Strategic Air and Missile Defense,” 

FRUS,1964–68, X, 330–332.
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80 Donald R. Baucom, The Origins of SDI, 1944–1983 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1992), 27–30; NIE 11-3-66, November 17, 1966, “Soviet Strategic Air and Missile 

Defenses,” FRUS,1964–68, X, 446–550.

81 JCSM-742-66 to SECDEF, December 2, 1966, “Production and Deployment of the 

NIKE–X,” JCS 2012/283-1 and FRUS,1964–68, X, 458.

82 Baucom, 15–20; Richard J. Barber Associates, “The Advanced Research Projects Agency, 

1958–1974” (Unpublished Study Prepared for the Advanced Research Projects Agency, 

December 1975), chaps. IV–VI (unclassified).

83 Kaplan et al., 123–125.

84 Harry B. Yoshpe, Our Missing Shield: The U.S. Civil Defense Program in Historical Perspective (Washington, DC: Federal Emergency Management Agency, 1981), 362–375.

85 McNamara statement to House Armed Services Committee, January 23, 1967, quoted 

in David Goldfischer, The Best Defense: Policy Alternatives for U.S. Nuclear Security from the 

1950s to the 1990s (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1993), 181.

86 John Newhouse, Cold Dawn: The Story of SALT (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1973), 85.

87 Yanarella, 104–106; Baucom, 22–23.

88 McNamara, Essence of Security, 64.

89 Morton H. Halperin, Bureaucratic Politics and Foreign Policy (Washington, DC: Brookings 

Institution, 1974), 298.

90 “Notes on Meeting with the President,” December 6, 1966, FRUS,1964–68, X, 459–

464; JCSM-804-66 to SECDEF, December 29, 1966, “Production and Deployment of 

Nike–X,” JCS 2012/283/2 and FRUS,1964–68, X, 510–511.

91 James Killian quoted in Memo by Walt Rostow of Meeting with President Johnson, 

January 4, 1967, “ABMs,” FRUS,1964–68, X, 526–531.

92 “Annual Budget Message to the Congress, Fiscal Year 1968,” January 24, 1967, Public 

Papers of the Presidents of the United States: Lyndon B. Johnson, 1967 (Washington, DC: 

GPO, 1968), Pt I, 48.

93 JCSM-602-65 to SECDEF, August 5, 1965, “ACDA Memorandum for the Committee 

of Principals, Paper on Nonproliferation Agreement, 16 July 65,” JCS 1731/878-2.

94 JCSM-143-67 to SECDEF, March 14, 1967, “Proposal on Strategic Offensive and Defensive Missile Systems,” JCS 1731/966-2.

95 Johnson, Vantage Point, 485; Kosygin’s comments paraphrased by McNamara in Michael Charlton, From Deterrence to Defense: The Inside Story of Strategic Policy (Cambridge: 

Harvard University Press, 1987), 27. Memorandum of Conversation, June 23, 1967, 

“Luncheon given by President Johnson for Chairman Kosygin,” FRUS,1964–68, XIV, 

528–531, gives a less vivid account of the discussion.

96 Baucom, 34.

97 JCSM-425-67 to SECDEF, July 27, 1967, “Initiation of Nike-X Production and Deployment,” JCS 2012/308-1; FRUS,1964–68, X, 562–564.

98 Draft Memo, SECDEF to President, August 1, 1967, “Strategic Offensive and Defensive Forces,” enclosure to Memo, SECDEF to CJCS, August 2, 1967, same subject, JCS 

2458/272.
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99 JCSM-481-67 to SECDEF, August 28, 1967, “DPM on Strategic Offensive and Defensive Forces,” JCS 2458/272–2.

100 Robert S. McNamara, “The Dynamics of Nuclear Strategy,” September 18, 1967, in 

Department of State, Bulletin 57, no. 1476 (October 9, 1967), 443–451.

101 See JCSM-481-67 to SECDEF, August 28, 1967, loc. cit.

102 Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1965–68, Pt. I, 104–109; and Drea, McNamara, Clifford, and 

the Burdens of Vietnam, 371–373.

103 Baucom, 39–40.

104 “Remarks at Signing of the Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty,” July 1, 1968, Public Papers 

of the President: Lyndon B. Johnson, 1968-69 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1970), Pt. II, 349.
Chopper Pick Up, by Brian H. Clark (Courtesy of the Center of Military History)
Chapter 9

Vietnam: 

Going to War

The scene was reminiscent of many amphibious operations of World War II. On 

the morning of March 8, 1965, with a light mist reducing visibility, elements of 

9th Marine Expeditionary Brigade landed on a sandy beach near Da Nang, South 

Vietnam. Wading ashore with their gear, they encountered reporters, photographers, 

the mayor of Da Nang, and their commander, Brigadier General Frederick J. Karch, 

whom local school girls had laden with garlands in celebration of the occasion. A 

cordial welcome, it belied the presence of Viet Cong guerrillas a few miles away. 

Climbing into waiting trucks, the Marines were transported to the nearby American air base to take up security duties. The vanguard of a larger U.S. presence yet 

to come, these Marines were the first American combat troops to arrive in Vietnam. “Americanization” of the Vietnam War had begun.1

 It was a policy the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff had helped to shape, but not one that gave them much satisfaction 

or sense of confidence. The war in Vietnam was entering a new phase, and with it 

came growing uncertainty among the JCS whether they would have the tools and 

resources at their disposal to make that policy succeed.

The Roots of American Involvement

By the time U.S. combat troops began to deploy to Vietnam in 1965, the United 

States had been involved there fighting Communism for more than a decade and a 

half. With the escalation of Cold War tensions brought on by the Korean War, the 

Truman administration funneled massive support to the French effort in Indochina 

(Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia) against the Communist Viet Minh. In 1954, after 

the Viet Minh victory over the French at Dien Bien Phu, an international conference in Geneva agreed to a settlement that resulted in the division of Vietnam 

between a Communist regime in the North and a non-Communist one in the 

South. The Joint Chiefs of Staff viewed the Geneva accords as a major setback for 

U.S. interests in Southeast Asia. But given the American public’s war-weariness in 

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the wake of the Korean conflict and the Eisenhower administration’s reallocation 

of resources limiting the size and capabilities of general purpose forces, they ruled 

out recommending direct military involvement to change the outcome. Elections 

leading to unification were never held owing to chronic political instability in the 

South (much of it instigated by agents from the North) and the intransigence of 

South Vietnamese Prime Minister Ngo Dinh Diem, a stalwart anti-Communist, 

whose rejection of the vote the United States fully supported.

After the French withdrawal in 1954–1955, the United States assumed major 

responsibility for South Vietnam’s economic welfare, political stability, and military 

security. Expecting continuing pressure from the North, the Joint Chiefs saw a 

Korean War-style invasion, assisted by the Chinese, as the most serious threat that 

South Vietnam might face. Since the Joint Staff lacked the requisite personnel and 

resources at the time, the JCS relied on ad hoc fact-finding committees or the 

Army General Staff for assessments and recommendations. The results of one such 

inquiry in 1955 credited the South Vietnamese with a limited capacity for offering 

resistance and estimated that it would take up to eight U.S. divisions, two to three 

tactical air wings, a carrier task force, and a Marine landing force to defeat a fullscale North Vietnamese invasion.2

 The Eisenhower administration had no desire to 

become involved in Vietnam on such a scale and turned instead to heavy infusions 

of political, economic, and military assistance to buttress South Vietnam’s position. 

But by the end of the decade an increase in assassinations, terrorism, and guerrilla 

activity by the Viet Cong (successor to the Viet Minh) pointed to the need for 

stronger measures to avert a Communist takeover. In April 1960, at JCS instigation, 

the Commander in Chief, Pacific (CINCPAC) assembled a group of senior U.S. 

officers on Okinawa to take a fresh look at the problem. Based on supposed lessons 

learned in the recent insurgencies in Malaya and the Philippines, the conference 

recommended a counterinsurgency plan (CIP) that included increases in military 

strength for the South Vietnamese armed forces and paramilitary units, and major 

political and administrative reforms in the Diem government.3

Action on the CIP was still pending when the Kennedy administration took 

office in January 1961. By then, insurgency and terrorism had grown into the most 

ubiquitous forms of conflict worldwide. In the aftermath of Khrushchev’s speech 

of January 6, 1961, welcoming “wars of national liberation,” the new President had 

all the more reason to be concerned. The development of countermeasures, however, was still in its infancy. Among the JCS and elsewhere within the military there 

was considerable debate over strategy and doctrine. One of the leading figures in 

counterinsurgency warfare was Brigadier General Edward G. Lansdale, USAF, who 

had been instrumental in defeating the Communist Hukbalahap in the Philippines 
V I E T NA M: G OIN G T O W AR

279

after World War II. Turning to Lansdale for advice and guidance, President Kennedy decided to expand the use of covert operations and to increase the size of U.S. 

Army Special Forces (the “Green Berets”). The JCS alternative for dealing with the 

crisis at the time in neighboring Laos seemed to be a costly and politically risky 

large-scale military buildup, the prelude to possible intervention. The Chairman of 

the Joint Chiefs, General Lyman L. Lemnitzer, USA, lacked the President’s confidence in special forces and disputed the notion that current programs in Vietnam 

were insufficient and ineffective against the guerrilla threat. But in the aftermath of 

the Bay of Pigs episode, Kennedy paid little attention to JCS advice. In April-May 

1961, he approved a series of counterinsurgency measures using the Green Berets 

to spearhead the effort.4

Along with increased military activity, Kennedy sought political and economic 

reforms from Diem to bolster his regime’s credibility and popularity. This process 

of attempting to develop a “balanced” policy lasted, with mixed success, from Kennedy’s Presidency into Lyndon Johnson’s. But as early as the autumn of 1961 it was 

clear that without a major improvement in the security situation, efforts to achieve 

political and economic reform would fall short of the goal. Military power by itself 

might not determine the outcome of the struggle for Vietnam, but the side without 

it in preponderance was unlikely to prevail.

The catalyst for the rapid and sustained expansion of the American military 

presence in South Vietnam was the Taylor-Rostow report, the product of a factfinding mission jointly headed by the President’s MILREP, General Maxwell D. 

Taylor, USA (Ret.), and Walt W. Rostow, an economist on the NSC Staff who 

specialized in underdeveloped countries. Delivered to President Kennedy in early 

November 1961, the report painted a bleak picture of the situation in South Vietnam and recommended an “emergency program” of additional assistance, to include 

allowing U.S. trainers and advisors to “participate actively” in planning and executing operations against the Viet Cong. The most controversial part of the report was 

its call for the introduction of an 8,000-man “task force” to boost security while 

ostensibly assisting in flood repair and other civic action projects in the Mekong 

Delta. Later, as Ambassador to South Vietnam in 1964–1965, Taylor was apprehensive 

about the introduction of U.S. combat troops, arguing that it could undermine the 

government’s commitment to the war. In 1961, however, he saw things differently 

and insisted that “there was a pressing need to do something to restore Vietnamese 

morale and to shore up confidence in the United States.”5

The Joint Chiefs agreed that the situation was critical, but they believed that if 

the United States intervened, it should do so wholeheartedly and without illusion. 

In General Lemnitzer’s view, the “8000-man force,” once in place, would be too 
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thinned out to make much difference.6 Working in collaboration with CINCPAC, 

the JCS came up with an alternative contingency “Win Plan” that would involve 

the use of up to six divisions and put heavy military pressure directly on North Vietnam with air and naval power.7

 Initially, McNamara seemed to prefer the JCS Win 

Plan to the limited course outlined in the Taylor-Rostow report. But upon further 

reflection, he and Secretary of State Dean Rusk concurred that even though the 

introduction of U.S. combat troops might someday become unavoidable, there was 

no immediate need to go quite so far, a conclusion Kennedy gladly embraced.8

 On 

November 15, 1961, leaving the question of combat troops in abeyance, Kennedy 

approved a revised Vietnamese assistance policy (characterized as a “first phase” program), which authorized an increase in the number of U.S. advisors and specialized 

support units and an expansion of their role.9

Kennedy’s decision entirely reshaped the U.S. commitment in Vietnam. From 

a strength of around 1,000 advisors in 1961, the U.S. military advisory presence 

grew to over 5,000 by the end of the following year. To increase the mobility of 

government troops, the United States also sent nearly 300 helicopters and transport planes to Vietnam.10 In February 1962, to oversee the expanded effort, President Kennedy authorized a new command structure—the U.S. Military Assistance 

Command, Vietnam (COMUSMACV)—a subordinate unified command which 

reported through CINCPAC to the Joint Chiefs, the Secretary of Defense, and 

the President.11 Officially, U.S. policy drew the line at the direct involvement of 

American advisory personnel in combat operations. The reality, however, was different. Having previously served in rear echelon training areas and command posts, 

U.S. advisors now fanned out into the countryside, operating at the battalion level 

or lower. Some advisors actually fought alongside government troops; others flew 

combat missions.12 But with Berlin, Cuba, and other hot spots capturing the headlines, Vietnam remained a remote and distant war for policymakers and the American public alike.

By the start of 1963 the surge of American advisors and assistance appeared to 

be having the desired effects of reinvigorating the South Vietnamese armed forces 

and placing the Viet Cong on the defensive. By now there were over 11,000 U.S. 

military personnel in Vietnam. Confident of ultimate success, McNamara told the 

JCS to plan on U.S. advisors being out of the country in 3 years.13 But just as the war 

appeared to be looking up, it took a turn for the worse, owing to unexpected setbacks suffered by the South Vietnamese Army (ARVN), increased political protests 

against Diem by the Buddhists and other noncommunist groups, and stepped up 

infiltration of men and supplies from the North. By the summer of 1963, the progress of the previous year was a fading memory. Knowing the President’s aversion to 
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V I E T NA M: G OIN G T O W AR

the use of combat troops, the Joint Chiefs, CINCPAC, and the CIA came up with 

a plan (later designated OPLAN 34A) to bring the war home to North Vietnam 

through a campaign of sabotage and covert operations.14 However, it was too late 

for any improvement in the course of the war to save Diem’s crumbling regime, 

which fell victim in early November 1963 to a bloody coup d’état fomented, with 

American encouragement, by disgruntled South Vietnamese generals. Weapons, tactics, and equipment meant to fight the Viet Cong were used instead to settle old 

scores and to prop up the new military junta. 

Shortly before his death, President Kennedy said publicly that he was confident 

most U.S. advisors could leave Vietnam in the foreseeable future and turn the war 

over to the ARVN.15 But he had no fall-back strategy in case he found withdrawal 

ill advised and remained averse to putting pressure on North Vietnam, other than 

through limited, indirect means, to cease and desist its support of the Viet Cong. 

Though the Joint Chiefs grudgingly accommodated themselves to the President’s 

wishes, they had yet to be convinced that a policy of restraint would succeed. What 

they saw evolving was an ominous repetition of the stalemate in Korea—a remote 

war, offering no sign of early resolution, consuming precious resources, and diverting 

attention from larger threats. Hence their support for a more aggressive, immediate strategy to confront the enemy directly with strong, decisive force. Militarily, 

the chiefs’ solution had much to recommend it. The United States still possessed 

overwhelming strategic nuclear superiority and could have used that power as an 

umbrella for large-scale conventional operations against North Vietnam. But it was a 

strategy fraught with enormous political risks that Kennedy was unwilling or unprepared to take. It would be up to his successor to try to find a more durable solution. 

The Road to an American War

By the time Lyndon Johnson entered the Oval Office in November 1963, the situation in South Vietnam had clearly deteriorated to the point that a Communist takeover seemed more probable than ever. Remembering the backlash against Truman 

over the “loss” of China after World War II, Johnson was determined not to become 

tagged as the President who “lost” Vietnam. While professing continuity with Kennedy’s policy, he quietly abandoned his predecessor’s timetable for the withdrawal 

of U.S. advisors and told General Maxwell Taylor, the new Chairman of the Joint 

Chiefs, to treat Vietnam as “our most critical military area right now.” Identifying 

the problem as one of insufficient will and commitment, he exhorted Taylor and the 

JCS to pay close attention to the selection of personnel and to send only “our blue 

ribbon men” to Vietnam as advisors.16
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Coun c il of War

By early 1964, it was apparent from the continuing political turmoil in Vietnam 

and a surge in Viet Cong activity that reducing the U.S. presence could have adverse 

consequences. General Wallace M. Greene, Jr., Commandant of the Marine Corps, 

believed the situation had reached the point where the United States needed “a 

clear-cut decision either to pull out of South Vietnam or to stay there and win.”17

Embracing the latter course, the Joint Chiefs offered a ten-point program of “increasingly bolder actions in Southeast Asia” that amounted to a virtual take-over of 

the war. Among the recommended measures were overt and covert bombing of the 

North, increased reconnaissance, large-scale commando raids, the mining of North 

Vietnamese harbors, operations in Laos and Cambodia, and the commitment of 

U.S. forces “as necessary” in direct actions against North Vietnam.18 An expansion of 

the war at this time, however, was the last thing President Johnson wanted. Meeting 

with the Joint Chiefs on March 4, 1964, he stated that he remained committed to 

keeping South Vietnam out of Communist hands, but would do nothing that might 

involve the country in a war before the November elections. “We haven’t got any 

Congress that will go with us,” he told them, “and we haven’t got any mothers that 

will go with us in the war.”19

Until the election, then, Johnson all but ignored JCS advice on Vietnam, finding it excessively focused on applying overwhelming military power.20 Limiting his 

contacts with the chiefs, he saw only Taylor on a regular basis and turned to a small 

circle of civilian advisors for guidance on the war. Increasingly preeminent within 

this group was McNamara, who remained confident that the careful and selective 

application of military power (as opposed to the sweeping intervention favored 

by the JCS) could produce the desired results. Applying the lessons he had drawn 

from the Berlin and Cuban Missile crises, McNamara viewed a successful outcome 

in Vietnam in relatively narrow terms that involved applying precisely the right 

amount of pressure to achieve the withdrawal of North Vietnamese support for the 

Viet Cong without escalating the war into a superpower confrontation. With this 

strategy in mind, he returned from a fact-finding trip to Saigon around mid-March 

1964, cautioning against large-scale U.S. military action against North Vietnam and 

favoring only a limited buildup of American airpower, “tit for tat” reprisal air strikes 

by the South Vietnamese, and stepped-up commando raids against the North.21

A key figure in developing the flexible response doctrine, Taylor shared McNamara’s view that the graduated application of finely tuned military pressure would 

produce the desired results in Vietnam and avoid the need for large-scale intervention. Urging his JCS colleagues to support the Secretary’s plan, Taylor defended it 

as a suitably aggressive, yet measured, response. But to the Service chiefs it smacked 

of more of the same and did not go nearly far enough to satisfy them.22 “We are 
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swatting flies,” complained Air Force Chief of Staff General Curtis LeMay, “when 

we ought to be going after the manure pile.”23 Intelligence reports supported the 

Service chiefs’ contention that North Vietnam would be largely impervious to the 

limited raids and retaliatory attacks McNamara had in mind. Yet despite the drawbacks, President Johnson preferred McNamara’s plan over a full-blown war, and on 

March 17, 1964, he decided to put it into action.24

Shortly after the President’s decision, in April 1964 the Joint Chiefs conducted 

a wargaming exercise (SIGMA I–64) to test McNamara’s hypothesis that a strategy 

of graduated pressure against the enemy would turn the war around. Organized under the JCS Joint War Games Agency, SIGMA I involved military officers from the 

lieutenant colonel to the brigadier general level, their civilian equivalents, and representatives of the Intelligence Community. Described by historian H.R. McMaster 

as “eerily prophetic,” the exercise’s main finding was that steadily escalating military 

pressure failed to have any significant deterrent effect on North Vietnamese behavior.25 On the contrary, as the game progressed, it led to both a stiffening of North 

Vietnamese resistance and a worsening of the political-military situation in the 

South that narrowed American options to two unappealing alternatives—a greatly 

expanded war against the North that risked Chinese intervention, or a humiliating withdrawal with a marked loss of U.S. credibility and prestige worldwide. As 

one participant in the game later observed: “The thesis of escalated punishment of 

North Vietnam had again been tested by interagency experts and found wanting.”26

With their doubts about a strategy of graduated pressure steadily growing, the 

Joint Chiefs, less General Taylor, continued to urge the use of large-scale military 

force to thwart the North Vietnamese and to curb the insurgency. But without Taylor’s support and endorsement, their ideas and recommendations stood little chance 

of having much impact.27 On July 1, 1964, Taylor stepped down as Chairman to 

take up new duties as Ambassador to Saigon. His departure came as a relief to the 

Service chiefs who believed, almost without exception, that he could have done a 

more effective job representing them and conveying their views to the Secretary of 

Defense and the President. 

Whether his successor, General Earle G. Wheeler, USA, would be a more 

forceful spokesman for JCS views remained to be seen. The third army officer in a 

row to serve as CJCS, Wheeler came to the job largely on Taylor’s recommendation. 

Having once been Director of the Joint Staff, he knew the ins and outs of the JCS 

system as well as anyone. As Army Chief of Staff immediately prior to becoming 

Chairman, Wheeler had been critical of the administration’s emerging strategy of 

graduated response in Vietnam, but he had been far less outspoken than the other 

chiefs.28 Throughout his years at the Pentagon prior to becoming CJCS, he had 
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always gotten along well with his superiors. Though he might not always agree, they 

could count on him, once a decision was taken, to implement it without complaint. 

Perhaps the most obvious shortcoming in his otherwise distinguished résumé was 

his limited combat experience (confined to a few months as chief of staff to an 

infantry division in Europe in World War II), a drawback in the eyes of some of his 

peers, but not a great concern to either McNamara or President Johnson.29

The Gulf of Tonkin Incident and Its Aftermath 

Wheeler was still settling into his job as Chairman when in early August 1964 the 

fateful Gulf of Tonkin incident occurred. At the time, it seemed that North Vietnamese torpedo boats had launched two separate attacks 2 days apart against two 

U.S. destroyers operating in international waters off North Vietnam. The first attack, 

against USS Maddox, occurred August 2; the second, involving both the Maddox and 

USS Turner Joy, appeared to follow 2 days later. Both ships were part of the Desoto 

Patrol Program, a JCS-authorized effort conducted by the Seventh Fleet to collect 

intelligence on Sino-Soviet bloc electronic and naval activity. Since mid-December 

1962, Desoto Patrols had paid regular visits to the Gulf of Tonkin. Despite a loose 

system of coordination, Desoto Patrols and the covert missions mounted by Commander, U.S. Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (COMUSMACV) against 

North Vietnam under OPLAN 34A were separate and independent of one another. 

Thus, the possibility of one set of operations overlapping or interfering with the 

other was ever-present. Matters came to a head in late July 1964 when South Vietnamese commandos, part of the 34A program, carried out a pair of raids along the 

North Vietnamese coast. Apparently in response to these raids, the North Vietnamese attacked the Maddox, mistaking it for part of the raiding force.30

The role of the Joint Chiefs in this episode was relatively minor and consisted 

mainly of drawing up a list of targets for retaliatory air strikes following reports of 

the second attack. As was increasingly the custom, the only member of the Joint 

Chiefs to attend face-to-face meetings with the President was the Chairman, General Wheeler. To expedite matters, McNamara at several critical points bypassed the 

Joint Chiefs and dealt directly with CINCPAC. On the morning of August 4, while 

McNamara was attending an emergency NSC meeting with the President, the JCS 

prepared their recommendations and forwarded them to the White House, urging severe retaliation against North Vietnamese naval bases and petroleum, oil, and 

lubricants (POL) storage in the Vinh area. That afternoon, McNamara returned to 

the Pentagon and told the JCS that the President had approved their recommendations, with several notable modifications. In a foretaste of the micromanagement of 
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the air war yet to come, the President had added two base areas to the target list 

but had decided that, except for striking the storage tanks, the U.S. attacks would 

be mounted against boats only, not against the bases or port facilities. The next day 

carrier-based aircraft executed the mission.31

Soon after the Tonkin Gulf incident, questions arose over whether the second 

attack had actually taken place. The issue was especially relevant since it was on the 

basis of the second attack that President Johnson had decided not only to order retaliatory air strikes against North Vietnam, but to seek authorization from Congress 

for further military action in the event of additional provocations. Had there been 

only one attack, the President said, he was prepared to dismiss the incident with 

a diplomatic protest.32 Years later, a reexamination of the evidence confirmed suspicions that the North Vietnamese never mounted a second attack, though it may 

have appeared so at the time to Sailors aboard the Turner Joy. According to a detailed 

study by Robert J. Hanyok, a historian for the National Security Agency, errors in 

the translation of North Vietnamese radio traffic and the Navy’s mishandling of 

SIGINT led to the misidentification of a North Vietnamese salvage operation as a 

second attack. Hanyok found nothing to indicate that the Navy, the National Security Agency, or the White House had manipulated the data or acted improperly. 

But under the pressure of events, those monitoring the situation interpreted the 

evidence as pointing to two separate incidents.33

The most important long-term consequence of the Gulf of Tonkin episode was 

a joint congressional resolution giving the White House practically carte blanche in 

Southeast Asia. The idea of seeking such authority had apparently originated with 

Walt W. Rostow, then serving in the State Department, who began discussing the 

matter with members of the NSC Staff as early as December 1963. By June 1964, 

Rostow’s suggestion had attracted the attention of McGeorge Bundy, the President’s 

National Security Advisor, who felt that a congressional resolution would “give additional freedom to the Administration in choosing courses of action.” President 

Johnson agreed, but with the election looming, he was reluctant to tarnish his image 

as the “peace” candidate unless the situation warranted.34

The Tonkin Gulf episode had a galvanizing effect on administration policy toward Vietnam. With the White House unsure how far it could go in Vietnam, it became the rallying point for testing support of the war and mobilizing congressional 

backing. Leading the charge in the Senate was J. William Fulbright, Chairman of the 

Foreign Relations Committee. Later, as the war degenerated into a stalemate, Fulbright became one of the administration’s harshest critics and a key figure in the antiwar movement on Capitol Hill. But at the time of the Tonkin Gulf incident, he was 

still a strong advocate of taking firm action to curb the “aggressive and expansionist 
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ambitions” of the North Vietnamese. The upshot was a unanimous vote in the House 

and overwhelming support in the Senate to give the White House a free hand to retaliate—the closest the United States came to a formal declaration of war.35

Following the Gulf of Tonkin episode, the Johnson administration launched yet 

another review of its Vietnam policy. In light of the recent congressional resolution 

and the stepped-up pace of military activity, the Joint Chiefs now viewed direct U.S. 

intervention as inevitable, though they were split over the form it should take. Confident that airpower could be decisive, LeMay downplayed the need for large-scale 

troop deployments and urged an intensive bombing campaign against 94 high priority 

military and industrial targets across North Vietnam. “All of his experience,” one of 

LeMay’s colleagues recalled, “taught him that such a campaign would end the war.”36

The intent, as the Joint Chiefs described it to the Secretary of Defense, would be to 

deal the enemy “a sudden sharp blow.” If it failed, the United States could reconsider 

whether to commit a large ground force.37 However, the new Army Chief of Staff, 

General Harold K. Johnson, doubted whether the increased use of airpower, without 

accompanying increases on the ground, would have the desired impact on the insurgency in the South. In Johnson’s view, expanding the war in the air and on the ground 

should go hand in hand.38 Unable to achieve a full reconciliation of their differences, 

the chiefs papered them over and in late August recommended a program of “prompt 

and calculated responses” emphasizing “air strikes and other operations” against enemy targets in North Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia.39

The JCS found their advice for expanding the scale and scope of the war no 

more welcome now than earlier. Having decided to cast his Republican Presidential opponent, Senator Barry Goldwater, in the role of warmonger, Johnson often 

went out of his way to avoid making it appear that he was under the military’s spell 

or influence. The result, however, was a policy that seemed to straddle two stools. 

“I haven’t chosen to enlarge the war,” the President declared publicly. “Nor have 

I chosen to retreat and turn [Vietnam] over to the Communists.”40 Gathering his 

key advisors at the White House on September 9, he heard a report by Ambassador 

Taylor on the unsettled political situation in Saigon and a reiteration of JCS views 

on the air campaign—“this bombing bullshit,” the President called it.41 The next 

day he approved increasing the military pressure against North Vietnam but limited 

it to low-profile activities that included the resumption of Desoto naval patrols 

in the Gulf of Tonkin and covert operations by the South Vietnamese against the 

North. He also approved discussions with the Laotian government to allow South 

Vietnamese air and ground operations in the Lao panhandle, and preparations for 

an “appropriate” response (i.e., a further build-up of air power in the South and off 

the coast) should the North Vietnamese resume attacks on U.S. forces.42
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With “graduated response” becoming the accepted strategy, the Joint Chiefs 

decided to take another look at its probable effects. The upshot was a second round 

of war games known as SIGMA II–64. Conducted in mid-September 1964, SIGMA 

II–64 occurred at the same time the President was reviewing proposals to step up 

operations in Vietnam. Organized this time to include senior officials, SIGMA II 

produced about the same results as SIGMA I. Not only was the graduated application of military power, including bombing of the North, unlikely to stop the North 

Vietnamese; it was also apt to draw the United States more deeply into an inconclusive war. But despite the exercise’s disturbing findings, McNamara paid little attention and later dismissed SIGMA II as further evidence that the JCS were looking 

for an excuse to ramp up the war. Interpreting the findings somewhat differently, he 

chose to see them as confirmation that an expanded and more intensified bombing 

effort would be a largely pointless waste of lives and resources.43

Increasingly frustrated and troubled, the Joint Chiefs made no attempt to conceal their dissatisfaction with the current policy or the limited influence of their 

advice. Soon, reports of “considerable unhappiness” among the JCS over their exclusion reached McGeorge Bundy and were a source of concern to the President’s 

staff. In mid-November, with the election now out of the way, Jack J. Valenti, a 

White House aide who handled liaison with Congress, urged Johnson to have the 

Joint Chiefs “sign on” before taking further actions in Vietnam because their inclusion in presidential decisions would help to shield the administration from possible congressional recriminations. If the Joint Chiefs participated at pertinent NSC 

meetings, Valenti believed, “they could have their views expounded to the Commander-in-Chief face to face.” He added, “That way, they will have been heard, they 

will have been part of the consensus, and our flank will have been covered in the 

event of some kind of flap or investigation later.” Johnson agreed and at a November 

19 White House meeting he informed his top civilian advisors that in the future 

no decisions on Vietnam “would be made without participation by the military.”44

While the President was willing to give the chiefs the opportunity to say their 

piece, he was no more inclined than before to accept their advice that the strategy 

of graduated response was flawed. Johnson had no interest in a full-scale war. But as 

the situation in Vietnam deteriorated, with the Viet Cong escalating attacks against 

Americans, he knew it was only a matter of time before the United States moved in 

with more of its military power. Exactly when the President came to this realization 

is unclear, but between the election in November 1964 and the Viet Cong attack on 

Pleiku in early February 1965, deliberations with his top advisors were almost nonstop. 

What he wanted from them was a consensus recommendation. The options under 

consideration fell into three general categories: 1) continuation of the present policy 
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of support for counterinsurgency in the South and limited pressure on the North; 

2) a graduated increase in military pressure on the North Vietnamese meshing at 

some point with negotiations; and 3) an intensive bombing campaign of the North as 

recommended earlier by the JCS, known variously as the “hard knock” or “fast, full 

squeeze” option, which might or might not include the use of nuclear weapons.

The ensuing debate followed the “Goldilocks principle” that if the first and third 

choices appeared either inadequate or too extreme, the middle course was just right.45

Assistant Secretary of State William P. Bundy, an ardent advocate of graduated response, 

denounced the JCS position as an “almost reckless” invitation to Chinese intervention.46

Arguing that it would keep the commitment of U.S. prestige and resources from getting out of hand, Bundy and likeminded others, including Walt Rostow, now director 

of State’s Policy Planning Council, Assistant Secretary of Defense John T. McNaughton 

(McNamara’s most trusted advisor), and White House assistant Michael Forrestal, all insisted that the graduated application of military power would give the United States the 

flexibility to negotiate or withdraw should things go sour.47 Anticipating the debate’s 

outcome, McNamara ordered Wheeler to have the Joint Staff draw up a military plan to 

support a graduated bombing campaign. Wheeler complied, but in submitting the plan, 

the JCS expressed little confidence in it and urged the Secretary to develop a “clear set of 

military objectives before further military involvement in Southeast Asia is undertaken.”48

McNamara refused the chiefs’ request to pass their views to the President. The 

reason he gave at the time was that their recommendations would become known 

at the White House in due course as part of an interagency review.49 Later, however, 

he acknowledged that he had lost confidence in JCS advice, feeling that it was too 

extreme. “The president and I were shocked,” McNamara recalled, “by the almost 

cavalier way in which the chiefs . . . referred to, and accepted the risk of, the possible use of nuclear weapons.”50 Be that as it may, the inclusion of nuclear weapons 

in contingency planning, especially in connection with large-scale operations, was 

then still a well-known routine practice, so it seems odd that McNamara and the 

President were somehow surprised. The Joint Chiefs, as they saw it, were merely 

doing their job and presenting the available options. 

Still, the Joint Chiefs must have known that they were engaged in a losing cause. 

Arrayed against them were the President’s best and brightest senior advisors, nearly all 

of whom—McNamara, McGeorge Bundy, and Maxwell Taylor—favored some form 

of the graduated response option. So, too, did the COMUSMACV in Saigon, General 

William C. Westmoreland, USA. Unprepared to take on a full-scale war, Westmoreland 

hoped that with a modest increase in pressure, he could buy time until the South Vietnamese were better able to hold their own.51 Practically the only support for the JCS 

position was that of the CINCPAC in Hawaii, Admiral U.S. Grant Sharp, who thought 
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the time was ripe to “hit hard” and turn the war around. But like the Joint Chiefs, his 

views made little difference.52 Compelled to retreat, the JCS grudgingly concurred in 

what they characterized as a “controlled program” of “intense military pressure” against 

North Vietnam, “swiftly yet deliberately applied.” A lukewarm endorsement, it left the 

door open to the proposal of stronger measures should the need or opportunity arise.53

President Johnson had yet to be convinced that bombing, controlled or otherwise, would produce the desired results, and after listening to Secretary of State 

Rusk and George W. Ball, the veteran diplomat, he decided in early December 1964 

to postpone overt military action against North Vietnam for at least 30 days to give 

the State Department time to explore the possibility of negotiations and to round 

up contributions of troops and support from other countries. Depending on the 

responses, decisions could be taken to conduct U.S. and South Vietnamese air strikes 

against North Vietnam during the next 2 to 6 months, starting with targets south of 

the 19th parallel and working northward. Mining of North Vietnamese ports and a 

naval blockade could follow in due course. The approved policy made no mention 

of inserting U.S. combat units, but neither did it rule out such a possibility. A partial 

victory for the Joint Chiefs, the President’s decision acknowledged that military 

power remained a key component of American policy in Southeast Asia. But it 

further postponed the “hard knock” that the JCS believed to be necessary, sooner 

or later, to win the war.54

While the 30-day period specified by the President elapsed in mid-January, new 

decisions on military action were held in abeyance owing to political instability in 

Saigon. Then, on February 7, 1965, the Viet Cong attacked the U.S. military advisory 

compound near Pleiku in the Central Highlands of South Vietnam, killing 8 U.S. Servicemen, wounding more than 100 others, and destroying 20 U.S. aircraft. The next 

day President Johnson ordered reprisal raids (code-named FLAMING DART) and 

gave the Joint Chiefs the go-ahead to prepare an 8-week bombing campaign of the 

North.55 For reprisal purposes, the Joint Chiefs recommended immediate large-scale 

air attacks against seven enemy targets which, after review, the President whittled to 

two. Both were army barracks complexes used by the North Vietnamese to resupply the Viet Cong. Initial reports indicated the effects of the bombing as “moderate 

to good” in destroying enemy facilities. Upon closer inspection, however, it became 

clear that FLAMING DART had fallen short of expectations, and within days, enemy 

operations in the targeted areas were back to normal.56

The modest success of the FLAMING DART raids left the Joint Chiefs more 

persuaded than ever that if airpower were to be effective, it needed to be concentrated 

in repeated heavy doses. Hoping to move policy in that direction, the JCS secured 

the Secretary’s approval to transfer an additional 325 aircraft, including 30 B–52s, to 
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the Western Pacific. Sustained bombing of the North (Operation Rolling Thunder), 

initially disguised as retaliation, began on March 2, but followed no coherent strategy 

or consistent political objectives. Seeing an opportunity to revive the hard-knock 

strategy, the new Air Force Chief of Staff, General John P. McConnell, proposed a 

28-day campaign to destroy all 94 targets on the Joint Chiefs’ earlier target list. At the 

same time, Admiral Sharp recommended an “eight week pressure program” against 

the enemy’s logistical lines.57 Putting these proposals together, the Joint Staff came up 

with a revised bombing plan for a four-phase, 12-week air campaign for the systematic destruction of North Vietnam’s rail network, ports, and war-production facilities, 

culminating in heavy attacks on key military-industrial targets in the vicinity of Hanoi 

and Haiphong.58 Sharp and McConnell were convinced that over time a concerted 

bombing campaign would significantly degrade North Vietnam’s capacity and willingness to support the Viet Cong. However, Wheeler and Johnson (the Army Chief of 

Staff) were skeptical and would sanction only the program’s initial phases, which were 

underway by early April. Straddling two stools, Wheeler told McNamara that while 

the bombing thus far had not reduced North Vietnam’s military capabilities in “any 

major way,” he was confident that eventually it would cause a “serious stricture.”59

An expansion of the U.S. ground role in the South accompanied the enlarged 

bombing campaign against the North. The heralded arrival in early March of the 

Marines at Da Nang was in response to General Westmoreland’s request the month 

before for additional security around U.S. air bases and coincided with Army Chief of 

Staff General Harold K. Johnson’s fact-finding visit to Saigon, instigated at the request 

of the White House to “get things bubbling.” Clearly, the momentum was building 

for a larger commitment of U.S. forces. By far the most cautious member of the JCS 

at the time, Johnson was also the least enthusiastic about the air war and further U.S. 

involvement in general. A survivor of the Bataan death march in World War II and 

a veteran of Korea, he knew the rigors and pitfalls of waging war in the Far East as 

well as anyone. Johnson had been in Vietnam 3 months earlier and was astonished by 

the rapid deterioration of security at the local level. Persuaded that the situation was 

critical, he dismissed as “fictional” General Omar Bradley’s admonition against U.S. 

involvement in wars on the Asian mainland. Upon returning to Washington, he secured prompt endorsement from the President for 21 stop-gap measures (“band aids 

of a sort,” the general called them) aimed at strengthening the existing advisory and 

support effort.60 For the longer term, he believed it imperative that U.S. combat forces 

assume major responsibility for defending towns and installations and for operating 

offensively against the Viet Cong. Ultimately, he speculated, it might take as many as 

500,000 troops and 5 years to complete the mission. “None of us,” McNamara recalled, “had been thinking in anything approaching such terms.”61
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General Johnson’s unsettling assessment seemed to confirm what the Joint 

Chiefs had been saying all along—that without a wholehearted U.S. commitment, 

Vietnam was lost. Even so, his predictions of what would be required and the length 

of time it would take to turn the situation around exceeded anything the Joint 

Chiefs had thus far envisioned. Despite their tough talk about a buildup of forces 

and delivering “hard knocks” to the enemy, the JCS had not looked much beyond 

a 3- or 4-month campaign. If the Chief of Staff was right, the United States faced 

a long, expensive, and arduous war. With that possibility in mind, General Wheeler 

began laying the groundwork the day after Johnson’s return for an expanded conflict by having the Joint Staff initiate studies of the various administrative, funding, 

and logistical adjustments that would have to be made.62

Among the Chairman’s JCS colleagues, however, there was not much inclination 

to look beyond the immediate crisis. As sobering as Harold Johnson’s warnings of an 

open-ended conflict may have been, they were slow to sink in. Indeed, not even Johnson himself had thought far beyond the current situation, except in highly generalized 

terms. As a result, instead of trying to devise a long-range strategy, the JCS turned 

to hashing out differences among themselves over near-term solutions—the size and 

composition of the ground force, where to insert it, and whether it or the air war 

should have priority. Resorting eventually to compromise, they agreed that stepping up 

the air war and deploying forces on the ground (one full Marine division, one Army 

division, and one division from the Republic of Korea, if it could be arranged) should 

proceed in tandem and be aimed at achieving “an effective margin of combat power.”63

Earlier studies done by the Joint Staff estimated a minimum requirement of 

six divisions to defend Southeast Asia, so the deployment of two to three divisions 

would not be much more than a foot in the door.64 Nonetheless, the decision to 

intervene in force, even at this critical stage of the conflict, was far from automatic. 

While he supported graduated bombing of the North, Ambassador Taylor resisted 

the introduction of U.S. combat troops, arguing that it would shift the burden on to 

the United States and weaken South Vietnamese resolve. Others, including McNamara, Secretary of State Rusk, and the NSC’s McGeorge Bundy, increasingly believed that the United States had no choice, though in making their case they urged 

the President to show restraint and hold down the number of committed troops. 

Knowing that he would be hard pressed to mobilize public and congressional backing for an immediate deployment of the size the Joint Chiefs of Staff proposed, 

President Johnson opted in early April for a lesser figure of 20,000 logistical troops 

and two Marine battalions with tactical air support—a token commitment that 

barely disguised the fundamental shift in administration policy. Even more significant, he broadened the Marines’ mission “to permit their more active use” against 
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the enemy.65 General Wheeler promptly advised Admiral Sharp and General Westmoreland that this decision meant a change in employment from “static defense” 

to “counterinsurgency combat operations.”66 By the end of April 1965, U.S. forces 

were engaging the Viet Cong in firefights; by June they were regularly conducting 

offensive operations around their bases. For the United States, the advisory phase of 

the war was essentially over and a new, more deadly combat phase was beginning.

Into the Quagmire 

The President’s decision of April 1965 committing organized units of U.S. ground 

troops to combat ushered in a rapid expansion of the American role in the war. 

Shortly after the President’s action, General Wheeler accompanied Secretary McNamara to Honolulu for a 1-day conference on April 20 to take stock of the situation and to discuss future deployments. The other key participants were Admiral 

Sharp, Ambassador Taylor, and General Westmoreland. It was at this meeting that the 

broad outlines of basic strategy for the next 3 years emerged. If the meeting accomplished nothing else, McNamara wanted to win over Taylor’s support for a steppedup air and ground war in the South, on the assumption that this was where the war 

would be decided. Dominating the discussion, McNamara sought to impress upon 

the others his view that destruction of the Viet Cong, rather than pressure on the 

North, was crucial to a successful outcome and that land-based tactical air should be 

completely at Westmoreland’s disposal for this purpose. Rolling Thunder, the coercive 

air campaign against the North, assumed a secondary role.67 Afterwards, without 

much discussion, the JCS recommended eight U.S. battalion equivalents, with appropriate air and logistical support, for immediate reinforcement of the ground effort, with an additional twelve battalions earmarked for deployment at a later date.68

As it happened, these decisions coincided with the onset of a smaller but still 

alarming crisis in the Dominican Republic, brought on by a long-simmering power 

struggle between rival political factions. Convinced that the threat of a Communist 

coup loomed large, President Johnson in late April directed U.S. military intervention to restore order.69 As General Wheeler explained to his immediate staff, the 

President had made up his mind to use “the force necessary” to prevent another 

Cuba in the Caribbean.70 Moving quickly, the Joint Chiefs deployed nearly 24,000 

troops (Marines and Army airborne) in a matter of days and by late May the situation was under control. A quick, hard-hitting operation, mounted as a joint effort, 

the American show of force in the Dominican Republic seemed to do its job with 

relative ease and barely a whiff of inter-Service friction.71
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Whether the U.S. venture in Vietnam would enjoy the same success as the operation in the Dominican Republic remained to be seen. One skeptic, Army Lieutenant 

General Bruce Palmer, Jr., commander of U.S. forces in the Dominican Republic, 

hinted darkly that American intervention in Vietnam, undeniably a far bigger affair, 

might be too little too late.72 However, very few, if any, of his colleagues agreed. Indeed, by now, a race was on between the United States and North Vietnam to see who 

could put the most troops into Vietnam in the shortest possible time to gain the advantage. Gathering momentum over the summer of 1965, the U.S. buildup accelerated 

rapidly as logistical capabilities improved. From around 60,000 troops in mid-1965, 

American military strength in Vietnam increased to 185,000 by the end of the year. A 

year later, it had grown to 385,000, and by the end of 1967, it reached 490,000. American combat casualties also mounted—28,000 killed in action by the time the Johnson 

administration left office and 18,000 more before the ceasefire took effect in 1973.73

Contrary to what the JCS expected or hoped to see, the American buildup came 

with vague war aims and constrained methods of achieving them. Since the 1950s, 

the stated goal of American involvement in South Vietnam had been to preserve the 

country’s independence and prevent it from falling into Communist hands. A widely 

accepted hypothesis held that an enemy victory would set off a chain reaction of 

Communist takeovers across Asia (the “domino theory”). The Joint Chiefs fully subscribed to the domino theory and under the Johnson administration it became the 

most often cited rationale for U.S. involvement in Vietnam.74 Given the high stakes 

involved, however, the White House remained uncommonly restrained in authorizing the application of military power, in contrast to the JCS position that the United 

States should hit hard and fast. In the summer of 1965, as the administration was 

contemplating how to manage the buildup, the Joint Chiefs assumed that the President would order a national emergency, mobilize the Reserves and National Guard, 

and seek supplemental appropriations. Nothing less, General Wheeler argued, would 

convince the American people “that we were in a war and not engaged in some 

two-penny military adventure.”75 For political reasons, however, the President decided 

otherwise. Treating social reforms at home (the “Great Society”) as his first priority, 

he believed that a declared emergency and a call-up of the Reserves would divert attention and resources from his domestic agenda.76 He thought he could downplay the 

war, juggle funds from current appropriations, and rely on volunteer enlistments and 

the draft to supply the necessary manpower. A “guns and butter” approach, the President’s decision effectively stripped the war effort of experienced noncommissioned 

officers (NCOs) and over the long run played a large part in turning public opinion 

against the conflict by focusing anti-war sentiment on the draft.
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The strategic concept governing the deployment of U.S. forces further underscored the restrained nature and limited aims of the American commitment. As described by Secretary McNamara at a Cabinet meeting in June 1965, a military victory 

in the traditional sense was not the U.S. objective. Rather, the function of American 

forces was to produce a “stalemate” that would convince the Viet Cong and the North 

Vietnamese that even if they continued fighting, they could never win. “We think that 

if we can accomplish that stalemate,” McNamara contended, “accompanied by the 

limited bombing program in the North, we can force them to negotiations, and negotiations that will lead to a settlement that will preserve the independence of South 

Vietnam.”77 Translating these broad objectives into a military strategy, Westmoreland 

came up with what amounted to a war of attrition which he formally presented to the 

Secretary of Defense and the Chairman in July 1965. While the ARVN protected the 

population centers, U.S. forces would conduct “search and destroy” missions to take 

back captured territory, restore government authority, and wear down the enemy.78

The Joint Chiefs endorsed this strategy, but pointed out (largely at the insistence of the Air Force and the Navy) that the only way it could achieve significant 

results was in conjunction with heavy pressure from air and naval power on North 

Vietnam to cease directing and supporting the Viet Cong.79 From the start, however, 

the White House insisted that operations on the ground be confined as much as 

possible to the South. The only exceptions were occasional commando raids against 

the North and into neighboring Cambodia and Laos where the Viet Cong and 

North Vietnamese Army (NVA) had their supply lines and base camps. Although 

CINCPAC had contingency plans for invading North Vietnam, they were rarely mentioned in high-level discussions and never used. On the contrary, as Undersecretary 

of State George W. Ball, the President’s friend and confident, acknowledged, the administration went out of its way to send signals “that we do not seek to bring down 

the Hanoi regime or to interfere with the independence of Hanoi.”80

The air campaign was the most guarded of all. Part of the reason was the persistent lack of a consensus among the Joint Chiefs over whether the air war or the 

ground war should have priority. These differences had hobbled the Joint Chiefs in 

developing clear-cut positions during the advisory phase and continued into the 

combat phase, with the Army favoring emphasis on land operations, the Air Force 

arguing for an intensive air campaign, and the Navy and Marine Corps somewhere 

in between.81 Yet even if the JCS had been united, it probably would have made 

little difference. While CINCPAC coordinated Navy and Air Force attacks against 

the North under the Rolling Thunder campaign, COMUSMACV controlled tactical 

air operations over South Vietnam and had first call on air assets under the allocation 

of resources decided at the April 1965 Honolulu conference. Dominated by Army 
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officers, even with the presence of an Air Force deputy, Westmoreland’s command 

in Saigon regarded airpower as the handmaiden of the ground forces and used it for 

close air support, escort operations, and interdiction of infiltration routes.82

The principal impediment to a more effective air war remained the President 

himself. Near the outset of the buildup, President Johnson made a conscious decision 

not to exploit the full potential of the air campaign against the North lest it invite 

Soviet or Chinese intervention, alienate opinion abroad, or encourage further dissent 

at home. “In Rolling Thunder,” observes Air Force historian Wayne Thompson, “the 

Johnson administration devised an air campaign that did a lot of bombing in a way 

calculated not to threaten the enemy regime’s survival.”83 By avoiding certain targets 

while delaying or moderating attacks on others, the administration allowed the initiative to pass to the enemy. NVA air defenses quickly became a formidable obstacle, 

costing the United States dearly in pilots and planes. A few years earlier, when the 

Joint Chiefs had begun urging stronger measures, the United States had had undisputed superiority in strategic nuclear power over the Soviet Union and might have 

carried out operations against North Vietnam with minimal worry for the wider 

consequences. But by 1965-1966, U.S. nuclear superiority was on the wane, leaving 

both McNamara and the President convinced that if they pushed too hard against 

North Vietnam, they would invite serious trouble with China or the Soviet Union.84

The most controversial aspect of the air war was the choice of targets for U.S. 

planes to bomb. A professional function customarily the domain of the Joint Chiefs, 

target selection came to be closely controlled and managed by the President in collaboration with McNamara, Rusk, and his other top civilian advisors at his “Tuesday lunch.” As the Joint Chiefs became accustomed to the process, their targeting 

recommendations came to hinge as much on arbitrary assessments of what the President might accept as on what was needed to achieve military results.85 For reasons 

never fully explained, the CJCS did not become a member of the Tuesday lunch 

group until late 1967. Until then, Secretary of Defense McNamara was the military’s 

sole voice at these sessions, at which the President would go over JCS-proposed 

target sets in minute detail, approve, disapprove, or amend the selections, schedule 

attacks, and review the results of previous raids. Until the summer of 1966, Hanoi 

and Haiphong were off limits to bombing and U.S. planes were prohibited from 

approaching any closer than 30 miles to the Chinese border. Believing that attacks 

on the North by B-52s would appear provocative, President Johnson limited their 

use to bombing in the South and along the demilitarized zone (DMZ) separating 

North from South Vietnam.86 “This piecemeal application of airpower,” one senior 

Air Force commander recalled, “was relatively ineffective because it still avoided 

many of the targets that were of most value to the North Vietnamese.”87
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The restraint shown by Washington in prosecuting the war contrasted sharply 

with the all-out commitment and well-honed objectives of the Viet Cong and the 

North Vietnamese and the support they received from Communist Bloc countries. 

As revealed in documents captured by U.S. forces in Cambodia in 1970, the North 

Vietnamese Communist Party made a binding decision in December 1963 to do 

whatever it took to “liberate” the South and to reunify it with the North under 

a Communist regime. Militarily, this meant increasing assistance to the Viet Cong, 

transitioning from guerrilla warfare to “big unit” tactics involving regimental-sized 

operations, and sending regular NVA units into the South along the Ho Chi Minh 

Trail. Thus, while Washington thought it was still dealing with a guerrilla war, North 

Vietnam was gearing up for a full-scale conflict which it intended to win at any cost. 

Implementation of this strategy started slowly owing to disagreements within the 

party over tactics and the reluctance of Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev to sanction and assist the intensification of the conflict. But after Khrushchev’s ouster from 

power in October 1964, Moscow became more amenable to providing stepped-up 

assistance to the Communist insurgency in the South and weapons, including sophisticated air defense systems, to protect North Vietnam against U.S. retaliation.88

While U.S. intelligence detected NVA formations in South Vietnam as early as 

April 1965, the battle of the Ia Drang Valley that November was the first solid confirmation of large-unit North Vietnamese involvement. Like the Chinese intervention 

in Korea in late 1950, the bloody combat in the Ia Drang Valley that left nearly 300 

Americans dead was a shocking experience. Gilding over the losses, Westmoreland 

treated the battle as a major victory. Yet it should have been a wake-up call for the Joint 

Chiefs to push for a reexamination of U.S. tactics and strategy, to assess whether a war 

of attrition was realistic and feasible against a well-armed enemy increasingly composed of highly trained and disciplined North Vietnamese regulars. But by then, with 

Westmoreland and McNamara fully in control of military strategy, the Joint Chiefs 

were in no position to raise such questions or make many demands. Projecting a selfassured air, Westmoreland insisted he would prevail and took the President at his word 

that he could have all the resources he needed. A strategic review of sorts did take 

place, in mid-January 1966 in Hawaii, with President Johnson himself chairing some 

of the sessions. But it treated an inordinately broad range of topics, from combat operations to agricultural reform under the pacification program, and was so large (over 

450 U.S. and South Vietnamese military and civilian participants) that it more properly 

resembled a pep rally. The outcome was a resounding reaffirmation of the current 

course and a full endorsement of Westmoreland’s plan to add 102 maneuver battalions 

(79 of them American) to his force structure over the coming year.89
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Immediately following the Hawaii Conference, the Joint Chiefs resumed their 

efforts to convince the President and the Secretary of Defense to mobilize the Reserves, all to no avail. By now, there was serious concern among the JCS that they 

were losing control over the strategic direction of U.S. military forces, not only in 

Southeast Asia but worldwide, as the burgeoning demands of Vietnam were beginning to erode force levels everywhere. Should a crisis erupt in Europe or Korea, the 

JCS warned, the United States would be hard put to mount an effective response.90

Though fully aware of the situation, McNamara and the President regarded it as 

an acceptable risk. The mobilization of the Reserves would have required approval 

by Congress, where anti-war sentiment was on the rise. Even though the measure 

doubtless would have passed, it probably would have fallen well short of the resounding support shown for the Gulf of Tonkin resolution a year and a half earlier. 

While deteriorating support for the war at home was rarely an explicit factor in 

JCS decisions and recommendations, it was ever-present in the background of their 

deliberations and impossible to ignore. Indeed, antiwar demonstrations soon became 

an almost daily occurrence on the steps of the Pentagon. Meanwhile, as the war 

dragged on, it seemed to acquire a life of its own, an open-ended conflict with no 

clear resolution in sight. Westmoreland’s strategy of attrition may have looked sound 

on paper, but it was costly, time-consuming, and hard to assess in terms of its success. 

One method of evaluation was a controversial practice known as the “body count” 

of enemy dead, which the command in Saigon published weekly, claiming it to be 

evidence of progress in destroying the enemy. The numbers ran into the thousands, 

though whether they were accurate became a matter of some dispute. The theory was 

that eventually the VC and NVA would tire of taking heavy losses and cease their aggression. But with U.S. losses averaging around 1,300 per week killed and wounded, 

the evidence was mixed as to whether the American effort was making much headway toward its goal. The war of attrition, in other words, could cut both ways.91

A further complication was the continuing indifference of both Secretary McNamara and President Johnson toward JCS advice and their preference for dealing directly with Westmoreland in managing the conflict. A subunified command 

to CINCPAC, the COMUSMACV was several steps down the chain of command. 

Yet almost from the start, McNamara and the White House treated Westmoreland as 

being on a par with his superiors and normally put greater credence in COMUSMACV’s assessments than those of the theater commander, Admiral Sharp, or the JCS. 

In fact, Westmoreland’s views and those of the JCS were often practically identical, 

with the JCS sometimes even coaching Westmoreland on what to say or how to present it. Yet in the day-to-day handling of the war, Johnson and McNamara seemed to 
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believe that because Westmoreland was closer to the situation, he was more familiar 

with the nuances and tempo of the conflict, making his advice more authoritative. 

Whether Westmoreland’s reportage and evaluations were in fact accurate and reliable 

became one of the most hotly debated issues of the conflict. Looking back, McNamara acknowledged that some of their discussions and the information he received 

were “superficial.” But he never suggested that he considered Westmoreland’s advice 

unsound or that he made a mistake by not paying more attention to the JCS.92

In these circumstances, it was almost inevitable that the Joint Chiefs of Staff 

would exercise limited influence on high-level decisions and the strategy and tactics 

used in the war. That they stuck it out, refusing to resign in protest as some have 

argued they should have, underscores their willingness to persevere (their “can do” 

spirit, as General Bruce Palmer, Jr., called it), and their sense of duty in the face 

of mounting adversity.93 A shrewd politician, Lyndon Johnson thought he could 

handle the JCS like he had handled his political competitors over the years, by offering them compromises and meeting their proposals halfway. But in facing up 

to a confrontation with the North Vietnamese and, by extension, their Soviet and 

Chinese allies, the Joint Chiefs realized something the President did not: that halfway measures would never suffice and that waging a war against such an enemy 

meant accepting great risks or getting out. From the outset, the JCS had wanted 

a more vigorous response than President Johnson was willing to contemplate; for 

that reason, he and McNamara elected to ignore the Joint Chiefs and to follow a 

different path. Though it led ultimately to the same destination—a massive military 

commitment in Southeast Asia—it had more twists and turns and brought power to 

bear in increments that the enemy had less trouble absorbing.

Notes

1 Jack Shulimson and Charles M. Johnson, U.S. Marines in Vietnam: The Landing and the 

Buildup, 1965 (Washington, DC: History and Museums Division, Headquarters, U.S. 

Marine Corps, 1978), 9–15.

2 Ronald H. Spector, Advice and Support: The Early Years, 1941–1960 (Washington, DC: 

Center of Military History, 1983), 270.

3 Jack Shulimson, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and The War in Vietnam, 1960–1968 (Washington, 

DC: Office of Joint History, 2011), Pt. 1, 25; Lawrence S. Kaplan, Ronald D. Landa, and 

Edward J. Drea, History of the Office of the Secretary of Defense: The McNamara Ascendancy, 1961–1965 (Washington, DC: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, 

2006), 262; Spector, 357–368.

4 Kaplan et al., 266–269; Shulimson, Pt. 1, 33–38.

5 Maxwell D. Taylor, Swords and Plowshares (New York: W.W. Norton, 1972), 238–242. The 

full Taylor–Rostow Report is in FRUS, 1961–63, I, 477–532.
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6 MFR February 6, 1961, “Meeting to discuss the recommendations of the Taylor Mission to South Viet–Nam,” ibid., 534.

7 CINCPAC Command History, 1961, 20–22, 170–171; Memo, McNamara to Kennedy, 

November 8, 1961, “South Vietnam,” FRUS, 1961–63, I, 559–561.

8 Memo, Rusk and McNamara to Kennedy, November 11, 1961, Pentagon Papers, Book 

11, 359–366; Robert S. McNamara with Brian VanDeMark, In Retrospect: The Tragedy and 

Lessons of Vietnam (New York: Times Books, 1995), 38–39.

9 NSAM 111, “First Phase of Viet–Nam Program,” February 22, 1961, John F. Kennedy 

Papers, National Security Files, JFK Library.

10 Taylor, Swords and Plowshares, 288; Shulimson, 193–196.

11 Graham A. Cosmas, MACV: The Joint Command in the Years of Escalation, 1962–1967

(Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 2006), 21–29.

12 Robert F. Futrell, with Martin Blumenson, The United States Air Force in Southeast Asia: 

The Advisory Years to 1965 (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1981), 135–149.

13 Cosmas, MACV, 1962-67, 79–80.

14 Richard H. Shultz, Jr., The Secret War Against Hanoi (New York: Perennial, 1999), 35. For 

CIA cooperation, see Memo, Krulak to Taylor, June 6, 1963, “Conversation with Mr. 

John A. McCone,” Taylor Papers, box 7, NDU.

15 “The President’s News Conference,” November 14, 1963, Public Papers of the Presidents 

of the United States: John F. Kennedy, 1963 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1964), 846.

16 Memo, Johnson to Taylor, December 2, 1963, no subject, Johnson Papers, LBJ Library; 

Futrell and Blumenson, 195.

17 CMCM 12-64 to JCS, February 24, 1974, “Situation in Vietnam,” JCS 2343/326-2.

18 JCSM 46-64 to SECDEF, January 22, 1964, “Vietnam and Southeast Asia,” JCS 

2339/117-2; Futrell and Blumenson, 198.

19 Johnson quoted in H.R. McMaster, Dereliction of Duty (New York: Harper Perennial, 

1997), 70. See also Memo by Taylor of Conversation Between JCS and the President, 

March 4, 1964, FRUS, 1964–68, I, 129–130.

20 See Doris Kearns, Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream (New York: Harper & Row, 

1976), 242.

21 Memo, McNamara to Johnson, March 16, 1964, “South Vietnam,” FRUS, 1964–68, I, 

153–167; Johnson, Vantage Point, 66–67.

22 McMaster, Dereliction of Duty, 76–77. See also CSAFM 164-64, February 21, 1974, “Revitalized South Vietnam Campaign,” JCS 2343/326/1; CMCM 12-64, February 24, 

1974, “Situation in Vietnam,” JCS 2343/326-2; and CNOM 59-64, February 24, 1974, 

“U.S. Policy Toward Southeast Asia,” JCS 2443/326/3.

23 LeMay quoted in Futrell and Blumenson, 201.

24 Memo on Vietnam by DCI, March 3, 1964, FRUS, 1964–68, I, 120–127; NSAM 288, 

March 17, 1964, “Implementation of South Vietnam Programs,” ibid., 172–173.

25 H.R. McMaster, Dereliction of Duty, 90. See also H.R. McMaster, “The Human Element: When Gadgetry Becomes Strategy,” World Affairs (Winter 2009).

26 Harold P. Ford, CIA and the Vietnam Policymakers: Three Episodes, 1962–1968 (Washington, 

DC: Central Intelligence Agency, 1998), 57.
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27 CM-1450-64 to SECDEF, June 2, 1964, “Transmittal of JCSM-471-64,”; and JCSM471-64 to SECDEF, June 2, 1964, “Objectives and Course of Action—Southeast Asia,” 

both derived from JCS 2343/394-1.

28 See statement of Army views in Enclosure B to Report by the SACSA to JCS, February 11, 1974, “Revitalized South Vietnam Campaign,” JCS 2343/317-1.

29 See, for example, the observations on Wheeler in Lewis Sorley, Honorable Warrior: General Harold K. Johnson and the Ethics of Command (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 

1998), 182–183; and McMaster, Dereliction of Duty, 108–111.

30 Edward J. Marolda and Oscar P. Fitzgerald, The United States Navy and the Vietnam 

Conflict, vol. II, From Military Assistance to Combat, 1959–1965 (Washington, DC: Naval 

Historical Center, 1986), 393–436.

31 Joint Chiefs of Staff, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and the War in Vietnam, 1960–1968 (Washington, DC: Historical Division, Joint Secretariat, Joint Chiefs of Staff, July 1970), Pt. I, 

chap. 11, 22–23.

32 Johnson, Vantage Point, 113. See also Edward J. Drea, “‘Received Information Indicating 

Attack’”: The Gulf of Tonkin Incident 40 Years Later,” Military History Quarterly (Summer 2004).

33 Robert J. Hanyok, “Skunks, Bogies, Silent Hounds, and the Flying Fish: The Gulf of 

Tonkin Mystery, 2–4 August 1964,” Cryptologic Quarterly 19–20 (Winter 2000/Spring 

2001), 1–55.

34 Quotation from Draft Memo by McGeorge Bundy, June 10, 1964, “Alternative Public Positions for U.S. on Southeast Asia,” FRUS, 1964–68, I, 493–496. On the internal 

debate over seeking a congressional resolution, see Andrew Preston, The War Council: 

McGeorge Bundy, the NSC, and Vietnam (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006), 

149–150.

35 Joint Chiefs, JCS and the War in Vietnam, 24–27.

36 William W. Momyer, Air Power in Three Wars (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1978), 13.

37 JCSM-460-64 to SECDEF, May 30, 1964, “Air Campaign Against North Vietnam,” 

JCS 2343/383; and JCSM-729-64 to SECDEF, August 24, 1964, “Target Study—North 

Vietnam,” JCS 2343/383-2. For the origins and development of LeMay’s proposal, see 

CSAFM 459-64 to JCS, May 28, 1964, “Objectives and Course of Action—Southeast 

Asia,” JCS 2343/394; CSAFM 665-64, August 10, 1964, “Recommended Course of Action—Southeast Asia,” JCS 2343/438; and CSAFM 667-64 to JCS, August 10, 1964, “Air 

Strikes Against NVN,” JCS 2343/442.

38 CSAM 417-64 to JCS, August 6, 1964, “Planning Guidance for Outline Plan,” JCS 

2343/439.

39 JCSM-746-64 to SECDEF, August 26, 1964, “Recommended Courses of Action—

Southeast Asia,” JCS 2343/444-1. See also McMaster, Dereliction of Duty, 142–150, 225–

226; and Bruce Palmer, Jr., The 25-Year War: America’s Military Role in Vietnam (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1984), 34–35.

40 “Remarks at a Barbecue in Stonewall, Texas,” August 29, 1964, Johnson Public Papers, 

1963–1964, 1022.

41 See David Halberstam, The Best and the Brightest (New York: Random House, 1969), 

488, 500.
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42 NSAM 314, September 10, 1964, “U.S. Actions in South Vietnam,” FRUS, 1964–68, I, 

758–760.

43 SIGMA II–64 Collection (declassified) in War Games, vol. 2 folder, box 30, National 

Security File, Agency File, JCS, LBJ Library; McMaster, Dereliction of Duty, 156–158; 

McNamara, In Retrospect, 153.

44 Memo, Valenti to LJB, February 14, 1964, Folder F6 115-4 JCS, box 21, Confidential File 

FC 115 (1966), LBJ Library.

45 See Preston, 161.

46 Futrell and Blumenson, 255.

47 McMaster, Dereliction of Duty, 184–187.

48 JCSM-967-64 to SECDEF, February 18, 1964, “Courses of Action in Southeast Asia,” 

JCS 2339/157-1; also in The Pentagon Papers (Gravel Edition), The Defense Department History of United States Decisionmaking on Vietnam, 4 vols. (Boston: Beacon Press, 1971–1972), 

III, 639–640.

49 Memo, McNamara to CJCS, February 21, 1964, “Courses of Action in Southeast Asia,” 

1st N/H to JCS 2339/157-1.

50 McNamara, In Retrospect, 160.

51 Message, COMU.S.MACV to JCS, February 27, 1964, cited in JCS and War in Vietnam, 

1960–1968, Pt I, chap. 14, 13–14.

52 U.S. Grant Sharp, Strategy for Defeat: Vietnam in Retrospect (Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 

1978), 52. See also JCS and War in Vietnam, 1960–68, Part I, chap. 14, 14.

53 JCSM-982-64 to SECDEF, February 23, 1964, “Courses of Action in Southeast Asia,” 

JCS 2339/161-2; also in FRUS, 1964–68, I, 932–935.

54 “Position Paper on Southeast Asia,” December 2, 1964, FRUS, 1964–68, I, 969–974; JCS 

and War in Vietnam, 1960–68, Part I, chap. 14, 33–35.

55 JCS and War in Vietnam, 1960–68, Part II, chap. 18, 5.

56 Summary Notes of 547th Meeting of the NSC, February 8, 1975, FRUS, 1964–68, II, 

188; JCS and War in Vietnam, 1960–68, Part II, chap. 17, 17–25.

57 Mark Clodfelter, The Limits of Air Power: The American Bombing of North Vietnam (New 

York: Free Press, 1989), 79–81.

58 JCS and War in Vietnam, Pt. II, chap. 18, 21–22; JCSM-221-65 to SECDEF, March 27, 

1965, “Air Strike Program Against North Vietnam,” with Annex containing synopsis of 

Joint Staff bombing program, JCS 2343/551.

59 JCS and the War in Vietnam, 18, 22–26.

60 Cosmas, 202–205; Sorley, 197.

61 McNamara, In Retrospect, 177. General Wallace Greene, Commandant of Marines, gave 

a similar estimate during congressional testimony in the summer of 1965. General 

Johnson’s prediction is in the recollections of General Andrew Goodpaster, Wheeler’s 

assistant, following Johnson’s return from Vietnam and his meeting with the President 

on March 15, 1965. See Senate Report No. 100-163, Pt. 3, 165–166; and John P. Burke 

and Fred I. Greenstein, How Presidents Test Reality: Decisions on Vietnam, 1954 and 1965

(New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 1989), 160–161.

62 JCS and War in Vietnam, 1960–68, Pt. II, chap. 20, 14–15.
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63 Jacob Van Staaveren, “U.S.AF Plans and Operations in Southeast Asia, 1965” (U.S.AF 

Historical Liaison Office, October 1966), chap. III, 21–22; JCSM-204-65 to SECDEF, 

March 20, 1965, “Deployment of U.S./Allied Combat Forces to Vietnam,” FRUS, 1964–

68, II, 465–467.

64 Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1965–68, Pt. I, 114–115.

65 NSAM 328, April 6, 1965, “Decisions with Respect to Vietnam,” FRUS, 1964–68, II, 

537–539.

66 JCS and War in Vietnam, 1960–68, Pt. II, chap. 21, 2–3.

67 Sharp, 77–90; McNamara, In Retrospect, 182–183; Taylor, Swords and Plowshares, 342–343;

John Schlight, The War in South Vietnam: The Years of the Offensive, 1965–1968, in The 

United States Air Force in Southeast Asia series (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force 

History, 1988), 31.

68 Commander in Chief Pacific: Command History, 1965, vol. II, 288; JCSM-321-65 to 

SECDEF, April 30, 1965, “Program for the Deployment of Additional Forces into South 

Vietnam,” JCS 2343/564-7.

69 Johnson, Vantage Point, 201.

70 Bruce Palmer, Jr., Intervention in the Caribbean: The Dominican Crisis of 1965 (Lexington: 

University Press of Kentucky, 1989), 4.

71 Drea, McNamara, Clifford, and the Burdens of Vietnam, 289–315.

72 Walter S. Poole, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 1965–1968 (Washington, DC: 

Office of Joint History, Joint Chiefs of Staff, publication forthcoming), chap. 9.

73 Military strength figures from Richard W. Stewart, ed., American Military History, Vol. II, 

The United States Army in a Global Era, 1917–2003 (Washington, DC: Center of Military 

History, 2005), 306. Combat deaths from U.S. Bureau of the Census, Statistical Abstract of 

the United States: 1969, 90th ed. (Washington, DC: GPO, 1969), 256; and U.S. Bureau of 

the Census, Statistical Abstract of the United States: 1976, 97th ed. (Washington, DC: GPO, 

1976), 337. Veterans organizations generally cite a figure of 58,000 killed in the Vietnam 

War, which includes noncombat fatalities.

74 Johnson, Vantage Point, 50, 232, and passim.

75 Wheeler quoted in Poole, JCS and National Policy, 1965–68, Pt. I, 117.

76 See Kearns, Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream, 251–253.

77 Minutes of Meeting of the President’s Cabinet, June 18, 1965, Johnson Papers, Cabinet 

Papers File, LBJ Library.

78 Briefing for SECDEF, July 16, 1965, JCS 2343/636; William C. Westmoreland, A Soldier 

Reports (Garden City: Doubleday, 1976), 144–161; McNamara, In Retrospect, 211–212.

79 JCSM-652-65 to SECDEF, August 27, 1965, “Concept for Vietnam,” JCS 2343/646-1.

80 Quoted in Clodfelter, 117, from George W. Ball, “How Valid Are the Assumptions Underlying Our Viet–Nam Policies?” Atlantic Monthly, October 5, 1964, 38.

81 See McNamara, In Retrospect, 175; and Palmer, Jr., The 25-Year War, 33–34.

82 Schlight, Years of the Offensive, 1965–68, 30–44; Cosmas, 134–135.

83 Wayne Thompson, To Hanoi and Back: The United States Air Force and North Vietnam, 

1966–1973 (Washington, DC: Air Force History and Museums Program, 2000), 31. Emphasis in original.
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84 McNamara, In Retrospect, 160–161, 211.

85 Thompson, 42.

86 David C. Humphrey, “Tuesday Lunch at the Johnson White House: A Preliminary Assessment,” Diplomatic History 8 (Winter 1984), 81–101; Clodfelter, 118–122.

87 William W. Momyer, Air Power in Three Wars (Washington, DC: Department of the Air 

Force, 1978), 23.

88 Cosmas, 120–122.

89 John M. Carland, Stemming the Tide: May 1965 to October 1966, in United States Army in 

Vietnam series (Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 2000), 155–157.

90 JCSM-130-66 to SECDEF, March 1, 1966, “CY 1966 Deployments to SE Asia and 

World-wide U.S. Military Posture,” JCS 2343/760-5.

91 U.S. casualty figures from Drea, McNamara, Clifford, and the Burdens of Vietnam,173.

92 McNamara, In Retrospect, 203.

93 Palmer, 25-Year War, 46.
General Earle G. Wheeler, USA; General Creighton W. Abrams, USA; and Secretary of Defense Melvin R. Laird, Vietnam, ca. 1969
Chapter 10

Vietnam: Retreat 

and Withdrawal

On March 31, 1968, President Lyndon B. Johnson announced over national television that he would not seek reelection and would instead devote the remainder 

of his tenure in the White House to finding a peaceful settlement in Vietnam. At 

home, the President faced a rising crescendo of protests against the war, mounting economic difficulties brought on by war-induced inflation, and challenges to 

his political leadership from Senators Eugene McCarthy and Robert F. Kennedy. 

Meanwhile, in Vietnam, recent heavy fighting—the Communist Tet offensive and 

the ongoing battle for Khe Sanh—had shattered administration predictions that 

the United States was winning and that the war would soon be over. With an 

American-imposed solution appearing less and less feasible, the President ordered 

a halt to the bombing of North Vietnam above the twentieth parallel. Henceforth, 

the United States would concentrate on strengthening the South Vietnamese armed 

forces to resist Communist aggression on their own.1

 Since committing U.S. combat forces to Vietnam 3 years earlier, the United States had yet to suffer a major 

defeat. But it had also been unable to score a decisive victory. As a practical matter, 

President Johnson’s announcement was the first step toward U.S. disengagement 

from Vietnam, a process that would still take 5 more years to yield what his successor, Richard M. Nixon, termed “peace with honor.” 

Stalemate 

Long before President Johnson announced his decision not to stand for reelection, 

the war in Vietnam had degenerated into a stalemate. At the outset of large-scale 

U.S. intervention in the summer of 1965, Secretary of Defense McNamara had 

wanted to demonstrate to the North Vietnamese that their aggression would never 

succeed and that their only choice was to withdraw their forces and accept a negotiated settlement.2

 The stalemate that McNamara envisioned had indeed come to 

pass, but it had not worked as he had predicted. Even though American intervention 

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had thwarted a Communist takeover and bolstered the South Vietnamese government and its armed forces, the U.S. presence had failed to intimidate the enemy. 

Trained and equipped for a war in Europe, American forces initially found themselves awkwardly adjusting to unfamiliar tactics and terrain. Dominant in mobility 

and firepower, they repeatedly inflicted heavy losses on the Viet Cong and North 

Vietnamese, but could not achieve decisive results. The longer the war went on, the 

more resilient the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese became. Rather than wearing down the enemy’s will and ability to fight, General William C. Westmoreland’s 

strategy of attrition was having the opposite effect. By demonstrating the limits of 

American military power, it strengthened Viet Cong and North Vietnamese resolve. 

While they might not prevail in every engagement, they fought with growing confidence that they could stand up to the Americans, inflict enough casualties to turn 

public opinion in the United States against the war, and eventually win.3

Efforts by the Johnson administration to rally support for its involvement in 

Vietnam yielded disappointing results. At home, a growing and increasingly strident 

antiwar movement challenged the administration’s policies with mass protests, acts of 

civil disobedience, and draft card burnings. In Europe and elsewhere overseas, opposition to the war was also on the rise. During the Korean conflict, twenty-two nations 

had contributed forces to help turn back the Communist aggressors; in Vietnam only 

four countries—South Korea, Thailand, Australia, and New Zealand—sent combat 

troops to fight alongside U.S. and South Vietnamese forces. (Thai troops did not arrive in South Vietnam until mid-1968 and were not much of a factor in the war.) 

South Korea’s participation came with numerous strings attached, including the Korean government’s insistence that the United States provide large financial subsidies 

and other incentives.4

 NATO, America’s long-time partner, evinced not the slightest 

interest in helping. A few Alliance leaders, like West German Foreign Minister Gerhard Schroeder, discerned a clear link between the outcome in Southeast Asia and the 

fate of Europe. Schroeder feared that, if the United States failed to prevail in Vietnam, 

it would expose Europe to renewed Soviet pressure. But his was a minority view. Far 

more prevalent among Europeans was the notion that Vietnam was a distraction, a 

needless diversion of American attention and resources that would end up weakening 

the Alliance and increase Europe’s share of the defense burden.5

At no point did the Johnson administration attempt to develop or implement a 

defense policy that brought the allocation of U.S. resources for Vietnam into line with 

commitments elsewhere. While the Joint Chiefs were well aware of this gap in planning, 

they could never persuade either President Johnson or Secretary McNamara to take 

the necessary steps to bridge it. The foreseeable result was a draw-down of personnel 

and equipment assigned to or earmarked for Europe and other contingencies. Calling 
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up the Reserves, a course the JCS consistently favored, would have alleviated some of 

these problems. Yet any time they raised the issue, the President and the Secretary of 

Defense rejected it as politically infeasible. As a result, planning for Vietnam followed no 

coherent blueprint and became instead a series of ad hoc responses to an increasingly 

intractable situation that consumed more and more American lives and treasure.

In the autumn of 1966, Westmoreland launched a major offensive aimed at putting maximum military pressure on the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese. According 

to the available intelligence, infiltration of regular NVA units from the North had 

subsided and there were signs that the Viet Cong was having trouble replacing its 

losses.6

 In light of these findings and a recent surge in U.S. troop levels, Westmoreland 

believed he had at his disposal sufficient strength to deal a crippling blow that would 

turn the war around. To augment the offensive in the south, the Joint Chiefs sought 

permission for Admiral U.S. Grant Sharp, commander of U.S. forces in the Pacific 

(CINCPAC), to step up Operation Rolling Thunder attacks against North Vietnam. 

By then, with Westmoreland in firm control of the ground war in the South, about 

the only place where the JCS could make a difference was in the air war against the 

North. Following a lengthy debate with the White House, they finally persuaded the 

President in June 1966 to relax some of the restrictions on bombing petroleum facilities near Hanoi and Haiphong.7

 Though the ensuing attacks had limited effect, they 

set the stage for the submission in August of a more ambitious Rolling Thunder program package that included industrial and transportation targets in North Vietnam’s 

Red River Delta. President Johnson approved the new bombing scheme in November, just as the ground campaign was getting under way, but at the State Department’s 

urging he deferred its full implementation pending the outcome of a British initiative 

exploring the possibility of negotiations. As it turned out, it was not until February 

1967 that the President allowed the approved program to proceed in toto.8

The uncoordinated execution of these measures, and delays in carrying them out, 

virtually assured that they would have a limited impact on the course of the war. While 

Westmoreland’s ground offensive scored some notable successes at the outset, it proved 

more difficult to sustain than expected with the forces available. Taking territory held 

by the Viet Cong was easier than holding it and making it secure. By the early spring of 

1967, the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese had begun a counterattack that reclaimed 

lost ground as the American offensive became overextended and bogged down. Meanwhile, stepped-up enemy activity in the northern I Corps region along the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) and against the heavily fortified American base at Khe Sanh suggested that the North Vietnamese were massing for a conventional invasion of the South, 

causing COMUSMACV to divert troops and airpower from other operations. Seeing 

no other choice, Westmoreland (at Wheeler’s urging) served notice in mid-March 1967 
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that he would need a minimum of 100,000 more troops within the coming year just to 

hold his existing positions in I Corps, and probably double that number to maintain the 

momentum of operations elsewhere. If approved, the additional buildup would bring 

the American presence in South Vietnam to over 670,000 troops.9

In Washington, Westmoreland’s request for more troops touched off a heated 

internal debate that lasted well into the summer. One reason the review dragged on 

was that it had to compete with a sudden emergence of other critical problems—

the ABM deployment issue, growing tensions between Greece and Turkey over Cyprus, the escalating militancy of the antiwar movement at home, and the outbreak 

of war in early June 1967 between Israel and its Arab neighbors resulting in a series 

of Israeli victories that recast the balance of power in the Middle East. Finding time 

to address these issues challenged the Joint Chiefs no less than it did McNamara and 

others in the Johnson administration and made it difficult to pursue an orderly and 

systematic assessment of the situation in Vietnam.

Once they got down to business, the Joint Chiefs rallied in support of Westmoreland, feeling that now was not the time to cut and run. All the same, there 

were continuing differences among them over basic strategy, with the Army and 

Marines favoring a greater effort on the ground in the south and the Air Force and 

the Navy urging stronger air and naval action against the North. To get around their 

disagreements, the chiefs linked a further buildup in the south such as Westmoreland 

proposed with an expansion and intensification of the Rolling Thunder air campaign 

against the North.10 As far as Secretary McNamara was concerned, however, a renewed intensification of the war held no appeal. Since the previous autumn, he had 

shown growing frustration over the lack of military progress and could not help 

eyeing the rising financial costs of the war, which had grown steadily to more than 

a third of the defense budget.11 Though he had once offered Westmoreland practically a blank check, he regretted having done so, and was inclined to level off U.S. 

military action in hopes of enticing the enemy into negotiations.12 Still, he wanted 

Westmoreland’s request to receive a fair hearing and called him back to Washington 

to explain his position directly to President Johnson. At one point in their meeting, 

the President turned to Westmoreland and asked testily: “When we add divisions, 

can’t the enemy add divisions? If so, where does it all end?”13

As the debate progressed, it focused more and more on the air war against North 

Vietnam. Confident that the results would show up sooner or later, General Wheeler 

characterized the air campaign was one of two “blue chips” the United States possessed 

(the other being the capacity to mount an aggressive ground campaign) that could 

directly influence the outcome of the war.14 In practice, however, the United States 

had never pursued the air war with the same degree of commitment it had shown on 
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the ground. Under the allocation approved during the early days of the war, COMUSMACV had first call on air assets, with the result that about two-thirds of the sorties 

flown by the Air Force and the Navy had been either in support of combat operations 

in the South or for interdiction purposes against the Ho Chi Minh Trail; only about 

one-third of the sorties had been against the North. Moreover, under the “graduated 

response” rules that governed Rolling Thunder, many lucrative bombing targets in the 

Hanoi-Haiphong area and Red River Delta remained untouched. Arguing that the 

next step was obvious, Air Force Chief of Staff General John P. McConnell persuaded 

his JCS colleagues that with or without a buildup in the South, they should press McNamara and the President to lift restrictions on the air campaign and pursue the rapid 

and methodical destruction of North Vietnam’s war-supporting infrastructure.15

While the chiefs’ position on the air campaign had strong support in military 

circles, it met with unmitigated disdain from McNamara and the OSD “whiz kids.” 

Labeling the air war as counterproductive, they considered JCS proposals for expanding it dangerous and risky. McNamara had never put much stock in the bombing 

to begin with, so it was no surprise to him as the war dragged on that study after 

study reaching his desk showed it as having limited success in curbing infiltration into 

the South or on North Vietnam’s capacity to wage war. Citing the administrationimposed restrictions on targets and bombing under which the Air Force and the Navy 

operated, the JCS responded that such results were practically preordained. But under 

the cost-effectiveness criteria he applied to practically everything, McNamara concluded that the air war was becoming too expensive in terms of pilots and planes lost 

and other factors and ought to be sharply curtailed rather than expanded.16

The showdown between McNamara and the Joint Chiefs came in August 1967 

during open hearings before the Senate Armed Services Preparedness Investigating 

Subcommittee, chaired by John C. Stennis of Mississippi. The instigator of the hearings 

was Senator W. Stuart Symington of Missouri, first Secretary of the Air Force in the 

Truman administration and an outspoken advocate of more vigorous use of airpower 

against North Vietnam. Like other conservative Democrats, Stennis and Symington 

had become impatient and thought that more could be done with airpower to win 

the war and to avoid the need for additional ground troops. Not wanting to give the 

committee any more opportunities than it already had to second-guess his conduct of 

the war, President Johnson sent McNamara and Wheeler to Saigon in July to work out 

a new statement of troop requirements and to review the air campaign. Following a 

busy round of briefings, McNamara and Wheeler returned to Washington bearing a revised request from Westmoreland for an additional 50,000 troops, the most the United 

States could muster without calling up the Reserves or vastly curtailing draft deferments. But despite heavy pressure from CINCPAC and the theater air staff, McNamara 
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refused to endorse an expansion of the bombing operations.17 Knowing how Stennis 

and his colleagues would react, Johnson took matters into his own hands and on July 

20, 1967, he approved a modification to the Rolling Thunder campaign that included 

about a dozen new targets, some in the Hanoi-Haiphong sanctuary area.18

Already severely strained, relations between McNamara and the Joint Chiefs 

became even worse once the Stennis committee’s hearings began. Testifying in 

executive session, the JCS, Admiral Sharp, and Lieutenant General William W. 

Momyer, USAF, commander of the Seventh Air Force in Vietnam, all insisted that 

the administration’s “doctrine of gradualism” toward bombing had proven ineffective and that the air campaign they were allowed to carry out was too little too 

late. In rebuttal, McNamara defended the current concept of operations as carefully 

thought out and “directed toward reasonable and realizable goals.” Indicating that 

JCS proposals to ramp up the bombing were exactly the opposite, McNamara left 

the clear impression that he considered his military judgment superior to that of the 

professionals, while his choice of words challenged their soundness of mind.19 The 

chiefs were dismayed and in the aftermath of the hearings, relations between the 

JCS and the Secretary of Defense sank to a new low. “Leaks” to the press of growing 

dissension within the Pentagon inevitably followed. Attempting to repair the damage, President Johnson held a news conference at which he insisted that there was 

“no deep division” within the administration over the prosecution of the war.20 A 

lame defense, it convinced no one and only added to the administration’s widening 

credibility gap. Like the conflict in Vietnam, the policy process in Washington had 

come practically to a standstill, unable to cope or to find new ideas.

Tet and Its Aftermath 

The impasse over Vietnam was short-lived, broken by the tightening NVA siege of 

Khe Sanh and the massive Viet Cong offensive launched in late January 1968 during the Tet holidays. Though not the “bolt out of the blue” that the Korean invasion 

of 1950 was, the Tet uprising still caught American and South Vietnamese forces off 

guard by its nationwide scale and scope and by the Viet Cong’s determination to 

take and hold urban areas. Fighting in the ancient capital city of Hue was especially 

intense and required nearly a month of bloody house-to-house combat to dislodge 

the enemy. In all, 2,100 American and 4,000 South Vietnamese soldiers died in combat during the uprising. Viet Cong losses were put at 50,000 or more.21

The enemy’s dramatic Tet offensive almost obscured the ongoing struggle for 

Khe Sanh, a strategic outpost in the northwest corner of South Vietnam’s I Corps 

region. Defended by a combined force of U.S. Marines and South Vietnam (SVN) 
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Rangers, Khe Sanh straddled Route 9, a key east-west highway, and was an ideal 

launching point for search-and-destroy operations against the Ho Chi Minh Trail. 

In January 1968, the North Vietnamese started massing three divisions around Khe 

Sanh, laying a siege that evoked memories of the 1954 contest for Dien Bien Phu. 

While there were strong arguments for abandoning the base, the consensus among 

the Joint Chiefs was that it should be held at all cost. Indeed, General Wheeler 

termed Khe Sanh “the anchor of our whole defense of the northern portion of 

South Vietnam,” and argued that defending it would tie down many North Vietnamese who otherwise would be free to attack elsewhere.22

Though confident that the outpost would hold, Westmoreland wanted to minimize the risk and ordered what became the most intense air bombardment of the 

war against enemy positions around Khe Sanh. Toward the end of January, taking 

matters a step further, he notified the Joint Chiefs that he was exploring a plan, codenamed Fracture Jaw, to use nuclear or chemical weapons to relieve the enemy pressure. Referred to the Joint Staff for review, Fracture Jaw remained a topic of discussion between Washington and Saigon for several weeks. But as Khe Sanh’s prospects 

improved, Westmoreland lost interest in any further nuclear planning. Eventually, the 

plan reached President Johnson, who wanted nothing to do with it and ordered it 

summarily withdrawn, thus bringing to a close the first and only episode in which the 

Joint Chiefs contemplated the specific use of nuclear weapons in Vietnam.23

A failure militarily, the enemy’s Tet offensive was a stunning political success that 

broke the back of support for the war in the United States. Almost overnight, opinion 

in Washington and across the country changed, leaving the Joint Chiefs practically 

alone in clinging to the administration’s original objectives. Instead of insuring the 

survival of an independent, non-Communist South Vietnam, President Johnson now 

declared that bringing the war to a peaceful resolution was his top concern. Earlier, 

McNamara had made known his decision to leave office and in late February 1968, 

disillusioned and demoralized, he finally stepped down.24 His successor, Clark M. Clifford, promptly initiated a top-to-bottom review of the war. Unsure of what to expect, 

the Service chiefs turned to Wheeler, who did his best to bolster their morale and 

keep the momentum of the war going even while the President was renewing his call 

for negotiations and ordering cutbacks in air operations against the North, all with an 

eye toward eventual withdrawal. The result was a continuation of the conflict, but at a 

reduced tempo that left the outcome more in doubt than ever.25

With McNamara’s departure, the JCS were cautiously optimistic that in reassessing 

its options, the administration would not stray too far from its original course. By then, 

Wheeler was both the dominant figure in JCS deliberations and an accepted member 

of President Johnson’s inner circle. Shortly after the Stennis committee hearings in late 
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summer 1967, he had suffered a mild heart attack. Despite a swift recovery, he indicated 

he might have to retire. Johnson refused to let him go. “I can’t afford to lose you,” the 

President told him. “You have never given me a bad piece of advice.”26 Starting in 

October 1967, Wheeler was a regular participant in the Tuesday lunch, attended by the 

President and his senior advisors. On March 22, 1968, Johnson announced that Wheeler 

would serve an unprecedented fifth year as Chairman.27 Yet proximity to power did not 

equate with influence and, as was often the case, Wheeler returned to the Pentagon from 

his meetings with the President appearing to his staff tired and discouraged.28

Day in and day out, Wheeler and the other chiefs waged an uphill battle to be 

heard. In fact, intelligence reports affirmed that the Tet offensive had decimated the 

Viet Cong, resulting in an improved military situation across Vietnam. It was the 

opportunity the Joint Chiefs had been waiting for and, wasting no time, Wheeler 

urged Westmoreland to exploit the enemy’s weakness through a series of new operations. Accordingly, Westmoreland revived his earlier request for another 200,000 

troops to finish the job. Wheeler knew that an increase of that size was bound to be 

controversial and that the odds of approval were against it, but he felt the war was 

entering a new and more “critical phase” and couched his endorsement of Westmoreland’s request in an ominous assessment of the alternative.29 What the President 

wanted, however, was less conflict, not more, and with that end in mind he accepted 

the advice of his new Secretary of Defense and others whose political instincts he 

trusted, that the time had come to deescalate the war, turn it over to the South 

Vietnamese, and get American troops out in an orderly manner.30

Disappointed by the turn of events, the Joint Chiefs of Staff felt increasingly 

beleaguered and isolated. They regarded the President’s decision of March 31, 1968, 

to stop bombing above the twentieth parallel and to expedite the search for a negotiated settlement as ill-advised and militarily unsound. As Wheeler characterized 

it, the bombing halt amounted to an “aerial Dien Bien Phu.”31 Yet neither he nor 

the Service chiefs had anything better to offer that the President, Congress, or the 

American public would have considered acceptable. As during bombing pauses in 

the past, the JCS expected the North Vietnamese to use the respite to build up 

their defenses and to resupply their troops, and were not disappointed. Yet even 

airpower enthusiasts acknowledged that there was not much they could do for the 

next month or so due to the onset of the monsoon season and poor flying weather. 

Everything, it seemed, was conspiring against JCS efforts to keep the war on track.32

Setting the stage for an American withdrawal became the de facto policy. 

On October 31, 1968, President Johnson suspended the entire bombing campaign 

against the North, a gesture aimed at jump-starting the stalled Paris peace talks. 

Only armed reconnaissance flights continued. By now, the JCS realized that there 
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was virtually nothing they could say or do that might convince the President to 

change his mind. Treating the bombing halt as inevitable, they minimized the risks, 

accepting them as “low and manageable,” even though they remained uneasy over 

the ultimate consequences for South Vietnam. Slowly but surely, the United States 

was winnowing its participation in the war and shifting the burden to the South 

Vietnamese, a process that came to be known as “Vietnamization.”33

Carrying out the draw-down fell to the new COMUSMACV, General 

Creighton W. Abrams, who succeeded Westmoreland in mid-1968 when the latter 

returned to Washington to become Army Chief of Staff. A leading expert in tank 

warfare, Abrams’ combat experience dated from World War II when he commanded 

an armored task force. As Vice Chief of Staff of the Army from September 1964 to 

May 1967, he had been deeply involved in the massive deployments of Army units 

to Vietnam. Though aggressive by instinct, he could sense that the war was winding 

down and that he would soon be under strong political pressure to limit casualties 

with low-risk operations and a more defensively oriented deployment of his forces. 

The Joint Chiefs would have preferred a more proactive posture to keep the enemy 

off balance. But by the time the Johnson administration left office, the pursuit of a 

military outcome was no longer a credible option. The best the chiefs could hope 

for from that point on was a holding action to allow a graceful exit.34

Nixon, the JCS, and the Policy Process

It fell to a new President, Richard M. Nixon, to create something positive out of 

the previous administration’s fiasco in Vietnam. As a candidate for the White House 

in 1968, Nixon promised to bring American troops home and to end the war “with 

honor.” Even so, he opposed a precipitous withdrawal because it might damage American prestige and trigger a chain reaction of Communist takeovers in Southeast Asia. 

Once in office, he ruled out seeking “a purely military solution,” but affirmed his 

determination to use force as necessary to achieve his goals.35 At the same time, he 

and his assistant for national security affairs, Henry A. Kissinger, sought to enhance the 

prospects for a negotiated settlement by pursuing “détente” with the Soviet Union 

and a rapprochement with Communist China (see chapter 11). Though more open to 

JCS advice than Kennedy and Johnson, he also had no qualms about second-guessing 

or even belittling the chiefs’ advice. Indeed, he was fond of citing H.G. Wells’ observation that military people had mediocre minds because intelligent people would never 

contemplate a military career.36 But he had the good sense to realize that it was better to have the Joint Chiefs on his side than against him. The result was a somewhat 

smoother relationship than in the past between military and civilian authorities, even 
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if at times Nixon followed a separate, secret agenda and seemed to have little use for 

professional military advice if it conflicted with his political objectives.

Those serving on the JCS during Nixon’s first year in office were holdover appointments from the Johnson administration. As their terms of service expired, Nixon 

gradually brought in people of his own choosing. Like Kennedy and Johnson, Nixon 

found it easier and more convenient to deal with the Chairman. Once a year, he held 

a formal Oval Office meeting with JCS for picture-taking. Otherwise, he seldom met 

with them as a group. At Nixon’s request, Wheeler stayed on as CJCS until July 1970, 

but his deteriorating health caused him to share his responsibilities with his heir-apparent, Admiral Thomas H. Moorer, Chief of Naval Operations. An aviator in World War 

II with a distinguished record of combat experience, Moorer had a reputation around 

the Pentagon for being blunt but affable, cantankerous yet effective. As Commander in 

Chief of the Pacific Fleet (CINCPACFLT) in 1964–1965, Moorer had a personal hand 

in planning and overseeing the early stages of the Rolling Thunder air campaign against 

North Vietnam. Known as a “hawk” on the war, he was definitely the right choice for 

carrying out the administration’s strategy of stepping up military pressure on North 

Vietnam. Following in Taylor’s footsteps, Moorer shunned the role of “team player” and 

viewed himself first and foremost as an agent and spokesman for the administration. 

According to one official account, Moorer’s influence as Chairman was so thoroughly 

pervasive that he “was now the only JCS member who really counted.”37

Moorer’s JCS colleagues were a typically diverse group with diverse interests. 

General John D. Ryan, who succeeded McConnell in August 1969 as Air Force Chief 

of Staff, was a leading airpower strategist in the Curtis LeMay tradition. An outspoken advocate for his Service, he touted the efficacy of strategic bombing whenever 

he could. His Army counterpart, General William C. Westmoreland, was the former COMUSMACV, whose frustration and brooding over his recent experiences in 

Vietnam were all too apparent. Though not yet a full-fledged member of the Joint 

Chiefs, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, General Leonard F. Chapman, Jr., 

acted as if he were. Described as “quiet, articulate, and thoughtful,” he was an active 

contributor during JCS deliberations.38 But with ending the Vietnam War now a 

foregone conclusion, most of the chiefs showed less interest in joint matters than in 

protecting their respective Services against the inevitable effects of postwar cutbacks.

The exception was Moorer’s successor as CNO, Admiral Elmo R. Zumwalt, Jr., 

who professed determination to demonstrate that Service and joint interests were 

not mutually exclusive, as some in uniform believed. The first surface commander 

to become CNO since Arleigh Burke, Zumwalt wanted to augment the Navy’s fleet 

of expensive nuclear-powered aircraft carriers (CVANs) with smaller, conventionally-powered carriers and surface ships that could be built in greater numbers for 
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less money. He also stressed the need for improved inter-Service cooperation and 

collaboration to maximize available resources. One of his suggestions was that Army 

helicopter pilots and Air Force fliers train to operate from Navy vessels. While the 

Army warmed to the idea, the Air Force wanted no part of it. Still, it did not stop 

Zumwalt from continuing to explore other joint ventures for sharing assets.39

While the policy process in which the Joint Chiefs operated remained outwardly 

similar to that of previous administrations, decisionmaking became more entrenched 

than ever in the White House, where Nixon and Kissinger, the national security advisor, played the key roles. A complex and controversial figure, Nixon was exceptionally 

well versed in world affairs. In Peter W. Rodman’s estimation, he had “the deepest 

intuition and shrewdest strategic judgment of any modern president.”40 Kissinger was 

equally well informed. Like McGeorge Bundy and Walt Rostow, he came from an 

academic background, but was far more practical and better steeped in the history of 

great power politics. As a professor of government at Harvard University before joining the Nixon administration in 1969, Kissinger had published at length on balanceof-power politics and the concept of “limited” nuclear wars. He had built his reputation around studying the tactics and behavior of historic power brokers who excelled 

in the behind-the-scenes art of Realpolitik—like Otto von Bismarck, Germany’s 

19th-century “iron chancellor,” and Prince Clemens von Metternich of Austria. His 

biographers generally agree that he saw himself in a similar light, operating as an Old 

World diplomatist when raison d’état and personal diplomacy reigned supreme.

Coordination between the White House and the JCS took two forms—

through the resuscitated mechanisms of the National Security Council, and through 

backchannel communications. One of Nixon’s declared goals was to restore the 

NSC to an approximation of the system that had existed under Eisenhower. Toward 

that end, he directed that the Council function as his “principal forum for the consideration of policy issues.”41 Initially, the Joint Chiefs welcomed this reaffirmation 

of the NSC’s central role since it promised to restore more structured, reliable, and 

predictable procedures to the policy process. But according to Zumwalt, it was not 

long before the JCS began to question how much they could rely on Nixon and 

Kissinger to match words with deeds.42 As time passed, Nixon relied less and less 

on the NSC and held fewer and fewer meetings.43 Helmut Sonnenfeldt, a member 

of the NSC Staff at the time, recalled that Nixon studiously reserved the right of 

final decision and treated NSC deliberations as “purely advisory meetings.”44 Nor 

did Nixon bring back Eisenhower’s practice of adopting detailed, all-encompassing 

basic policy papers to guide budgetary decisions, the development of programs, and 

the allocation of resources. Instead, he attacked problems piecemeal—an effective 

means of keeping others off balance and concealing his overall purpose—with a 
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barrage of directives, known as national security decision memoranda (NSDM) and 

requests for reviews, called national security study memoranda (NSSM).45

Below the NSC, JCS access to policy guidance was through a battery of interagency committees, all closely overseen, if not personally chaired, by Kissinger. 

These included the NSC Review Group, headed by Kissinger, to screen matters for 

submission to the full NSC, and four specialized advisory bodies organized at the 

Deputy Secretary level for Vietnam, defense policy, arms control, and crisis management.46 Outside this structure, Kissinger also established informal contacts with the 

Pentagon through the JCS liaison office. The proper channel of communication was 

from the White House through the Office of Secretary of Defense to the Chairman 

of the Joint Chiefs. Kissinger, however, often bypassed OSD by calling Moorer directly and by transmitting documents to him through the JCS liaison office, housed 

next door in the Old Executive Office Building. Melvin R. Laird, Secretary of 

Defense during Nixon’s first term, deeply resented Kissinger’s circumvention of 

his authority and after an unseemly episode in 1971 involving the mishandling of 

classified documents by a Navy yeoman assigned to the NSC as a stenographer, he 

closed the JCS liaison office. Whether the yeoman, Charles E. Radford, was “spying” 

for the JCS or acting on his own was never conclusively ascertained. But despite 

the closure of the office, backchannel contacts continued to be one of Kissinger’s 

preferred methods of doing business, a habit he found impossible to break.47

Winding Down the War 

Nixon’s first order of business in Vietnam was to create a politico-military environment favorable to the withdrawal of U.S. forces. When he became President in 1969, 

the United States still had over half a million troops engaged there and no concrete 

plans for getting them out.48 Modeling his policy on Eisenhower’s strategy for ending the Korean War, he sought to apply a combination of diplomacy and “irresistible 

military pressure” to achieve a negotiated settlement with the North Vietnamese 

that would include the mutual withdrawal of U.S. and NVA forces.49 Known as 

“linkage,” his diplomatic strategy was to encourage détente with the Soviet Union 

and exploit signs of a Sino-Soviet ideological split to weaken Communist bloc 

support of Hanoi. Simultaneously, he extended the war through covert means into 

Cambodia and accelerated the Vietnamization and pacification programs to cover 

the phased withdrawal of U.S. ground forces and to provide the government of 

South Vietnam with increased capabilities for future self-defense. At the outset of his 

Presidency, Nixon announced to his Cabinet that he expected the war to be over in 

a year. Almost immediately, he was backtracking from his prediction.50
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While the Joint Chiefs of Staff took close note of the negotiations, they were 

rarely directly involved. Even though they had representatives on the various interagency bodies dealing with the peace talks, the governing assumption within the JCS 

organization was that negotiating strategy did not lie “within the normal purview” 

of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.51 Their more direct and immediate concern was to figure 

out ways of keeping military pressure on the enemy while the United States scaled 

back its participation in the war. With the loss of U.S. nuclear superiority in the 1960s, 

Nixon was in no position, as Eisenhower was in 1953, to threaten the use of atomic 

weapons. Casting about for options, he and Kissinger flirted with the idea of resuming 

the air war against the North and briefly considered a plan (Operation Duck Hook) 

to launch a series of quick, intense, and “brutal” strikes against key North Vietnamese 

targets. But they quickly dropped the idea owing to the lukewarm support it enjoyed 

among the Joint Chiefs, the political repercussions such actions could have at home, 

and the danger of derailing plans for détente with the Soviet Union.52

With the range of options limited, the preferred approach both at the White 

House and in the Pentagon became a concerted bombing campaign with B−52s 

against Viet Cong and NVA sanctuaries in neighboring Cambodia, targets previously off limits to U.S. air attack. The Joint Chiefs, COMUSMACV, and CINCPAC 

had long favored the destruction of these enemy bases, but had had no luck persuading the previous administration to accept the political and diplomatic risks such 

an operation might entail. With Nixon’s advent, they found a more receptive audience and on March 15, 1969, they received a green light to proceed.53

Like the decision to intervene with ground troops in 1965, the “secret” bombing of Cambodia was one of the most controversial episodes of the war. Lasting into 

May 1970, the attacks concentrated on six enemy bases along the Cambodian-South 

Vietnamese border and involved the expenditure of over 180,000 tons of munitions.54 To keep the operation quiet, the White House, the Joint Staff, and COMUSMACV resorted to elaborate deception measures that concealed flight plans and the 

expenditure of bombs. Privately, members of the Joint Chiefs grumbled at being 

party to Nixon’s duplicity, some complaining that efforts to hide the bombing were 

“stupid” and bound to fail.55 But in Nixon’s view, preserving secrecy was essential 

in order to avoid antiwar protests.56 Actually, there was not much secret about the 

whole affair. Cambodian leader Prince Norodom Sihanouk knew about the bombing from the outset and obligingly looked the other way. The North Vietnamese 

were well aware, as were the Soviets, the Chinese, and key figures on Capitol Hill. 

About the only group not privy to the secret was the American public. 

While putting pressure on the enemy through the secret bombing campaign, 

Nixon sought to expedite the U.S. withdrawal under cover of the Vietnamization 
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program, the incremental substitution of SVN troops for U.S. forces. As the Joint 

Chiefs repeatedly cautioned, however, the Vietnamization program devised under the 

Johnson administration and inherited by Nixon was intended solely to develop a 

security force and would not result in a SVN army that could tackle the North Vietnamese.57 After taking a personal look at the program in operation, Secretary of Defense Laird came back from a trip to Southeast Asia in March 1969 with an alternative 

plan to increase the arming, training, and equipping of the South Vietnamese so they 

could take on not only the Viet Cong but also the NVA.58 Though Nixon viewed 

Vietnamization as an integral part of his strategy, he had never envisioned developing 

and refining South Vietnam’s military capabilities quite as fast or to the same degree. 

Initially skeptical of Laird’s proposal, Nixon and Kissinger quickly changed their minds 

after the Secretary of Defense, without consulting the White House, publicly outlined 

his program on national television and “leaked” a story to the press, intimating that 

it was agreed administration policy. “It was largely on the basis of Laird’s enthusiastic 

advocacy,” Nixon recalled, “that we undertook the policy of Vietnamization.”59

Whether the South Vietnamese were up to the task became a recurring issue in 

JCS deliberations over the next several years. On paper, the South Vietnamese military 

was a formidable force. With nearly a million men under arms, it ranked as one of the 

largest in the world. Except for a few elite units, however, it was a heavily conscripted 

army in which desertion rates were high and morale low. Barely a match for the Viet 

Cong, it was virtually untested against North Vietnamese regulars. Recognizing the 

ARVN’s weaknesses, the Joint Chiefs urged a paced withdrawal of U.S. forces, coordinated with periodic assessments of the progress of Vietnamization, pacification, and 

the enemy situation.60 Nixon agreed that the chiefs’ “cut-and-try” approach made a 

lot of sense and should be followed as much as possible.61 But for economic reasons he 

needed to curb defense spending and was under strong political pressure to bring U.S. 

troops home at an accelerated pace. As a consequence, in setting timetables for the redeployment of U.S. forces, the Joint Chiefs came to realize that “other considerations” 

than the progress of Vietnamization tended to be the decisive factors.62

An early test of Vietnamization occurred during the allied invasion of Cambodia in the spring of 1970. The results were inconclusive, however, owing to the heavy 

involvement of U.S. forces alongside the South Vietnamese, the extensive presence 

of U.S. advisors among SVN units, and because the NVA elected for the most part 

not to engage the invaders. The event precipitating the invasion was a political 

crisis in neighboring Cambodia, brought on by anti-Communist demonstrations 

culminating in March 1970 in a coup d’état that replaced the nominally neutralist 

regime of Prince Sihanouk with a pro-Western one headed by Premier Lon Nol. 

As one of his first acts, Lon Nol closed the port of Kampong Son (Sihanoukville) to 
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NVA transfers, thus denying the enemy a major entrepôt for weapons and supplies 

destined for South Vietnam. A wave of Communist counterattacks led by North 

Vietnamese regulars soon followed, prompting COMUSMACV, CINCPAC, and 

the Joint Chiefs to coordinate the development of contingency plans to shore up 

Lon Nol’s regime and, at the same time, to complete the destruction of enemy 

sanctuaries along the border. The plan initially presented by the Joint Chiefs called 

for a cross-border operation into Cambodia with U.S. ground forces spearheading 

the effort.63 At the time, there were still substantial numbers of U.S. combat troops 

in Vietnam and no clear picture of how well the ARVN would perform. Nixon 

and Kissinger, however, wanted the South Vietnamese to be in the vanguard, partly 

to deflect expected criticism at home and to underscore the lowering of the U.S. 

profile in accordance with recently announced troop reductions.64

In late April, a combined U.S.–SVN invasion force entered Cambodia. Though 

they captured large quantities of supplies, documents, and military hardware, the allies made little contact with the enemy after the first day. General Abrams wanted 

to exploit the situation with deeper probes into Cambodia to draw the enemy out. 

Back in the United States, the Cambodian invasion had aroused some of the largest 

and most strident protests to that point in the war, suggesting that political support 

was weak and continuing to decline. Feeling the pressure, President Nixon rejected 

Abrams’ proposal to expand the operation and ordered U.S. troops back across the 

border by the end of June. While it was not much of a test for the Vietnamization 

program, Abrams praised the performance SVN forces and relayed word to Washington that he considered their planning and execution “very impressive.”65

With growing confidence in South Vietnamese forces, Abrams (with encouragement from Nixon and Kissinger) began to envision even bigger operations. Thus, as 

the Cambodian incursion drew to a close, he received the go-ahead from Admiral 

Moorer for a new operation known as LAM SON 719, a “dry season” search and 

destroy foray into Laos to disrupt enemy movement along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. 

Initiated with the expectation of large-scale U.S. combat ground support inside Vietnam and heavy U.S. air support in Laos, LAM SON 719 was the product of planning 

done late in 1970 at MACV headquarters in Saigon and in Hawaii by Commander in 

Chief, Pacific, Admiral John S. McCain, Jr.66 By then, Nixon and Kissinger had more 

or less given up trying to negotiate a mutual reduction of forces with the North Vietnamese and had decided to concentrate on a unilateral U.S. withdrawal. The function 

of LAM SON 719, as Kissinger envisioned it, was to cut enemy supply lines, curb infiltration into the south, and buy time to complete an orderly pull-out of U.S. forces.67

LAM SON 719 may have been doomed before it started. With advance warning from their spies in Saigon, the North Vietnamese had ample time to reinforce 
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units and strengthen their defenses along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. By their own account, the NVA had amassed a force of 60,000 troops, against an ARVN invasion 

force of 17,000. In Washington, meanwhile, following a lengthy and contentious debate, Congress finally passed a foreign military sales bill early in 1971 incorporating 

the Cooper-Church amendment banning U.S. advisors from assisting in operations 

outside Vietnam. With U.S. advisory assistance thus curtailed, the South Vietnamese 

faced serious problems coordinating their air and artillery support. Still, from all the 

Joint Staff had seen and heard of the plan, there was nothing overtly objectionable 

about LAM SON 719 and, indeed, much to recommend it, including Abrams’ budding confidence in the ARVN and a growing awareness that this might be the last 

time the South Vietnamese could conduct a dry-season offensive while U.S. forces 

were still present in Vietnam in substantial numbers to provide backup.68

As the operation began in early February 1971, however, confidence in it began 

to fade. Most skeptical of all was Army Chief of Staff General Westmoreland. Reluctant to second-guess the commander on the scene, Westmoreland had stifled his 

reservations, much as the JCS had muffled their misgivings about plans for the Bay 

of Pigs invasion a decade earlier. When pressed by Kissinger for his views, however, 

Westmoreland lashed out against LAM SON 719, declaring it to be “a very high 

risk” enterprise with a slim chance of success. Several times as COMUSMACV, 

Westmoreland had studied the possibility of mounting a similar attack into Laos. 

But he had never followed through due to the Johnson administration’s concern 

that it would be too risky and would require an inordinate commitment of resources—probably no fewer than four U.S. divisions, or nearly half the U.S. incountry fighting force. In lieu of the invasion taking place under LAM SON 719, 

Westmoreland urged the White House to consider short raids, feints, and mobile 

operations to keep the North Vietnamese off balance and to interrupt traffic along 

the Ho Chi Minh Trail.69 Bothered by Westmoreland’s comments, Kissinger turned 

to Moorer, who downplayed the general’s concerns and offered his assurances, based 

on Abrams’ assessments, that the concept behind the plan was sound.70

Once underway, LAM SON 719 began running into one problem after another. 

Outnumbered and outgunned, the South Vietnamese found their search-and-destroy 

mission turned into a sustained conventional battle in which the enemy had the initiative. Determined not merely to repel the attackers and protect their lines of communication, the NVA sought to inflict a crushing defeat on the South Vietnamese 

army that would discredit the American policy of Vietnamization. At a meeting with 

the Secretary of Defense on March 15, Westmoreland criticized ARVN tactics and, in 

Moorer’s words, “badmouthed the whole LAM SON 719 operation.” The next day 

Moorer assured President Nixon that “things were going pretty well.” Nixon wanted 
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the ARVN to keep the operation going into April, when he intended to announce 

further U.S. troop withdrawals. But under heavy attack from the enemy, the ARVN 

began a precipitous withdrawal. The tide had turned and, as Kissinger put it, the South 

Vietnamese were “bugging out.” What the administration tried to depict as an orderly 

tactical withdrawal, journalists on the scene described as a tragic and chaotic rout.71

Back to Airpower 

Though it was not the total catastrophe some observers depicted, LAM SON 719 was 

clearly a major setback for the United States and its Vietnamese allies. Most serious of 

all, it had exposed glaring shortcomings in the administration’s Vietnamization program. 

Given enough time and training, perhaps, the ARVN might someday become a formidable fighting force; but for the foreseeable future, it was in no position to stop aggression 

from the North on its own. One of the few positive things to come out of the whole 

episode was Secretary of Defense Laird’s increased interest in providing more effective 

measures to block enemy infiltration along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Toward the end of 

1971, with this in mind, he assigned a new Army Brigadier General, John W. Vessey, to 

the U.S. Embassy in Laos. Working with the Ambassador and CIA station chief, Vessey 

oversaw the allocation of funds for covert operations against North Vietnamese infiltration. In 1982, under the Reagan administration, Vessey would again attract high-level 

attention and become the President’s choice to chair the Joint Chiefs of Staff.72

Despite ongoing efforts by the Nixon administration to shore up South Vietnam’s security, the danger from the North continued to grow, while U.S. troop 

strength continued to drop. By the beginning of 1972, there were fewer than 

150,000 American Servicemen left in Vietnam, and under approved troop withdrawal schedules half of those would be gone in a few months. Shrugging off the 

ARVN’s disappointing performance in LAM SON 719, the Nixon White House 

repeatedly urged the Saigon regime to undertake new forays into Laos and Cambodia. At the same time, to offset the loss of U.S. ground strength, Admiral Moorer, 

often on his own initiative, pressed Secretary of Defense Laird to relax restrictions 

on air attacks against North Vietnam and to increase the use of “protective reaction strikes” against surface-to-air missile (SAM) and antiaircraft (AAA) sites that 

threatened U.S. planes conducting interdiction flights over South Vietnam and Laos. 

Laird had no objection to American pilots protecting themselves, but as for other 

attacks against the North, he turned them down more often than not, feeling that 

they would re-escalate the war and delay U.S. troop withdrawals. President Nixon, 

however, proved more flexible, and by the end of 1971 bombing against targets in 

North Vietnam below the 20th parallel was again on the rise.73
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Convinced that even more was needed, General John D. Lavelle, USAF, Commander of the Seventh Air Force in South Vietnam, took matters into his own hands 

by stepping up air attacks against the North. Whether he had authority to do so 

was never fully clear. Adopting “a liberal interpretation” of the rules of engagement, 

Lavelle later estimated that he carried out “in the neighborhood” of 20 such raids 

(the real number was closer to thirty) between November 1971 and March 1972. He 

defended his actions, however, on the grounds that he had the tacit encouragement 

of his superiors in Washington, including both Admiral Moorer and Secretary Laird, 

who had urged him to “make maximum use” of existing authority to put pressure 

on the North.74 Still, in mounting preplanned attacks Lavelle had gone overboard and 

risked reigniting the still smoldering bombing controversy between Congress and 

the administration. Upon learning of the general’s interpretation of orders, Moorer 

and Laird quickly arranged with Air Force Chief of Staff General John D. Ryan to 

have Lavelle quietly relieved of his duties. But as rumors of the incident spread, they 

prompted several well-publicized, albeit inconclusive, congressional investigations.75

Meanwhile, across Vietnam, the threat of stepped-up combat continued to 

mount. The showdown came around Easter, on March 30, 1972, when the North 

Vietnamese launched a coordinated attack against the South, which they initiated 

with a full-scale conventional invasion across the DMZ, using tanks and self-propelled artillery. Allied intelligence had known for months that the North Vietnamese were preparing a large-scale operation but could not pinpoint either the date 

or place. Throughout the ensuing crisis, Nixon and Kissinger frequently ignored 

established lines of communication with the Pentagon and in the interest of expediency dealt directly with Admiral Moorer and the Joint Staff, whose views were 

more in harmony with those of the White House than Laird’s. Seeing the invasion 

as a challenge to the credibility of his whole foreign policy, President Nixon believed that only a vigorous military response would convince Hanoi and its allies in 

Moscow and Beijing that he meant business. With battlefield success his uppermost 

concern, Nixon saw no choice but to remove all restrictions on the use of airpower, 

something he had been loath to do earlier. In view of the North’s blatant aggression, 

American public and congressional opinion largely acquiesced. Moorer agreed that 

Hanoi’s leaders respected nothing more than the unstinting application of military 

force, and to that end he helped arrange a swift buildup of airpower. Among the 

forces added for action were 189 F–4 fighter-bombers, 210 B–52s (half of SAC’s 

bomber force), and four carrier task forces, bringing to six the number of carriers 

on station, the largest concentration of naval airpower yet seen in the war.76

With the increased availability of airpower came friction between Washington 

and the command in Saigon over how and where to apply it. Nixon, Kissinger, and 
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Moorer envisioned a fairly broad-brush campaign aimed not simply at curbing the 

current aggression, but at carrying out punitive raids against the north to break the enemy’s morale and force the North Vietnamese back into serious negotiations. Abrams, 

supported by Laird, wanted the additional airpower available for operations in the 

South, on the assumption that that was where the war would be won or lost. After the 

LAM SON 719 debacle, however, Moorer grew increasingly frustrated with Abrams. At 

one point during the early days of the enemy’s Easter offensive, with Kissinger present, 

Moorer related the substance of a rambling telephone call they had just had in which 

the COMUSMACV complained that he was “sick and tired” of civilians in Washington telling him what to do and would resign if he did not have his way. Eventually, 

Abrams calmed down. But the damage was done. Thenceforth, Moorer often bypassed 

the COMUSMACV and dealt with Abrams’ subordinate and Lavelle’s successor as 

Commander of Seventh Air Force, General John W. Vogt, USAF, who until recently 

had been Director of the Joint Staff. By transferring Vogt to Saigon, the Chairman had 

a trusted ally on the scene whose appraisals and advice he valued more than Abrams’.77

Like Lyndon Johnson, Richard Nixon took a strong personal interest in the 

air campaign and participated actively in planning and overseeing its execution. Yet 

there was none of the soul-searching or hemming and hawing that had gone on 

during the Johnson years. In deference to Abrams’ expressed concerns, Nixon gave 

first priority to supporting the South Vietnamese and blunting the NVA invasion. 

According to Vogt, the intensity of these air strikes on the invaders resembled the 

effects of a “meat-grinder.”78 Operations against the North, code-named Linebacker, 

harkened to the “hard knock” bombing strategy advocated by the Joint Chiefs in the 

mid-1960s, and stressed repeat attacks on bridges, rail lines, fuel supplies, cement and 

power plants, airfields, and other high-profile military, industrial, and transportation 

targets. In giving his approval to launch Linebacker, Nixon admonished Moorer to 

mount an all-out effort and to avoid wasting bombs on “secondary targets.”79 Going 

further, he wanted to restrict North Vietnam’s resupply from external sources, and 

on May 8, 1972, he announced the unprecedented step of mining Haiphong harbor, 

something the Joint Chiefs had urged since the early stages of the war.80

For a variety of reasons, Linebacker achieved results that were never feasible 

under the Rolling Thunder campaign of 1965–1968. By shifting from guerrilla tactics 

to conventional warfare and by incorporating tanks and other mechanized equipment into their battle plan, the North Vietnamese became dependent, like other 

modern armies, on long, readily identifiable supply lines that made ripe targets for 

air attack. Interdiction under the Linebacker campaign thus became more successful 

than during Rolling Thunder. A further difference between the two campaigns was 

the increased availability by 1972 of precision-guided munitions (PGMs or “smart 
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bombs”), which allowed more accurate attacks against targets previously off limits 

in congested urban areas. While guided munitions had been around since the late 

stages of World War II, they had been difficult to use and not very effective. Improved models made their first appearance in Southeast Asia toward the conclusion 

of Rolling Thunder in 1968. Thereafter, technical problems limited their use to lightly 

defended targets in Laos and South Vietnam. But by 1972, more sophisticated electronics employing laser guidance systems opened the way for PGM raids against 

fixed targets in the heavily built-up Hanoi-Haiphong area.81

By early June, the North Vietnamese offensive was beginning to lose steam 

and there were indications from Hanoi of a renewed willingness to negotiate. In the 

United States, Nixon’s decision to resume bombing had provoked predictable reactions from antiwar groups and liberals in Congress. But compared with the Cambodian invasion and earlier episodes, the protests and demonstrations were relatively 

mild, a sign that troop withdrawals and ending the draft were having the desired 

effect of diffusing the war as a political issue. Nixon’s popularity at home was in fact 

at an all-time high, pointing toward an easy reelection in November. With his position thus fairly secure at home, Nixon kept up the bombing pressure on the North 

and did not call a halt until late October, when he was satisfied that the negotiations 

were on course toward an agreement.

The Christmas Bombing Campaign 

While Nixon had used airpower to thwart an NVA military victory in the spring of 

1972, he also hoped that it would pay diplomatic dividends by coercing the North 

Vietnamese back to the negotiating table and into a peace settlement. Once the 

bombing stopped in late October, however, unexpected problems arose in convincing not only leaders in Hanoi but also the regime in Saigon, headed by President 

Nguyen Van Thieu, to accept a ceasefire. One of Thieu’s main objections to the deal, 

which Kissinger negotiated, was that it would leave huge numbers of Communist 

troops in place in South Vietnam. As many as 160,000 NVA regulars remained in 

the South and another 100,000 were in Laos and Cambodia.82 Despite months of 

heavy air attacks, neither Kissinger nor the Joint Chiefs saw any way of dislodging 

them without the large-scale reintroduction of U.S. ground forces.

Frustrated by this turn of events, Nixon again resorted to bombing to put pressure on Hanoi to abide by the accords and to demonstrate to the Thieu government 

that the United States would stand behind it once the peace settlement took effect. 

A secret letter from Nixon to Thieu, pledging that the United States would “react strongly” if South Vietnam were threatened again sealed the bargain.83 However, 
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Nixon informed no one of his promise, not even the Joint Chiefs. Yet even if he had, it 

probably would have made little difference. Congress, with antiwar liberals in the vanguard, felt bound by no such guarantees, and when the Communists resumed their offensive in 1975, it fell back on earlier legislation blocking U.S. forces from intervening.

The resumption of bombing in December 1972 thus helped to facilitate the 

signing of a peace agreement which, in the long run, was largely inconsequential. Its 

major accomplishment was to facilitate the return of U.S. prisoners of war.84 Codenamed Linebacker II, the operation covered an 11-day period over the holidays and 

became known as the Christmas bombing campaign. Militarily, the main difference 

between Linebacker II and previous bombing operations was the concerted use of B–

52s against targets in and around Hanoi and Haiphong. Ever since the secret bombing of Cambodia, Nixon had had a fascination with the use of B–52s and during the 

buildup for Linebacker I, increasing B–52 deployments to Guam and Thailand had 

been his top priority. The big bombers appeared for the first time over the North 

Vietnamese heartland in five raids in April 1972. Without much evidence, Nixon 

boasted to his staff that these attacks had been “exceptionally effective, the best ever 

in the war.”85 In fact, the results had not been particularly impressive, and the need 

for heavy fighter escort had diverted assets from other missions. Meantime, Abrams 

was clamoring for more B–52 support to help thwart the Communist offensive in 

the South. The net result was that, from early May on, the B–52s ceased operations 

against the North and concentrated on targets below the twentieth parallel.86

As he contemplated launching Linebacker II, Nixon resolved that B–52s would 

spearhead the effort. Underlying the operation was his determination to mount a 

show of force that would break enemy leaders’ will to resist. Initially, both Moorer 

and Kissinger doubted whether using B–52s would produce better results than 

fighter-bombers. But as it became clear that Nixon was less interested in specific 

military objectives than in achieving a strong psychological impact, their reservations evaporated. Working in unison, the Joint Staff, the Strategic Air Command, the 

Air Staff, and the Pacific Air Forces quickly assembled a list of 55 key targets, aiming 

in each case for “mass shock effect in a psychological context.” On December 7, 

Moorer met at Camp David with the President, who reviewed the target plan and 

“seemed to be pleased with it.” A few days later, Moorer notified the Commander 

in Chief of Strategic Air Command, General John C. Meyer, USAF, that a major 

air offensive against the North was “definitely on the front burner” and that Hanoi 

and Haiphong would be the primary target areas. “I want the people of Hanoi to 

hear the bombs,” Moorer told him, “but minimize damage to the civilian populace.” 

Moorer also consulted by secure telephone with the CINCPAC, Admiral Noel 

Gayler, and confirmed the punitive purpose of the bombing.87
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Attacks commenced on December 18, 1972, and lasted, with a brief pause over 

Christmas, until December 29. Though Air Force and Navy fighter-bombers also 

took part, SAC’s B–52s dropped 75 percent of the total bomb tonnage during Linebacker II. In wave after wave, night after night, they pounded targets from Hanoi and 

Haiphong to the Chinese border. The most impressive display to date of American 

military power, these raids came closer than anything yet to threatening the survival 

of the North Vietnamese regime. Realizing what was at stake, the North Vietnamese 

put up a ferocious defense and during the first few nights they inflicted unexpectedly 

high losses on U.S. aircraft. The most serious losses came on the third night (December 20–21) when enemy surface-to-air missiles claimed six B–52s out of an attacking 

force of ninety. B–52 crews were used to flying over Laos and South Vietnam and 

were unaccustomed to a hostile environment, so the downing of planes during the 

early stages of Linebacker II came as a shock. Morale problems ensued, and there was a 

jump in the number of crewmen reporting for sick call. A change in bombing tactics 

and the compression of attacks into closer intervals, allowing the North Vietnamese 

defenders less time to reload their SAMs, helped overcome the problem. “It worked 

out beautifully,” Moorer confided to his diary. “I don’t think anybody in the world 

could have coordinated an operation as well as we did.”88

For the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the success of Linebacker II was the high-water mark 

of the war. After years of frustration and setbacks, they had finally dealt the North 

Vietnamese a crippling blow. Meyer and Moorer believed that the North Vietnamese 

probably had to give up because they were running low on SAMs. With another week 

of raids, Meyer estimated, “we could fly anywhere we want over North Vietnam with 

impunity.”89 Nixon, however, had other plans. Feeling that he had made his point, he 

ordered the B–52s to stand down rather than risk the loss of more planes and crews 

or possibly jeopardize his budding détente with the Soviets and his rapprochement 

with the Chinese. The Joint Chiefs had long contended that an unrestricted air campaign would be decisive in Vietnam, and in December 1972 their advice appeared 

vindicated.

The Balance Sheet 

The ceasefire signed in January 1973 lasted barely 2 years. During this interval, 

the Joint Chiefs completed the withdrawal of the few U.S. troops still in Vietnam 

and progressively redeployed their other forces from the region. For a while, the 

United States continued to bomb NVA and Communist base camps in Cambodia, 

but in August 1973 Congress called a halt. Congressional pressure likewise led to 

the cessation of air reconnaissance flights over Laos a year later. Moorer suspected 
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that the Communists would use the ceasefire to regroup and rearm, and they did. 

Launching a major offensive in April 1975, they quickly overwhelmed South Vietnamese defenders, who were practically helpless without American airpower. While 

Vietnamization had shielded the withdrawal of American ground troops, it had not 

done much to strengthen South Vietnam’s security or to assure its continued independence. The Joint Chiefs had no plans to rush U.S. forces back into Southeast Asia 

or to intervene on the SVN government’s behalf. Yet even if such plans had existed, 

political pressures at home doubtless would have blocked their implementation. 

Despite the war’s outcome, the Joint Chiefs never felt that the United States had 

erred by going into Vietnam. What they saw instead was a misguided effort, pursuing 

flawed goals and blunders in the way the war was planned, organized, and fought. Some 

of these blunders, they admitted, were of their own making; others were not. In World 

War II and initially in Korea, the attainment of military objectives had taken priority. 

But in Vietnam the Joint Chiefs had found themselves from the outset prosecuting a 

limited war heavy in diplomatic and political overtones. The initial objective was to 

apply military power to achieve a stalemate, an outcome which from the chiefs’ point 

of view squandered their resources and ran counter to the American military ethos. 

Against an enemy bent on victory at any cost, such war aims were utterly unrealistic as 

well. Set within these parameters, the American effort in Vietnam was doomed to fail.

After the Vietnam War, the Joint Chiefs’ role fell under close scrutiny. Calls for 

reform proliferated and were eventually instrumental in passage of the GoldwaterNichols Department of Defense Reorganization Act of 1986, an attempt by Congress 

to improve future JCS effectiveness through institutional reorganization (see chapter 

15). The most trenchant critique of the chiefs’ performance in Vietnam was by an 

Army major (later brigadier general), H.R. McMaster. In his thoroughly researched 

and well-written book, Dereliction of Duty, published in 1997, McMaster took the 

chiefs to task for not being more forthright in offering advice to the Secretary of 

Defense and the President. More than a generation removed from Vietnam, McMaster 

found it hard to understand how the Joint Chiefs could disagree so strenuously with 

the Johnson administration’s “graduated response” strategy, yet remain so compliant 

as their superiors blatantly ignored their advice. Relegated to what he describes as a 

“peripheral position in the policy-making process,” the chiefs became, in McMaster’s 

words, the “five silent men.”90

What McMaster overlooks is that by the mid-1960s, when American intervention in Vietnam took place, the Joint Chiefs of Staff had passed their prime. Though 

they remained, as the National Security Act decreed, the President’s top military 

advisors, their stature and institutional influence had diminished considerably since 

the 1940s when they came into being as a corporate body. During World War II, 
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they met regularly with the President and accompanied him to meetings around 

the world. They knew every allied leader personally and were key figures at the 

high-level wartime conferences at which strategy and postwar planning took place. 

In terms of authoritative advice and influence, they had no rivals. 

By the 1960s, the situation had changed. For one thing, the wartime grandees were 

long gone, succeeded by men who had been junior officers in World War II. Those who 

made up the Joint Chiefs of Staff during the Vietnam era were highly dedicated and 

decorated military officers. No one seriously questioned their professional credentials 

or competence. But they operated on a different plane from those who had served on 

the Joint Chiefs in World War II, the leaders who had shaped the allied victory over the 

Axis. McMaster’s complaint that the JCS should have been more outspoken on Vietnam overrates their stature and influence. Had they been Marshall, King, and Arnold or 

their immediate successors, their advice would have been hard if not impossible for the 

President, Congress, and the American public to ignore. But the men who served on 

the JCS by the 1960s lacked the gravitas of their predecessors. Little wonder, then, that 

Army Chief of Staff Harold Johnson dismissed the suggestion that he and his colleagues 

ought to have resigned in protest as a hollow and pointless gesture.91

Moreover, a new policy- and decisionmaking system had replaced the one in 

effect when the JCS came into existence, resulting in a proliferation of overlapping 

agencies and organizations, some in direct competition with the Joint Chiefs. By the 

mid-1960s, the chiefs’ most formidable competitor was the Office of the Secretary of 

Defense, which had grown steadily in influence and importance since its creation in 

1947. Under McNamara, it had amassed a wealth of additional authority and capabilities for analyzing military strategy and for offering alternative advice to that rendered 

by the JCS. Given McNamara’s forceful personality and the precarious relationship 

between the JCS and the White House under Presidents Kennedy and Johnson, it was 

hardly surprising that the chiefs’ credibility and influence were on the wane. 

Unable to bring their views to bear directly, the Joint Chiefs adopted an incremental approach to the war. They assumed that any steps toward greater military 

involvement would sooner or later develop into the course they advocated. In the 

process, they lent their support to a military strategy they considered fundamentally 

flawed and became complicit in the administration’s folly. At the same time, as the 

decision to intervene in force was taking shape, inter-Service bickering over whether 

to stress ground operations in the South or a concerted air and naval campaign against 

the North denied them a clear voice and focus. Yet even if the Joint Chiefs had spoken 

as one, their limited influence within the wider sphere of the policy process effectively 

undercut their ability to sway key decisions on the conduct of the war. 
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With the advent of the Nixon administration, the strategy debate came full 

circle back to the chiefs’ original premise that the most effective approach was to 

mount heavy military pressure directly against North Vietnam. Owing to the ongoing reduction in U.S. ground forces and limited South Vietnamese capabilities, 

however, recourse to a combination of air and sea power became the only viable 

option. Fearing Chinese intervention or a nuclear confrontation with the Soviets, 

President Johnson had consistently scorned the chiefs’ advice in that regard. But by 

Nixon’s time, the emergence of détente and the opening with China allowed the 

President a degree of leverage and flexibility that had not previously existed. Given 

the decisive results achieved by the Linebacker operations, coupled with the mining 

of Haiphong, one is tempted to speculate that a bolder strategy earlier might well 

have avoided a long, drawn-out war. Yet without the diplomatic groundwork painstakingly laid by Nixon and Kissinger, the more aggressive strategy advocated by the 

JCS in 1964–1965 could just as well have backfired.

As disappointing to the Joint Chiefs as the outcome in Vietnam may have 

been, it was not the serious setback to American global interests that many had 

feared a Communist victory might be when the United States went into Vietnam. All the same, the nature and pervasive impact of the war had a devastating 

effect. Not only did the war shatter the national consensus that had supported 

and sustained faith in the containment concept for nearly two decades; it also 

left American conventional forces in a state of near-disarray, weaker and less sure 

of themselves than at any time since the 1930s. Especially hard-hit was the Army, 

which emerged from the conflict a shambles. Recovering from the trauma of 

Vietnam became the Joint Chiefs’ first order of business, and for the next decade 

and a half, through the end of the Cold War, it would overshadow practically all 

other aspects of their deliberations.

Notes

1 “President’s Address to the Nation Announcing Steps to Limit the War in Vietnam,” 

March 31, 1968, Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States: Lyndon B. Johnson, 

1968–69 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1970), Pt. I, 469–476; Lyndon Baines Johnson, The 

Vantage Point: Perspectives of the Presidency, 1963–1969 (New York: Holt, Rinehart and 

Winston, 1971), 365.

2 Johnson, The Vantage Point, chap. 9.

3 Merle Pribbenow, trans., Victory in Vietnam: The Official History of the People’s Army of 

Vietnam, 1954–1975 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2002), 153–205 and passim.

4 Stanley Robert Larsen and James Lawton Collins, Jr., Allied Participation in Vietnam

(Washington, DC: Department of the Army, 2005), 120–159.
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5 Lawrence S. Kaplan, “McNamara, Vietnam, and the Defense of Europe,” in Vojtech 

Mastny, Sven G. Holtsmark, and Andreas Wenger, eds., War Plans and Alliances in the Cold 

War: Threat Perceptions in the East and West (London: Routledge, 2006), 286–300.

6 George L. MacGarrigle, Taking the Offensive: October 1966 to October 1967 (Washington, 

DC: Center of Military History, 1998), 25.

7 Jacob Van Staaveren, Gradual Failure: The Air War Over North Vietnam, 1965–1966 (Washington, DC: Air Force History and Museums Program, 2002), 279–297.

8 Wayne Thompson, To Hanoi and Back: The United States Air Force and North Vietnam, 

1966–1973 (Washington, DC: Air Force History and Museums Program, 2000), 41–43.

9 Graham A. Cosmas, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and The War in Vietnam, 1960–1968 (Washington, DC: Office of Joint History, 2009), Part 3, 43–45; MacGarrigle, 216–217.

10 JCSM-218-67 to SECDEF, April 20, 1967, “Force Requirements—Southeast Asia FY 

1968,” JCS 2339/255-3; Cosmas, JCS and the War in Vietnam, 1960–68, Pt. 3, 48–50.

11 Robert S. McNamara with Brian VanDeMark, In Retrospect: The Tragedy and Lessons of 

Vietnam (New York: Times Books, 1995), 264–265.

12 See Draft Memo, SECDEF to President, May 19, 1967, “Future Actions in Vietnam,” 

FRUS 1964–68, V, 423–438.

13 Notes on Discussions with President Johnson, April 27, 1967, FRUS 1964–68, V, 350.

14 CJCS Statement, February 7, 1967, attached to Letter, JCSJ to SecState, February 8, 

1967, JMF 9155 (February 18, 1965), NARA.

15 JCSM-288-67 to SECDEF, May 20, 1967, “Worldwide US Military Posture,” JCS 

2101/538-5.

16 Draft Memo, SECDEF to President, June 12, 1967, “Alternative Military Actions Against 

North Vietnam,” FRUS 1964–68, V, 475–481; McNamara, In Retrospect, 265–271.

17 William W. Momyer, Airpower in Three Wars (Washington, DC: Department of the Air 

Force, 1978), 25–26.

18 Cosmas, JCS and the War in Vietnam, 1960–68, Pt. III, 62–67; Cosmas, MACV: Years of 

Escalation, 1962–67, 419; Mark Clodfelter, The Limits of Airpower: The American Bombing of 

North Vietnam (New York: Free Press, 1989), 106–108.

19 McNamara testimony, August 25, 1967, in U.S. Congress, Senate, Committee on Armed 

Services, Preparedness Investigating Subcommittee, Hearings: Air War Against North Vietnam, 90:1, Pt. 4, 281 (quote) and passim.

20 “President’s News Conference,” September 1, 1967, Public Papers of the Presidents of the 

United States: Lyndon B. Johnson, 1967 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1968), Pt. I, 817.

21 Graham A. Cosmas, MACV: The Joint Command in the Years of Withdrawal, 1968–1973 

(Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 2007), 59.

22 CM-2922-68, January 19, 1968, quoted in Jacob Van Staaveren, “The Air Force in 

Southeast Asia: Toward a Bombing Halt, 1968” (MS, Office of Air Force History, September 1970), 8 (declassified).

23 Cosmas, JCS and the War in Vietnam, 1960–68, Pt. III, 142–143; Cosmas, MACV: Years of Withdrawal, 41; CM-2944-68 to SECDEF, February 3, 1968, “Khe Sanh,” FRUS 1964–68, VI, 120.

24 Deborah Shapley, Promise and Power: The Life and Times of Robert McNamara (Boston: 

Little, Brown, 1993), 432.
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25 Walter S. Poole et al., “Chairmen and Crises: The Vietnam War” (MS, Joint History Office, Joint Chiefs of Staff, n.d.), 129–136 (declassified/publication forthcoming) gives an 

excellent overview of JCS thinking during the immediate post-Tet period.

26 Interview by Dorothy P. McSweeny with Gen Earle G. Wheeler, May 7, 1970, 21–22, 

Oral History Collection, Johnson Library.

27 “President’s News Conference,” March 22, 1967, Johnson Public Papers, 1968, 430.

28 Interview with Lt. Gen. John B. McPherson, USAF (Ret.), April 3, 1990, JHO Collection. See also Cosmas, MACV: Years of Withdrawal, 94.

29 Cosmas, JCS and the War in Vietnam, 1960–68, Pt. III, 149–160; Cosmas, MACV: Years of 

Withdrawal, 88–97; Westmoreland, A Soldier Reports, 351 (quote); “Report of CJCS on 

Situation in Vietnam and MACV Force Requirements,” February 27, 1968, JCS 2472/237.

30 Clark Clifford, with Richard Holbrooke, Counsel to the President: A Memoir (New York: 

Random House, 1991), 492–526; Johnson, Vantage Point, 365–424.

31 Quoted in Van Staaveren, “Toward a Bombing Halt,” 39.

32 Momyer, 26–27.

33 “Notes on the President’s Meeting,” October 29, 1968, FRUS, 1964–68, VII, 399–401; 

Cosmas, JCS and the War in Vietnam, 1960–68, Pt. III, 230–231.

34 Cosmas, MACV: Years of Withdrawal, 244–245.

35 “Address to the Nation on Vietnam,” May 14, 1969, Nixon Public Papers, 1969, 369–375. See 

also Walter Isaacson, Kissinger: A Biography (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1992), 159–160.

36 Entry, January 17, 1972, in H.R. Haldeman, The Haldeman Diaries: Inside the Nixon White 

House (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1994), 397. 

37 Poole et al., “Chairmen and Crises,” 224.

38 Palmer, 25-Year War, 92.

39 Elmo R. Zumwalt, Jr., On Watch: A Memoir (New York: Quadrangle, 1976), 69–70.

40 Peter W. Rodman, Presidential Command (New York: Knopf, 2009), 69.

41 Department of State Bulletin 60, no. 1548 (February 24, 1969), 163. See also David J. Rothkopf, Running the World: The Inside Story of the National Security Council and the Architects 

of American Power (New York: Public Affairs, 2004), 114–115.

42 Zumwalt, 317–318.

43 During Nixon’s first year as President, the NSC met 37 times, 21 times in 1970 and only 

10 times during the first 9 months of 1971. See John P. Leacacos, “Kissinger’s Apparat,” 

Foreign Policy 5 (Winter 1971–1972), 5.

44 Helmut Sonnenfeldt, “Reconstructing the Nixon Foreign Policy,” in The Nixon Presidency, ed. Kenneth W. Thompson (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1987), 319.

45 NSDM 1, January 20, 1969, “Establishment of NSC Decision and Study Memoranda 

Series,” FRUS 1969–76, II, 29–30.

46 NSDM 2, January 20, 1969, “Reorganization of the NSC System,” FRUS 1969–76, II, 

30–33. See also Chester A. Crocker, “The Nixon–Kissinger National Security Council 

System, 1969–1972: A Study in Foreign Policy Management,” in Report of the Commission on the Organization of the Government for the Conduct of Foreign Policy: Appendices

(Washington, D.C.: GPO, June 1975), vol. 6, 79–99.
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47 Zumwalt, 369–376; Henry Kissinger, White House Years (Boston: Little, Brown, 1979), 

722–723; Mark Perry, Four Stars (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, 1989), 234–235.

48 Kissinger, White House Years, 226.

49 Richard M. Nixon, No More Vietnams (New York: Arbor House, 1985), 101–107.

50 Alexander M. Haig, Jr., with Charles McCarry, Inner Circles: How America Changed the 

World: A Memoir (New York: Time Warner, 1992), 224.

51 Willard J. Webb, History of the Joint Chiefs of Staff: The Joint Chiefs of Staff and the War in 

Vietnam, 1969–1970 (Washington, DC: Office of Joint History, 2002), 283.

52 Memo, Lake and Morris to Robinson, September 29, 1969, “Draft Memorandum to 

the President on Contingency Study”; Memo, Kissinger to Nixon, October 2, 1969, 

“Contingency Military Operation Against North Vietnam”; “Conceptual Plan of Military Operations,” undated, all declassified in box 89, NSC Files: Subject Files, Nixon 

Presidential Materials, NARA; and <http://www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/NSAEBB/

NSAEBB195/index.htm#1>. See also William Burr and Jeffrey Kimball, “Nixon’s Secret Nuclear Alert: Vietnam War Diplomacy and the Joint Chiefs of Staff Readiness 

Test, October 1969.” Cold War History 3:2 (January 2003), 113–156.

53 Cosmas, MACV: Years of Withdrawal, 283–286.

54 Webb, JCS and War in Vietnam, 1969–70, 136–137.

55 Palmer, 25-Year War, 96.

56 Richard Nixon, RN: The Memoirs of Richard Nixon (New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 1978), 

382.

57 JCSM-6-69 to SECDEF, January 4, 1969, “Republic of Vietnam Armed Forces Improvement and Modernization,” JCS 2472/272-28; JCSM–40–69 to SECDEF, January 21, 1969, 

“Republic of Vietnam Armed Forces Improvement and Modernization,” JCS 2472/272-30.

58 Webb, JCS and War in Vietnam, 1969–70, 11–12, 64.

59 Dale Van Atta, With Honor: Melvin Laird in War, Peace, and Politics (Madison: University 

of Wisconsin Press, 2008), 182–183; Nixon, RN, 392 (quote).

60 JCSM-522-69 to SECDEF, August 25, 1969, “Vietnamizing the War,” JCS 2472/467-4.

61 NSDM 24, September 17, 1969, “Vietnam,” FRUS 1969–76, VI, 407–408.

62 Webb, JCS and War in Vietnam, 1969–70, 75–82.

63 JCSM-149-70 to SECDEF, April 3, 1970, “Ground Strikes Against Base Areas in Cambodia,” excerpted in “JCS Recommendations and SECDEF Actions with Respect to 

Cambodia, 1 January 1969–15 February 1975” (MS, Historical Division, Joint Secretariat, JCS, February 26, 1975), 14.

64 Kissinger, White House Years, 483–505; Nixon, RN, 446–451.

65 Willard J. Webb and Walter S. Poole, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and The War in Vietnam, 

1971–1973 (Washington, DC: Office of Joint History, 2007), 2.

66 Ibid., 2–3; Cosmas, MACV: Years of Withdrawal, 320–327.

67 Kissinger, White House Years, 990–991; Jeffrey Kimball, The Vietnam War Files: Uncovering the 

Secret History of Nixon-Era Strategy (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2004), 133–134.

68 Cosmas, MACV: Years of Withdrawal, 326–335; Webb and Poole, JCS and the War in Vietnam, 1971–73, 3–4.
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69 Webb and Poole, JCS and the War in Vietnam, 1971–73, 2; Kissinger, White House Years, 

995–996.

70 Westmoreland, A Soldier Reports, 271–273; Webb and Poole, JCS and War in Vietnam, 

1971–73, 2–9.

71 Cosmas, MACV: Years of Withdrawal, 329–335; Webb and Poole, JCS and War in Vietnam, 

1971–73, 12–16; Nixon, RN, 498–499.

72 Van Atta, 351–353.

73 Webb and Poole, JCS and War in Vietnam, 1971–73, 109–117.

74 Memo for the Record by Col Robert M. Lucy, USMC, Asst to CJCS, 21 Sep 72, 

“Responses for the Record by General Lavelle to Questions from Senator Smith,” C, 

Material on Replacement of Gen Lavelle 1972 folder, JHO 18-0020.

75 Thompson, To Hanoi and Back, 199–210; Webb and Poole, JCS and War in Vietnam, 

1971–73, 126–128.

76 Clodfelter, Limits of Airpower, 152–153.

77 Webb and Poole, JCS and War in Vietnam, 1971–73, 156. On Nixon’s lack of confidence 

in Abrams, see Haldeman, The Haldeman Diaries, 436–437.

78 Entry, May 4, 1972, Moorer Diary, cited in Webb and Poole, JCS and War in Vietnam, 

1971–73, 163.

79 Webb and Poole, JCS and War in Vietnam, 1971–73, 162.

80 “Address to the Nation on the Situation in Southeast Asia,” May 8, 1972, Nixon Public 

Papers, 1972, 585.

81 Wayne Thompson, To Hanoi and Back: The United States Air Force and North Vietnam, 

1966–1973 (Washington, DC: Air Force History and Museums Program, 2000), 230–231. 

Only Air Force F–4s had the necessary modifications to carry PGMs.

82 Palmer, 25-Year War, 131.

83 Letter, Nixon to Thieu, January 16, 1973, quoted in Nixon, RN, 749–750.

84 See Vernon E. Davis, The Long Road Home: U.S. Prisoner of War Policy and Planning in 

Southeast Asia (Washington, DC: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, 

2000), 453–490.

85 Entry, April 16, 1972, Haldeman, The Haldeman Diaries, 441.

86 Thompson, To Hanoi and Back, 224–227.

87 Clodfelter, Limits of Airpower, 184; Webb and Poole, JCS and War in Vietnam, 1971–73, 

291–294.

88 Moorer quoted in Webb and Poole, JCS and War in Vietnam, 1971–73, 298; Clodfelter, 

Limits of Airpower,192–193, discusses morale problems; Thompson, To Hanoi and Back, 

264–265 summarizes strategy and changes in tactics.

89 Quoted in Webb and Poole, JCS and War in Vietnam, 1971–73, 298.

90 H.R. McMaster, Dereliction of Duty: Lyndon Johnson, Robert McNamara, the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff, and the Lies that Led to Vietnam (New York: HarperPerennial, 1997), 300–329.

91 Lewis Sorley, Honorable Warrior: General Harold K. Johnson and the Ethics of Command

(Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1998), 223–224.
Admiral Thomas H. Moorer, USN, Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1970–1974
Chapter 11

Détente 

As the war in Southeast Asia wound down, the Joint Chiefs of Staff began a slow 

and sometimes uncomfortable reassessment of their military plans and policies. 

Similar reassessments had followed previous wars and invariably had given rise to 

passionate inter-Service rivalries and intense competition for resources. Some of 

these elements, to be sure, were present in the aftermath of Vietnam. But compared 

to the build-downs that followed World War II and Korea, the transition following 

Vietnam was relatively smooth and easy. Indeed, the most serious problems that 

arose were in developing military policies and a force posture compatible with a 

rapidly changing international environment dominated by the prospect of a new era 

in Soviet-American relations known as “détente.” 

An evolving process, détente was the outgrowth of a series of Soviet-American 

initiatives, some dating from the 1950s, to establish what political scientist Stanley 

Hoffmann termed “a stable structure of peace.”1

 Coming to fruition in the early 

1970s, détente lasted roughly from the signing of the SALT I accords in 1972 until 

the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979. Historians generally agree that, while 

the two sides shared certain common interests, they approached them from different perspectives and expected different outcomes. Hence the friction and disagreements that sometimes accompanied détente and ultimately brought its demise. 

For President Nixon and his national security advisor, Henry A. Kissinger, détente 

was integral to the post-Vietnam restructuring of American foreign relations and 

related defense policies. Persuaded that the two previous administrations had concentrated too much on the Third World, Nixon and Kissinger set about redefining 

the country’s vital interests. Shifting the focus from Asia to Europe, they wanted 

to strengthen relationships with traditional allies and revitalize NATO, which had 

gone into decline during the American preoccupation with Vietnam. At the same 

time, acknowledging that the United States could never regain the strategic superiority it had enjoyed into the early 1960s, they accepted parity in strategic nuclear 

power with the Soviet Union as a fact of life and sought agreements with Moscow 

that would curtail growth in both sides’ strategic arsenals. Overall, they envisioned a 

new “era of negotiations” that would ease East-West tensions, facilitate the resolution of long-standing Cold War issues (e.g., Vietnam and Berlin), break new ground 

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in arms control, and improve avenues of communication with the two Communist 

behemoths, the Soviet Union and the People’s Republic of China. As for obtaining 

lasting results, Nixon was cautiously optimistic. “All we can hope from détente,” he 

later wrote, “is that it will minimize confrontation in marginal areas and provide, at 

least, alternative possibilities in major ones.”2

In assessing the military requirements of détente, the Joint Chiefs found themselves under more pressure than usual to exercise restraint and to hold down requests 

for new programs, despite a continuing buildup in Soviet military forces. Looking 

beyond Vietnam, the JCS contemplated a list of requirements that included not only 

the replacement of weapons and equipment worn out or lost in the war, but also 

the modernization of the force structure to stay current with emerging technologies 

and recent increases and improvements in Soviet capabilities. Strategic retaliatory 

forces, they believed, were in especially urgent need of attention. Yet with détente 

the watchword, a buildup on the scale and scope the JCS believed necessary became 

increasingly unlikely. The Services might receive some of the modernization and improvements they wanted, and the Armed Forces would continue to be an important 

instrument in American foreign policy. But after Vietnam, the emphasis for nearly a 

decade would be increasingly on nonmilitary solutions to Cold War problems. 

SALT I 

The linchpin in the Nixon-Kissinger strategy of détente was the arms control process, organized around the Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT). Conceived under the Johnson administration, SALT was supposed to have started in the fall of 

1968 but was called off at the last minute by the United States to protest the Sovietled Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia that snuffed out the reformist government of Alexander Dubc ̆ek. Revived under Nixon, SALT finally got underway in 

November 1969. Once a distant adjunct of defense policy, arms control by the late 

1960s was becoming a critical element in shaping the size and capabilities of the 

country’s strategic arsenal. After years of heavy military spending and bloodshed 

in Vietnam, SALT seemed a welcome respite and soon acquired a high degree of 

popular and congressional support. For many it also became a fairly accurate barometer of U.S.-Soviet relations in general. Indeed, by the time SALT I was underway, 

the idea had taken hold, both in the executive branch and in Congress, that progress 

in controlling nuclear weapons would give impetus to progress in resolving other 

thorny Cold War issues as well.

The Joint Chiefs of Staff welcomed progress in arms control that led to improved U.S.-Soviet relations, but not if it meant crippling the country’s strategic 
D E

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337

deterrent or postponing its modernization. Still chafing from the constraints imposed by McNamara, the JCS felt increasingly hard-pressed to maintain credible 

strategic nuclear deterrence in the face of a Soviet missile buildup of unprecedented 

proportions. By 1969, while still inferior in the overall number of intercontinental 

delivery vehicles, the Soviets had surpassed the United States in operational ICBM 

launchers.3

 To cope with this threat, even if arms control talks proved productive, 

the Joint Chiefs wanted a new manned strategic bomber (the B–1) and a new fleet 

of ballistic missile submarines (the Trident class) and were awaiting the outcome of 

further developmental studies by the Air Force concerning an advanced ICBM.4

As for the specifics of an arms control accord, the Joint Chiefs insisted that, 

above all, it should be fully verifiable, a view shared by key members of Congress 

who would be passing judgment on whatever agreements the administration might 

reach with the Soviets.5

 For years, the Joint Chiefs had argued that on-site inspections were the only ironclad way of determining whether the Soviets were in compliance. But in March 1967, they amended their position and agreed to accept the 

results of unilateral verification derived from space-based satellites, known in arms 

control parlance as “national technical means.” Under these rules, it would be up to 

each side to determine whether the other was in compliance. This requirement virtually assured that any agreement reached between the United States and the Soviet 

Union would deal, in the first instance, with numerical limitations on launchers and 

only secondarily with payload, deployment mode, and performance characteristics.6

The preparatory round of SALT I opened in Helsinki on November 17, 1969, 

and lasted about 4 weeks. For the next 21⁄2 years, negotiations alternated between 

Helsinki and Vienna, averaging a round of talks every 3 months.7

 A major difference 

between these negotiations and earlier arms control efforts like the negotiation of 

the Test Ban Treaty under the Kennedy administration, was the presence throughout SALT of JCS representation on the U.S. delegation owing to the persistence of 

General Earle G. Wheeler, USA, the JCS Chairman. During Senate deliberations 

over the Test Ban Treaty, General Wheeler heard grumblings from Congress over the 

exclusion of the JCS from the negotiations. Using these signs of discontent as his 

opening wedge, he arranged for the JCS, in the summer of 1968, to be part of an ad 

hoc arms control study group in the Office of the Secretary of Defense, chaired by 

Morton H. Halperin, that was starting to draft a negotiating position. To represent 

the JCS, Wheeler brought in Major General (later Lieutenant General) Royal B. Allison, USAF, who had headed strategic planning at CINCPAC. Authorized a small 

staff, Allison acquired the title of Assistant to the Chairman for Strategic Arms Negotiations (ACSAN), but reported to the Joint Chiefs collectively through the Director, Joint Staff. According to John Newhouse’s generally reliable behind-the-scenes 
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account of SALT I, Cold Dawn, Wheeler bypassed the Joint Staff in selecting Allison 

because he lacked confidence in the arms control component in J-5 to provide 

reliable advice. When the Nixon administration took office, Allison continued to 

represent the Joint Chiefs in the interagency arena and became their member on 

the U.S. delegation to SALT I.8

SALT’s ostensible goal, from the American standpoint, was to put a cap on the 

further buildup of strategic arms. U.S. intelligence estimates routinely confirmed 

that the Soviets were continuing to add to their arsenal of ICBMs, but shed little 

light on the intentions behind the buildup. As a rule, the CIA and the State Department downplayed the danger of a fundamental shift in the strategic balance, whereas 

the Joint Chiefs, OSD, and the Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA) refused to rule 

out such a possibility. Speaking publicly, Secretary of Defense Melvin Laird declared 

that the Soviets were seeking nothing less than a disarming “first-strike” strategic 

capability.9

 President Nixon, however, refused to be quite so specific. According to 

Kissinger, Nixon disdained the technicalities of arms control (the details bored him) 

and regarded SALT mainly as a vehicle for improving relations with Moscow.10

Going into the talks, the President approved a highly generalized set of instructions that glossed over disagreements among his advisors on Soviet intentions. For 

negotiating purposes, the President left the door open to a wide range of limitations 

as long as they were verifiable and did not hinder efforts by the United States to 

preserve “strategic sufficiency,” a rather vague concept that the White House defined as rough parity in strategic nuclear power with the Soviet Union.11 Adopting 

a wait-and-see attitude, the Joint Chiefs declined to recommend their own specific 

proposals, arguing that as advisors to the President and the Secretary of Defense, it 

was not their place.12

The Soviets, on the other hand, had a fairly firm SALT agenda that included 

protecting the gains they had made in offensive strategic missiles in the 1960s and 

curbing U.S. progress in ballistic missile defense (BMD). At the outset of the talks, 

the Soviets also sought a broad definition of strategic systems that embraced any 

nuclear weapon capable of hitting the other side’s homeland. This definition would 

have encompassed all American aircraft carriers and nearly every theater system 

in Europe and Asia, but not similar forward-based systems deployed by the Soviet 

Union. Not surprisingly, the American side found it unacceptable.13 Eventually, the 

talks concentrated on only two sets of offensive systems—ICBMs and submarinelaunched ballistic missiles (SLBMs). 

In addition to the formal talks held in Helsinki and Vienna, Kissinger and Soviet Ambassador Anatoly Dobrynin engaged in substantive “backchannel” negotiations in Washington. Carefully concealed from practically everyone, including the 
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Joint Chiefs, these backchannel talks gave Nixon and Kissinger a direct link to the 

Kremlin and quickly became the true forum of the SALT I negotiations. Out of 

these exchanges, it soon became clear that the best result SALT I could hope to produce on offensive strategic arms was a temporary moratorium or “freeze” on “new 

starts.”14 On May 20, 1971, Washington and Moscow jointly issued a brief statement 

dampening the immediate prospects for a permanent offensive arms accord and 

instructing negotiators to devote their energies for the next year to a treaty limiting 

antiballistic missiles (ABMs).15 This “breakthrough,” as the White House characterized it, completely surprised the Joint Chiefs and left them somewhat confused. 

Indeed, Admiral Moorer, the JCS Chairman, initially misunderstood the deal and 

thought it continued to link an agreement on offensive weapons with an agreement 

on defensive ones.16 Broadly worded and open to several interpretations, the freeze 

imposed loose restrictions and left both sides more or less free to complete additions and improvements to their arsenals where construction was already underway.

In the absence of progress on controlling offensive weapons, missile defense 

became the only area of U.S.-Soviet competition to be subjected to permanent 

constraints as a result of SALT I. While both sides had ABM programs, the consensus 

within the American intelligence and scientific communities was that the United 

States had a definite advantage owing to its work on phased-array radars. Even so, 

the systems under consideration were exceedingly expensive and far from foolproof. 

Citing high costs and continuing technical difficulties, the Johnson administration 

had rejected JCS arguments in favor of a nationwide system and had endorsed 

only a “point defense” ABM, known as Sentinel, to protect Minuteman missile 

fields. But it had left the decision on actual deployment up to the next administration.17 Though ambivalent about the military value of BMD, Nixon recognized its 

potential as a bargaining chip with the Soviets and in March 1969 announced that 

the United States would proceed with deployment of a limited ABM system, now 

called Safeguard. Nixon’s decision kept the program alive, but it also touched off a 

sharp debate in Congress that came down to a narrow Senate victory for the administration’s authorization bill in August 1969.18

Like the agreement to “freeze” offensive forces, negotiations on the ABM issue took place to a considerable extent outside the official SALT framework. The 

accord finally reached was largely the product of an informal exchange of views 

between Paul H. Nitze, the OSD representative to SALT, and his Soviet counterpart, Aleksandr Shchukin, an expert in radio wave electronics. A Deputy Secretary 

of Defense in the Johnson administration and most well known as the “author” of 

NSC 68, Nitze had been in the forefront of the lobbying effort as a private citizen 

to preserve ABM during the congressional debate in the summer of 1969. Now, 
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as a member of the SALT delegation, he took a leading role in negotiating ABM 

away. The shift in Nitze’s thinking came from his realization, based on that experience, that for political reasons the current U.S. ABM effort faced an uncertain 

future. “If the negotiations failed,” he believed, “we still were not going to have an 

ABM program because the Senate wasn’t going to give it to us.” Out of his talks 

with Shchukin between late 1971 and early 1972 emerged an agreement on radars 

and associated technical matters that set the stage for the ABM Treaty. According 

to Gerard Smith, who headed the U.S. SALT negotiating team, Nitze’s persistence 

resulted in far more precise constraints on ABM radars than delegation members 

expected to achieve or than agencies in Washington, including the Joint Chiefs, 

would have preferred.19

At their Moscow summit in May 1972, Nixon and Soviet General Secretary 

Leonid I. Brezhnev unveiled the results of SALT I: an “interim” agreement imposing a 5-year freeze on both sides’ offensive strategic missile launchers as of the date 

of the agreement; a permanent treaty sharply limiting ABMs; and a set of statements explaining and interpreting the agreements. For verification purposes, each 

side was on its own. Disagreements would be referred to a U.S.-Soviet Standing 

Consultative Commission, which would assist with implementation.20 Reveling in 

the accomplishments of SALT I, the Soviets clearly saw it as confirmation of their 

superpower status on a par with the United States. That U.S. warplanes were at 

the time engaged in a heavy bombardment of Moscow’s ally, North Vietnam, and 

Communist positions in South Vietnam in retaliation for Hanoi’s “Easter Offensive,” 

seemed outwardly of little consequence to Brezhnev and his colleagues. To them, all 

that mattered was that détente had officially arrived.

Back home, critics assailed SALT I as a limited success. In defense of the accords, the Nixon administration insisted that the interim agreement and the ABM 

Treaty were mutually reinforcing and that a permanent, more restrictive offensive 

arms accord would follow shortly. Even so, there were murmurings of dissatisfaction 

with the deal, especially among the Joint Chiefs. As far as the JCS were concerned, 

the “frozen” numbers spoke for themselves: an American arsenal of 1,054 ICBMs, 

41 missile submarines, and 656 SLBM launchers, versus a Soviet force of more than 

1,600 ICBMs, 43 missile submarines, and 740 SLBMs.21 The JCS were incredulous 

that between the announcement of May 20, 1971, that had supposedly suspended 

the negotiation of an offensive arms treaty and the signing of the SALT I accords a 

year later, Nixon and Kissinger had allowed the Soviets to add 91 ICBM launchers 

to their arsenal (silos under construction at the time of the announcement) without 

a word of protest. At the same time, the White House had dawdled on nailing down 

an SLBM agreement, and in the end, much to the Joint Chiefs’ consternation, had 
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given the Soviets virtually free rein to upgrade their fleet ballistic missile submarine 

force.22 The administration’s defenders took the position that the United States still 

had a two-and-a-half to one lead in long-range bombers (unaffected by SALT I) 

and a substantial advantage in targetable warheads through the ongoing retrofitting 

of many U.S. missiles with MIRVed reentry vehicles (RVs). But as the chiefs and 

others were quick to point out, land-based bombers were the most vulnerable part 

of the strategic triad, and the American lead in MIRVed RVs was temporary since 

the Soviets were now well along on their own MIRV program.23

Despite misgivings, the Joint Chiefs supported the SALT I accords, provided 

the administration and Congress took the necessary steps to monitor Soviet compliance, modernize the U.S. strategic deterrent, and support “vigorous” research and 

development.24 During a briefing for congressional leaders just prior to the signing 

of the SALT I agreements, Admiral Moorer acknowledged that the Soviets “were 

outstripping U.S. in every category with the exception of bombers.” To prevent 

the United States from slipping farther behind, Moorer stressed the need for continuing modernization of the U.S. strategic arsenal and mentioned specifically the 

B–1 bomber and the Trident missile submarine. Without these improvements, he 

insisted, “we could not live with this proposed agreement.”25

While sympathetic to the chiefs’ concerns, most in Congress shared the President’s view that the SALT I agreements marked a major turning point in U.S.-

Soviet relations and that their political and diplomatic benefits outweighed their 

military drawbacks. With major restrictions on the further deployment of ABMs 

and emerging parity in strategic offensive power, some theorists contended that a 

new era, based on deterrence through “mutual assured destruction,” or MAD, had 

arrived. The Senate approved the ABM Treaty on August 3, 1972, and the interim 

agreement on September 14. Acceptance of the latter, however, carried an amendment, sponsored by Democratic Senator Henry M. Jackson of Washington, stipulating that there should be equality in the number of launchers in any future treaty 

on ICBMs.26

Several years later, columnist Marquis Childs asserted that Senator Jackson had 

harassed witnesses who had helped to negotiate SALT I when they appeared before the Senate Armed Services Committee. Childs said that the Chairman’s arms 

control assistant, Lieutenant General Allison, had received the “heaviest Jackson fire” 

because he had publicly gone along with the agreement even though privately 

he believed it would leave the United States vulnerable to a Soviet first strike. 

Convinced that Allison had not been completely candid with the committee, Jackson sent word to the JCS, Childs said, that he would “blackball” any promotion 

for Lieutenant General Allison in the Air Force or his nomination to any future 
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government post. The upshot was that the Joint Chiefs relieved Allison of his duties 

in February 1973 and he took early retirement.27

Tape recordings made by Nixon of Oval Office conversations confirm that 

Jackson did indeed put pressure on the White House to “purge” the American 

SALT negotiating team and that Lieutenant General Allison was one of those he 

singled out.28 That the senator’s views could have had such an impact suggests not 

only the influential role he played in arms control and related issues, but also the 

highly charged politics that surrounded the SALT process. In fact, within a year 

of signing the SALT I accords, U.S. intelligence detected Soviet tests of four new 

ICBMs, three of them—the SS–17, the SS–18, and the SS–19—with a demonstrated 

MIRV capability.29 SALT I had not provided much respite from the competition in 

strategic arms. Time would tell if SALT II would do a better job. 

Shoring Up the Atlantic Alliance 

At the same time as the Joint Chiefs were wrestling with SALT, they faced the 

equally challenging problem of revitalizing the Atlantic Alliance. The war in Vietnam had shifted American attention from Europe to the Far East and in the process 

had raised serious questions about whether the United States remained committed 

to Europe’s security and welfare. Lacking the consistent American interest and leadership it had known in the past, NATO had begun to drift. To be sure, MC 14/3, 

the 1967 NATO strategy blueprint endorsing the “flexible response” doctrine, and 

the Harmel Report, approved around the same time and calling for stepped-up negotiations with the Soviets, had helped to paper over some of the emerging differences and disagreements. But for the longer term, the repairs needed to go deeper, 

perhaps as far as forging a new transatlantic partnership.

On paper, the American commitment to NATO at the end of the 1960s appeared nearly as sound and robust as ever—41/3 divisions, 2 armored cavalry regiments, 32 air squadrons totaling 640 planes, and 25 combatant ships of the Sixth 

Fleet, all at NATO’s disposal in the event of emergency. Under the “swing strategy” 

adopted in the 1950s, the Joint Chiefs also earmarked certain air and naval units for 

emergency transfer from the Pacific to Europe. Although Vietnam had depleted the 

strategic reserve available from the United States, plans initiated under the Johnson 

administration to preposition equipment in Europe promised to help surmount these 

problems, save money, and over time improve NATO’s conventional capabilities. But 

as the Joint Chiefs were acutely aware, these plans were still in the early stages of 

implementation. Moreover, many of the units stationed in Europe were in “hollow” 
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condition, stripped of experienced personnel and lacking up-to-date equipment. 

Overall, U.S. troop strength was about 28 percent below what it had been toward the 

beginning of the decade. Despite the increased emphasis in NATO planning on forward defense and flexible response, the Alliance’s true capacity to deter continued to 

rest on a combination of U.S. strategic power and NATO’s tactical nuclear arsenal.30

Even though the Nixon administration wanted to demonstrate a renewed interest in European security, it had no plans for deploying additional forces or going 

beyond routine modernization of those that were there. President Nixon wanted 

to appear tough and strong to the Europeans and restore their confidence in the 

United States, but he also wanted to avoid precipitous action that might jeopardize 

détente or drive up defense costs at home. Relying on diplomacy to achieve their 

objectives, Nixon and Kissinger embarked on a series of initiatives in keeping with 

the spirit of détente and the Harmel Report to lessen tensions by opening a broad 

dialogue with the East. Among the results were a quadripartite modus vivendi on 

Berlin, the normalization of relations between East and West Germany, the creation 

of an East-West confidence-building forum (the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe, or CSCE), and the launching of talks, parallel to SALT, on mutual and balanced force reductions (MBFR) in conventional capabilities between 

NATO and the Warsaw Pact. Under the “Guam Doctrine,” a concept casually disclosed during a trip to Asia in the summer of 1969, President Nixon acknowledged 

that there were limits to American power and that thenceforth, apart from its existing treaty commitments, the United States would avoid anything other than financial or military aid to the Third World. Europe, by implication, had moved back to 

the top of the U.S. agenda.31

With diplomacy in the forefront, NATO’s military problems practically slipped 

from general view. Almost unnoticed was a progressive erosion of its capabilities that 

left the Alliance effectively incapable of fighting as a single entity by the late 1960s. 

Despite its unified command and elaborate mechanisms for consultation and collaboration, NATO remained a hodgepodge of armies, having made little progress 

since the 1950s toward standardizing equipment or integrating communications. 

Practically no one, least of all the West Germans, seriously entertained the idea of 

fighting a war in Europe, conventional or otherwise. To save money, the European 

allies had cut back on stockpiling to the point that the FRG had only enough artillery shells for a week of fighting, rather than the 30-day combat period prescribed 

in NATO planning documents. Worst of all, these deficiencies appeared to be fully 

known to Warsaw Pact commanders, who claimed to have ready access to such information from well-placed spies inside NATO headquarters.32
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Meantime, NATO faced an increasingly imposing Warsaw Pact threat. While 

paying lip-service to détente, the Soviets pursued a steady modernization of Warsaw 

Pact forces, with the apparent purpose of enabling them to operate effectively in either a nuclear-chemical or conventional environment. Dating from the mid-1960s, 

the Warsaw Pact’s modernization plan stressed the introduction, at almost double 

the normal replacement rate, of new and improved tanks, artillery, armored personnel carriers, and tactical fighter aircraft.33 In the Joint Chiefs’ estimation, however, 

the most dramatic and unsettling new development was the emergence of a significant Warsaw Pact tactical nuclear capability, organized around a new generation 

of more accurate and more usable short-range surface-to-surface missiles. Comparing nuclear capabilities, the JCS rated the Warsaw Pact’s as “militarily superior 

to NATO’s.” Whereas NATO’s tactical nuclear weapons were mainly aging show 

pieces for deterrence, the Warsaw Pact’s were more tailored-effect weapons for waging war. The Joint Chiefs further found that NATO’s conventional forces alone 

could not survive a concerted tactical nuclear attack by the Warsaw Pact. For years, 

the Joint Chiefs and other Western military planners had taken it for granted that, 

despite NATO’s conventional inferiority vis-à-vis the Warsaw Pact, its superiority 

in tactical nuclear weapons gave it a definite edge in a showdown. Now the tables 

were turned.34

Efforts by the Joint Chiefs to draw attention to the Warsaw Pact buildup and 

to elicit support for offsetting measures met with limited success. On Capitol Hill, 

American involvement in Vietnam, the strategic arms race, and worries about the 

mounting expense of keeping U.S. troops abroad continually overshadowed European security concerns. The issue of costs had been a constant refrain in congressional debates since the early 1950s, when the United States first assigned large 

numbers of troops to the Alliance. By the early 1970s, with inflation on the rise 

and the dollar weakened by heavy expenditures on the Vietnam War, it was a cause 

célèbre in some circles. Especially active in drawing attention to the problem was 

Senate Majority Leader Mike Mansfield of Montana, whose quasi-isolationist views 

dovetailed neatly with the antiwar, antimilitary sentiments of his liberal Democratic 

colleagues. Convinced that the Europeans could—and should—contribute more, 

Mansfield thought the United States could halve its presence “without adversely 

affecting either our resolve or ability to meet our commitment under the North 

Atlantic Treaty.”35

Though the Nixon administration successfully fought off Mansfield’s attacks, 

it had its hands full and in the process became all the more cautious in considering 

measures to bolster the Alliance.36 According to Secretary of State William P. Rogers, the United States would be doing well to keep forces at “essentially present 
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levels.”37 At the same time, disagreements within the Intelligence Community over 

how to assess the Warsaw Pact buildup—whether it constituted an attempt by the 

Soviets to achieve outright military superiority, as DIA, J-2, and the military intelligence staffs believed, or whether, in the CIA’s view, such dangers were overblown—further complicated the administration’s efforts to develop a response.38 In 

November 1970, following a lengthy interagency debate, President Nixon finally 

approved policy guidance (NSDM 95) that leaned toward the JCS on the need for 

preserving a strong U.S. posture in Europe, with near-term emphasis on improving 

conventional deterrence. Whether tactical nuclear capabilities should be addressed 

as well was held over for further study.39 Ostensibly a victory for the Joint Chiefs, 

the triumph was short-lived when, in implementing the President’s decision, Secretary of Defense Laird gave the lead to his Systems Analysis organization, which 

took a more flexible view of NATO requirements than did the JCS. There ensued 

7 more months of bickering in the Pentagon between the Joint Staff and OSD, 

culminating in yet another Presidential decision (NSDM 133) that relaxed overall 

improvement goals.40

Whether NATO could ever achieve a level of conventional capabilities on a par 

with those of the Warsaw Pact remained a matter of debate and conjecture, both in 

Washington and in Europe, throughout the remainder of the Nixon administration 

and on into the Presidencies of Gerald Ford and Jimmy Carter. Although practically 

everyone agreed that there was room for improvement, there was no consensus on 

what to do or how to go about it. As a general objective, Secretary Laird suggested 

the Allies aim for a 4 percent real increase in their annual military spending, a goal 

the Europeans summarily rejected as beyond their means. More to their liking was 

the European Defense Improvement Program (EDIP), a low-budget approach to 

upgrading communications and infrastructure put forth by Britain, West Germany, 

and eight other European nations in December 1970. A broader initiative, drafted 

at NATO headquarters and known as AD–70, appeared at the same time. Projecting across-the-board improvements, AD–70 was the brainchild of General Andrew 

J. Goodpaster, USA, who had become Supreme Allied Commander the year before. 

A former aide to President Eisenhower and once Director of the Joint Staff, Goodpaster was a highly respected figure on both sides of the Atlantic. An inventory of 

deficiencies and anomalies rather than a plan of action, AD–70 elicited mixed pledges 

of support from the Allies. But because it bore Goodpaster’s imprimatur, it probably 

received a more favorable reception than would otherwise have been the case.41

By 1973—the “Year of Europe” as the Nixon administration proclaimed 

it—NATO realized that it faced major problems and was taking steps to upgrade 

its equipment and improve interallied coordination and integration of functions. 
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Slowly but surely, the EDIP and AD–70 were bearing fruit.42 Just how far the Alliance had progressed toward strengthening itself became the subject of yet another 

Nixon administration internal review (NSSM 168), launched early in 1973, with the 

Army and OSD (Systems Analysis) leading the effort.43 Additional inputs came from 

the new Secretary of Defense, James R. Schlesinger, who followed in McNamara’s 

footsteps in believing that NATO could indeed mount a credible conventional 

defense. All things considered, Schlesinger found NATO to be better prepared and 

equipped to deal with a conventional threat at the outset of a war than it had been 

only 3 or 4 years earlier. Because of limitations on naval forces, however, he was 

less sanguine about NATO’s prospects in the event of a prolonged conflict requiring U.S. reinforcements who might not arrive in time to stave off an escalation of 

the conflict.44

Though obviously more committed than they had been for some time, European NATO leaders continued to shy away from elaborate and expensive modernization plans. As a rule, they preferred the less costly piecemeal approach that 

involved improvements in selected areas such as anti-armor, aircraft shelters, and 

stockpiling. Moreover, just as NATO was beginning to take a closer look at its 

deficiencies and do something about them, the Yom Kippur War of October 1973 

erupted in the Middle East, causing the United States to divert equipment and munitions to Israel, much of it drawn from stockpiles allocated to NATO. Meanwhile, 

the Watergate scandal continued to engulf Washington. Increasingly preoccupied 

with its domestic difficulties, the Nixon administration had significantly less time 

for NATO and saw its influence and authority within the Alliance steadily recede. 

Others, most notably the West Germans, stepped up to take America’s place, so that 

by the mid-1970s the initiative in nuclear modernization and other key areas had 

passed from Washington to Bonn.

NATO was making strides to improve itself, but it was still an Alliance with 

serious problems. Raw numbers purporting to show enhancements to NATO capabilities covered up the underlying malaise. According to General Alexander M. 

Haig, Jr., who succeeded Goodpaster as SACEUR in 1974, NATO forces faced 

pervasive morale and discipline issues. “Alcoholism and drug abuse were serious 

and widespread,” Haig found. “Our state of readiness was way below acceptable 

standards. . . . There was little sense of organized purpose imposed from above, little 

communication among subordinate commands.”45 In assessing NATO’s prospects, 

the Joint Chiefs remained confident that the Alliance would survive and even prosper as the bulwark of Western security. But despite the end of the Vietnam War and 

the redeployment of U.S. forces, NATO seemed to be achieving limited headway 

toward making a difference and redressing the strategic balance in Europe. 
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China: The Quasi-Alliance 

Nixon and Kissinger realized that NATO’s chronic difficulties in raising and maintaining forces could not be solved in isolation. Thus, instead of trying to meet 

the Soviet threat to Europe head on, they sought to offset Soviet power via other 

means—by attempting to curb the buildup of arms, encouraging détente, and last 

but not least, exploiting the Soviet Union’s deteriorating relationship with the People’s Republic of China (PRC).46 Evidence of worsening relations and ideological conflict between the two Communist giants had been accumulating for years, 

steadily undermining the concept theretofore accepted in the West of a Communist 

monolith.47 By the late 1960s, there were reports of a buildup of opposing forces and 

armed clashes along the Sino-Soviet border. Sensing a golden opportunity, Nixon 

had indicated that forging a rapprochement between the United States and the 

PRC would be part of his agenda if he was elected.48 Once in office, he and Kissinger made a determined effort not only to mend differences with Beijing, but also 

to convince skeptics—the Joint Chiefs of Staff among them—that a rapprochement 

with China would in the long run pay handsome dividends for the United States. 

The resulting improvement in Sino-American relations, as Kissinger later described 

it, amounted to nothing less than a “quasi-alliance.”49

The opening gambit in the White House’s effort to bring the Joint Chiefs 

around to its point of view on China was a military posture review (NSSM 3) ordered by President Nixon the day after taking office.50 Characterized by Kissinger as 

“a highly esoteric discussion of military strategy,” the review’s unstated purpose was 

to reexamine the Johnson administration’s practice of developing military plans in 

the expectation of waging two-and-a-half wars—one in Europe, another in Korea 

or Southeast Asia, and a smaller third contingency like the 1965 intervention in the 

Dominican Republic. Though there had never been sufficient forces to execute 

such a strategy with any confidence of success, it remained an integral part of the 

Joint Strategic Objectives Plan (JSOP), the Joint Chiefs’ annual assignment of assets 

to meet theater and strategic requirements. 

From the review they had ordered, Kissinger and Nixon envisioned a wholesale 

reordering of strategic priorities. At issue was whether it was still realistic and feasible to allocate resources on the basis of a two-and-a-half war scenario, or whether 

a more limited definition of risks, assuming minimal chances of a major conflict 

involving the PRC, would serve American interests just as well, if not better.51

To be sure, a major incentive for downgrading the prospects of a war with China 

was budgetary, since a key finding of the posture review was that a fully-funded 

two-and-a-half war strategy would cost at least twenty percent more annually than 
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adoption of a one-and-a-half war strategy.52 But there were also important political 

and diplomatic considerations involved. “The reorientation of our strategy signaled 

to the People’s Republic of China,” Kissinger said, “that we saw its purpose as 

separable from the Soviet Union’s, that our military policy did not see China as a 

principal threat.”53

The Joint Chiefs of Staff initially took a different view, arguing that the changes 

Nixon and Kissinger were proposing would invite aggression, complicate the allocation of resources, and invite the early use of nuclear weapons in certain circumstances.54 No one doubted that one key underlying purpose was simply to save 

money. Yet throughout the defense establishment, the implications were nothing 

short of ominous. Indeed, for those in uniform, Communist China remained a 

hostile power whose interests and worldview were sharply at variance with those of 

the United States. Less than 2 decades earlier, U.S. and Communist Chinese forces 

had fought pitched battles on the Korean Peninsula. Long-range appraisals done 

since then by the Joint Chiefs and by the Intelligence Community had routinely 

stressed China’s commitment to achieving political dominance in Asia, its support 

for Communist insurgencies, and its close identification with leftist revolutionary 

causes around the globe.55 A nuclear power since 1964, China had also acquired a 

thermonuclear capability in 1967, ostensibly the motivating factor in Secretary of 

Defense McNamara’s decision to propose the deployment of a limited ABM system. 

Against this background of conflict and antagonism, a rapprochement with China 

was, in the Joint Chiefs’ eyes, both hard to imagine and ill advised.

Brushing aside JCS objections, President Nixon formally embraced the oneand-a-half war strategy in his first annual report on U.S. foreign policy issued in 

February 1970. In explaining the change, the President insisted that he was only trying to harmonize strategy with capabilities.56 By then, however, Nixon had firmly 

made up his mind to improve relations with Beijing and was heavily engaged in exploratory talks using the American and Chinese Ambassadors to Poland. The change 

in American military strategy was meant as an inducement to the Chinese. Later, 

not getting the cooperation they wanted from the State Department, Nixon and 

Kissinger turned to sensitive backchannel contacts established through Pakistan to 

finalize a deal with the Chinese. The net effect was an extraordinarily high degree 

of secrecy that sealed off the talks from practically anyone outside the White House 

(including the Joint Chiefs) who had an interest in the matter and to present them 

when the time came with a fait accompli. 

Meanwhile, Nixon and Kissinger kept the State and Defense Departments occupied by commissioning a succession of studies through the NSC examining various aspects of the China issue. The most serious impediment to a Sino-American 
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rapprochement to be identified was the U.S. relationship with the Republic of 

China (ROC), the rival government on Taiwan headed by the venerable Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, which the United States recognized as the de jure regime. A 

staunch anti-Communist and long-time U.S. ally, Chiang once had a loyal following 

in the United States, which had made sure over the years that the ROC received 

unstinting American assistance. On at least two occasions—in 1954 and in 1958—

the United States had almost gone to war with Communist China in support of the 

ROC’s continuing occupation of several offshore island groups in the Taiwan Strait. 

Since the late 1950s, however, things had changed. Tensions over the offshore 

islands had eased, the China Lobby that had been so active on Chiang’s behalf had 

lost its clout in Washington, and more and more countries were recognizing the 

PRC as the legitimate government of China. In October 1971, the UN General 

Assembly expelled the ROC, forcing it to cede its seat on the Security Council to 

the People’s Republic. Despite its declining fortunes, however, the ROC retained 

a corps of supporters in Congress and continued to play a key role in American 

defense policy for East Asia. Once described by General Douglas MacArthur as “an 

unsinkable aircraft carrier,” Taiwan provided the United States with access to basing 

and staging areas from which to control the Taiwan Strait, to assist in maintaining 

lines of communication, and to bring military power to bear quickly against the 

mainland should the need arise.57 All in all, the Joint Chiefs of Staff considered Taiwan to be an essential link in their Pacific defense perimeter and, as such, a crucial 

part of the “close-in” containment strategy applied against Communist China.58

Still, as the Vietnam War wound down, Taiwan’s usefulness to American defense 

planners steadily diminished, resulting in the closure of numerous installations, the 

withdrawal of personnel, and reductions in U.S. subsidies and assistance to the ROC. 

One of the cutbacks was the elimination of the Taiwan Strait Patrol, a money-saving 

move instigated by the Nixon administration in mid-November 1969. Initiated by 

President Truman in 1950 to protect Nationalist China from Communist attack, the 

Taiwan Strait Patrol tied up the use of two U.S. destroyers. Recognizing that the 

patrol had become largely symbolic, the Joint Chiefs accepted its elimination as a 

sensible alternative to the reduction of naval forces elsewhere. Thenceforth, ships 

of the Seventh Fleet transiting the Taiwan Strait would do the job. A small “gesture to remove an irritant,” as Kissinger described it, the elimination of the Taiwan 

Strait Patrol figured squarely, along with the adoption of the one-and-a-half war 

strategy concept, in the administration’s ongoing effort to improve Sino-American 

relations.59

Continuing to pursue a conciliatory approach, Kissinger wanted to offer further concessions—a nonaggression pact and/or the withdrawal of U.S. forces from 
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Taiwan—to demonstrate U.S. readiness to extend détente to the mainland. But he 

met with stiff resistance from the JCS, who urged caution in dealing with Beijing 

and no change in security arrangements with Chiang’s regime. Any new concessions, the Joint Chiefs insisted, should be on a quid pro quo basis.60 Undaunted, 

Kissinger set off for a secret rendezvous with Chinese Premier Zhou Enlai (Chou 

En-lai) in the summer of 1971. Even though Kissinger tried to disguise the purpose 

of his trip, Admiral Moorer, the JCS Chairman, later confirmed that he was able 

to follow developments closely because Kissinger and Nixon used a special Navy 

communications system part of the time to stay in touch.61 Directed mainly at improving the atmosphere of Sino-American relations, the principal accomplishment 

of Kissinger’s meeting with the Chinese was the “announcement that shook the 

world” on July 15, 1971, that President Nixon would visit China during the early 

months of the new year.62

Despite the prospect of improved relations with mainland China, the Joint 

Chiefs continued to oppose any major concessions. Still unresolved by the time of 

the President’s visit to Beijing in February 1972 was a firm administration position 

on the future of U.S.-ROC defense arrangements, a matter of key importance to 

the JCS.63 But in attempting to raise the matter and make their views known, they 

encountered repeated rebuffs from the White House and were unsuccessful in securing an interagency review prior to the President’s departure.64 Kissinger alone 

handled the agenda and other details of the summit in one-on-one talks with Zhou 

Enlai during a return trip to Beijing in October 1971.65

A momentous event that attracted intensive news coverage, Nixon’s trip to 

China seemed to herald a new era in Sino-American relations. Despite a large entourage, no members of the Joint Chiefs accompanied the President, an apparently 

intentional omission aimed at playing down military matters. Still, there were strong 

politico-military overtones throughout the visit, with the threat posed by the Soviet 

Union a subject of mutual interest and, from all appearances, the number-one Chinese security concern. Though there were no discussions of specific collaboration 

against that threat, President Nixon recalled that the Chinese took great pleasure in 

the discomfort his visit seemed to cause to leaders in Moscow.66

Taiwan also figured large in the discussions, though it was not the obstacle that 

many (including the JCS) expected it to be. During an earlier exchange of views, 

the Chinese had indicated that the withdrawal of U.S. forces from Taiwan and from 

the Taiwan Strait should be the “first question” addressed at any summit meeting.67

During his talks with Zhou in October 1971, however, Kissinger had served notice 

that the United States was not prepared to take a definitive position on Taiwan’s 

future. The Chinese had backed off and during their meetings in February 1972, 
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Nixon and his hosts—Zhou and Chinese Communist Party Chairman Mao Zedong—downplayed the Taiwan issue. While the summit’s communiqué confirmed 

that the United States regarded the withdrawal of its forces from Taiwan as the “ultimate objective,” it mentioned nothing about a timetable or other commitments.68

“The overwhelming impression left by Chou, as by Mao,” Kissinger recalled, “was 

that continuing differences over Taiwan were secondary to our primary mutual 

concern over the international equilibrium.”69

The Joint Chiefs greeted the outcome of the President’s trip with relief and 

reassurance. Major changes were clearly taking place in Sino-American relations. 

But for the time being, the American security posture in the Far East remained 

essentially unchanged. Even so, a Sino-American entente was beginning to take 

shape. About a month after the President’s trip, the North Vietnamese launched 

their “Easter Offensive” against South Vietnam, to which Nixon retaliated with the 

mining of Haiphong harbor and two massive air campaigns (Linebacker I and II) that 

brought American planes perilously close to the Chinese border. A few years earlier, 

such actions by the United States might have provoked an overtly hostile Chinese 

response, perhaps even direct intervention in the war. But by 1972, in light of the recent Sino-American rapprochement and continuing tensions between Moscow and 

Beijing, the threat of Chinese intervention barely figured in Nixon’s calculations. 

In the event, Chinese forbearance spoke for itself. Though there were the customary public denunciations of American behavior, the PRC veered toward neutrality and offered only token help to the North Vietnamese.70 Most telling of all was 

Beijing’s rejection of a plan, jointly put forth by the Kremlin and Hanoi, to bypass 

the American bombing and mining of Haiphong by off-loading cargos at Chinese 

ports and bringing supplies overland into North Vietnam.71 Equally important was 

the Joint Chiefs’ tacit appreciation of Chinese restraint. Indeed, from that point on, 

JCS objections to further improvements in relations with the PRC became less frequent and their tone in support of Taiwan less strident. The establishment of formal 

diplomatic relations between the United States and the PRC was still some years 

away. But increasingly, it seemed to the Joint Chiefs to be the next logical step. 

Deepening Involvement in the Middle East

If the American rapprochement with China seemed to test the durability of détente 

with the Soviet Union, developments in the Middle East toward the end of Nixon’s 

Presidency nearly brought it to a premature end. Here, more than anywhere else, 

Soviet-American relations threatened to come full circle back to the confrontational policies and behavior of the 1950s and early 1960s. The precipitating event 
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was the Arab-Israeli Yom Kippur War of October 1973. In many respects a “proxy 

conflict,” the Yom Kippur War tested Eastern Bloc weapons and tactics used by the 

Arabs against those of the West as adapted by the Israelis. At the outset, it seemed 

that cooperation between Washington and Moscow would succeed in containing 

the conflict. Intensifying instead, it brought the threat of Soviet intervention and 

prompted the Joint Chiefs to place U.S. nuclear forces on increased alert, making 

it the most serious East-West confrontation since the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis. 

That détente survived the ordeal, at least for a while, suggests an underlying degree 

of mutual respect brought on not only by the general improvement in U.S.-Soviet 

relations, but also by the realities of nuclear parity and the resulting caution that 

both sides felt compelled to observe. 

Behind the headlines of the October War was the larger issue of American 

involvement in Middle East security, a role that had been growing steadily since 

the Suez crisis of 1956. With heavy obligations in Europe and the Western Pacific, 

the Joint Chiefs had generally been averse to commitments in the Middle East and 

had been content to rely on diplomacy and/or intervention by the British or the 

French to hold matters in check. But after the Suez debacle, the 1958 coup in Iraq, 

and the collapse of the Baghdad Pact, the Joint Chiefs had found themselves taking a 

more direct hand in the management of the region’s security. Three issues predominated—the containment of Soviet power and influence, the protection of Western 

access to Persian Gulf oil fields, and the security of Israel.

While all three issues were interrelated, the Israeli situation overshadowed 

all others. Offering arms and other assistance from the mid-1950s on, the Soviets 

played on Arab nationalism and hostility toward the Jewish state in order to make 

inroads across the region, notably in the confrontation states of Egypt, Syria, and 

Iraq. To check the growth of Moscow’s influence, the United States cultivated closer 

ties with Saudi Arabia, Jordan, and other Arab moderates, and encouraged Iran (a 

Muslim but non-Arab country) to become an anti-Soviet bulwark protecting the 

Persian Gulf. For domestic political reasons, however, shoring up Israel’s security became Washington’s top regional priority, and led to a policy of occasional, selective 

sales of sophisticated weapons, including tanks and Hawk antiaircraft missiles. By 

the 1960s, U.S. arms transfers to Israel well outpaced American military assistance to 

the Arab world. Predicting Middle East “polarization” should this trend continue, 

the Joint Chiefs found the United States increasingly identified with Israeli interests 

and the Soviet Union with those of the Arabs.72

Tensions peaked during the Six Day War of June 1967, in which Israeli forces 

seized the Sinai Peninsula from Egypt, the Golan Heights from Syria, and East Jerusalem and the West Bank from Jordan. Never close to begin with, relations between 
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the Joint Chiefs and Israel’s high command grew even farther apart during the conflict when Israeli warplanes and torpedo boats attacked USS Liberty, an American 

electronic intelligence ship operating in international waters off the Sinai coast. 

Owing to an almost complete breakdown of inter-Service cooperation in transmitting communications, the Liberty was actually operating closer to shore than 

the Joint Chiefs had intended; orders for it to pull back were in transit at the time 

of the attack.73 Later, the Israelis insisted that they had mistaken the Liberty for an 

Egyptian ship known to be in the area. The attack inflicted heavy casualties on the 

U.S. crew and elicited deep regrets from the Israeli government. Insisting that the 

United States was as much to blame as they were, however, the Israelis refused to acknowledge any negligence and characterized the incident as an unfortunate “chain 

of errors.”74 The Joint Chiefs did not belabor the point, but at both the Pentagon 

and the White House suspicions lingered that the attack had not been accidental.75

In the aftermath of the Six Day War, the Joint Chiefs found the Middle East 

becoming more polarized than ever, a ripe environment for further strife.76 Alarmed 

by the rapidity with which Moscow replenished Egypt’s depleted arsenal, the Johnson administration responded in kind, by stepping up deliveries of tanks, fighter aircraft (including Navy A–4 “Skyhawks,” then in critically short supply in Vietnam), 

and other weapons to bolster Israel’s defenses.77 A “war of attrition” ensued, during 

which Israeli and Egyptian gunners routinely exchanged fire across the Suez Canal, Israeli commandos launched attacks across the Gulf of Suez, and the Israeli Air 

Force, flying freshly acquired U.S.-made F–4 “Phantoms,” carried out deep-penetration raids into Egypt. Worried that the United States might find itself isolated, 

the JCS urged the Nixon administration to curtail arms sales to Israel and to use 

its leverage to expedite a regional peace settlement through the United Nations. As 

part of an overall agreement, the Chairman, General Wheeler, suggested a protocol, 

backed by the “Big Four” (the United States, the Soviet Union, Britain, and France), 

guaranteeing enforcement of any settlement.78

While the Nixon administration’s declared intention was a more balanced 

policy in the Middle East, popular and congressional pressure preserved the tilt 

toward Israel. As a result, there were few significant curbs on arms deliveries and 

no significant pressure applied on the Israelis to make concessions toward a peace 

settlement.79 To maintain a “military balance” in the Middle East, the Joint Chiefs 

advocated selling sufficient weapons and equipment to the Israeli armed forces to 

defend Israel against an Arab attack “without destabilizing losses.”80 But as a practical 

matter, until the October War exposed serious shortfalls and weaknesses in Israeli 

defenses, it was hard to gauge how this principle applied. At the same time, despite 

progress elsewhere on détente, U.S.-Soviet competition in the Middle East reached 
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a new level of intensity. By the early 1970s, the Soviets were augmenting their naval 

forces in the eastern Mediterranean and had markedly increased their personnel 

strength in Egypt. Soviet pilots flew patrols in MiG–21s with Egyptian markings 

and Soviet technicians operated a network of SA–3 surface-to-air point defense 

missiles to prevent the Israelis from conducting further deep-penetration raids.81 A 

U.S.-brokered ceasefire ended the war of attrition along the canal in August 1970, 

but beneath the superficial calm that settled over the region, Arab-Israeli tensions 

remained high.

A key turning point was the decision by Egyptian President Anwar Sadat to 

expel his Soviet advisors in July 1972, barely more than a year after signing a Treaty 

of Friendship and Cooperation with Moscow. Exactly how many Soviets were 

involved is unclear, though an Egyptian source states that as many as 21,000 went 

home.82 A career army officer, Sadat had come to power shortly after the death of 

Egypt’s charismatic Gamal Abdul Nasser in September 1970. While he vowed to follow in Nasser’s footsteps, Sadat found the current situation of “no war, no peace” an 

intolerable obstacle to his first priority—reviving Egypt’s economy. Seeking Western investment, he knew he would have to create an economic and political environment more hospitable to capitalism, which meant moving away from socialism 

(manifest most clearly by the Soviet presence) and making peace with Israel. 

While relations between Cairo and Moscow remained cool for some months 

after the expulsion of July 1972, Egypt continued to need Soviet military and economic support. For the moment, Sadat only wanted to change the basis of his relationship with the Soviet Union, not end it. At the same time, seeking to improve his 

contacts with the West, he reopened a backchannel, originally established in April 

1972, with the Nixon White House to discuss ending the Israeli occupation of the 

Sinai.83 Sadat would have preferred a negotiated settlement, but he knew he had 

little bargaining power and resolved to improve his position through the only means 

available—military action against Israel. Expelling the Soviets was the first phase of 

his plan, since he suspected, not without cause, that Moscow would never risk jeopardizing détente by overtly cooperating in launching a war. Sadat did not expect 

to achieve a clear-cut military victory, but if Egypt could demonstrate a credible 

limited war capability, he thought he stood a good chance of restoring his country’s 

self esteem and prestige and of forcing the Israelis into negotiations.84

On October 6, 1973 (Yom Kippur in Israel, Ramadan in Arab countries), 

Egyptian forces mounted a successful surprise assault across the Suez Canal, timed 

to coincide with a Syrian attack against Israeli positions on the Golan Heights. According to the “leaked” findings of a congressional investigation, NSA intercepts 

routinely available to the Joint Chiefs would have confirmed that the Egyptians 
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were planning an attack; however, the sheer volume of the message traffic and the 

inability of the NSA and DIA to process all the data efficiently gave rise to an “intelligence failure.” The Israelis were similarly caught off guard.85 Named Operation 

“Badr” after the first victory of the Prophet Mohammad in 630 AD, the Egyptian 

assault quickly breached Israeli defenses (the Bar-Lev Line) but carried only a few 

kilometers into the Sinai. Following an initial period of indecision and confusion, 

the Israelis regrouped and on October 8 launched a counterattack that thwarted 

Egyptian efforts to extend their bridgehead. 

A see-saw battle ensued over the next few days, during which time the Soviet 

Union and the United States made half-hearted attempts to arrange a ceasefire 

through the UN. Meanwhile, Washington and Moscow both expedited the airlift of 

weapons and supplies to their clients. By October 15, Israeli forces had gained the 

offensive. As a UN-brokered ceasefire was about to take effect, they broke through 

Egyptian lines, crossed the Suez Canal with makeshift pontoon bridges, and proceeded to envelop the Egyptian Third Army—45,000 troops in all—trapping it on 

the eastern side of the canal. With some of his best forces facing imminent annihilation or surrender, Sadat appealed to Brezhnev for help. On October 24, the Soviet 

leader responded. Declaring Israel to be in violation of the ceasefire, he served 

President Nixon with an “ultimatum,” as Kissinger characterized it, warning that 

the Soviet Union was prepared to take “appropriate steps unilaterally” to bring the 

conflict to an end.86

Until Brezhnev’s ultimatum, the Joint Chiefs played a low profile in the crisis. 

For coordination they relied on the Washington Special Action Group (WSAG), an 

interagency crisis-management subcommittee of the NSC that included Admiral 

Moorer among its members and Kissinger as chairman.87 Preoccupied with the 

escalating Watergate affair and a separate scandal involving allegations of financial 

wrongdoing by Vice President Spiro Agnew (culminating in Agnew’s resignation 

on October 10, 1973), Nixon deferred increasingly to Kissinger and the WSAG 

to guide American policy. The Yom Kippur war, Nixon later observed, “could not 

have come at a more complicated domestic juncture.”88 The Joint Chiefs’ job during 

those hectic days was to monitor events on the battlefield, expedite the transfer of 

supplies to the Israelis, and take precautionary steps by reviewing contingency plans 

for the evacuation of Americans and the deployment as necessary of U.S. forces. 

Once the fighting began, the WSAG sought to establish and maintain a position of quasi-neutrality insofar as the pro-Israeli bent of the United States would 

allow. Despite a surge of Soviet naval power into the eastern Mediterranean, the 

United States confined its presence there to a single naval task group. Organized 

around the carrier Independence, the task group took up station southwest of Crete 
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on October 7 where it remained for the duration of the crisis. Sixth Fleet’s most urgent function was surveillance of the Soviet naval presence. To carry out his mission, 

Sixth Fleet Commander Vice Admiral Daniel J. Murphy, Sr., proposed to move his 

ships closer to the conflict and augment them with a second carrier, the Franklin D. 

Roosevelt, then operating off Sicily. Moorer and the WSAG, however, refused Murphy’s request. Citing policy constraints, they reminded him that he was to distance 

himself from possible involvement in keeping with the administration’s “low-key, 

even-handed approach toward the hostilities.”89

A similar policy of restraint initially governed American assistance to Israel. For 

the first few days of the conflict, the Israelis could have whatever they reasonably 

required as long as they transported it themselves. While the Joint Chiefs never had 

occasion to adopt a corporate position, most of them—Moorer especially—believed the United States was playing a dangerous game by giving the Israelis even 

limited help. Only the CNO, Admiral Zumwalt, a self-described “strong proponent 

of resupplying Israel,” felt the United States should be more forthcoming.90 But as 

the fighting intensified and Israeli losses climbed, the voices of caution at the Pentagon became drowned out by those in Congress and the public who demanded 

that restrictions on aid to Israel be relaxed, if not lifted altogether. By October 10, 

Israel’s situation had become precarious. Even if Israel did not lose the war, it would 

emerge from the conflict severely battered and crippled. Rumors spread that in a 

last-ditch effort to save the country, the Israeli cabinet had authorized the deployment of nuclear-armed Jericho missiles.91 Adding further to the tension were indications that the Soviets had mobilized several elite airborne divisions for possible 

deployment to Egypt and the “ominous news,” as Kissinger called it, that Moscow 

had launched an airlift to Syria.92

Meanwhile, a standoff had developed between Kissinger and Secretary of Defense James R. Schlesinger over the processing of Israeli assistance requests. The 

results were a slow-down of deliveries and a rising level of irritation on Capitol 

Hill that threatened President Nixon’s chances of surviving the Watergate scandal. 

On October 12, demonstrating that he was still in charge, the President flung open 

American arsenals to the Israelis. Authorizing the use of jumbo C–5A transport 

planes to expedite deliveries, he brushed aside objections from the Joint Staff and 

the Office of the Secretary of Defense that his actions “might blight our relations 

with the Arabs” and dangerously deplete U.S. war reserves. In the end, the American 

airlift allowed the Israelis to prevail. But as the Joint Chiefs had feared, it raised other 

problems in the form of Arab retaliation through an oil embargo against the West, 

and friction within NATO over the draw-down of supplies allocated to Alliance 

defense and the use of European bases for intelligence-gathering.93
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Still, it was Brezhnev’s ultimatum that captured the Joint Chiefs’ attention more 

than anything. By itself, Brezhnev’s threat to take unilateral action might have been 

dismissed as diplomatic bluster. In all likelihood, as British foreign policy expert 

Gordon S. Barrass has pointed out, it did not reflect his true views.94 But coming 

on top of the Soviet naval buildup in the eastern Mediterranean, the mobilization 

of combat divisions trained in rapid deployment, and stepped-up Soviet air activity, 

there was every reason for the chiefs to be concerned. The ensuing decision to place 

U.S. nuclear forces on heightened alert (DEFCON 3) emerged from a late night 

WSAG meeting in the White House Situation Room on October 24.95 Nixon 

took no part in the deliberations and remained well out of the way, attended by 

Alexander Haig, who was then Kissinger’s deputy.96 Immediately after the meeting, Moorer returned to the Pentagon and arranged that the alert be carried out 

in conspicuous fashion to attract the attention of Soviet intelligence. A few hours 

later, the fully assembled Joint Chiefs met with Secretary of Defense Schlesinger to 

discuss further moves, including the possibility of raising the alert to DEFCON 2, a 

level not used since the Cuban Missile Crisis. But by morning, a fresh message from 

Moscow couched in conciliatory language laid the matter to rest. By late the next 

day all U.S. commands had resumed their normal alert posture.97

While Israel prevailed in the October War, it was at a tremendous cost that 

approached a Pyrrhic victory: as many as 2,800 dead and another 9,000 wounded. 

Arab losses were substantially larger. JCS estimates of the outcome hesitated to proclaim a clear-cut winner. Most predicted that another war was only a matter of time 

and that in the long run the continuing identification of the United States with 

Israel would work to the detriment of U.S. interests in the Middle East. Indeed, the 

more closely the United States became aligned with Israel, the less influence and 

credibility it was apt to have in Arab countries and in the economically and strategically important Persian Gulf. It followed, in the JCS view, that the most important 

objectives in the aftermath of the October War were to reestablish stable relations 

with the moderate Arab states like Jordan and Saudi Arabia, and to shore up ties 

elsewhere in the Muslim world, especially with Iran and Pakistan. Yet given the political realities in the United States, it was altogether likely that Washington would 

continue to pursue a divided policy that supported Israel while trying to placate the 

Arabs and curb further Soviet inroads.

Whether the Middle East was ready for peace remained to be seen. Détente 

had helped to avoid a great power confrontation during the October War, but in the 

aftermath of the fighting it did little to promote a more hospitable environment for 

resolving the Arab-Israeli conflict. Celebrated in the Arab world as a great victory, 

the October War demonstrated that Israel was far from invincible and lifted Sadat’s 
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reputation and prestige to unprecedented heights. Yet in moving toward a peace 

settlement, he was practically alone. A multinational Geneva peace conference, coorganized by the United States and the Soviet Union in November 1973, attracted 

little participation from the Arab world and broke up inconclusively almost as soon 

as it began. Thenceforth, it would be up to the Egyptians and Israelis themselves, 

negotiating bilaterally and relying on the United States as intermediary, to reach a 

modus vivendi.

Meanwhile, the Cold War, like the Arab-Israeli conflict, refused to go away, détente notwithstanding. In his final posture statement to Congress, submitted shortly 

before the end of his term as Chairman in July 1974, Admiral Moorer cited the 

ABM Treaty and the SALT I interim agreement as “first steps . . . to establish some 

control over the deployment of significantly increased strategic forces by both the 

U.S. and the USSR.” As encouraging as these agreements might have been, however, 

Moorer remained concerned by the Soviet Union’s “aggressive modernization programs” in everything from strategic offensive weapons to general purpose forces for 

ground, sea, and air warfare. Drawing on the recent experience of the October War, 

he saw lessons to be learned. One was “that the military balance must be assessed on 

the capabilities of potential adversaries rather than on their announced or estimated 

intentions.” Détente, he argued, had created an atmosphere of increased “good will” 

between the United States and the Soviet Union. But it had yet to slow the arms 

race or curb the potential for confrontation that the competition implied.98

Notes

1 See Stanley Hoffmann, “Détente,” in Joseph S. Nye, Jr., ed., The Making of America’s 

Soviet Policy (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984), 231–263.

2 Richard M. Nixon, RN: The Memoirs of Richard Nixon (New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 

1978), 941.

3 NIE 11-8-69, September 9, 1969, “Soviet Strategic Attack Forces,” in Donald Steury, 

ed., Intentions and Capabilities: Estimates on Soviet Strategic Forces, 1950–1983 (Washington, 

DC: Central Intelligence Agency, 1996), 253–254.

4 See JSOP 74-81, Book II (Strategic Forces), Vol. II, circulated under SM-802-71, December 21, 1971, JCS 2143/397; Walter S. Poole, Lorna S. Jaffe, and Wayne M. Dzwonchyk, “History of the Joint Chiefs of Staff: The Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 

1969–1972” (MS, Historical Division, Joint Secretariat, Joint Staff, March 1991), 70–71 

(declassified/publication forthcoming).

5 JCSM-377-69 to SECDEF, June 17, 1969, “Preparation of U.S. Position for Possible Strategic Arms Limitation Talks, JCS 2482/28-13; Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 140–141.

6 JCSM-143-67 to SECDEF, March 14, 1967, “Proposal on Strategic Offensive and Defensive Missile Systems,” JCS 1731/966-2.
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7 Thomas W. Wolfe, The SALT Experience (Cambridge: Ballinger, 1979), 8–9.

8 John Newhouse, Cold Dawn: The Story of SALT (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 

1973), 113–114; “JCS Organizational and Procedural Arrangements for Arms Control Matters” (MS, Historical Division, Joint Chiefs of Staff, Joint Secretariat, December 31, 1980), 5–6.

9 Lawrence Freedman, U.S. Intelligence and the Soviet Strategic Threat, 2d ed. (Princeton, NJ: 

Princeton University Press, 1986), 131–133.

10 Henry Kissinger, White House Years (Boston: Little, Brown, 1979), 148.

11 NSDM 33, “Preliminary Strategic Arms Limitation Talks,” November 12, 1969, Nixon 

Papers.

12 SM-766-69, November 10, 1969, “SALT Preparation,” JCS 2482/58; Poole, Jaffe, and 

Dzwonchyk, 145–146.

13 Kissinger, White House Years, 149.

14 Ibid., 820.

15 “Strategic Arms Limitation Talks,” May 20, 1971, Nixon Public Papers, 1971, 

16 MFR by CJCS (M-41-71), “Meeting with the President, 20 May 1971,” entry May 20, 

1971, Moorer Diary, cited in Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 165. 

17 Ibid., chap. 8.

18 Donald R. Baucom, The Origins of SDI, 1944–1983 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1992), 39–50.

19 Interview No. 2 with Nitze by James C. Hasdorff, May 20, 1981, U.S. Air Force Oral History 

Collection, Maxwell Air Force Base, Alabama, 480 (quote); Paul H. Nitze, From Hiroshima to 

Glasnost: At the Center of Decision—A Memoir (New York: Grove Weidenfeld, 1989), 314–320; 

Gerard Smith, Doubletalk: The Story of SALT I (New York: Doubleday, 1980), 41–42.

20 For the text of these agreements, see U.S. Arms Control and Disarmament Agency, 

Arms Control and Disarmament Agreements: Texts and Histories of Negotiations (Washington, 

DC: GPO, 1982), 132–157.

21 Roger Labrie, ed., SALT Hand Book: Key Documents and Issues, 1972–1979 (Washington, 

DC; American Enterprise Institute, 1979), 13–14. Under the interim agreement, the 

United States could build up to 44 fleet ballistic submarines and 710 launchers; the 

Soviets could go as high as 950 SLBMs and 62 submarines but would have to make 

off-setting reductions in land-based ICBMs to stay within the freeze.

22 Freedman, U.S. Intelligence and the Soviet Strategic Threat, 165–166; Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 178–191.

23 Raymond L. Garthoff, Détente and Confrontation: American-Soviet Relations from Nixon to 

Reagan (Washington, DC: Brookings, 1994, rev. ed.), 213–223 and passim.

24 JCSM-258-72 to SECDEF, June 2, 1972, “National Security Assurances in a Strategic 

Arms Limitation Environment,” JCS 2482/152; summarized in Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 189–91.

25 ADM Moorer, May 19, 1972, quoted in Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 185.

26 Anna Kasten Nelson, “Senator Henry Jackson and the Demise of Détente,” in Anna 

Kasten Nelson, ed., The Policy Makers: Shaping American Foreign Policy from 1947 to the 

Present (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2009), 92–93.
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27 Marquis Childs, “Jackson and the Generals,” The Washington Post, December 14, 1976, 19.

28 See Nelson, “Senator Henry Jackson and the Demise of Détente,” 93–94.

29 Admiral Thomas H. Moorer, United States Military Posture for FY 1975 (Report by the 

Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, February 26, 1974), 15–16.

30 Memo, SECDEF to President, February 20, 1969, “NATO Defense Issues,” JCS 

2450/695; “NSC Review—US Policy Toward NATO,” undated, attach. to Memo, Davis to Pedersen et al., March 17, 1969, JCS2450/676-1; DJSM-1644-69 to SECDEF, 

October 23, 1969, “NSSM-65—Relationships Among Strategic and Theater Forces for 

NATO,” JCS 2101/561-1; Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 193–195. 

31 “Informal Remarks in Guam with Newsmen,” July 25, 1969, Nixon Public Papers, 1969, 

549.

32 Gordon S. Barrass, The Great Cold War: A Journey Through the Hall of Mirrors (Stanford, 

CA: Stanford University Press, 2009), 196.

33 Richard L. Kugler, Commitment to Purpose: How Alliance Partnership Won the Cold War

(Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1993), 250–251; Thomas W. Wolfe, Soviet Power and Europe, 

1945–1970 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1970), 471–472.

34 “ISA Summary of JCS Report and Supporting Study,” enclosure to Memo, Ware (ISA) 

to DJS, December 3, 1969, “NSSM 65,” JCS 2101/561-2; Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 

195–196.

35 Quoted in Lawrence S. Kaplan, NATO and the United States: The Enduring Alliance (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1988), 131.

36 See Henry Kissinger, Years of Upheaval (Boston: Little, Brown, 1982), 134.

37 The New York Times, December 7, 1969, 18; see also John S. Duffield, Power Rules: The 

Evolution of NATO’s Conventional Force Posture (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 

1995), 196.

38 Kugler, 252.

39 NSDM 95, November 25, 1970, “US Strategy and Forces for NATO,” box H-208, Nixon Presidential Material; and <http://nixon.archives.gov/virtuallibrary/documents/

nsdm/nsdm_095.pdf>.

40 Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 207–210; NSDM 133, September 22, 1971, “US Strategy 

and Forces for NATO; Allied Force Improvements,” box H-208, Nixon Presidential 

Materials, available at <http://nixon.archives.gov/virtuallibrary/documents/nsdm/

nsdm_133.pdf>.

41 Lewis Sorley, “Goodpaster: Maintaining Deterrence during Détente,” in Robert S. 

Jordan, ed., Generals in International Politics: NATO’s Supreme Allied Commander, Europe

(Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1987), 130–133; Kugler, 269–271; Duffield, 

197–201. AD-70 was short for “Alliance Defense in the Seventies.”

42 How fast and effectively NATO was moving on these issues remained a matter of debate. According to Goodpaster, “in true NATO style, you have to measure [progress] in 

millimeters.” Quoted in Sorley, “Goodpaster,” 131.

43 NSSM 168, February 13, 1973, “US NATO Policies and Programs,” box H-207, Nixon 

Presidential Materials, available at <http://nixon.archives.gov/virtuallibrary/documents/nssm/nssm_168.pdf>.
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44 Kugler, 302–304.

45 Alexander M. Haig, Jr., Inner Circles: How America Changed the World—A Memoir (New 

York: Warner Books, 1992), 521.

46 Kissinger vehemently denied that the administration’s policy was to play off China 

against the Soviet Union. He used the curious explanation: “We could not ‘exploit’ that 

rivalry; it exploited itself.” See Kissinger, White House Years, 763.

47 Donald S. Zagoria, The Sino–Soviet Conflict, 1956–1961 (New York: Atheneum, 1964), 

was among the earliest to expose the “split” within the communist bloc.

48 Richard M. Nixon, “Asia After Vietnam,” Foreign Affairs 56 (October 1967), 111–125.

49 Henry Kissinger, On China (New York: Penguin, 2011), 275 and passim.

50 NSSM 3, January 21, 1969, “US Military Posture and the Balance of Power,” box H-207, 

Nixon Presidential Materials, available at <http://nixon.archives.gov/virtuallibrary/

documents/nssm/nssm_003.pdf>.

51 Kissinger, White House Years, 220–221.

52 “US Military Posture and the Balance of Power: General Purpose Forces Section,” 

September 5, 1969, 24, enclosure to Memo, DepSECDEF to NSC Members et al., 

September 5, 1969, “Final Report on U.S. Military Posture and the Balance of Power,” 

JCS 2101/554-54, cited in Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 23–25.

53 Kissinger, White House Years, 221.

54 JCSM-743-69 to SECDEF, December 4, 1969, “Strategic Concept and Force Planning 

Guidance for Military Planning (Revised)—FY 1972–1979, JCS 2458/632-4; Poole, 

Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 28–30.

55 SNIE 13–69, March 6, 1969, “Communist China and Asia,” in Allen, Carver, and Elmore, eds., Tracking the Dragon, 527–539.

56 “First Annual Report to the Congress on U.S. Foreign Policy for the 1970s,” February 

18, 1970, Nixon Public Papers, 1970, 176–177.

57 MacArthur quoted in D. Clayton James, The Years of MacArthur, vol. III, Triumph and 

Disaster, 1945–1964 (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, 1985), 460.

58 Poole, “JCS and National Policy, 1965–68” (MS), 717–728 (declassified/publication 

forthcoming).

59 CM-4764-69 to SECDEF, December 6, 1969, “Taiwan Strait Patrol,” JCS 1966/172; 

CINCPAC Command History, 1969, I, 141–144; Kissinger, White House Years, 187; Poole, 

Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 445–446.

60 Talking Paper for SECDEF and CJCS for NSC Meeting, March 25, 1971, “United 

States China Policy (NSSM 106),” JCS 2118/262-8; Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 431–

432.

61 See Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, “JCS and National Policy, 1969–72,” 434, fn. 46.

62 “Remarks Announcing Acceptance of an Invitation to Visit the PRC,” July 15, 1971, 

Nixon Public Papers, 1971, 819–820; Kissinger, White House Years, 742–755.

63 JCSM-446-71 to SECDEF, October 6, 1971, “Military Considerations for the Pending 

Presidential Visit to the PRC,” JCS 2270/44-1; Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 436–437.
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64 CNOM 18-72 to JCS, February 3, 1972, “Military Considerations Concerning the 

President’s Discussions with the PRC,” JCS 2270/47; JCSM-58-72 to SECDEF, February 16, 1972, same subject, JCS 2270/47-1; Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 437–438.

65 Kissinger, White House Years, 774–784.

66 Nixon, RN, 567–568.

67 Message, Zhou Enlai to Nixon, May 29, 1971, FRUS 1969–76, vol. XVII, China, 1969–72, 332.

68 “Joint Statement Following Discussions with Leaders of the PRC,” February 27, 1972, 

Nixon Public Papers, 1972, 378.

69 Kissinger, White House Years, 783–784, 1073–1074 (quote).

70 The most significant assistance provided by the PRC was the dispatch of 12 minesweepers to North Vietnam, which cleared 46 mines between July 1972 and August 

1973. Official U.S. sources indicate that the Navy laid down “thousands” of mines 

during the operation. See Qiang Zhai, China and the Vietnam Wars, 1950–1975 (Chapel 

Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2000), 202–204; and Edward J. Marolda, ed., 

Operation End Sweep: A History of Minesweeping Operations in North Vietnam (Washington, 

DC: Naval Historical Center, 1993), xi.

71 Garthoff, 291.

72 JCSM-337-65 to SECDEF, May 6, 1965, “Impact on Area Arms Balance of Military Sales 

to Israel,” JCS 2369/12-2; Poole, “JCS and National Policy, 1965–68,” Pt. II, chap. X.

73 Thomas R. Johnson, American Cryptology during the Cold War, 1945-1989, Book II, Centralization Wins, 1960-1972 (Washington, DC: National Security Agency, 1995), 432–39 

(declassified), available at <http://www.nsa.gov/public_info/_files/cryptologic_histories/cold_war_ii.pdf>, details the Liberty’s mission.

74 Israel Defence Forces, Attack on the “Liberty” Incident, 8 June 1967 (Tel Aviv: History 

Department, Research and Instruction Branch, June 1982), 31.

75 Edward J. Drea, McNamara, Clifford, and the Burdens of Vietnam, 1965–1969 (Washington, 

DC: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, 2011), chap. 16; James Scott, 

The Attack on the Liberty (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2009), 138–141, 153–155.

76 JCSM-374-67 to SECDEF, June 29, 1967, “US Military Interests in the Near East,” JCS 

1887/720-.

77 Drea, McNamara, Clifford, and Vietnam, chap. 16.

78 Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 297–300.

79 See Kissinger, White House Years, 363–377.

80 JCSM-521-71 to SECDEF, November 30, 1971, “Combat Aircraft Sales to Israel,” JCS 

2369/46; also quoted and summarized in Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 328–329.

81 “The Military Balance in the Middle East,” May 27, 1970, enclosure to JCS 2369/37-1; 

Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 300–301.

82 Mohamed Heikal, The Road to Ramadan (New York: Quadrangle, 1975), 175. Other 

sources place the size of the Soviet contingent in Egypt at between 10,000 and 15,000.

83 Kissinger, White House Years, 192–193; Kissinger, Years of Upheaval, 204–205.

84 See Anwar Sadat, In Search of Identity: An Autobiography (New York: Harper & Row, 

1977), 215 and passim.
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85 CIA, The Pike Report (Nottingham, UK: Spokesman Books, 1977), 26–94. See also 

Gerald K. Haines, “The Pike Committee Investigations and the CIA,” Studies in Intelligence (Winter 1998–1999; unclassified edition), 81–92; and Christopher Andrew, For the 

President’s Eyes Only (New York: HarperPerennial, 1995), 390–392.

86 Letter, Brezhnev to Nixon, October 24, 1973, Nixon Presidential Materials, Henry A. 

Kissinger Files, box 69, Dobrynin/Kissinger vol. 20 (October 12–November 27, 1973); 

Kissinger, Years of Upheaval, 583.

87 Kissinger at this time served in a dual capacity. Appointed Secretary of State in September 1973, he continued to serve also as the President’s Assistant for National Security 

Affairs.

88 Nixon, RN, 922.

89 Zumwalt, On Watch, 434–436; Robert W. Love, Jr., History of the U.S. Navy (Harrisburg, 

PA: Stackpole Books, 1992), II, 654.

90 Zumwalt, On Watch, 434.

91 Walter Isaacson, Kissinger: A Biography (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1992), 517. According to U.S. intelligence, the Jericho had a range of 260 miles and was unsuitable 

for conventional munitions. See SNIE 4-1-74, “Prospects for Further Proliferation of 

Nuclear Weapons,” August 23, 1974 (declassified with deletions), 2, 22, National Security Archive, GWU, and <http://www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/NSAEBB/NSAEBB240/

snie.pdf>.

92 Kissinger, Years of Upheaval, 497.

93 Nixon, RN, 924; Kissinger, Years of Upheaval, 493.

94 Barrass, Great Cold War, 185, recounts Brezhnev’s growing frustration with the Arabs.

95 Message, CJCS 2733 to CINCPAC et al., October 25, 1973, National Security Archive, 

GWU.

96 Haig, Inner Circles, 415–416. 

97 Kissinger, Years of Upheaval, 586–589; Entry, October 26, 1973, Moorer Diary; Strategic 

Air Command, “Chronology: Middle East Crisis” (SAC History Study #139, December 12, 1973), 13 (declassified with deletions); Message, CJCS 5694 to CINCPAC et al. 

October 28, 1973, National Security Archive, GWU.

98 United States Military Posture for FY 1975, 1–6.
James R. Schlesinger, Secretary of Defense, 1973–1975
Chapter 12

The Search for 

Strategic Stability

Détente lasted for roughly 7 years, from the signing of the SALT I agreements in 

1972 until the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979. During that time, with the 

exception of the 1973 October War in the Middle East, there were no repetitions of 

the tense encounters that had been so commonplace in the 1950s and 1960s. From 

all outward appearances, détente was a huge success. Barely below the surface, however, the situation was different. The Soviet military buildup in both conventional 

and strategic nuclear forces continued, and with it came increased Soviet activity in 

Southeast Asia, the Middle East, and Africa. Often employing Cuban “proxies,” the 

Soviets seemed more intent than ever on extending their power and influence into 

new areas where conditions were ripe for Communist penetration and U.S. interests 

were most vulnerable. 

For the Joint Chiefs, these were exceedingly trying times. With the military’s 

reputation and credibility in tatters after Vietnam, they were hard put to mobilize 

support for what they considered essential requirements to bolster the country’s defense posture. Concentrating on disparities in strategic forces, they saw an especially 

urgent need for modernization but faced budgetary and political constraints that 

allowed only parts of their program to go forward as planned. Basically, the country 

was in no mood for a postwar military buildup. Instead, the approach most people 

preferred was a lowered profile abroad in line with the Nixon administration’s projections under the Guam Doctrine, and further pursuit of reduced tensions with the 

Soviets through SALT and détente.

The Peacetime “Total Force” 

As they gradually shifted from a wartime to a peacetime footing in the early 1970s, the 

Joint Chiefs expected demobilization and cutbacks in military spending to take a heavy 

toll. What they failed to anticipate was a public and congressional backlash brought on 

by Vietnam which, when coupled with competition for funds from domestic social 

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programs, would depress military spending for nearly a decade. The result was virtually no real growth in the U.S. military budget, compared to a net annual increase of 

3 percent in Soviet military spending.1

 Once the Vietnam “bulge” was gone by the 

early 1970s, the Defense Department’s annual budget authority, as measured in constant dollars, almost steadily declined. By FY80, it was about 1 percent less than what 

it had been a decade earlier in FY71. During that time, U.S. defense spending dropped 

from 7.2 percent of the country’s gross national product to 5.2 percent. Since the 1970s 

were a decade of high inflation, the impact on the Services’ buying power and their 

ability to modernize weapons and equipment was more than an inconvenience—it 

was nearly crippling.2

Faced with no-growth and negative-growth budgets, the Joint Chiefs strained 

to meet obligations abroad which until the end of the 1960s had revolved around a 

two-and-a-half war planning scenario. Though that was reduced by the Nixon White 

House to a one-and-a-half war requirement in 1970, the JCS still found themselves 

facing the possibility of simultaneous conflicts on two separate fronts—a major conflict, most likely in Europe, and a lesser one in Korea or the Middle East. Politically, this 

change had much to recommend it. Not only did it accord with the administration’s 

desire to improve relations with China, but also it limited overseas commitments, as 

enunciated under the Guam Doctrine. A further advantage was that it simplified the 

work of JCS and Service planners (the Army’s especially) by allowing them to focus 

their research and development (R&D) and acquisition policies more closely on supporting NATO.3

 At the same time, the one-and-a-half war strategy allowed air and 

naval assets deployed in the Far East to be redeployed to Europe or the Mediterranean 

more readily than in years past. But in the Joint Chiefs’ eyes, the new concept still left 

U.S. forces spread exceedingly thin around the globe and took little or no account of 

the ever-present danger of unforeseen contingencies.

In keeping with its limited view of U.S. obligations abroad, the Nixon administration also endorsed a peacetime “total force” that was smaller than any the JCS 

had seen since the 1950s. Two key innovations were an all-volunteer Army (more 

expensive to maintain than a conscripted force but less politically troublesome) 

and increased reliance on Reserve capabilities. Once the Vietnam War was over, the 

administration projected a peacetime defense establishment organized around an 

Army of 13 active divisions (down from 18 at the height of the Vietnam conflict) 

and 8 divisions in the National Guard, a Navy of approximately 400 surface ships, 

93 submarines, and 16 carriers, a Marine Corps of 3 Active divisions and 1 Reserve, 

and an Air Force of 21 Active and 11 Reserve wings.4

While the Joint Chiefs would have preferred a larger active peacetime force, 

inter-Service skirmishing over the allocation of resources prevented them from 
THE SE AR CH FOR ST RA TEG I C ST A B ILI T Y

367

coming up with firm, prioritized recommendations. Unable to agree among themselves, the Joint Chiefs effectively ceded the determination of force levels to OSD, 

the White House, and the Office of Management and Budget (OMB). In these 

circumstances, fiscal considerations invariably triumphed over military ones. Most 

impacted of all was the Army, which faced a 20 percent cut in strength, compared 

with 10 percent cuts in the Air Force and Navy. As Admiral Moorer described 

the scene at one JCS meeting in February 1970, Army Chief of Staff General 

Westmoreland, was “running scared,” disparaging the contributions of the other 

Services, and “grasping in every direction” for ways to stave off troop reductions.5

In fact, the force reductions after Vietnam were no more severe than those the 

Services experienced after Korea and far less debilitating than the massive postWorld War II demobilization. The retention of air and naval power rather than large 

ground forces also followed earlier patterns and reflected the continuing practice 

of turning to technology to shore up the country’s security in peacetime. Meanwhile, ending the draft allowed the Army to be more selective in the recruitment of 

personnel, a major step toward creating a more elite, cohesive institution. The net 

result was a smaller, more professional defense establishment with a lowered overall 

public profile, which was a distinct advantage at a time of strong skepticism toward 

the military in Congress and lingering anti-war sentiment in the country at large.

Modernizing the Strategic Deterrent

The most urgent task facing the Joint Chiefs as the Vietnam War drew to a close 

was to reequip and modernize the Armed Forces. Hardware worn out in Vietnam 

had to be replaced, while advances in technology offered the possibility of a refurbished arsenal of more sophisticated and versatile weapons. Much of the attention 

focused on improving conventional forces: a new main battle tank (the M–1) and a 

new armored personnel carrier for the Army, new fighter aircraft for the Air Force 

and Navy, and new ships for the fleet. But as important as these acquisition programs may have been, they paled in comparison to what loomed in the strategic 

arena—arresting the ongoing decline in U.S. nuclear power through a concerted 

modernization of the strategic deterrent. 

By the early 1970s, the Joint Chiefs of Staff agreed that bolstering strategic 

forces could no longer wait. Decisions taken in the mid-1960s at McNamara’s instigation to freeze the number of launchers in the U.S. nuclear arsenal and President 

Nixon’s acceptance of “strategic equivalence” with the Soviet Union in strategic 

forces, all the while negotiating arms control accords, had unsettling effects on JCS 

assessments of the military balance. Worried that the Soviets were on the verge 
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of achieving a decisive advantage, the Joint Chiefs continued to look at a broad 

range of improvements to bolster the U.S. strategic posture. They realized that these 

improvements were unlikely to restore the strategic superiority the United States 

had previously enjoyed. But without them, the chiefs were skeptical of their ability 

to preserve effective deterrence or stability in future crises.

A tenuous consensus had emerged among the JCS in support of three new 

strategic systems by the early 1970s—the B–1 strategic bomber, the Trident fleet 

ballistic missile submarine, and the MX, a third generation ICBM. The oldest of the 

three, the B–1, dated unofficially from 1961 when the Air Force began exploring 

alternatives to the cancelled B–70. By the mid–1960s, the project had evolved into 

a formal request for a supersonic (Mach 2) low–level penetration bomber which 

Air Force Chief of Staff General John P. McConnell labeled “the top priority program within the Air Force” at the time.6

 Designated to replace older B–52 models, 

the proposed new plane (then known as the advanced manned strategic aircraft, or 

AMSA) encountered stiff resistance from McNamara and his civilian advisors, who 

considered manned strategic aircraft obsolete and less cost-effective than missiles.7

In place of the AMSA, McNamara insisted that the Air Force make do with the 

F–111, a medium-range fighter-bomber with limited capabilities. Try as he might, 

however, McNamara was never able to kill the AMSA, which remained alive as a 

drawing board concept owing to the combined support of the Air Force and key 

members of Congress. Weighing the pros and cons, neither the Army, Navy, nor 

Marines saw an urgent need for the AMSA. All wanted closer study before going 

into production. But like the ABM issue, they endorsed the AMSA program seemingly in defiance of McNamara, as much as anything, and out of frustration over his 

persistent refusal to pay attention to military advice and to authorize new systems.8

With the advent of the Nixon administration, the AMSA became the B–1 and 

the Air Force received authorization to develop several prototypes for testing. If all 

went well, the JCS expected an initial operational capability (IOC) in FY78. Under 

the division of labor in effect at the time, Secretary of Defense Melvin Laird concentrated on Congress and Vietnam, while his deputy, David Packard (cofounder 

of the computer giant Hewlett-Packard), looked after procurement and administration. In an effort to control costs, Packard adopted a “fly-before-you-buy” acquisition policy which required hardware demonstrations of new weapons at predetermined intervals before the Defense Department would commit to full-scale 

production and procurement. For planning purposes, the Air Force estimated an 

eventual force of 241 planes, but could not guarantee the prime contractor, Rockwell International, that the government would purchase that many aircraft owing to the fly-before-you-buy requirement. A complex plane with state-of-the-art 
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electronics and avionics, the B–1 was an expensive undertaking to begin with and 

became even more so as the project gathered momentum.9

 With the Vietnam War 

winding down and money again becoming tight, pressure was growing for the JCS 

to take a more critical look at the B–1 and other new weapons.

Like the B–1, the Trident program faced chronic criticism and money troubles. 

Originally known as the undersea long-range missile system (ULMS), Trident was an 

outgrowth of the Strat-X study, an effort organized by Secretary of Defense McNamara in the mid-1960s through the Institute for Defense Analyses (IDA) to explore 

alternative strategic systems of the future. Treated as a follow-on to the Polaris and 

Poseidon programs, the original ULMS design was for a slow-moving underwater 

platform carrying up to 24 long-range missiles. To stay within McNamara’s cost-effectiveness criteria, the Navy’s Special Projects Office proposed using extended range 

Poseidon missiles and an existing nuclear power plant, but ran afoul of Vice Admiral 

Hyman G. Rickover, head of the Navy’s nuclear propulsion program, who insisted on 

a new reactor system. By 1970, costs had escalated dramatically as requirements became 

more sophisticated and as the size of the boat grew to more than twice that of a Polaris 

submarine. A source of controversy within the Navy, the ULMS project (renamed 

Trident in May 1972) soon attracted widespread congressional attention as well and 

became a favored object of attack by Capitol Hill liberals, who considered it a wasteful 

and redundant drain on resources that could be better spent on other projects.

To distinguish Trident from other submarines and to increase its appeal, the Navy 

proposed to equip it with two new missiles. Initially, Trident boats would carry the C4 

missile (also known as Trident I), virtually identical in size to the Poseidon missile but 

with up to twice the range. For boats going to sea in the mid- to late 1970s, the Navy 

proposed to deploy the D5 (Trident II) which would have the range, payload, and accuracy approximating a land-based ICBM, giving Trident a counterforce potential to 

threaten the highest priority enemy targets. Until then, to avoid charges of duplicating 

Air Force functions, the Navy had eschewed the development of sea-based missiles 

that could effectively attack military facilities other than Soviet submarine pens and 

similar “soft” targets. With Trident, the Navy would be moving into a new realm of 

military strategy by acquiring a true counterforce capability for the first time, one less 

vulnerable than the Air Force’s ICBMs but no less effective.10

Even though the JCS agreed that Trident had unique potential, opinions differed on taking the next step and putting it into production. A majority of the Joint 

Chiefs—the CNO, the CMC, and the CJCS, Admiral Moorer—saw no reason to 

hesitate and wanted boats in the water by the mid to late 1970s. In contrast, the 

CSA and the CSAF, citing the uncertainties of the program and the Nixon administration’s determination to negotiate arms control accords, adopted a wait-and-see 
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attitude and urged that Trident be limited to the R&D phase for the time being.11

Secretary of Defense Laird initially sided with the Army and Air Force, and in September 1971 he issued a formal public statement indicating that design studies and 

other work on a new missile submarine would proceed at a measured pace, with a 

production decision held in abeyance. But under pressure from the White House, he 

reversed course almost immediately and agreed to accelerate the Trident program, 

with a view toward strengthening the U.S. negotiating position in SALT and blunting possible conservative opposition in Congress to an arms control agreement.12

If Trident thus seemed headed for production and deployment, the same could not 

be said for the MX, the Air Force’s proposed new state-of-the-art ICBM, which ran into 

one niggling problem after another. Like the B–1, the MX reflected the Air Force’s annoyance with McNamara for blocking new programs and for refusing to countenance 

a strategic posture with predominantly counterforce capabilities. Emerging from design 

studies done in the mid-1960s, the MX (known at that time as the Advanced ICBM, or 

AICBM) grew directly out of the Air Force’s desire for a weapon that would be larger, 

more powerful, and more accurate than the Minuteman, with an initial operational capability by the early to mid-1970s. Design specifications stipulated that it should be able 

to lift a payload of 7,000 pounds and have a range of 6,500 nautical miles and a circular 

error probable (CEP) of .2 nautical miles. A formidable undertaking in and of itself, the 

development of such a missile proved to be less of an obstacle than finding a survivable, 

politically plausible basing mode, an issue that would dog the MX throughout its checkered history and delay its deployment for more than a decade.13

During the Nixon administration, the MX had joined the B–1 and Trident as 

a staple in the Joint Chiefs’ inventory of future weapons systems in the JSOP.14 Even 

so, assessments of the missile’s importance and ultimate role in the strategic arsenal 

varied from Service to Service. Least enthusiastic of all was the Navy, which saw the 

MX competing directly with Trident for funds and mission. At issue was whether the 

United States needed, and could afford, two new strategic systems performing roughly the same functions.15 To observers with long memories, the situation was analogous 

to the competition between the Air Force and the Navy during the carrier-B–29 

controversy in the late 1940s. In this instance, however, the Navy had the edge with 

a more versatile weapons system. Perhaps with Louis Johnson’s untoward experience 

in mind, Secretary of Defense Laird and his immediate successors made no attempt 

to adjudicate the dispute and instead adopted the course of least resistance by allowing both programs to go forward simultaneously, reserving judgment on their relative 

merits for later. A temporizing approach, this solution avoided what could have been 

an ugly inter-Service battle. Yet it also left important decisions dangling with steadily 

diminishing prospect of ever finding a clear resolution acceptable to all involved.
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Targeting Doctrine Revised 

As the competition between Trident and the MX heated up, it boiled over into 

two other areas—arms control and strategic targeting. A moderate-to-low priority 

since the Kennedy administration tried with limited success to introduce greater 

flexibility in the early 1960s, targeting doctrine emerged during the Nixon years to 

become the source of renewed interest and controversy. Shortly after taking office, 

Nixon and Kissinger visited the Pentagon and received their first formal briefing on 

the Single Integrated Operational Plan (SIOP) then in effect detailing programmed 

attacks against the Sino-Soviet bloc in the event of a general war. According to published accounts, Nixon was “appalled” by the high levels of death and destruction 

that a nuclear exchange would cause and by the corresponding lack of flexibility in 

the SIOP to limit and control attacks. Seeking a remedy, Kissinger secured the President’s approval in the summer of 1969 for a reexamination of targeting practices “to 

meet contingencies other than all-out nuclear challenge.”16

Several factors reinforced Kissinger’s concern that targeting policy needed reform. One was the inexorable increase during the 1960s in Soviet strategic nuclear 

power, which had gone beyond what most intelligence analysts had predicted. Once 

the Soviets reached strategic parity with the United States, Kissinger believed, the 

concept of assured destruction was less likely to deter and the Soviets might be tempted to launch a less than full-scale nuclear attack against the West. The results might 

not be incapacitating, but without the ability to respond in kind, the President’s only 

practical choice under the existing SIOP would be a suicidal act of all-out destruction—something Kissinger felt no sane individual would seriously countenance. Ever 

since the revisions introduced under Kennedy and McNamara’s subsequent institutionalization of the assured destruction concept, the Joint Chiefs had held the line on 

all but piecemeal changes to the SIOP.17 Now, Kissinger argued, the time had come 

to think in more flexible and creative terms, where nuclear war “is more likely to be 

limited” and “smaller packages will be used to avoid going to larger one[s].”18

The outcome of the ensuing inquiry—NSDM 242—was nearly 5 years in the 

making. Part of the explanation for why the project took so long was the continuing 

lack of urgency associated with targeting policy, compared with the immediate demands 

of other issues such as SALT and Vietnam. Also, there was a widely shared reluctance on 

the part of JCS planners to grant civilians (other than the President and the Secretary of 

Defense) access to the inner workings of strategic nuclear war plans and the process by 

which they were formulated. Highly classified, these plans were rarely discussed outside 

a restricted circle of uniformed strategic planners who scoffed at the notion that all they 

had to do was push a button to alter a plan. Initiating even limited changes in the SIOP 
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was a time-consuming and complex process. To be sure, with the pending introduction 

of more sophisticated weapons systems like the B–1, the MX, and Trident, and ongoing improvements to command and control capabilities, the amount of time and effort 

needed to amend a plan and reprogram forces was shortening. But it was still an onerous, difficult, and sensitive technical process that JCS planners guarded with utmost care.

The Joint Chiefs’ uneasiness over the whole question of strategic nuclear targeting was further exacerbated by difficulties in determining what Kissinger and 

the President hoped to accomplish. Even if the United States exercised restraint in 

launching nuclear attacks, there was no assurance the Soviets would respond in a 

similar fashion. On the contrary, JCS targeting planners operated on the assumption 

that any use by the West of strategic nuclear weapons, even in a limited capacity, 

was almost certain to elicit a wholesale nuclear response from the Soviet Union.19

At various points during the deliberations surrounding NSDM 242, Kissinger asked 

the Joint Chiefs for examples of how limited strategic nuclear power might be 

applied. But according to David Aaron, who served on the NSC Staff, Kissinger 

rejected every JCS response. Either the proposed uses were excessive, in Kissinger’s 

opinion, or too limited to convey a clear message and serve a constructive purpose.20

NSDM 242 had its origins in an intradepartmental study initiated at the Pentagon 

under the supervision of John S. Foster, Jr., the long-time Director of Defense Research 

and Engineering (DDR&E) and a highly respected figure among military planners. 

Secretary of Defense Laird had become worried that unless the Defense Department 

took a firm hand in the matter, Kissinger might unilaterally produce a new targeting 

directive. Accordingly, in January 1972, Laird gave Foster practically carte blanche to 

review targeting practices and to explore the feasibility of a more “flexible range of 

strategic options.” While the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Admiral Moorer, was a 

designated member of Foster’s study panel, the Director of the Joint Staff usually served 

in his stead. Until then the Joint Chiefs had done their best to discourage a reworking 

of targeting doctrine. But with an array of new strategic weapons awaiting the nod for 

production, they were hard pressed not to cooperate without acknowledging that the 

new arsenal they wanted would be no better or more versatile than the old.21

Throughout the review process, the Joint Chiefs and Foster’s task force carried 

on a brisk exchange of opinions and ideas. Not since the preparation of the first 

SIOP in 1960 had the JCS played such an active role in shaping targeting doctrine. 

Drawing on advice from the JCS, the Director of the Joint Strategic Target Planning Staff, and others, Foster and his colleagues came up with an extensive, but not 

fundamental, reworking of targeting guidance, which it submitted to the Secretary 

of Defense in tentative form in May 1972. In late July, Foster briefed Kissinger and 

members of the NSC on the panel’s findings, which one NSC Staffer characterized 
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as a “radical departure from the current policy.”22 A more accurate description would 

have been the reaffirmation of assured destruction under conditions of controlled 

escalation. A final report, reflecting further inputs from the Office of the Secretary 

of Defense and the Joint Chiefs of Staff followed, and Secretary of Defense Laird 

forwarded it to President Nixon in December. As Laird described it to the President, the purpose behind the proposed changes in targeting doctrine was to satisfy 

“your expressed desire for useable nuclear options other than mass destruction, and 

the needs of our basic strategy of realistic deterrence.”23

On the basis of the Defense Department’s report, Kissinger moved the targeting review up a notch to the interagency level in February 1973. Again, Foster took 

charge of the effort.24 Though it made minor alterations and additions, the interagency panel essentially concurred in the Pentagon’s findings, and by the summer of 1973 a 

draft Presidential directive had emerged. Approved by President Nixon the following 

January, NSDM 242 reaffirmed that the assured destruction concept remained basic 

U.S. strategic doctrine, but with modifications in targeting practices that interjected 

a greater degree of flexibility into attack plans. The principal innovation was the requirement for “limited employment options” that would enable the United States 

“to conduct selected nuclear operations, in concert with conventional forces, which 

protect vital U.S. interests and limit enemy capabilities to continue aggression.” Should 

these limited attacks fail to deter the Soviets from further military action, the United 

States might then launch large-scale attacks against the Soviet Union that would limit 

damage to the United States and its allies and cripple enemy recovery for years to 

come, a concept known as “counter-recovery” targeting.25

Translating this guidance into a working doctrine fell mainly to the new Secretary of Defense, James R. Schlesinger, who, as an analyst at the RAND Corporation 

in the 1960s, had been involved in critiquing the old strategy. Since then, having 

served as director for national security affairs at the Bureau of the Budget, as Chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission, and as Director of Central Intelligence, 

Schlesinger had come to certain conclusions on his own about what constituted 

effective deterrence. Sworn in as Secretary of Defense in July 1973, he took charge 

at the Pentagon too late to have an impact on the content of NSDM 242, but just 

in time to interpret how the directive ought to be applied. To Kissinger’s chagrin, 

it was Schlesinger’s name, not his, that came to be associated with the new strategy.

The public unveiling of the “Schlesinger doctrine” occurred on January 10, 

1974, during a question-and-answer period before the Overseas Writers Association 

in Washington, DC. Though it had been an open secret for months that the administration was conducting a targeting review, Schlesinger’s comments were the first 

official confirmation. The United States, he said, had decided to amend the assured 
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destruction concept and embrace, on a selective basis, attacks against “certain classes” 

of Soviet military installations. Missile silos and airfields were among those he specifically mentioned. Realizing that this was an exceedingly sensitive issue, he added that 

he was speaking “hypothetically” and repeatedly stated that the United States had no 

intention of using such attacks to attempt a disarming first strike. Rather, the intention 

would be to convince the other side that the United States was bent on protecting its 

interests without necessarily resorting to all-out nuclear war. While outwardly similar 

to the counterforce/no-cities doctrine that McNamara had unsuccessfully pushed 12 

years earlier, Schlesinger’s approach was more discriminating and restricted, keeping 

counterforce targeting within reach of current and projected JCS capabilities. Insisting 

that this was not a fundamental departure from current targeting practices, Schlesinger 

also affirmed that sufficient forces would be held in reserve to achieve assured destruction goals, should the conflict escalate. But if the United States could achieve its aims 

without going that far, so much the better.26

Reactions to the Schlesinger doctrine were mixed. While some strategic theorists proclaimed it potentially destabilizing to the new era of “mutual” assured destruction, or MAD, that the SALT I agreements had ushered in, others reserved judgment.27 A key consideration that contributed to muting criticism was Schlesinger’s 

caution and obvious reluctance to use the new strategy as justification for expensive 

new weapons or other requirements. The Foster Panel had looked into that question but had refrained from making detailed recommendations because it did not 

believe that weapon systems acquisition policy could be formulated solely or even 

primarily on the basis of employment policy. Secretary Schlesinger drew a similar 

distinction. In assessing requirements, he acknowledged the eventual need for the 

B–1 and the MX, but saw no urgency in proceeding with the acquisition of either 

pending the resolution of technical problems. Until then, he favored keeping both 

programs in an advanced state of testing and development. Instead of rushing to deploy new land-based delivery systems, he stressed modest improvements in existing 

Air Force capabilities—a higher yield and more accurate MIRVed reentry vehicle 

(the Mark 12A) for the Minuteman III, and two more powerful and sophisticated 

thermonuclear bombs (the B–61 and the B–77) carried aboard B–52s. At the same 

time, part of the Poseidon fleet would be fitted with C4 (Trident I) missiles to improve their range and effectiveness. The only new system he envisioned playing a 

key role under the recently adopted strategy was Trident—first, because it was farther along than either the MX or B–1, and second, because it combined a potential 

counterforce capability with relative invulnerability.28

All in all, the targeting review leading to adoption of the Schlesinger doctrine 

probably came out better for the Joint Chiefs than they initially expected. While 
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laying down new targeting priorities, it generally reinforced their preferences, especially in the counterforce category, and provided a strong rationale for completing 

the strategic modernization program. What it failed to do was establish a specific link 

between the need for the B–1 and the MX, on the one hand, and on the other, the 

execution of tasks delineated in NSDM 242, including the additional functions entailed in carrying out limited options. Only Trident emerged with a definite mandate 

to proceed under the new targeting scheme. But with the foundations thus laid, the 

chiefs could be reasonably confident that if they continued to press their case, sooner 

or later resources would catch up with the changes in employment policy. 

SALT II Begins

Like the targeting review leading to adoption of the Schlesinger doctrine, arms control negotiations figured prominently in the post-Vietnam debate over U.S. strategic 

modernization. The JCS position was that with or without arms control, modernization should go forward to stay abreast of increases and improvements in Soviet capabilities. But in the wake of SALT I, there was considerable caution, both at the White 

House and on Capitol Hill, about pressing ahead with new strategic weapons that 

might poison the atmosphere of future negotiations and provoke, in Kissinger’s words, 

“an explosion of technology and an explosion of numbers” in delivery vehicles.29 Not 

everyone agreed that slowing down or postponing modernization was a wise move, 

certainly not the Joint Chiefs of Staff and certainly not Democratic Senator Henry M. 

Jackson of Washington, who had done as much as anyone to draw attention to the imperfections of the SALT I accords. But from the momentum generated by the earlier 

talks, there was growing optimism for the prospects of SALT II and a corresponding 

reluctance to jeopardize those negotiations with hasty spending on new weapons.

The Soviets were less reticent about their programs. Though eager for SALT II, 

they were not about to let it get in the way of efforts to bolster their strategic forces, 

an ongoing process since the mid-1960s. While SALT I had “frozen” long-range offensive launchers (ICBMs and SLBMs) at existing levels, it had left both sides more 

or less free to replace those weapons with newer models and to conduct research and 

development as needed. During 1973, with the ink on the SALT I accords barely dry, 

the Soviets began testing four new ICBMs, three with MIRV capability. All had new 

guidance and reentry systems, making them more accurate and lethal than the missiles 

they were slated to supersede. According to intelligence sources, the impetus behind 

developing these new weapons was “almost certainly . . . a desire for improved ability 

to strike at U.S. strategic forces—a factor long stressed in Soviet strategic doctrine.”30

The disclosure that the United States might be moving in the same direction under 
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the Schlesinger doctrine—toward an enhanced counterforce capability—met with 

typically sharp criticism and stern warnings from the Kremlin, which accused the 

United States of jeopardizing the strategic balance and endangering arms control. 

What the Soviets conveniently overlooked was that the United States was taking its 

time in upgrading its capabilities and had categorically ruled out trying to regain strategic superiority or to acquire a disarming first-strike capability.31

Begun under Nixon’s Presidency in December 1972, SALT II stretched over two 

subsequent administrations and was supposed to provide a permanent replacement for 

the temporary SALT I interim agreement on offensive arms. Instead, it yielded only 

a limited-duration treaty that the United States never ratified. Shortly after the negotiations began (now conducted on a permanent basis from Geneva), Senator Jackson 

insisted that the Joint Chiefs replace Lieutenant General Royal B. Allison, USAF, as 

their representative to SALT. His successor, appointed in March 1973, was Lieutenant 

General Edward L. Rowny, USA. Insisting that Allison had been ineffectual, Jackson 

wanted someone with tougher negotiating instincts and “dragooned” Rowny, a personal friend, into the job. A West Point graduate with additional degrees from the Johns 

Hopkins University, Yale, and American University, Rowny had commanded troops 

in World War II, the Korean War, and Vietnam and had served as a nuclear planner at 

NATO. His friendship with Senator Jackson dated from the 1950s, when Rowny was 

assigned to the Infantry School at Fort Benning, Georgia, and Jackson, then a Congressman, was doing his 2-week obligated tour of duty as an Army Reservist.32

At the time of his appointment to SALT, Rowny was deputy chairman of the 

NATO Military Committee, in charge of organizing the Mutual and Balanced 

Force Reduction (MBFR) Talks. Rowny was personally skeptical whether SALT 

would ever accomplish much and would have preferred to remain with the MBFR 

negotiations where he saw more opportunities, both for an agreement and for career advancement. He distrusted Kissinger, who returned the sentiment by lumping 

Rowny in the category of the “undisputed hawks.”33 Leery of the Soviets as well, 

Rowny became even more so the longer he was associated with SALT and the 

more contact he had with them at the negotiating table.

Rowny’s appointment was only one of several key personnel changes that 

affected the JCS role in SALT II. Though not directly engaged in the negotiations, the Joint Chiefs were part of a large and complex arms control “community” in Washington that had grown up over time to develop and assess proposals, 

evaluate verification measures, and monitor the progress of the talks.34 In keeping 

with the pattern of JCS involvement in other areas of national policy, the Service 

chiefs looked to the Chairman to handle the day-to-day chores connected with 

SALT, arrange interagency representation, and convey their views to the appropriate 
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authorities. In other words, arms control work was increasingly concentrated around 

the Chairman.

With the departure of Admiral Moorer in July 1974, the Chairmanship fell for 

the first time in nearly a decade and a half to an Air Force officer, General George S. 

Brown. A bomber pilot in Europe in World War II, Brown’s career had been a succession of high-profile command and staff jobs that led him steadily up the ladder to 

become Chief of Staff of the Air Force in 1973. Though he stayed in that job only a 

year before Nixon appointed him CJCS, he established himself as a strong proponent 

of the B–1 and other Air Force interests. As Chairman, he continued to champion 

the plane, terming it “a virtually indispensable element of our deterrent force.”35 At 

the same time, he adopted a cautious outlook on arms control and relied heavily on 

Rowny (a friend from their days at West Point) to help shape JCS positions on SALT. 

The Joint Staff acquired a fresh look under Brown. Responding to budget cuts 

and criticism growing out of the Vietnam War that the JCS organization was inefficient and ineffective, Brown decided to streamline the Joint Staff by abolishing two 

directorates, Personnel (J-1) and Communications-Electronics (J-6).36 As part of a 

Defense-wide effort to reduce costs, he also cut extraneous Joint Staff billets in line 

with a targeted 25 percent personnel reduction in the OSD-JCS headquarters staff, 

and supported the consolidation of analytical functions, a process that included the 

dissolution of the Weapons Systems Evaluation Group (WSEG). Created in 1949 

to provide analytical support for the Joint Chiefs, WSEG had grown increasingly 

independent of and less useful to the JCS. By the mid-1970s, about three-quarters of 

its work was for non-JCS interests. Ordered abolished by the Secretary of Defense 

in March 1976, most of WSEG’s ongoing projects for the Joint Chiefs transferred 

directly to the Studies, Analysis, and Gaming Agency (SAGA), a JCS in-house analytical body that operated in conjunction with but separately from the Joint Staff.37

Around the same time that General Brown became Chairman, the Joint Chiefs 

acquired three other new members, making it the most extensive turnover in JCS 

membership since the end of World War II. Brown’s successor as Chief of Staff of the 

Air Force was General David C. Jones, a B–29 bomber pilot during the Korean War 

and former aide to Curtis E. LeMay. With Zumwalt entering retirement, Admiral 

James L. Holloway III, a highly decorated aviator, became Chief of Naval Operations. 

Finally, in October 1974, General Fred C. Weyand became Army Chief of Staff, succeeding General Creighton W. Abrams, who had died in office the month before. The 

only holdover was the Commandant of the Marine Corps, General Robert E. Cushman, Jr., a veteran of three wars and one time deputy director at the CIA.

The most dramatic personnel change was at the White House. On August 9, 1974, 

barely a month after Brown’s appointment as Chairman, Nixon finally succumbed 
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to the pressures of the growing Watergate scandal and relinquished the Presidency to 

Gerald R. Ford, a former Republican Congressman from Michigan. Appointed Vice 

President the previous October following Spiro Agnew’s ignominious resignation, 

Ford had little experience in defense and foreign affairs. To maintain continuity, he 

turned to Kissinger, who was then serving as both Secretary of State and National 

Security Advisor. “Henry,” he said, “I need you. . . . I’ll do everything I can to work 

with you.”38 As a result, the NSC, with its elaborate structure of committees and support groups, all either chaired or overseen by Kissinger to afford the President and his 

national security assistant maximum control, remained the focal point of interdepartmental deliberations and decisionmaking. Normally, the Joint Chiefs would have welcomed the retention and reaffirmation of what was outwardly a carefully structured 

and predictable policy environment. But after the discovery of Kissinger’s backchannel 

negotiations with Dobrynin during SALT I, there was a growing awareness at the 

Pentagon that formal policy mechanisms might not count for much since Kissinger 

seemed inclined to circumvent them whenever it suited his purpose.

If the Joint Chiefs were by then deeply suspicious of Kissinger, their immediate 

boss, Secretary of Defense Schlesinger, was even more so. Indeed, not since the days of 

Louis Johnson and Dean Acheson had a Secretary of Defense and a Secretary of State 

been more at odds. Following a custom adopted during Laird’s tenure, Schlesinger and 

Kissinger met regularly for breakfast to discuss common problems and to try to narrow their differences. Rarely were they totally successful. As Kissinger described it, the 

two became locked in a “personal rivalry” that amounted to “an old-fashioned struggle for turf.”39 According to Zumwalt, their differences went deeper and amounted to 

an intellectual tug-of-war. “In Jim Schlesinger,” he claimed, “Henry Kissinger met his 

superior as a strategic theorist. But since Henry is a superior bureaucrat, he was able 

to impose his policy positions on Jim most of the time.”40

Vladivostok 

It was against this background of rivalries, feuds, intrigue, and turf wars that the new 

Ford administration attempted to carry forward the work begun by its predecessor 

in shaping a SALT II treaty. Realizing that they had been overly reticent in expressing their views at the outset of SALT I, the Joint Chiefs resolved that in SALT II 

they would take a more active and prominent role in shaping U.S. policy. All the 

same, they were in no rush to conclude an agreement and generally worked closely 

with Schlesinger and his staff to develop common OSD-JCS positions that would 

give the Pentagon more unity and better leverage in dealing with Kissinger and 

the White House. According to Admiral Zumwalt, JCS members further sought to 
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strengthen their position by establishing “backchannel” contacts with Senator Jackson and others in Congress who were sympathetic to military views.41

The most critical stumbling block in SALT II was the limitation of multiple 

independently targetable reentry vehicles (MIRVs), a subject that SALT I had ignored. As SALT II began, Kissinger wanted to constrain MIRV deployment by 

limiting ICBM throw-weight, but could not convince the Joint Chiefs that such 

arrangements were sound or workable. Arguing that Kissinger’s approach would be 

too hard to verify, the Joint Chiefs favored equality (“equal aggregates”) in numbers 

of delivery vehicles—missiles and heavy bombers—with each side free to MIRV 

its missiles to the extent it saw fit. To keep MIRV deployment contained, the Joint 

Chiefs suggested a maximum of around two thousand strategic delivery vehicles 

on each side. Actually, the JCS position came closer to that proposed by the Soviets 

than Kissinger’s, but would have required cuts in the number of Soviet launchers to 

bring them into compliance with the U.S. ceiling, something Moscow was initially 

loath to accept. In an attempt to bridge differences at home and make the American 

position more palatable to the Soviets, President Nixon in February 1974 approved 

a new negotiating offer (NSDM 245) calling for equal overall aggregates (2,350 

ICBMs, SLBMs, and bombers) and equal ICBM MIRV throw-weight.42

Despite the new offer, the talks remained deadlocked, needing something imaginative or dramatic to break the impasse. By the spring of 1974, with the Watergate affair bearing down on Nixon more heavily than ever, the Soviets lost confidence in the 

President’s capacity to lead and for all practical purposes suspended serious negotiations.43 Efforts by Kissinger to jump-start the talks during a visit to Moscow in March 

1974 came up empty.44 Desperate for a SALT II deal to help resuscitate his reputation 

and to stave off impeachment, Nixon began exploring further concessions. At the 

Pentagon there were growing suspicions that the President’s judgment had become 

clouded and that his behavior was suspect. Attempting to make Schlesinger and the 

Joint Chiefs his scapegoats, Nixon accused them of intentionally sabotaging détente 

by taking “an unyielding hard line against any SALT II agreement that did not ensure 

an overwhelming American advantage” in offensive strategic power.45 The charge was 

patently untrue and unfair. But it put Schlesinger and the Joint Chiefs on the defensive. They had to justify themselves anew when the Ford administration took over.

Under Ford, Kissinger quickly solidified his position as the President’s closest 

advisor, while Schlesinger and the JCS suffered repeated setbacks that reduced them 

to marginal roles. Ford had the utmost respect for military power and was inclined to 

grant the Defense Department modest increases in its budget, the first in several years. 

But he struggled to mobilize support for the idea after the JCS Chairman, General 

Brown, delivered a tirade against “Jewish bankers” during a seminar at Duke University 
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in October 1974. A gross indiscretion, Brown’s remarks came at an especially inopportune time when the United States was trying to engage Israel and the Arab states 

in peace talks and as the new administration sought to establish a working relationship with Congress. Furious condemnations of the Chairman’s behavior followed 

promptly from Capitol Hill. Brown apologized for the gaffe and insisted to friends 

that he was in no way anti-Semitic, as critics claimed. But his comments remained an 

embarrassment that reflected poorly on the JCS and the military in general.46

The most visible evidence of the Joint Chiefs’ limited influence was their exclusion from the Vladivostok mini-summit between Ford and Brezhnev in late November 1974. Hurriedly arranged by Kissinger, the summit’s purpose was to breathe 

new life into the practically moribund SALT II negotiations. Since the agenda at 

Vladivostok was heavily weighted toward military issues, it would have made sense 

for the White House to include JCS representation in its party. But apparently 

there was no room on the plane, even though 140 other people accompanied the 

President.47 In preparation for the meeting, Schlesinger and the Joint Chiefs urged 

Ford not to be hasty but to hold out for equal aggregates. Rather than risk the 

talks breaking down, Kissinger made a pre-summit trip to Moscow, where he and 

Soviet Foreign Minister Gromyko worked a deal.48 What emerged at Vladivostok 

was a numerical-parity formula that imposed an overall ceiling of 2,400 on strategic 

launchers, giving the appearance of strategic equality (as mandated by Congress), 

and a sub–limit of 1,320 on the number of MIRVed vehicles. The net effect was to 

reconfirm the status quo by allowing the Soviets to retain their lead in ICBMs and 

the United States to keep its relative advantage in SLBMs and bombers. But since 

the Joint Chiefs had no plans to build up to the allowed numbers under the Vladivostok formula, the only side that stood to gain was the Soviet Union.49

While there was probably not much that the chiefs’ presence at Vladivostok 

could have done to change the overall outcome, it might have helped avoid later 

controversy over two issues—cruise missiles and the Soviet “Backfire” bomber. Experiencing a revival, the U.S. cruise missiles under development in the 1970s were 

updated versions of a technology dating from the German V-1 “buzz bomb” of 

World War II. Equipped with exceedingly precise guidance systems, the new cruise 

missiles could fly at low altitudes, carry either a conventional or nuclear warhead, 

and penetrate existing radar nets virtually at will. While the precise mission of these 

weapons had yet to be defined, the operating assumption in R&D circles was that 

they could have both tactical and strategic uses. The Soviets also had cruise missiles, 

but had not as yet shown any interest beyond tactical applications.50

The Soviets knew that one of the variants being developed by the U.S. Air 

Force was an air-launched cruise missile (ALCM) for deployment aboard B–52s, 
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and at Vladivostok they sought to curb the program indirectly by proposing range 

limitations on air-to-surface missiles. The Joint Chiefs of Staff opposed range constraints on cruise missiles, but with no representative present during the talks, they 

were unable to advise on how to address the issue. Later, while briefing Congress, 

Kissinger insisted that there had been no agreement to limit the range of ALCMs 

and that only ballistic missiles were affected. The Soviets, however, disagreed, setting 

off a dispute that lasted for years.51

The most serious faux pas committed at Vladivostok that the chiefs’ presence 

might have avoided was the decision to treat the new Soviet Backfire bomber as an 

intermediate range weapon and not as a strategic one. While there were few details 

known about the plane in the West, the Joint Chiefs expected it to be deployed in 

significant numbers within a few years and were convinced from its general design 

and performance characteristics that it was fully capable of intercontinental missions.52 The Soviets, however, wanted the Backfire to be accorded the status of an 

intermediate range bomber, a designation Kissinger saw no reason not to accept.53

In exchange, Brezhnev offered at Vladivostok to drop previous Soviet demands to 

bring French and British nuclear forces and U.S. forward-based systems in Europe 

and the Far East under SALT counting rules. At Kissinger’s urging, Ford accepted 

the tradeoff Brezhnev proposed, only to discover upon his return to Washington 

that the Joint Chiefs and others thought the Backfire decision had been ill-advised.54

Despite imperfections, the Vladivostok accords received a generally favorable reception in the United States. Among those offering their endorsements, albeit somewhat grudgingly, were Secretary of Defense Schlesinger and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. 

Others, like Senator Henry Jackson, would have preferred lower numerical ceilings. But 

by and large public and congressional opinion welcomed the agreements as a major step 

toward curbing the arms race. In January and February 1975, both houses of Congress 

passed resolutions endorsing the Vladivostok accords. SALT II was back in business.

Marking Time 

Based on the outcome at Vladivostok, the Ford administration estimated that it 

would be only a few months before a SALT II treaty materialized. In fact, negotiations dragged on for 4 more years. Part of the problem was the lack of formal or 

authoritative minutes of the decisions taken at Vladivostok. The “official record” 

comprised a broadly worded joint press release handed out at the end of the conference, a subsequent aide-mémoire, and the conflicting recollections of the participants.55 Trying to sort out what had been decided at Vladivostok proved beyond the 

capacity of the negotiators in Geneva. By the summer of 1975, it was clear that the 
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talks were for all intents and purposes again at an impasse and that key provisions of 

the Vladivostok agreement needed to be renegotiated.56

At the same time, the Soviets showed no sign of being in a hurry to conclude 

a treaty and seemed content to mark time. Many in Moscow, including some of 

Brezhnev’s top military advisors, thought the General Secretary had been too accommodating at Vladivostok by making needless concessions to the Americans. Seeing the 

United States as a spent force with its power in decline, they argued that Brezhnev 

should have held out for better terms. According to one account, Brezhnev had to 

force his defense minister, Marshal Andrei Grechko, to “eat the Vladivostok agreement.” Even though Brezhnev’s views prevailed, he remained under intense personal 

and political pressure, and on the trip home from the Far East he suffered a stroke. 

Brezhnev recovered and resumed his duties in a short while, but his health deteriorated from that point on, and he was less and less able to keep the hard liners in check.57

If waning American military power was apparent to the Soviets, it was even 

more visible to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. In his annual posture statement summarizing the situation at the outset of 1975, General Brown characterized the U.S.-Soviet 

military balance as being in a state of “unstable equilibrium.” Decisions made earlier 

by Moscow and programs already in progress, he warned, “display massive momentum toward significant force increase and modernization.” In contrast, the United 

States, with its “modest programs,” was barely keeping up. Mindful of the President’s 

injunction against openly criticizing the Vladivostok accords, Brown acknowledged 

the agreement as a stabilizing influence, but pointed out that arms control by itself 

was no guarantee of security. “Arms control is a means, not an objective,” he argued. 

“The objective is peace.”58

Without a stronger defense commitment from Congress and the White House, 

however, the Joint Chiefs saw little chance of turning the situation around. Certainly the most stunning evidence of U.S. decline was the collapse of South Vietnam 

in the spring of 1975. In early April, with the North Vietnamese offensive in full 

swing, President Ford sent General Fred C. Weyand, former COMUSMACV and 

now Army Chief of Staff, to Saigon on a fact-finding mission. Based on what he saw, 

Weyand returned to Washington convinced that the South Vietnamese were “on 

the brink of total military defeat,” a view shared by Schlesinger, Brown, and senior 

members of the Intelligence Community.59 Refusing to give up, however, Weyand 

recommended immediate emergency assistance to the South Vietnamese totaling 

over $700 million in military aid. A face-saving gesture at best, Weyand’s proposal 

received grudging approval from the White House but fell on deaf ears when it 

reached Congress.60 South Vietnamese resistance collapsed shortly thereafter, and 

within a few years bases like the sprawling facility at Cam Ranh Bay that had once 
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played host to American forces were being used by the Soviets to project their air 

and naval power into the Western Pacific and Indian Oceans. 

South Vietnam’s demise ushered in a progressive erosion of U.S. power and influence across the Third World. Seizing on American weakness, Moscow launched 

vigorous efforts to restore its position in the Middle East and the Arab world by shoring up ties with Syria, Iraq, and Yemen, establishing close relations with Libya, and 

stepping up covert assistance to Palestinian terrorist groups.61 In Somalia and south of 

the Sahara, the Soviets made further inroads. Almost as soon as the Portuguese empire 

collapsed, Soviet advisors and thousands of Cuban military “volunteers” began arriving in Angola and Mozambique to help prop up Marxist regimes. A decade and a half 

earlier, in 1960−1962, when Communist influence threatened to overtake the Congo, 

the Joint Chiefs had favored strong countermeasures, including military intervention 

if necessary. But by the mid-1970s, with the experience of Vietnam behind them, they 

were far more cautious and reserved and generally urged diplomacy and covert operations to counter Soviet moves rather than direct military action.

An exception to this pattern was the Mayaguez affair in May 1975 involving the 

seizure of a U.S. cargo ship by the Khmer Rouge, who had taken control of Cambodia 

about the same time South Vietnam collapsed. As news of the capture of the Mayaguez

reached Washington, it brought back memories of the 1968 Pueblo incident when the 

United States had done nothing more than vent its “outrage” at North Korea’s seizure 

of one of its spy ships and, later, offer an abject apology to secure the crew’s release. Resolving not to be put in a similar position, President Ford took a tough line from the 

beginning and wound up authorizing military action to take back the ship and its crew. 

As the debate over what to do unfolded, it became a test of wills between 

Kissinger and Schlesinger, with the Joint Chiefs caught in the middle. Frustrated 

by the recent setback in Vietnam, Kissinger encouraged Ford to believe that only 

a strong show of force would suffice, while Schlesinger adopted a wait-and-see attitude. Schlesinger knew that the Khmer Rouge had detained ships sailing near the 

Cambodian coast on previous occasions and usually released them without incident 

within a day or so. So it stood to reason that sooner or later they would let the 

Mayaguez go free. Kissinger, however, disagreed and in making his case convinced 

Ford that this was too serious a provocation to go unpunished.62

Despite the Pueblo incident, the Joint Chiefs had no contingency plans for such 

situations and had to improvise by relying on a hastily assembled operational concept 

prepared under the supervision of Admiral Noel Gayler, commander in chief of the 

Pacific theater. Among the options on the table for putting pressure on the Cambodians were air attacks from Navy carriers, punitive raids using B–52s, and the massing 

of a surface naval force off the Cambodian coast. Eventually, drawing on Gayler’s 
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inputs, the JCS recommended, and President Ford approved, a more limited operation 

involving a rescue party of several hundred Marines backed by tactical air. While one 

party of Marines boarded and secured the ship, the others would land on a small island, Koh Tang, just off the Cambodian coast, where the crew was thought to be held. 

Securing the ship, which the Cambodians had abandoned, went without incident. 

The landing at Koh Tang, however, was a different matter. Operating from sketchy 

intelligence, the Marines encountered stronger resistance than expected and suffered 

heavy casualties. Soon withdrawn under fire, they discovered that the Mayaguez crew 

had been released unharmed 4 hours before they landed on Koh Tang. Small wonder 

that some historians rate the Mayaguez operation as a prominent “military failure.”63

Still, the Mayaguez episode was not without useful lessons. By revealing gaps in 

JCS planning and organization, the operation stimulated interest in the theretofore 

neglected field of “special operations” and by extension helped generate support for 

JCS organizational reform resulting in the Goldwater-Nichols Act of 1986 and the 

subsequent Nunn-Cohen amendment. Given the heavy emphasis on preparing for 

large-scale conventional conflict since adoption of the “flexible response” concept 

in the mid-1960s, the Joint Chiefs and the Services had not paid much attention to 

developing the necessary doctrine, arms, and forces for rescue missions and other specialized tasks. Nor had the political and budgetary climate at the time been conducive 

for it. But as a result of the Mayaguez affair and the rising tempo of international terrorism during the 1970s, interest in special operations began to grow to the point that 

by the end of the decade each Service was taking a closer look at its requirements.64

A further consequence of the Mayaguez incident was to set the stage for a highlevel “purge” within the Ford administration, with Schlesinger the primary target. 

Never comfortable with Schlesinger to begin with, Ford considered him aloof, patronizing, and arrogant; after Mayaguez, he lost confidence in Schlesinger altogether.65 The precipitating event leading to the Secretary’s dismissal was Schlesinger’s 

decision to call off a final air strike against the Cambodians once news reached the 

Pentagon that the crew was free and the Marines had withdrawn from Koh Tang. 

Secretaries of Defense going back to Forrestal had routinely taken it upon themselves to cancel Presidential orders when they judged them to be “OBE” (overtaken 

by events). Kissinger, however, seems to have gone out of his way to put it in Ford’s 

mind that Schlesinger had been willfully insubordinate.66

With relations between Ford and Schlesinger continuing to deteriorate, the President finally decided in late October 1975 that the time had come to find a new Secretary of Defense. Named as Schlesinger’s successor was Donald H. Rumsfeld, then 

White House director of operations. In what the press called the “Halloween Massacre,” Ford also recalled George H.W. Bush from his post as envoy to China to replace 
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William E. Colby as Director of Central Intelligence and stripped Kissinger of his title 

as Assistant for National Security Affairs. The ouster of Kissinger from his national security job (his former deputy, retired Air Force Lieutenant General Brent Scowcroft, 

replaced him) was aimed at quieting criticism from Congress that Kissinger had grown 

too powerful through occupying two major positions. But with his former deputy now 

managing the NSC, Kissinger’s power and influence were little diminished.

The Joint Chiefs, as they were prone to do, took these changes in stride. Like 

President Ford, they had found Schlesinger’s detached manner off-putting at times, 

but they had the utmost respect for his intellectual ability and his commanding grasp 

of nuclear strategy. Rumsfeld, in contrast, came from a political background, and his 

experience in defense affairs was confined primarily to recently serving as Ambassador to NATO. According to the Washington rumor mill, he had his sights set on 

someday becoming President. Kissinger remembered him as “tough, capable, personally attractive, and knowledgeable.”67 Whatever else, he made a favorable impression 

on the chiefs and, being well connected at the White House, increased the military’s 

profile where it counted.

Under Rumsfeld, the Joint Chiefs moved several steps closer to realizing the 

aims of their strategic modernization program. Echoing JCS concerns that the strategic balance was shifting in favor of the Soviet Union, Rumsfeld urged a go-slow 

approach to further arms control talks until the United States could reassess the full 

range of its strategic requirements. “The level of deterrence suitable for Brezhnev,” 

he argued, “is not necessarily the level of deterrence suitable for us.”68 Meanwhile, 

he advocated a modest strategic buildup that included continuation of Trident, acceleration of both the B–1 and MX programs to get them ready for production, 

and deployment of the Mark 12A warhead (previously authorized but delayed for 

technical reasons) to enhance the effectiveness of the Minuteman III force. Abandoning the no-growth defense budgets of the past, he proposed modest increases to 

keep military spending slightly ahead of inflation. Not all of these decisions would 

survive the scrutiny of the incoming Carter administration in 1977, but at the time 

they were cause for cautious optimism among the JCS that senior policymakers 

were aware of U.S. weakness and prepared to do something about it.69

While détente survived the stresses and strains of this period, the reasons probably had less to do with the commonality of U.S. and Soviet interests than with the 

reluctance of either side to admit that this latest version of “peaceful coexistence” 

was not bound to last. “If détente unravels in America,” Nixon warned Brezhnev 

shortly before he relinquished the Presidency, “the hawks will take over, not the 

doves.”70 Brezhnev could well have said the same thing about the situation in the 

Soviet Union. Neither leader liked to think of the Cold War as having become a 
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winner-take-all or zero-sum game. But that in effect was what it had become—and 

how increasingly it seemed destined to play out.

Notes

1 United States Military Posture for FY 1983 (Washington, DC: Organization of the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff, n.d.), 15 (unclassified edition).

2 U.S. Department of Defense, Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense (Comptroller), 

National Defense Budget Estimates for FY 1985 (Washington, DC, March 1984), 108–109, 135.

3 Richard L. Kugler, Commitment to Purpose: How Alliance Partnership Won the Cold War

(Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1993), 264.

4 U.S. Department of Defense, Fiscal Year 1972–76 Defense Program and the 1972 Defense 

Budget (Washington, DC: GPO, 1971), 77–82, 181.

5 Admiral Moorer, February 21, 1970, quoted in Walter S. Poole, Lorna S. Jaffe, and Wayne 

M. Dzwonchyk, “History of the Joint Chiefs of Staff: The Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 1969–1972” (MS, Historical Division, Joint Secretariat, Joint Staff, March 

1991), 96 (declassified/publication forthcoming).

6 Quoted in History of Strategic Air Command, 1965, Vol. I (History and Research Division, 

HQ Strategic Air Command, April 1967), 141.

7 Marcelle Size Knaack, Post-World War II Bombers, 1945–1973 (Washington, DC: Office of 

Air Force History, 1988), 575–579.

8 Lawrence S. Kaplan, Ronald D. Landa, and Edward J. Drea, The McNamara Ascendancy, 1961–1965 (Washington, DC: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, 

2006), 486, 490; “Discussion” section (Enclosure C) to JCSM-925-64 to SecDef, October 31, 1964, “The Strategic Aircraft Program,” JCS 1800/900-1.

9 Knaack, 579–583.

10 D. Douglas Dalgleish and Larry Schweikart, Trident (Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois University Press, 1984), 41–44; Graham Spinardi, From Polaris to Trident: The Development of U.S. 

Fleet Ballistic Missile Technology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 113–123.

11 Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 53–68.

12 Spinardi, 119–120; Henry Kissinger, White House Years (Boston: Little, Brown, 1979), 

1129.

13 Bernard C. Nalty, “USAF Ballistic Missile Programs, 1964–1966” (MS, USAF Historical Division Liaison Office, March 1967), 45–47, available at <http://www.gwu.

edu/~nsarchiv/nukevault/ebb249/doc04.pdf> (accessed July 18, 2011); and Barnard C. 

Nalty, “USAF Ballistic Missile Programs, 1967–1968” (MS, Office of Air Force History, 

September 1968), 56–59, available at <http://www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/nukevault/

ebb249/doc05.pdf> (accessed July 18, 2011).

14 Walter S. Poole, “The History of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and National Policy, 1965–

1968,” (MS, Historical Division, Joint Secretariat, Joint Chiefs of Staff, May 1985), part 

I, 45 (declassified/publication forthcoming).

15 See CNO views as presented in JSOP FY71–78, Book II, “Strategic Offensive and 

Defensive Forces,” Vol. II, enclosure to Note by Secretaries to the JCS, January 27, 1969, 

JCS 2143/339 (Book II); summarized in Poole, Jaffe, and Dzwonchyk, 52–53.
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16 William Burr, “The Nixon Administration, the ‘Horror Strategy,’ and the Search for 

Limited Nuclear Options, 1969–1972—Prelude to the Schlesinger Doctrine,” Journal 

of Cold War Studies 7 (Summer 2005), 34, 40–46; Kissinger, White House Years, 216. See 

also NSSM 64, July 8, 1969, “US Strategic Capabilities,” National Security Council 

Institutional File, box H-207, Nixon Presidential Materials; available at <http://nixon.

archives.gov/virtuallibrary/documents/nssm/nssm_064.pdf>.

17 Poole, 24–31; Desmond Ball, “The Development of the SIOP, 1960–1983,” in Desmond 

Ball and Jeffrey Richelson, eds., Strategic Nuclear Targeting (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1986), 62–70.

18 Notes on NSC Meeting, February 14, 1969, quoted in Burr, 49.

19 Poole, 29–30.

20 Fred Kaplan, The Wizards of Armageddon (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1983), 370–371; 

Janne E. Nolan, Guardians of the Arsenal (New York: HarperCollins, 1989), 114–115.

21 Kissinger, White House Years, 217; Burr, 70; Terry Terriff, The Nixon Administration and the 

Making of U.S. Nuclear Strategy (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1995), 61–62.

22 HAK Talking Points, DOD Strategic Target Study Briefing, July 27, 1972, NSC Files, 

Nixon Papers; and <http://www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/NSAEBB/NSAEBB173/

SIOP–18.pdf> (accessed July 18, 2011).

23 Memo, Laird to Nixon, December 26, 1972, “Nuclear Weapons Planning” (declassified), 

National Security Archive collection, copy in JHO.

24 NSSM 169, February 13, 1973, “US Nuclear Policy,” NSC Institutional Files, Box 

H-207, Nixon Presidential Materials, available at <http://nixon.archives.gov/virtuallibrary/documents/nssm/nssm_169.pdf> (accessed July 18, 2011).

25 NSDM 242, January 17, 1974, “Policy for Planning the Employment of Nuclear 

Weapons,” NSC Institutional Files, Box H-208, Nixon Presidential Materials, NARA; 

and <http://nixon.archives.gov/virtuallibrary/documents/nsdm/nsdm_242.pdf> (accessed July 18, 2011). See also Scott D. Sagan, Moving Targets: Nuclear Strategy and National 

Security (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989), 44–45;

26 Remarks by Schlesinger to Overseas Writers Association, Washington, DC, January 10, 1974, 

in U.S. Department of Defense, Public Papers of James R. Schlesinger, Secretary of Defense, 1974

(Washington, DC: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, n.d.), I, 17–31.

27 Lawrence Freedman, The Evolution of Nuclear Strategy (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 

1983), 379–382, summarizes reactions pro and con.

28 U.S. Department of Defense, Report of the Secretary of Defense James R. Schlesinger to the 

Congress on the FY 1975 Defense Budget and FY 1975–1979 Defense Program (Washington, 

DC: GOP, 1974), 42, 51–57; U.S. Department of Defense, Report of the Secretary of Defense 

James R. Schlesinger to the Congress on the FY 1976 and Transition Budgets (Washington, DC: 

GPO, 1975), chaps. 2 and 3.

29 Henry Kissinger, Years of Upheaval (Boston: Little, Brown, 1982), 1175. 

30 NIE 11-8-73, “Soviet Forces for Intercontinental Attack,” January 25, 1974, in Donald Steury, ed., Intentions and Capabilities: Estimates on Soviet Strategic Forces, 1950–1983

(Washington, DC: Central Intelligence Agency, 1996), 326.

31 Raymond L. Garthoff, Détente and Confrontation: American–Soviet Relations from Nixon 

to Reagan (Washington, DC: Brookings, 1994, rev. ed.), 466–467, summarizes Soviet 

responses to the Schlesinger doctrine.
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32 Edward L. Rowny, It Takes One to Tango (Washington, DC: Brassey’s, 1992), 1–20.

33 Henry Kissinger, Years of Renewal (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1999), 849.

34 Mark M. Lowenthal, “US Organization for Verification,” in William C. Potter, Verification 

and SALT: The Challenge of Strategic Deception (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1980), 77–94, 

gives a comprehensive overview of the formal arms control structure in the 1970s.

35 George S. Brown, United States Military Posture for FY 1976 (Washington, DC: Department of Defense, February 5, 1975), 30–31.

36 Historical Division, Organizational Development of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1942–1989

(Washington, DC: Joint Chiefs of Staff, November 1989), 48–50.

37 Memo, Rumsfeld to CJCS et al., March 9, 1976, “Organizational Changes—Disestablishment of WSEG,” U, JCS 1977-380; John Ponturo, Analytical Support for the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff: The WSEG Experience, 1948–1976 (Washington, DC: Institute for Defense 

Analyses, 1979), 343–363.

38 Gerald R. Ford, A Time to Heal (New York: Harper & Row, 1979), 30.

39 Kissinger, Years of Upheaval, 1154, 1187.

40 Elmo R. Zumwalt, Jr., On Watch: A Memoir (New York: Quadrangle, 1976), 432.

41 Ibid., 429.

42 NSDM 245, February 19, 1974, “Instructions for the SALT Talks, Geneva,” National Security 

Council Institutional Files, Box H-207, Nixon Presidential Materials, available at <http://

nixon.archives.gov/virtuallibrary/documents/nsdm/nsdm_245.pdf> (accessed July 18, 2011).

43 See Garthoff, 473–485.

44 Kissinger, Years of Upheaval, 1020–1031.

45 Richard M. Nixon, RN: The Memoirs of Richard Nixon (New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 

1978), 1024.

46 Edgar F. Puryear, Jr., George S. Brown, General, U.S. Air Force: Destined for Stars (Novato, 

CA: Presidio Press, 1983), 246–257; George M. Watson, Jr., Secretaries and Chiefs of Staff of 

the United States Air Force: Biographical Sketches and Portraits (Washington, DC: Air Force 

History and Museum Program, 2001), 150–151; The Chairmanship of the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff, 1949–1999 (Washington, DC: Joint History Office, Joint Chiefs of Staff, 2000), 123.

47 Garthoff, 497. Unlike Ford, Brezhnev brought many of his senior military advisors with 

him to Vladivostok.

48 Kissinger, Years of Renewal, 277–279.

49 Thomas W. Wolfe, The SALT Experience (Cambridge, MA: Ballinger, 1979), 174–175. 

50 Robert Emmet Moffit, “The Cruise Missile and SALT II,” International Security Review

4 (Fall 1979), 271–293; Richard K. Betts, ed., Cruise Missiles: Technology, Strategy, Politics

(Washington, DC: Brookings, 1981), 83–100, 339–358.

51 Garthoff, 497–499.

52 Joint Chiefs of Staff, Report by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff: United States Military Posture for FY 1975 (Washington, DC: Department of Defense, February 1974), 24 

(unclassified edition).

53 Kissinger, Years of Renewal, 301; and Rowny, 73–74.

54 Kissinger, Years of Renewal, 301, 847.
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55 Wolfe, 174–175.

56 Garthoff, 501–503.

57 Gordon S. Barrass, The Great Cold War: A Journey Through the Hall of Mirrors (Stanford, 

CA: Stanford University Press, 2009), 190–191.

58 Brown, 53–54, 200–201.

59 Minutes, NSC Meeting on Indochina, April 9, 1975 (declassified), National Security 

Advisers Files, Gerald R. Ford Library; available at <http://www.fordlibrarymuseum.

gov/library/document/nscmin/750409.pdf> (accessed July 18, 2011).

60 Willard J. Webb and Walter S. Poole, The Joint Chiefs of Staff and The War in Vietnam, 

1971–1973 (Washington, DC: Office of Joint History, Joint Chiefs of Staff, 2007), 359.

61 SNIE 11/2-81, “Soviet Support for International Terrorism and Revolutionary Violence,” May 1981, in Gerald K. Haines and Robert E. Leggett, eds., CIA’s Analysis of 

the Soviet Union, 1947–1991: A Documentary Collection (Washington, DC: Center for the 

Study of Intelligence, Central Intelligence Agency, 2001), 106.

62 Ford, 275–281; Kissinger, Years of Renewal, 547–566.

63 See Richard A. Gabriel, Military Incompetence: Why the American Military Doesn’t Win

(New York: Hill and Wang, 1985), 61–83.

64 David W. Hogan, Jr., Raiders or Elite Infantry? The Changing Role of the U.S. Army Rangers 

from Dieppe to Grenada (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1992), 205–210.

65 Ford, 320–324.

66 Kissinger, Years of Renewal, 570–572. Kissinger incorrectly asserted (ibid., 573) that “in 

our system” the Secretary of Defense was “not directly in the chain of command,” and 

that Schlesinger therefore had no authority to issue the orders he did. Kissinger was 

apparently unaware of the 1958 amendments to the National Security Act, which established the chain of command as running from the President, through the Secretary 

of Defense, to the combatant commanders.

67 Kissinger, Years of Renewal, 177.

68 Minutes, NSC Meeting on SALT, January 19, 1976, 22 (declassified), National Security 

Advisers’ Files, Ford Library; available at <http://www.fordlibrarymuseum.gov/library/

document/nscmin/760119.pdf>. Library file copy reads “necessary,” an apparent typo.

69 Department of Defense, Annual Defense Department Report, FY 1977 (Washington, DC: 

Department. of Defense, January 27, 1976), i–vii; U.S. Department of Defense, Report of 

Secretary of Defense Donald H. Rumsfeld on FY 1978 Budget, FY 1979 Authorization Request, 

and FY 1978–1982 Defense Programs (Washington, DC: Department of Defense, January 

17, 1977), 123–130.

70 Nixon, RN, 1031.
General David C. Jones, USAF, Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1978–1982
Chapter 13

The Return to 

Confrontation

By January 1977, when President Jimmy Carter took office, détente was beginning 

to show unmistakable signs of wear. In both Washington and Moscow, opposition to 

further accommodations with the other side was on the rise. While Brezhnev had 

managed to force the hard-liners to “eat” the Vladivostok accords, the prevailing mood 

within the Soviet elite was that the United States was losing the arms race and that the 

correlation of forces had turned in favor of the Kremlin.1

 Many in the West—including the Joint Chiefs—agreed that U.S. military credibility was at its lowest ebb since 

World War II and that the balance of power was in a precarious state. Never, it seemed, 

had America’s prestige been lower or its status as a superpower so uncertain. 

The new Carter administration was, if anything, even more committed to preserving détente than its two immediate predecessors. If he achieved nothing else 

during his Presidency, Jimmy Carter wanted to reduce the threat of nuclear war, cut 

the number of opposing strategic weapons, and lessen the drain that military expenditures placed on the world’s resources. Ultimately, he hoped to shift attention from 

the Cold War to other issues—the global crisis in energy supplies, the protection of 

human rights, and especially the need to improve relations and the distribution of 

resources between the developed and developing worlds. Instead of military power, 

Carter proposed to rely more on diplomacy and moral suasion to achieve American 

security objectives.2

 While he did not dismiss the need for armed force in support of 

foreign policy, he thought it had been overused in the past. Thenceforth, he said in 

his inaugural address, the United States would “maintain strength so sufficient that 

it need not be proven in combat—a quiet strength based not merely on the size of 

an arsenal but on the nobility of ideas.”3

Carter and the Joint Chiefs 

Almost from the moment the Carter administration arrived, the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff found themselves on the defensive, with their advice treated as suspect and 

their methods and procedures under close scrutiny. Despite a succession of austere 

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budgets since Vietnam, defense spending remained at what many in the incoming 

administration deemed excessive, driven by outmoded force-sizing practices, lax 

management, and inefficient allocation and use of resources. As an immediate target 

upon taking office, Carter proposed to trim five to seven billion dollars from the 

military budget. Hoping eventually to reduce military spending even further, Carter 

never ceased to push and prod the Pentagon to save money, do more with less, and 

above all keep in mind the greater humanitarian good. 

Carter was unlike any President the Joint Chiefs had known. An Annapolis 

graduate (Class of ’46), he resigned from the Navy in 1953 to manage his family’s 

Georgia peanut business. After turning the business around, he went into politics, 

became governor of Georgia, and acquired a national following. A populist, he 

identified himself with the center-left wing of the Democratic Party. Like John F. 

Kennedy, he appeared uneasy, almost awkward, around “the brass.” If he dealt with 

the JCS at all, it was generally through his Secretary of Defense, Harold Brown, or 

the Chairman. Despite his celebrated penchant for mastering detail, he had little 

patience for lengthy JCS threat assessments and posture statements and preferred 

crisp summaries prepared by White House aides. In his memoirs, he insisted that 

he enjoyed “good relations” with the JCS during his 4 years in office.4

 Yet he rarely 

met with the chiefs as a corporate body. His trips to the Pentagon were few and 

usually for ceremonial functions rather than substantive discussions. On one of the 

few occasions when he did listen to JCS advice—in planning the failed Iran hostage 

rescue mission in 1980—the results were a disaster, confirming Carter’s belief that 

the military was anything but infallible.

Under Carter, as under his immediate predecessors, the CJCS continued to be 

the pivotal link between civilian authority and the military. Though there was some 

speculation as the new administration took office that General George S. Brown, 

USAF, the serving Chairman, would be replaced, Carter brushed such talk aside 

and kept Brown on until he stepped down from active duty for health reasons in 

June 1978, 10 days before the expiration of his term. His successor, General David 

C. Jones, had previously been the Air Force Chief of Staff. A Curtis LeMay protégé, 

Jones had served on the Air Staff in Washington while McNamara was Secretary of 

Defense, when civil-military relations were at low ebb. As Chairman, he made it his 

goal to achieve a harmonious partnership between OSD and the JCS.5

Carter’s choice of another Air Force officer as Chairman was the source of 

endless speculation. Some thought that it was a reward for Jones’s acquiescence 

in Carter’s decision a year earlier, fulfilling a campaign pledge, to cancel the B–1 

bomber. Proponents of the B–1, feeling that Jones had accepted the cancellation 

order too easily, argued that he should have fought harder to keep the plane. Jones 
THE R E T URN T O C ONFRON T A T ION

393

disagreed. “There were those who said I should have fallen on my sword,” he recalled. But he doubted whether it would have served a useful purpose. “Carter had 

campaigned on cancellation of the B–1. Who am I to sit in judgment?”6

Jones’s appointment as CJCS seemed to some observers to be consistent with an 

emerging pattern by the Carter administration of naming competent yet low-profile 

officers to sit on the Joint Chiefs of Staff. At the same time he nominated Jones, Carter 

also sent the names of two other new JCS members to the Senate: General Lew Allen, 

Jr., to become the Air Force Chief of Staff; and Admiral Thomas D. Hayward to succeed the popular and respected Admiral James L. Holloway III as Chief of Naval Operations. Allen, a Ph.D. in physics, was at heart a scientist, while Hayward’s background 

was in naval aviation and program analysis. Both were able and dedicated officers. But 

they were virtually unknown outside their respective Services and came from technical backgrounds that did little to prepare them as high-level politico-military advisors. 

The net effect, wrote Bernard Weinraub of the New York Times, was “an awareness 

within the defense hierarchy that the influence of the Joint Chiefs is on the decline.”7

Efforts by the Joint Chiefs to reestablish their influence and authority initially 

met with limited success. A case in point was their handling of reforms to the joint 

strategic planning system, which one administration after another had deplored. As 

initiated under the Carter administration, these reforms targeted the Joint Strategic 

Objectives Plan (JSOP), the Joint Chiefs’ mid-range (7-year) estimate of military 

requirements which they updated annually as their major contribution to the budget process. Urged by the administration to modernize their planning methods, the 

Joint Chiefs introduced the Joint Strategic Planning Document (JSPD) in place 

of the JSOP over the course of 1978−1979. Like its predecessor, the function of 

the JSPD was to appraise the threats to U.S. interests and objectives and to recommend a level of programmed forces to address those dangers. Even so, the JSPD was 

little better than the JSOP in providing a strategic framework for the allocation of 

resources since it made no attempt to prioritize programs; instead, it treated each 

Service’s needs as having more or less equal importance. Since allocating resources 

invariably posed the most difficult problems at budget time, the absence of a prioritized list rendered the JSPD almost useless. As a result, few outside the Joint Staff 

paid any more attention to the JSPD than they had to the JSOP.8

Carter was convinced that the only way to make the Joint Chiefs more efficient and effective was through a top-to-bottom reorganization, the subject of a 

Defense-wide review initiated in November 1977 by Secretary of Defense Harold 

Brown.9

 Richard C. Steadman, a former Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defense, 

chaired the panel that examined the role of the JCS. Reporting its findings in July 

1978, the Steadman group recommended streamlining Joint Staff procedures and 
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increasing the power and authority of the CJCS. Arguing that it was virtually impossible for the Service chiefs to render wholly objective advice, the panel looked 

to the Chairman as the only military officer with no current or prospective Service 

responsibilities to interfere with providing the necessary leadership and administrative authority to make the JCS organization more responsive and effective.10

The Joint Chiefs were notably unenthusiastic about the Steadman group’s findings. At his first press conference as Chairman, General Jones downplayed their probable impact, indicating that there was as yet no consensus on how to proceed. “We 

have a long ways to go,” he said, “before we can really figure out how to merge all 

of these conflicting views in the joint arena and come up with recommendations on 

some of these difficult issues.”11 Privately, Jones told Secretary of Defense Brown that 

while he saw “a number of things” that would improve JCS performance, he expected 

the changes, if any, to be minor. “I firmly believe,” he added, “that the fundamental organizational structure is sound.”12 Commenting as a corporate body, the Joint Chiefs 

concurred that the Steadman report contained many “innovative, positive suggestions,” but cautioned that implementation efforts should be “evolutionary in nature.”13

Undaunted, President Carter continued to treat JCS reform as unfinished business. Had he been reelected in 1980, he undoubtedly would have proposed legislation along the lines the Steadman report recommended. But as a one-term President, he never had the time or opportunity to go beyond piecemeal changes. The 

only legislative reform enacted during Carter’s Presidency was a law he signed on 

October 20, 1978, granting the Commandant of the Marine Corps coequal status 

with the Service chiefs, thereby recognizing in statute what had become commonplace in practice. While the movement for JCS reform was indeed beginning to take 

definite form, it would still be some time before it gathered sufficient momentum 

to produce more than superficial changes.

Strategic Forces and PD–59

The most striking difference between Jimmy Carter and the Joint Chiefs was 

in their respective views of the world and the threat posed from Moscow. While 

Carter acknowledged the Soviet Union as a hostile power, animated by an ideology 

sharply at odds with Western values, he entered office brimming with optimism 

that he could do business with the Soviets and reach an early SALT agreement that 

would obviate both sides’ need for new or additional strategic forces. He liked the 

idea of tailoring basic national security policy accordingly, and favored refinements 

in strategic-targeting and weapons-employment policy that would reduce the 

death and destruction from a possible military confrontation. Even though the Joint 
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THE R E T URN T O C ONFRON T A T ION

Chiefs applauded the President’s idealism, they also considered it somewhat naïve 

and could not help but question the practicality of some of his proposals. As they 

had for years, the chiefs continued to measure Soviet intentions in terms of Moscow’s large and growing military arsenal. As time went on, to be sure, Carter’s views 

on the Soviet Union changed, especially after the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan late 

in 1979. Yet he never accepted the chiefs’ basic premise that the United States was 

falling dangerously behind the Soviet Union in effective military power and could 

only redress this situation through a major strengthening of U.S. capabilities.

For Carter, as for his two immediate predecessors, strategic modernization was 

often a source of intense friction between the Pentagon and the White House. Carter was determined to reduce military spending and saw no better place to begin 

than with the increasingly expensive B–1 bomber, which he summarily cancelled 

in June 1977, thus fulfilling a campaign pledge.14 Carter and Secretary of Defense 

Brown both questioned the B–1’s penetration capabilities and concluded that it had 

become superfluous with the advent of air-launched cruise missiles which could be 

delivered from existing B–52s and other platforms. Later, they argued that emerging “stealth” technology offered more promising possibilities than the B–1.15 But 

according to General David Jones, the Air Force Chief of Staff at the time, stealth 

R&D then concentrated on developing smaller planes and cruise missiles and was 

not seriously involved in producing a bomber alternative to the B–1.16

Carter’s cancellation of the B–1 proved far more contentious than the White 

House expected and came in the wake of another controversial decision, announced 

in May 1977, to withdraw U.S. troops from Korea. Like his handling of the B–1, 

Carter had been thinking about pulling troops out of Korea well before the election. According to published accounts, he was heavily influenced by analysts at the 

Brookings Institution who believed that the continuation of a large U.S. presence 

amounted to a dangerous “trip wire” that could easily ensnarl the United States in 

another unpopular Asian war.17 That the pullout of U.S. forces would in the long run 

save money, free up assets for deployment elsewhere, and distance the United States 

from what President Carter considered the South Korean government’s wobbly human rights record became in the final analysis the decisive factor in his thinking.18

Underlying Carter’s foreign and defense policies was his faith in détente to 

move the United States and the Soviet Union permanently away from the confrontational politics of the past. While he acknowledged the contributions of military 

power to an effective foreign policy, he was satisfied with maintaining “essential 

equivalence” in strategic forces and a balance of power “at least as favorable as that 

that now exists.”19 But after the contretemps over cancellation of the B–1, he was 

under constant pressure to reassure the JCS and pro-defense members of Congress 
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that he remained committed to preserving a credible deterrent posture. Thus, he 

showed continuing strong support for the Trident program in the face of allegations 

of shoddy management and enormous inflation-driven increases in construction 

costs, and let stand the Ford administration’s decision to proceed with production 

of the Mark 12A warhead to increase Minuteman III’s accuracy and effectiveness 

against hardened targets. Most significant of all was his determination to resolve the 

MX controversy, resulting in his approval in 1979 of a plan to deploy 200 MX missiles in a mobile-basing mode. Yet it was a decision he found personally repugnant, 

and in his diary he characterized the MX deployment as “a nauseating prospect to 

confront, with the gross waste of money going into nuclear weapons of all kinds.”20

Perhaps because he disliked nuclear weapons so much, Carter was determined 

to exercise the closest possible control over them. Not since Harry S. Truman had 

a President been so personally involved in the management of the country’s nuclear arsenal, its configuration, and how it would be used. Most far-reaching of all 

were the changes President Carter made in the targeting and employment policies 

governing U.S. nuclear forces. The Joint Chiefs regarded these matters as basically 

closed after adoption of the Schlesinger doctrine (NSDM 242) in 1975. But to Carter and his national security advisor, Zbigniew Brzezinski, NSDM 242 was merely 

the first step. Convinced that targeting doctrine should have specific political as well 

as military objectives, Brzezinski wanted it to include refinements that amounted 

to the “ethnic cleansing” of the Soviet Union by threatening the heaviest casualties 

among the Great Russian population, as opposed to the Latvians, Ukrainians, and 

other nationalities that had been more or less coerced into joining the Soviet state.21

The upshot was the appearance in November 1978 of the “countervailing strategy,” the product of an interagency review headed by Leon Sloss, a respected strategic analyst and consultant to Secretary of Defense Brown.22 Presented to the Joint 

Chiefs as more or less a fait accompli, the countervailing strategy was in many respects a logical extension of the Schlesinger doctrine. As Secretary Brown described 

it, its function was the maintenance of “military (including nuclear) forces, contingency plans, and command-and-control capabilities to convince Soviet leaders that 

they cannot secure victory, however they may define it, at any stage of a potential 

war.”23 But in carrying out these tasks, it imposed a far more sophisticated and rigorous set of targeting requirements. A formidable assignment, Chairman Jones promised to give it his utmost attention but was somewhat skeptical of achieving quick 

results. In fact, Jones believed strategic nuclear planning and targeting had become 

so exceedingly complex that he foresaw few significant changes resulting anytime 

soon, no matter what the declared targeting policy might be.24
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THE R E T URN T O C ONFRON T A T ION

The most strenuous objections to the countervailing strategy came from the State 

Department. According to Brzezinski, Secretary of State Cyrus R. Vance found the 

whole inquiry into nuclear targeting emotionally disturbing and gave it limited cooperation.25 As a direct result, approval of a Presidential directive (PD–59) sanctioning the 

new strategy was held up until July 1980.26 By then, however, the Joint Chiefs were well 

along toward putting the countervailing strategy into operation since many of its provisions could be implemented on orders of the Secretary of Defense. The main function 

of PD–59 was to pave the way for issuance of a new Nuclear Weapons Employment 

Policy (NUWEP-80), which the Joint Chiefs received in October 1980.27

President Carter and Secretary of Defense Brown both insisted that it was never 

their intention under the countervailing strategy to make sweeping changes in U.S. 

policy or doctrine. According to Brown, the countervailing strategy amounted to 

nothing more than a “modest refinement in U.S. nuclear strategy as a response to 

charges that the USSR had achieved strategic nuclear superiority.” Its aim, he insisted, 

was to strengthen deterrence and not to boost war-fighting capabilities.28 Carter’s view 

was essentially the same. As much as he abhorred nuclear weapons, he accepted the 

necessity of their role in U.S. defense policy, but sought to narrow their use for strategic purposes in carefully pre-planned ways, avoiding wholesale destruction. Hence the 

emphasis on options that would theoretically allow the President to choose from an 

almost endless array of measured responses to almost any level of Soviet provocation.29

By and large, the Joint Chiefs agreed that the more options they and the President might have, the better. As during previous strategic reviews, however, their 

main concern was one of feasibility. The most complex and demanding targeting 

policy to that point, the countervailing strategy required them to prepare for almost 

any contingency, from a limited nuclear exchange to a fully generated nuclear war. 

Most military professionals involved in this process shared the view of the Chairman, General Jones, that implementing the new doctrine would be a slow and 

laborious process, testing the patience and resourcefulness of all involved. That it 

would require significant improvements in technology, from weapons in the field 

to command, control, and communications, was practically a given. In other words, 

implementing the countervailing strategy was a long-term process that JCS planners approached with mixed feelings about achieving ultimate success.

SALT II 

As intent as President Carter was on exercising closer command and control over 

the targeting and use of nuclear weapons, he was even more determined to reach 
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agreement with the Soviets on reducing nuclear arms. Not satisfied with the tentative ceilings set at Vladivostok in 1974, he wanted “deep cuts” and speculated at 

one point that he saw no need for either side to keep more than 200 ICBMs.30

Indicative of his thinking was the sweeping statement in his inaugural address that 

his “ultimate goal” was nothing less than “the elimination of all nuclear weapons” 

from the face of the earth.31 “I want the level of our capability as low as possible,” 

Carter told his senior advisors, “but I’m not naive. Possibly 1,000 ICBMs, each with 

one warhead, with some limitations on the size of the warhead.” In any case, Carter 

added, “we should work for dramatic reductions, carefully monitored and not unfavorable to either side.”32

Carter’s deep cuts plan left the Joint Chiefs stunned. Having never envisioned 

reductions on the scale Carter proposed, they found it hard to imagine how they 

could effectively deter the Soviets with such a small strategic arsenal. While the 

Chairman dutifully pledged his support in helping the President realize his goal, 

he was uncertain how much cooperation to expect from his JCS colleagues, whom 

he described as “staunch proponents of reductions, but with caution.” “Trying to 

lead the [Service] Chiefs on this issue,” he warned, “is like putting three wild dogs 

through a keyhole.”33

With his authority as President, Carter could finesse any objections raised by 

the Joint Chiefs. The Soviets, however, were another matter. To the leadership in 

Moscow, as one Soviet foreign minister later estimated, arms control constituted “95 

percent of the total relationship, more or less,” with the United States.34 Complaints 

from the hardliners notwithstanding, SALT more often than not had yielded handsome dividends for the Soviets (most notably confirmation of strategic parity with 

the United States) which many now saw Carter trying to wrest away. Irritated also 

by the President’s human rights campaign and its strident support for the celebrated 

dissident physicist Andrei Sakharov, the Soviets viewed the deep cuts proposal not 

merely with suspicion but with utter dismay. Thus, when Secretary of State Vance 

arrived in Moscow in late March 1977 to discuss the matter, he received both a 

chilly reception and a flat rejection of the offer.35

Despite the setback in Moscow, President Carter continued to believe that a 

SALT II treaty with significant reductions was attainable. But from that point on, 

he was more cautious and never substantially departed from the Vladivostok formula. Nevertheless, the negotiations proved more difficult than expected and moved 

forward slowly, requiring high-level intervention from time to time to revive the 

momentum and to overcome deadlocks on key details. Finally, in June 1979, Carter 

and Brezhnev met in Vienna to sign the SALT II treaty modeled on the Vladivostok 

accords. A complicated agreement, SALT II was to run for 5 years and imposed a 
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THE R E T URN T O C ONFRON T A T ION

series of ceilings and subceilings on strategic weapons, including not only missiles 

but also manned bombers, to create a complex web of quantitative and qualitative 

constraints. Already a source of growing controversy in the United States, the SALT 

II treaty faced an uncertain fate in the Senate, where sentiment was almost evenly 

divided for and against. 

Throughout the negotiation of the SALT II treaty, the JCS played a limited 

role in shaping U.S. policy. A common complaint among officers on the Joint Staff 

and from the JCS representative to SALT II, Lieutenant General Edward L. Rowny, 

USA, was that they were often excluded from high-level deliberations and denied 

access to sensitive exchanges of information between the delegations. While Rowny 

respected Carter’s idealism and enthusiasm, he considered the President inexperienced, closed minded, and ill-served by advisors like Secretary of State Vance and 

Paul Warnke, the administration’s chief arms control negotiator, who seemed to 

Rowny overly eager to cut a deal with the Soviets. Frustrated and disappointed, 

Rowny retired from the Army shortly after the Vienna summit to devote his energies to defeating the SALT II treaty in the Senate.36

Before stepping down, Rowny tried to persuade the JCS to come out in opposition to the treaty. Broadly speaking, the charges that he and others lodged against 

it were four-fold: 1) it did nothing to reduce the threat to U.S. land-based forces 

(missiles and bombers) and risked weakening deterrence by preserving the Soviet 

Union’s overwhelming superiority in “heavy” ICBMs; 2) it failed to impose effective constraints on the Soviet Backfire bomber; 3) it mandated undue curbs on the 

U.S. cruise missile program; and 4) as a limited duration agreement, it would require 

immediate renegotiation. The net effect, opponents argued, was an unequal agreement slanted toward the Soviets. Some critics also argued that the treaty would be 

hard to verify, but most opponents dismissed verification concerns as inconsequential since there were so many concessions to the Soviets that it would be pointless 

for them to cheat.37

The Joint Chiefs agreed that the SALT II treaty was flawed. But they rejected 

Rowny’s basic contention that the United States would be better off without the 

treaty than with it, and were prepared to accept it provided there were no further 

delays in deploying the MX and in completing the other remaining elements of the 

strategic modernization program. Thus, during the debate in Congress, the Joint 

Chiefs steered clear of evaluating the treaty’s merits and concentrated on giving 

their assessment of its strategic implications. They adopted the position that SALT II 

was “a modest but useful contribution to our national interests” and could produce 

effective results only in conjunction with improvements in the overall U.S. defense 

posture. “Our priority must go to strategic nuclear force modernization,” General 
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Jones told Congress, “but increases are needed across the board for nuclear and nonnuclear forces.” A tepid endorsement, it still satisfied the White House and avoided 

the embarrassment the administration would have suffered had the JCS followed 

Rowny’s advice and opposed the treaty.38

Just as support for ratification seemed to be building in the Senate, there came 

disclosures in August-September 1979 that U.S. intelligence had confirmed the existence of a Soviet combat brigade in Cuba. At issue was whether the presence of 

these forces violated the precedents barring the reintroduction of Soviet military 

power set by the 1962 Kennedy-Khrushchev agreements ending the Cuban Missile Crisis. In fact, rumors and reports of Soviet military activity in Cuba circulated 

almost constantly and normally caused little stir. But with the SALT II debate ongoing, the Soviet brigade became a cause célèbre that played into the hands of the treaty’s 

opponents, dimming its chances of approval. The fatal blow to SALT II’s prospects 

was the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in December 1979, which Carter himself 

later admitted doomed any chance the administration might have had of gaining the 

two-thirds vote needed for approval.39 To demonstrate U.S. displeasure with Soviet 

behavior, President Carter withdrew the treaty from Senate consideration and made 

no recommendation that it be rescheduled for a vote in the foreseeable future. But 

having come this far with the treaty, he refused to repudiate it outright and in May 

1980 announced that the United States would abide by its terms as long as the Soviet Union did the same.40

To the Joint Chiefs, Carter’s decision to withdraw the SALT II treaty while 

abiding by its terms seemed a reasonable if not altogether satisfying outcome. Even 

though the JCS disliked the treaty, they were more concerned by what could happen should there be no treaty at all, a situation that could arguably open the way to 

a further buildup of Soviet strategic forces and an expensive escalation of the arms 

race. Flawed as it might be, the JCS were prepared to accept SALT II and work 

within its terms until something better came along.

NATO and the INF Controversy 

The same concerns that prompted uneasiness in the Senate over the SALT II treaty were also reshaping attitudes toward the security of Europe. While NATO leaders had initially welcomed the improved atmosphere of détente, many were increasingly apprehensive as the 1970s wore on lest Moscow exploit this situation to 

extend its power and influence, undermine support within the Alliance for strong 

defense policies, and ultimately drive NATO apart. By mid-decade, with the ongoing buildup of Warsaw Pact capabilities showing no evidence of abating, alarm 
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bells began sounding throughout NATO capitals. While the evidence was by no 

means conclusive, signs indicated that the Soviets were building up for a large-scale 

confrontation and posturing their forces for a Blitzkrieg-style attack against the West 

should war erupt. In assessing the probable outcome, Joint Staff and intelligence analysts 

in Washington reached the uncomfortable conclusion that the chance of stopping a 

Warsaw Pact attack with minimal loss of territory “appears remote at the present time.”41

The most ominous development was the appearance of the SS–20, a land–

based triple–warhead mobile missile that the Soviets began deploying in March 

1976, apparently as a replacement for their aging SS–4s and SS–5s. Derived from 

an experimental ICBM (the SS–X–16), the SS–20 had a range of 5,000 kilometers 

and thus fell just outside the SALT I limits, making it an intermediate-range ballistic missile. Some observers described it as the “pocket battleship” of its time. Like 

the German and Japanese heavy cruisers built in the 1930s, it eluded arms control 

constraints but still had almost the same range and payload as a fully functional 

strategic weapon.42 “Our new SS–20 missile,” boasted one Soviet general, “was a 

breakthrough unlike anything the Americans had. We were immediately able to 

hold all of Europe hostage.”43 With the SS–20, the Soviets could target not only 

every major capital in Europe, but also much of North Africa and practically the 

entire the Middle East.

As President Carter took office, JCS and NATO planners were still in the 

preliminary stages of assessing the SS–20’s military and strategic impact. Still unknown were how many launchers the Soviets might eventually deploy or how they 

intended to use them. Operating in this thin air of uncertainty, the new administration downplayed the need for an immediate response and decided to concentrate 

on improving NATO’s conventional capabilities under a new initiative known as 

the Long-Term Defense Program (LTDP). Calling for a 3 percent real increase 

in NATO funding (at the same time the United States was preparing cuts in its 

overall defense budget), the LTDP stressed the increased prepositioning of U.S. 

supplies and equipment in Europe, better management of resources, and across-theboard upgrades in the Alliance’s conventional forces. Even though previous administrations had espoused similar goals, the enthusiasm shown by Washington for the 

LTDP, coupled with President Carter’s well-known antipathy for nuclear weapons, 

brought to the fore what many Europeans (the West Germans especially) had feared 

since the adoption of the flexible response strategy in the 1960s—that Washington 

would try to move NATO away from nuclear deterrence toward almost exclusive 

(and more costly) reliance on conventional forces.44

Shortly after taking office, with a view to allaying these concerns, the administration dispatched State-Defense briefing teams to update European leaders on the 
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status of U.S. nuclear planning and to reassure them that the United States remained 

committed to maintaining robust nuclear capabilities by developing the neutron 

bomb and ground- and sea-launched cruise missiles. Apparently, however, these 

briefing teams were exceedingly frank in discussing the technical difficulties associated with cruise missiles and conveyed the impression that these weapons would 

have a limited bearing on the strategic balance if and when they became operational.45 Shortly thereafter, in June 1977, came the inadvertent and premature public 

disclosure of the neutron bomb—a tactical nuclear warhead capable of generating 

high levels of lethal radiation with a small explosion—that left the Carter administration mired in a public relations debacle that eventually sidelined the program. 

The net result was that many European leaders remained uneasy about American 

promises and wanted to see more in the way of concrete programs to strengthen 

their security, lest they take matters into their own hands.46

The catalyst for what became the most far-ranging reassessment of NATO’s nuclear requirements since the 1950s was a speech by West German Chancellor Helmut 

Schmidt before the International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS) in London in late 

October 1977. Based on the progress made thus far in SALT II, Schmidt was convinced 

that the United States and the Soviet Union were moving toward an agreement that 

would suit the superpowers but bargain away capabilities like cruise missiles that could 

be crucial to European security. Schmidt believed that once the Soviet SS–20 force 

became fully operational, Europe would be increasingly at the mercy of Soviet military 

and political pressure, no matter how strong its conventional forces might be, unless 

it had its own comparable, offsetting nuclear forces. Accordingly, in his speech to the 

IISS, he called for preserving “the full range of deterrence strategy,” and implied that 

the United States was not doing enough either to curb the SS–20 threat through arms 

control or, failing that, to provide NATO with more credible theater nuclear forces.47

The White House’s answer to Schmidt’s challenge was to turn the question over 

to the High Level Group (HLG), a new advisory body to NATO’s Nuclear Planning 

Group. Averse as ever to nuclear weapons, President Carter favored exercising restraint 

and looked to the HLG to explore policy options that would avoid or lessen the 

need for additional new deployments. While the President refused to countenance a 

one-for-one deployment with the Soviets, he knew he had to do something to show 

his support for NATO or risk irrevocably weakening Alliance solidarity. After much 

personal agonizing, he finally yielded and endorsed a compromise, formally adopted 

by NATO in December 1979, that called for the limited modernization of the Alliance’s intermediate-range nuclear forces (INF). Simultaneously, NATO announced 

unilateral plans to reduce its nuclear arsenal by 1,000 warheads (weapons scheduled 

for decommissioning anyway) and extended an offer to scale back or cancel its INF 

modernization program if the Soviets would do likewise with their SS–20s.48
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Slated to begin around the end of 1983, NATO’s modernization measures 

consisted of deploying 572 mobile launchers, broken down into 464 U.S. groundlaunched cruise missiles (GLCMs) and 108 U.S. Pershing II (P–II) ballistic missiles 

to replace an identical number of obsolescent Pershing IAs based in West Germany. 

The decision to include ballistic missiles in the mix was largely at the instigation of 

the Joint Chiefs and aimed at placating the West Germans, who wanted the reassurance of an up-to-date, fast-reaction weapon. Though the U.S. programs were still 

in the developmental stage, each GLCM and P–II would have sufficient range to 

threaten targets along the western edge of the Soviet Union, a capability that landbased NATO forces had previously lacked. The cruise missiles would be dispersed 

around Western Europe, while the P–IIs would be based entirely in the Federal Republic. All would be subject to NATO authority under the operational command 

and control of the U.S. Army.

Though not as extensive as the Joint Chiefs had hoped, NATO’s nuclear modernization program satisfied their basic requirements and seemed to point the Alliance in what the JCS considered the right direction. For Carter, however, it was 

a dreadful setback—the acceptance of more weapons he loathed and an acknowledgement that, at bottom, the security of the NATO area continued to rest directly 

on the threat to use them. Worse still, from Carter’s standpoint, the pending deployment was a further tacit admission that détente in Europe was on the wane. Yet it 

was probably the only sound decision he could have made without risking a permanent rupture within the Alliance. Whether arms control negotiations would obviate 

the need for NATO to follow through on its INF deployment plans remained to 

be seen. But by the time the Carter administration left office, there were few signs 

that NATO and the Soviet Union would soon reach a deal, if ever. Not until the 

Reagan administration would talks begin in earnest.

The Arc of Crisis 

While they were instrumental in shaping the Carter administration’s policy toward 

nuclear modernization in Europe, the Joint Chiefs were less successful in persuading the White House to adopt a tougher stand against Soviet encroachment on 

the Third World. In some ways, the chiefs had only themselves to blame. Insisting 

that they lacked sufficient resources, they had consistently downplayed U.S. military 

involvement in Third World conflicts in the aftermath of Vietnam and had instead 

urged the use of diplomacy and covert operations to block the Soviets from making further inroads. This remained the basic JCS position throughout the Carter 

administration and on into Ronald Reagan’s Presidency. But as the 1970s drew to 
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a close, it was increasingly apparent to the Joint Chiefs that Third World problems 

were more intractable than they had assumed and that a larger military role for the 

United States was becoming unavoidable.

Though President Carter eventually came to a similar conclusion, he remained 

apprehensive about the application of military force to solve problems in Asia, Africa, and Latin America and believed the key to countering Communism in those 

parts of the world lay in promoting democratic values, economic improvements, 

and better living conditions. His preference, as always, was for diplomatic initiatives that would ease the threat of future conflicts and improve the North-South 

dialogue. Toward those ends, he managed to broker two significant breakthroughs: 

a new treaty with Panama, approved by the Senate in April 1978, ending both the 

American colonial presence and American control of the Panama Canal; and the 

Camp David peace accords reached later that year between Egypt and Israel. Cautiously optimistic about both, the Joint Chiefs welcomed the peace deal between 

Israel and Egypt in hopes that it would strengthen the U.S. strategic posture in the 

Middle East, but were decidedly cool toward giving up the Panama Canal, which 

they continued to regard as a vital American interest. Eventually, they gave the treaty 

a tepid endorsement.49

Meanwhile, avoiding U.S. involvement in Third World conflicts was proving 

increasingly difficult. At the outset of the Carter administration, perhaps the most 

volatile situation likely to engage the United States was the simmering dispute between Ethiopia and Somalia for control of the barren Ogaden plateau in the Horn 

of Africa. Overshadowing all was the apparent determination of Moscow to extend 

its influence throughout the region. Once strong allies of the Somalis, the Soviets 

had changed sides and thrown their support to the self-proclaimed Marxist regime 

in Ethiopia that had overthrown the decrepit monarchy of Haile Selassi in 1974. 

Toward the end of November 1977, on the heels of a series of secret aid agreements, 

the Soviets launched a massive airlift—larger than anything they had undertaken in 

Angola or elsewhere in Africa—to fortify Ethiopia with an estimated $1 billion in 

new arms and supplies and 17,000 elite Cuban combat troops. During the ensuing 

conflict, Ethiopia and its Soviet bloc allies easily overwhelmed the Somalis, setting 

off alarm bells in Washington that would reverberate for years to come.50

The leading advocate for a more forceful policy to counter Soviet encroachments in the Third World was the President’s national security advisor, Zbigniew 

Brzezinski. During the deliberations surrounding the Ogaden crisis, it became clear 

that U.S. options were limited. About the most the United States could do to influence the situation directly was to deploy a naval task force off the coast of Somalia. 

Long before the crisis erupted, Brzezinski had foreseen an urgent need for a broader 
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range of capabilities and had persuaded President Carter, as part of the administration’s review of basic policy in the summer of 1977, to include a requirement for a 

“force of light divisions with strategic mobility,” backed by adequate air and naval 

support, that could respond quickly to emergencies. Out of the bureaucratic process 

thus set in motion eventually emerged the Rapid Deployment Joint Task Force and 

its successor, the U.S. Central Command.51

Despite high-level endorsement, the creation of a rapid reaction force languished “on the back burner” for the next several years.52 A reluctant supporter to 

begin with, President Carter gradually lost interest in the idea and seems to have 

forgotten it altogether once the Ogaden crisis eased early in 1978. Previous efforts 

to create such a force, starting in 1962 with the establishment of U.S. Strike Command (USSTRICOM) at McNamara’s instigation, had little success owing to the 

initial reluctance of the Navy and Marine Corps to dedicate forces. During the 

Vietnam War, Strike Command’s role further declined as available units for rapid 

reaction missions virtually disappeared. In 1971, acknowledging that USSTRICOM 

had outlived its usefulness, the Joint Chiefs replaced it with a new organization they 

called U.S. Readiness Command (USREDCOM). Based at MacDill Air Force Base, 

Florida, USREDCOM operated without assigned geographical responsibilities and 

mainly performed training, doctrinal, and advisory functions connected with joint 

deployments.53

Meanwhile, the “arc of crisis,” as Brzezinski called it, was moving steadily eastward from the Horn of Africa into the Indian Ocean, the Persian Gulf, and Southwest Asia. Across the Middle East and on into Central Asia, conflict and political 

turmoil were the order of the day. Although the origins of many of these problems 

had more to do with local feuds and rivalries than with the Cold War, the perception in Washington was that conditions were ripe for Soviet penetration. In light of 

the West’s heavy dependence on Persian Gulf oil, the Carter administration had all 

the more reason to be alarmed.

The most dangerous threat to U.S. interests was the declining power and authority of Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlavi of Iran, a longtime ally of the United 

States. Awash in oil revenues, the Shah aspired to modernize his country and turn it 

into a major partner of the West. Eager to cooperate, the Nixon administration had 

supplied Iran with an arsenal of sophisticated weapons and advanced technologies, 

including help for a nascent atomic energy program. The policy that emerged was 

to develop a “twin pillar” system of security relying on Iran and Saudi Arabia to 

police the region. Of the two, however, Iran was clearly the preferred partner. Henry 

Kissinger remembered the Shah as “an unconditional ally . . . whose understanding 

of the world situation enhanced our own.”54 The Joint Chiefs, after some initial 
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hesitation, became similarly impressed with the Shah’s leadership. By the early 1970s 

they regarded Iran’s role as an anti-Soviet bastion as practically indispensable. In an 

area where American friends were few and far between, the Joint Chiefs of Staff 

pointed out that Iran was “a stabilizing influence” and as “strong and trusted [an] 

ally” as the United States was likely to find.55

The Carter White House had a somewhat different image of Iran. Brzezinski 

dismissed the Shah as a megalomaniac whose overly ambitious policies sowed the 

seeds of his destruction. Although President Carter was more charitable, finding 

much about the Shah and his regime to admire, he also saw much that left him uneasy. A founding member of the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC), the international oil cartel, Iran had played a key part in setting the 

high energy prices that were a major contributing factor to the soaring inflation of 

the 1970s. At the same time, as a direct result of his efforts to liberalize Iranian society, 

the Shah had alienated a number of powerful interest groups, including conservative 

Muslim religious leaders. As opposition to his policies mounted, the Shah turned 

increasingly to his secret police (SAVAK) to quell the dissent, a practice replete 

with alleged human rights abuses that President Carter found especially repugnant. 

But despite challenges to the Shah’s regime, intelligence estimates soft-peddled the 

severity of the disturbances and in so doing contributed to a false sense among the 

Joint Chiefs and others in Washington that Iran was a safe and stable ally.56

The collapse of the Shah’s power was as sudden as it was unexpected. In late 

November 1978, with unrest, strikes, and antigovernment demonstrations escalating, 

it became clear that the level and intensity of the demonstrations were sufficiently 

serious to threaten the survival of the monarchy itself. Amid the turmoil, the Joint 

Chiefs endorsed precautionary measures that included the evacuation of American 

citizens from Iran and stepped-up naval deployments in the Indian Ocean.57 As the 

crisis deepened, talk turned to the possibility of a military solution, a discussion cut 

short by the realization that about anything the United States did would be too 

little too late.58 The dénouement began on December 27, 1978, which one press account described as “a day of wild lawlessness and shooting in the capital and a strike 

that effectively shut down the oil industry.”59 By then, many middle-class Iranian 

moderates had joined the religious radicals in calling for the Shah to step down. 

Hoping that the Iranian generals might intervene and restore order, Brzezinski persuaded President Carter to send General Robert E. Huyser, USAF, the Deputy 

Commander of U.S. forces in Europe, to Tehran on a fact-finding mission. What 

Huyser found was an Iranian military in utter disarray, thoroughly demoralized and 

too poorly organized to make a difference. In mid-January 1979, the Shah fled the 

country, leaving it in the hands of a weak civilian government with little experience 
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and even less popular support. For all practical purposes, the real head of state in Iran 

was Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, a charismatic cleric recently returned from exile 

in France who was determined to rub out Western influence and establish a way of 

life based on fundamentalist Muslim principles. As bad as the Shah’s downfall may 

have seemed for U.S. interests in the region, worse things were yet to come.

Rise of the Sandinistas 

Half a world away in the Central American country of Nicaragua, a similar drama 

was playing out, though on a far smaller scale than the crisis in Iran. Relatively stable 

and prosperous by Latin American standards, Nicaragua was the virtual fiefdom of 

a right-wing dictator, Anastasio Somoza, whose family had ruled the country with 

the help of the U.S.-trained and equipped Guardia Nacional since the 1930s. Vehemently anticommunist, the Somoza regime had earned a reputation in U.S. military 

circles as being a strong and dependable ally against the threat of Cuban-instigated 

Communist expansion. But by the mid-1970s, Somoza’s support both at home and 

in Washington was beginning to erode. Though known more for political corruption than brutality, Somoza had come under fire from the Carter administration 

for alleged human rights abuses and soon became the target of U.S. sanctions that 

included a cut-off of military aid. Starting with the Panama Canal treaty, President 

Carter hoped to change the U.S. image in Latin America. Withdrawing support for 

Somoza was part of that process.60

In September 1978, with opposition mounting and his back against the wall, 

Somoza authorized the National Guard to launch an all-out offensive against the 

most immediate threat to his regime—a leftist insurgency led by the Sandinista 

National Liberation Front (FSLN). Even though the Guard dealt the rebels a severe 

military setback, it also destroyed many towns and villages and inflicted heavy civilian casualties. Significant segments of the population became alienated and went 

over to the FSLN. While the Carter administration had no use for Somoza, it was 

also leery of the FSLN, whose Marxist rhetoric and Cuban connections seemed 

certain to place it on a collision course with the United States should it ever come 

to power. Seeking middle ground, President Carter approved a diplomatic initiative 

early in 1979 aimed at persuading Somoza to step aside voluntarily to make way for 

a more representative regime. Negotiations broke down, however, and by late May 

Somoza’s forces and the Sandinistas were again engaged in pitched battle.

As with the Shah of Iran, the consensus in Washington was that Somoza would 

survive the Sandinista challenge. By early June, however, it was clear that U.S. intelligence had misjudged the situation and that the Sandinistas were gaining the upper 
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hand, in part as a result of weapons covertly supplied by Cuba. Operating without 

fresh supplies, the National Guard steadily disintegrated, paving the way for a Sandinista victory. When at last on July 17, 1979, Somoza finally stepped down and fled 

to Miami, he left a country in physical ruin and political disarray. In the view of 

the Joint Chiefs, Nicaragua was now a ripe target for Communist penetration and a 

potential launch pad for Cuban adventurism elsewhere in Central America. 

During its remaining time in office, the Carter administration wrestled with 

limiting the consequences of the Sandinista victory. The stated goals in Central America were “the development of democratic societies, the observance of human rights, 

the ending or diminution of violence and terrorism, and the denial of the region 

to forces hostile to the U.S.”61 Persuaded that the United States had overreacted to 

Castro’s takeover of Cuba in 1959, many on the NSC Staff and at the State Department believed that the United States should work with the Sandinistas to establish 

good relations, promote political pluralism in Nicaragua, and steer the country away 

from becoming “another Cuba.” The Joint Chiefs were skeptical of this approach, but 

among the President’s senior advisors, only Brzezinski seemed to share their concerns. 

Meanwhile, the security situation in Central America continued to deteriorate as intelligence reports confirmed an influx of Cuban-supplied Eastern Bloc arms. But in 

trying to persuade the White House or the State Department to act, the JCS found 

little interest in anything that smacked of a military solution. In consequence, development of a comprehensive policy toward Central American became practically impossible, leaving decisions to emerge in a fragmented, reactive manner.62

Toward the end of his Presidency, Carter evinced signs of having second thoughts 

about trying to work with the Sandinistas. Slowly but surely he began to adopt a position more akin to that advocated by the Joint Chiefs and Brzezinski. Hoping to get a 

better picture of the situation, he authorized the National Security Agency to step up 

its monitoring of developments in Nicaragua and to expand its coverage of Sandinista 

communications.63 Even so, Carter continued to view military action as a last resort 

and refused to abandon his belief that a political settlement, acceptable to all involved, 

was ultimately feasible. But in Central America, as elsewhere, his faith in détente and 

nonviolent solutions had been badly shaken and, as he left the White House, it was 

with a clear awareness that the next administration would be less reticent and adopt a 

more forceful course of action to prevent the spread of Sandinista and Cuban influence.

Creation of the Rapid Deployment Force 

The fall of the Shah and the ensuing collapse of the Somoza regime had distinctly 

unsettling effects on JCS thinking. Alarmed by the sudden escalation of threats to 
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U.S. interests, the Joint Chiefs acknowledged a pressing requirement for a more 

responsive force posture capable of interjecting a measure of stability into troubled 

parts of the world. Although the JCS had been moving steadily in that direction 

ever since Brzezinski raised the issue in the summer of 1977, it was not until 2 years 

later that they felt their studies had progressed far enough to begin seriously discussing a mission statement, the assignment of forces, and command arrangements. 

Assuming that the focus of such a force would be the Middle East, JCS planners 

generally agreed that the most practical solution would be a joint task force or perhaps a new joint command and that either way, because it was almost certain to have 

a high political profile, it would be “the force except Europe and Korea.”64

The central figure throughout the subsequent planning and preparations culminating in activation of the Rapid Deployment Force (RDF) was Secretary of Defense 

Harold Brown. Having previously served as Secretary of the Air Force and in other 

high-level Pentagon positions, Brown was well aware of the potential for inter-Service 

competition and rivalry that new programs presented. He repeatedly cautioned the 

Joint Chiefs and Service planners against using the RDF as leverage for more money 

or resources. What Brown and the President envisioned was a rather small fast-reaction force drawn mainly from available assets. Nonetheless, the opportunities were too 

inviting for the Services to ignore. Competition became especially acute between the 

Army and the Marine Corps as each jostled for a larger role on the assumption that 

the new organization would be first and foremost a ground-based intervention force, 

with supplemental air and naval support. Advised by Brzezinski that the President was 

growing impatient, Brown nudged the Services along as best he could and achieved a 

tentative agreement breaking the impasse by November 1979.65

Meanwhile, the seizure of the U.S. Embassy in Tehran on November 4, 1979, 

and the Soviet military intervention in Afghanistan the following month sent a 

shudder through Washington resulting in a wholesale reassessment of U.S. defense 

and security requirements for the Middle East and Southwest Asia. Both events 

produced an escalation of tensions and posed serious challenges to the protection 

of U.S. interests. Of the two, it was the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan on December 24–25, 1979, that most alarmed the Joint Chiefs and their superiors. Aimed 

at assuring a pro-Moscow regime in Kabul, the Soviet invasion drew sharp and 

swift international condemnation. Remote as Afghanistan seemed, Carter and his 

advisors saw its fate tied directly to that of the United States. “A Soviet-occupied 

Afghanistan,” the President told the country, “threatens both Iran and Pakistan and 

is a steppingstone to possible control over much of the world’s oil supplies.”66 To be 

sure, many of the responses that followed had been set in motion earlier. But with 

Afghanistan providing the catalyst, they came to fruition sooner rather than later 
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and helped expedite the transformation of the RDF from a drawing board concept 

into a functioning organization.

At the heart of this transformation was the Carter Doctrine, announced in 

the President’s State of the Union Message on January 23, 1980. In effect, Carter 

confirmed publicly what he and his subordinates had been saying privately to one 

another and in off-the-record talks with reporters for some time—that Washington 

had major interests at stake in the Persian Gulf and that the necessary response was a 

military buildup. Under that policy, President Carter served notice that the United 

States would not allow the Gulf to fall into hostile hands, that it would pursue a “cooperative security framework” in the area, and that it would back up those initiatives 

with requisite military force.67 As evidence of his resolve, the President pointed to 

the pending creation of the Rapid Deployment Force, which he said would “range 

in size from a few ships or air squadrons to formations as large as 100,000 men.” 

Among the specific initiatives being taken to support the RDF, the President mentioned the development and production of a new fleet of large cargo aircraft with 

intercontinental range and the design and procurement of a force of pre-positioned 

ships to carry heavy equipment and supplies for three Marine brigades.68

Announcement of the Carter Doctrine caught the Joint Chiefs largely off 

guard. Learning of the decision only a few days before the President’s speech, they 

saw the administration acting hastily and without adequate preparations. Nonetheless, from that point on, JCS planning accelerated quickly, culminating in the activation of the Rapid Deployment Joint Task Force (RDJTF) on March 1, 1980. Headquartered at MacDill Air Force Base, Florida, RDJTF was technically a subordinate 

element of USREDCOM. But because of its prominent political profile, RDJTF 

reported directly to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. At Secretary of Defense Brown’s request, it also maintained a liaison staff at the Pentagon for politico-military interface 

with the Joint Staff, OSD, and other agencies.69 The first commander of RDJTF, 

Lieutenant General P.X. Kelley, USMC, publicly described the new organization as 

“an exceptionally flexible force” that would eventually pull together “the capabilities of all four services into one harmonized fighting machine with a permanent 

command and control headquarters.”70 For the time being, however, RDJTF had no 

assigned forces and functioned mainly as a headquarters, planning, and advisory organization, much like USREDCOM. For the next several years, RDJTF’s primary 

functions were to organize and supervise exercises acquainting U.S. forces with the 

peculiarities of operating in the Middle East, and to make plans and preparations for 

eventually establishing a permanent forward headquarters there.

With the creation of the RDJTF, the Joint Chiefs expected the United States to 

emerge as the predominant outside power in the Middle East. In years past it had been 
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the British and, to a lesser extent, the French who had carried out that function. Now 

it was the turn of the United States. Looking ahead, the chiefs could not help but 

be uneasy. Apart from the political complications involved (most notably the American relationship with Israel), they saw Washington moving into unfamiliar territory 

where a continuous U.S. military presence could become unavoidable and require a 

far larger allocation of resources than the current administration was willing to make. 

The Carter administration had hoped to avoid such commitments. But as it departed 

in 1981, it passed along a growing list of obligations that left the United States more 

deeply embroiled in the Middle East and Southwest Asia than ever before.

The Iran Hostage Rescue Mission 

The creation of the RDJTF was a major step toward coping with the volatility that 

increasingly plagued the Middle East and Southwest Asia in the late 1970s. By the 

same token, it signaled a partial revival and resurgence of JCS influence within the 

policy process in Washington. While the chiefs’ role had been growing steadily following the Shah’s downfall and the ensuing acceleration of contingency planning 

for Southwest Asia, it came even more to the fore during the subsequent seizure 

of the American Embassy in Tehran and efforts by the U.S. military in the spring 

of 1980 to liberate those held hostage. Even though the mission ended in failure, it 

confirmed that the United States was far from averse to the use of force and that in 

keeping with the decisions that had given rise to the RDJTF, it would not hesitate 

to intervene militarily if its interests became threatened.

The event precipitating the hostage crisis was President Carter’s decision in late 

October 1979 to allow the Shah, then in exile in Mexico, to enter the United States 

for emergency medical treatment. Outraged by what they considered continuing 

U.S. support of the Pahlavi regime, a mob of Iranian militants stormed the American Embassy in Tehran on November 4 and seized between fifty and sixty Foreign 

Service officers and Marine guards. Two days later, with the militants still controlling 

the Embassy and showing no sign of leaving, President Carter authorized Brzezinski 

to begin exploring options other than diplomacy for securing the hostages’ release. 

One possibility mentioned by General Jones was a rescue effort using helicopters 

launched from aircraft carriers in or near the Persian Gulf. Yet even though a rescue 

attempt appeared feasible in theory, the consensus among the Joint Chiefs was that 

because of the uncertainties involved it stood a “very high risk of failure” and did 

not appear viable. Brzezinski disagreed and with President Carter’s concurrence he 

ordered the JCS to proceed immediately with preparation of a contingency plan 

along the lines the CJCS had proposed.71
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By November 12, 1979, the JCS had established the nucleus of a joint task force 

within the Joint Staff (J-3) under the command of Major General James E. Vaught, 

USA, with advisory support from Major General Philip C. Gast, USAF, the former chief of the U.S. Military Assistance Advisory Group in Iran. From that point 

on, Joint Staff planners ceased to be regularly involved in the rescue. To preserve 

secrecy, Vaught and his staff worked in isolation and reported directly to the Joint 

Chiefs through the Chairman. A high-level ad hoc committee chaired by Brzezinski 

provided overall coordination and interagency liaison from the White House. According to General Jones’s retrospective account, he and his JCS colleagues “went 

through many, many different options.” He recalled that, “In the initial stages, we did 

not see any option that had a reasonable chance of success.”72 But by late November 

1979, he and Vaught agreed that the use of helicopters offered the most practical 

and effective means of conducting the rescue. From this decision evolved plans for 

Operation Eagle Claw. While Jones later denied any explicit deal-cutting to give 

each Service a share of the action, his assistant, Lieutenant General John S. Pustay, 

USAF, remembered things differently. According to Pustay, there was a feeling “that 

it would be nice if everyone had a piece of the pie.” Pustay hastened to add, however, that in his view the multi-Service nature of the operation was dictated by its 

complex requirements and in no way interfered with its execution.73

Even though planning was continuous and intense from mid-November 1979 

on, it was not until early March 1980 that Jones recalled feeling “a growing confidence” that the rescue mission was coming together in terms of a feasible plan, 

trained personnel, suitable equipment, and reliable intelligence.74 To get the hostages 

out, the Joint Chiefs proposed launching helicopters from carriers in the Arabian 

Sea, which would then rendezvous with a Delta Force assault team at a remote location in Iran (code-named Desert One) and proceed to Tehran. There, they would 

liberate the hostages, secure the airport, and fly out. A complicated and risky plan, 

it rested heavily on exploiting the element of surprise and achieving effective interService cooperation and coordination every step of the way.75

Whether President Carter would sanction such a hazardous and complex operation remained to be seen. Toward the end of an all-day meeting at Camp David 

on March 22, Jones presented what Brzezinski described as the “first comprehensive 

and full briefing on the rescue mission” the President had yet received. Disappointed over the latest failure of diplomacy to free the hostages, Carter was more 

ready than ever to contemplate military action. But he thought the plan that Jones 

presented “still needed more work.” To help determine its feasibility, he authorized a 

reconnoitering mission deep inside Iranian territory, the first step toward establishing the Desert One base camp for the planned operation.76
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THE R E T URN T O C ONFRON T A T ION

With JCS preparations nearing the “go-or-no-go” point of the mission, pressure was growing for President Carter to make a decision. While he continued to 

favor a diplomatic settlement, he thought time was running out and concluded 

that forceful action was now his most viable—perhaps only option. Accordingly, on 

April 11, he assembled the National Security Council for a final look at the rescue 

plan. The meeting lasted nearly 2 hours. Using a pointer and visual aids to illustrate 

the logistics involved, General Jones insisted that the rescue option had been well 

rehearsed and was on schedule to commence in late April. Armed with a list of prepared questions, the President found Jones’s answers to be much more satisfactory 

than at previous meetings. The only dissenting view came from Deputy Secretary 

of State Warren M. Christopher, sitting in for Cyrus Vance, who was on vacation 

in Florida. Christopher had attended earlier NSC meetings on the rescue mission 

but had taken no active part in the discussion. Opposed to military interventions 

in general, he urged caution and thought there were still important diplomatic and 

economic avenues to be explored. Carter, however, said he had already discussed 

the matter privately with First Lady Rosalynn, Presidential advisor Hamilton Jordan, Vice President Walter Mondale, Secretary of State Vance, and Jody Powell, the 

White House Press Secretary, and made up his mind. Shutting off further debate, he 

announced: “We ought to go ahead without delay.”77

Despite over 5 months of intensive training and preparation, Eagle Claw

remained a perilous undertaking in which much could—and did—go wrong. 

Launched on April 24, 1980, the operation experienced equipment breakdowns 

almost from the beginning. By the time of the rendezvous at Desert One, there were 

too few helicopters still operational to complete the mission. While preparing to 

turn around and go home, one of the helicopters collided with a C–130 transport, 

causing both aircraft to explode. Eight U.S. Servicemen and an Iranian translator 

died. The ignominious withdrawal that followed (leaving behind most of the dead) 

effectively doomed President Carter’s hopes of ending the hostage standoff and represented a humiliating blow to the power and prestige of the United States. 

In the aftermath of the Desert One disaster, the Joint Chiefs sought to piece together what happened and why and to learn how similar failures might be avoided in 

the future. By far the most detailed and thorough examination of the hostage rescue 

mission was that undertaken at the Chiefs’ request by the Special Operations Review 

Group (SORG), chaired by retired Admiral James L. Holloway III, a former Chief 

of Naval Operations. The review group drew two general conclusions—that there 

had been undue emphasis on untested ad hoc arrangements throughout the operation, and that an overriding concern for operational secrecy (e.g., the exclusion of 

the National Security Agency) had crippled the planning process. Anticipating future 
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Coun c il of War

missions of the kind, the SORG recommended, and the Joint Chiefs concurred, that 

there should be a permanent Counterterrorist Joint Task Force (CTJTF), with assigned staff and forces, backed by a special operations advisory panel comprised of 

high-ranking officers with backgrounds in special operations and joint planning.78

While the Joint Chiefs sought to draw constructive lessons, critics leapt on the 

failure of the hostage rescue mission as further evidence, along with Vietnam and 

the Mayaguez affair, that the JCS had become an ineffectual organization in urgent 

need of institutional reform. Many of the legislative changes later incorporated into 

the 1986 Goldwater-Nichols Act drew their immediate inspiration and impetus from 

the Desert One disaster. To be sure, Eagle Claw was a flawed operation. Yet its failure 

stemmed not from any one cause but from a variety of factors. As much as anything, it 

revealed the Joint Chiefs’ lack of familiarity with the Middle East and the unforeseen 

difficulties of projecting military power into that part of the world. With tactics, weapons, and training oriented since the onset of the Cold War toward conflicts in Europe 

or East Asia, the Joint Chiefs of Staff were largely unacquainted with the unique problems of the Middle East and lacked a well-established infrastructure there to support 

military operations. The creation of the Rapid Deployment Force was supposed to 

help overcome these problems. But until it became a tested, working reality, the JCS 

had no choice but to rely on makeshift arrangements and learn as they went along. 

The hostage crisis was a desperate, almost unprecedented situation, and it 

seemed to cry out for desperate, unprecedented measures. Carter knew that the 

rescue mission was a long shot and never blamed anyone other than himself for its 

failure. Still, like John F. Kennedy after the Bay of Pigs, he was clearly disappointed 

with the performance of his military advisors. Never strong to begin with, Carter’s 

confidence in the Joint Chiefs sank even further in the aftermath of Desert One. By 

all accounts, the JCS had done the best they could, but with resources stretched thin 

in the aftermath of the Vietnam War, their ability to respond effectively in emergencies was severely constrained. In Desert One as elsewhere, the effects of the “hollow 

force” were all too apparent. Carter may have felt that if given a second term, he 

could have turned the situation around. However, he never had that opportunity. As 

it happened, that task fell instead to a new administration, operating from a different 

worldview and a different set of assumptions about national security. 

Notes

1 See Gordon S. Barrass, The Great Cold War (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 

2009), 190–191.

2 Jimmy Carter, Why Not the Best? (Nashville: Broadman Press, 1975), laid out the President’s foreign policy agenda. See also Gaddis Smith, Morality, Reason, and Power: American 
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THE R E T URN T O C ONFRON T A T ION

Diplomacy in the Carter Years (New York: Hill and Wang, 1986); and Burton I. Kaufman, 

The Presidency of James Earl Carter, Jr. (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1993).

3 “Inaugural Address of President Jimmy Carter,” January 20, 1977, in Public Papers of the 

Presidents of the United States: Jimmy Carter, 1977 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1977), 3.

4 Jimmy Carter, Keeping Faith (Toronto: Bantam Books, 1982), 222.

5 Erik B. Riker-Coleman, “Political Pressures on the Joint Chiefs of Staff: The Case of 

General David C. Jones” (Paper presented before the Society of Military History Annual Meeting, Calgary, Alberta, May 2001), 3–5 and passim, available at <www.unc.

edu/~chaos1/jones.pdf> (accessed July 18, 2011).

6 Quotations from Gen David C. Jones, USAF (Ret.), former CJCS, interviewed by 

Steven L. Rearden and Walter S. Poole, February 4, 1998, Arlington, VA, transcript, JHO. 

See also Mark Perry, Four Stars (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, 1989), 268–269.

7 Bernard Weinraub, “Joint Chiefs Losing Sway Under Carter,” The New York Times, July 

6, 1978: A11.

8 Walter S. Poole, The Evolution of the Joint Strategic Planning System, 1947–1989 (Washington, DC: Historical Division, Joint Secretariat, Joint Staff, September 1989), 15–18; 

letters, Lt Gen Richard L. Lawson, J-5, to Brzezinski and Aaron, January 14, 1980, U; 

Memo, Shoemaker, Utgoff, and Welch to Brzezinski, February 21, 1980, U; and Draft 

Memo to Dir, OMB, U, all in National Security Adviser Collection, Agency File, box 

10, JCS 1/79-2/80 folder, Carter Library.

9 Memo, Carter to Brown, September 20, 1977, “Defense Reorganization,” U, JCS 

1977/392; OASD(PA) news release no. 529–77, November 17, 1977, cited in JCS 

1977/409-5.

10 “Report to the Secretary of Defense on the National Military Command Structure 

(The Steadman Report),” July 1978, in U.S. Congress, House, Committee on Armed 

Services, Hearings: Reorganization Proposals for the Joint Chiefs of Staff, 97:2 (Washington, 

DC: GPO, 1982), 912–924.

11 Transcript of News Conference by Gen David C. Jones, CJCS, July 25, 1978, 2–3, National Security Adviser Collection, Agency File, box 10, JCS 3/77-12/78 folder, Carter 

Library.

12 CM-79-78 to SECDEF, September 1, 1978, “NMC Structure and Departmental Headquarters Studies,” U, JCS 1977/409–5.

13 JCSM-290-78 to SECDEF, September 1, 1978, “Comments on NMC Structure and 

Departmental Headquarters Studies,” U, Enclosure A JCS 1977/409-5.

14 “President’s News Conference, June 30, 1977,” Carter Public Papers, 1977, 1197–1200.

15 Carter, Keeping Faith, 80–83; Harold Brown, Thinking About National Security (Boulder, 

CO: Westview Press, 1983), 72–74.

16 Jones Interview, February 4, 1998.

17 See Larry A. Niksch, “U.S. Troop Withdrawal from South Korea: Past Shortcomings and 

Future Prospects,” Asian Survey 21 (March 1981), 326–328; and Don Oberdorfer, “Carter’s 

Decision on Korea Traced to Early 1975,” The Washington Post, June 12, 1977: A15.

18 Ernest W. Lefever, “Withdrawal from Korea: A Perplexing Decision,” Strategic Review 6 

(Winter 1978), 28–35; Franklin B. Weinstein and Fuji Kamiya, eds., The Security of Korea: 

U.S. and Japanese Perspectives on the 1980s (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1980), 69–106. 
416

Coun c il of War

Cyrus Vance, Hard Choices (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1983), 127–128, and Zbigniew Brzezinski, Power and Principle (New York: Farrar, Straus, Giroux, 1983), 127, both 

mention human rights abuses as a factor shaping the administration’s attitude toward 

South Korea.

19 PD/NSC-18, August 24, 1977, “US National Policy,” U, NSC Collection, Carter Library; available at <http://www.jimmycarterlibrary.gov/documents/pddirectives/

pd18.pdf> (accessed July 18, 2011).

20 Diary entry, June 4, 1979, in Carter, Keeping Faith, 241.

21 Raymond L. Garthoff, Détente and Confrontation: American-Soviet Relations from Nixon 

to Reagan (Washington, DC: Brookings, 1994, rev. ed.), 868; and David M. Walsh, The 

Military Balance in the Cold War: U.S. Perceptions and Policy, 1976–85 (London: Routledge, 

2008), 26.

22 Leon Sloss and Marc Dean Millot, “U.S. Nuclear Strategy in Evolution,” Strategic Review

12 (Winter 1984), 19–28; and Walter Slocombe, “The Countervailing Strategy,” International Security 5 (Spring 1981), 18–27.

23 Brown, Thinking About National Security, 81.

24 Jones Interview with author, February 4, 1998.

25 Brzezinski, Power and Principle, 458–459.

26 PD/NSC-59, July 25, 1980, “Nuclear Weapons Employment Policy,” National Security 

Advisor’s Papers, Carter Library (declassified/sanitized), available at <http://www.jimmycarterlibrary.gov/documents/pddirectives/pd59.pdf> (accessed July 18, 2011).

27 Desmond Ball, “The Development of the SIOP, 1960–1983,” in Desmond Ball and 

Jeffrey Richelson, eds., Strategic Nuclear Targeting (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 

1986), 79.

28 Harold Brown, “Domestic Consensus and Nuclear Deterrence,” in Defence and Consensus: The Domestic Aspects of Western Security, Adelphi Paper No. 183 (London: IISS, 1983), 

Part II, 21. See also Brown’s testimony explaining the countervailing strategy in U.S. 

Congress, Senate, Committee on Foreign Relations, Hearing: Nuclear War Strategy, 96:2 

(Washington, DC: GPO, 1981), 6–28.

29 See Carter’s interview in Michael Charlton, From Deterrence to Defense: The Inside Story 

of Strategic Policy (Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press, 1987), 88. 

30 Brzezinski, Power and Principle, 157.

31 “Inaugural Address of President Jimmy Carter,” January 20, 1977, Carter Public Papers, 

1977, 3.

32 Minutes, SCC Meeting, February 3, 1977 (declassified), sub: SALT, National Security 

Adviser Collection, Staff Offices, box 3, SCC Meeting No. 2 folder, Carter Library.

33 Ibid.

34 Former Soviet Foreign Minister Alexander Bessmertnykh quoted in Barrass, 206.

35 Vance, 53–55; Garthoff, 629–634, 883–892.

36 Edward L. Rowny, It Takes One to Tango (Washington, DC: Brassey’s, 1992), 94–103.

37 Patrick Glynn, Closing Pandora’s Box: Arms Races, Arms Control, and the History of the 

Cold War (New York: Basic Books, 1992), 301–304, summarizes arguments against the 

treaty. See also Thomas W. Wolfe, The SALT Experience (Cambridge, MA: Ballinger, 
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THE R E T URN T O C ONFRON T A T ION

1979), 236–239, which inventories the pros and cons; and Dan Caldwell, The Dynamics 

of Domestic Politics and Arms Control: The SALT II Treaty Ratification Debate (Columbia: 

University of South Carolina Press, 1991), offers a balanced account of the ensuing 

debate in Congress.

38 Jones’s testimony, July 24, 1979, in U.S. Congress, Senate, Committee on Armed Services, Hearings: Military Implications of the Treaty on the Limitation of Strategic Offensive Arms 

and Protocol Thereto (SALT II Treaty), 96:1 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1979), Pt. 1, 151–160.

39 Carter, Keeping Faith, 264–265.

40 “Address Before the World Affairs Council,” May 9, 1980, Carter Public Papers, 1980–81, 

872.

41 PRM/NSC-10 “Final Report: Military Strategy and Force Posture Review,” undated, 

9, enclosure to Memo, SECDEF to SecState et al., June 6, 1977, “PRM–10 Force Posture Study” (declassified/sanitized), available at <http://www.jimmycarterlibrary.gov/

documents/prmemorandums/prm10.pdf> (accessed July 18, 2011).

42 Glynn, 312.

43 Gen Andrian Danilevich quoted in Barrass, 212–213.

44 James A. Thomson, “The LRTNF decision: evolution of U.S. theatre nuclear policy, 

1975–9,” International Affairs 60 (Autumn 1984), 603–604.

45 Robert J. Art and Stephen E. Ockenden, “The Domestic Politics of Cruise Missile 

Development, 1970–1980,” in Richard K. Betts, ed., Cruise Missiles: Technology, Strategy, 

Politics (Washington, DC: Brookings, 1981), 400–401.

46 For a colorful account of the problems surrounding the neutron bomb, see Sam Cohen, The Truth About the Neutron Bomb (New York: William Morrow, 1983). For more 

analytical treatments, see Sherri L. Wasserman, The Neutron Bomb Controversy (New 

York: Praeger, 1983), 21–36; and Milton Leitenberg, “The Neutron Bomb––Enhanced 

Radiation Warheads,” Journal of Strategic Studies 5 (September 1982), 341–369.

47 Helmut Schmidt, “The 1977 Alastair Buchan Memorial Lecture,” October 28, 1977, 

Survival 20 (January-Februay 1978), 3–4.

48 Special Meeting of Foreign and Defence Ministers, Brussels, Communiqué of December 12, 1979, NATO Final Communiqués, 1975–80 (Brussels: NATO Information Service, 

n.d.), 121–123.

49 JCS views on the Panama Canal Treaty in U.S. Congress, Senate, Committee on Foreign 

Relations, Hearings: Panama Canal Treaties, 95:1 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1977), Pt. 1.

50 Jeffrey A. Lefebvre, Arms for the Horn: U.S. Security Policy in Ethiopia and Somalia, 1953–

1991 (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1991), 175–196.

51 PD/NSC-18, “US National Strategy,” August 24, 1977, NSC Collection, Carter Library; available at <http://www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/pd/pd18.pdf>. See also Brzezinski, Power and Principl, 177–178, 455–456; and Robert P. Haffa, Jr., The Half War: Planning 

U.S. Rapid Deployment Forces to Meet a Limited Contingency, 1960–1983 (Boulder, CO.: 

Westview Press, 1984), 50–52.

52 P.X. Kelley, “Rapid Deployment: A Vital Trump,” Parameters 11 (March 1981), 51.

53 Ronald H. Cole et al., The History of the Unified Command Plan, 1946–1999 (Washington, 

DC: Joint History Office, 2003), 30–31, 36–38.

54 Kissinger, White House Years, 1261.
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Coun c il of War

55 JCSM-525-70 to SECDEF, November 10, 1970, “US Military Mission with Iran and 

U.S. Military Advisory Group to Iran,” JCS 2315/498-2.

56 Brzezinski, Power and Principle, 354; Carter, Keeping Faith, 437–439. 

57 Brzezinski, Power and Principle, 390–391; Vance, 335–338; Daniel L. Haulman, The United States Air Force and Humanitarian Airlift Operations, 1947–1994 (Washington, DC: Air 

Force History and Museums Program, 1998), 360–361. 

58 See Robert E. Huyser, Mission to Tehran (New York: Harper & Row, 1986), 283–284.

59 The New York Times, December 28, 1978: 1.

60 Robert A. Pastor, Condemned to Repetition: The United States and Nicaragua (Princeton, 

NJ: Princeton University Press, 1987), 50–56.

61 PRM/NSC-46, May 4, 1979, “Review of U.S. Policies Toward Central America,” NSC 

Files, Carter Papers; available at <http://www.jimmycarterlibrary.gov/documents/

prmemorandums/prm46.pdf> (accessed July 18, 2011).

62 Pastor, 192–194.

63 Matthew M. Aid, The Secret Sentry: The Untold History of the National Security Agency

(New York: Bloomsbury Press, 2009), 166–167.

64 Handwritten notes labeled “Meeting w/CJCS and MG Dyke,” August 14, 1979, with 

emphasis in original, U, RG 218, 898/320 (January 11, 1979).

65 Historical Division, “The Rapid Deployment Mission” (MS, Joint Secretariat, Joint Chiefs 

of Staf, February 4, 1981), U, 6; Amitav Acharya, U.S. Military Strategy in the Gulf (London: 

Routledge, 1989), 63–67; Henrik Bliddal, Reforming Military Command Arrangements: The 

Case of the Rapid Deployment Joint Task Force, Letort Papers Series (Carlisle, PA: U.S. Army 

War College, Strategic Studies Institute, March 2011), 25–34, and <http://www.strategicstudiesinstitute.army.mil/pdffiles/PUB1048.pdf> (accessed July 18, 2011).

66 “Soviet Invasion of Afghanistan: Address to the Nation,” January 4, 1980, Carter Public 

Papers, 22.

67 “State of the Union Address,” January 23, 1980; ibid., 194–199.

68 “State of the Union: Annual Message to the Congress,” January 21, 1980; ibid., 166.

69 Cole et al., History of the UCP, 58–59.

70 A Discussion of the Rapid Deployment Force with Lieutenant General P.X. Kelley (Washington, DC: American Enterprise Institute, 1980), 3–4.

71 Carter, Keeping Faith, 459; Gary Sick, All Fall Down: America’s Tragic Encounter with Iran 

(New York: Random House, 1985), 213–216. 

72 “News Conference by SECDEF Brown and CJCS Jones,” April 29, 1980, Public Statements of Harold Brown, Secretary of Defense, 1980–1981 (Washington: Historical Office, 

Office of the Secretary of Defense, n.d.), IV, 1446–1447.

73 John E. Valliere, “Disaster at Desert One: Catalyst for Change,” Parameters 22 (Autumn 

1992), 78.

74 “News Conference by SECDEF and CJCS,” April 29, 1980, Brown Public Statements, 

1980–81, IV, 1450.

75 Charlie A. Beckwith and Donald Knox, Delta Force (San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1983), 253–256; Carter, Keeping Faith, 509–510; Zbigniew Brzezinski, “The 
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THE R E T URN T O C ONFRON T A T ION

Failed Mission: An Inside Account of the Attempt to Free the Hostages in Iran,” The 

New York Times Magazine, April 18, 1982: 30–31; Sick, 285–287; Paul B. Ryan, The Iranian 

Rescue Mission: Why It Failed (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1985), 1–2.

76 Carter, Keeping Faith, 501; Brzezinski, Power and Principle, 487.

77 Carter, Keeping Faith, 506–507; Vance, 409; and Brzezinski, Power and Principle, 492–493.

78 Iran Hostage Rescue Mission Report, August 1980, 57–62, Naval Historical Center files, available at <http://www.history.navy.mil/library/online/hollowayrpt.

htm#execsum> (accessed July 18, 2011).
General John W. Vessey, Jr., Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1982–1985
Chapter 14

The Reagan Buildup

By 1981, détente was dead, the victim of overoptimism by its proponents in Washington and presumptive behavior by Moscow. That it waxed and waned came as no 

surprise to the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who were skeptical all along of whether détente 

would last, let alone fundamentally alter East-West relations. Toward the end of his 

Presidency, Jimmy Carter reluctantly agreed and initiated upward adjustments in 

the military budget. The “Carter buildup” was a limited affair, however, and did not 

go much beyond bolstering capabilities for the Rapid Deployment Force. As useful as these increases may have been, they were not enough, in the opinion of the 

Chairman, General David C. Jones, USAF, to offset the gains made by the Soviets 

in nuclear and conventional arms over the past decade or to reverse the “long term 

decline in our defense spending.”1

To the incoming Reagan administration, strengthening the country’s defense 

posture was top priority. During the 1980 Presidential campaign, Ronald Reagan 

had mounted a relentless attack on the Carter administration for neglecting national defense and for accepting the expansion of Communist power and influence 

around the globe. Rekindling memories of the “liberation doctrine” advocated by 

John Foster Dulles 3 decades earlier, Reagan swept into office promising to “roll 

back” Communist influence and seeking a stronger military to back him up. The 

ensuing buildup, soon to become the touchstone of Reagan’s Presidency, dwarfed 

any the country had seen since World War II.

Reagan and the Military 

Underlying President Reagan’s commitment to strengthening the Nation’s military 

posture was his belief that for it to succeed he would need to change the country’s image of the Armed Forces, which was little improved since Vietnam. If he accomplished 

nothing else during his Presidency, Reagan wanted to lay the ghosts of that war to rest 

and revive respect for those serving in uniform. The credibility of his whole approach 

to foreign and defense policy depended on it. An old-fashioned patriot who was proud 

of having been an Army officer in World War II (even though he remained in Hollywood making training movies for the War Department), Reagan regarded service in 

the Armed Forces as character-building and the military itself as an integral part of the 

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422

Coun c il of War

country’s historic greatness. “I told the Joint Chiefs of Staff,” he recalled, “that I wanted 

to do whatever it took to make our men and women proud to wear their uniforms.”2

The President’s high esteem for the military notwithstanding, the leading architects of the Reagan buildup were predominantly civilians. Some, such as Secretary of 

Defense Caspar W. Weinberger and Director of Central Intelligence William J. Casey, 

were long-time political associates and personal friends of the President’s. Others, 

including Under Secretary of Defense for Policy Fred C. Iklé, Assistant Secretary of 

Defense Richard N. Perle, arms control specialist Paul H. Nitze, and Russian expert 

Richard E. Pipes who came down from Harvard to work on the NSC, were people 

Reagan had met in the 1970s through his participation in the Committee on the 

Present Danger.3

 Only two high-level advisors—Alexander M. Haig, Jr., a former 

SACEUR, and retired Army Lieutenant General Edward L. Rowny—came from 

career military backgrounds. Haig served as Reagan’s first Secretary of State and lasted 

barely a year and a half before policy disputes with Weinberger forced him to step 

down. His successor at State, George P. Shultz, was a corporate executive in private 

life and another of the President’s personal friends. Rowny, the former JCS representative to SALT II, served as Reagan’s senior advisor and chief negotiator on strategic 

arms control but made only limited inputs into shaping the buildup. 

Reagan was business-like and initially cautious in dealing with the Joint Chiefs. 

Being holdovers from the Carter administration, the chiefs served under a cloud 

from that association. According to former Secretary of the Air Force Thomas C. 

Reed, they must have “cringed as Reagan and Weinberger talked about the ‘decade of neglect’ over which these officers had presided.”4

 The most suspect was 

the Chairman, General David Jones, who had come under repeated attack from 

the President’s conservative Republican supporters for being “too political” and 

too closely linked to the policies of the previous administration. Some wanted him 

sacked immediately. Seeing himself as “a nonpolitical moderate,” Jones vowed to 

fight any attempt at dismissal. Weinberger, weighing the pros and cons, eventually 

became convinced that trying to fire him would be more trouble than it was worth.5

While Jones finished his term as Chairman, he was never part of “the family,” as 

Reagan’s inner circle of advisors was called. Nor did his advice carry much weight at the 

White House or with Weinberger. “Jones was an able man,” Weinberger recalled, “but I 

never felt that he was quite as comfortable with me as his successors were.”6

 Jones, for 

his part, observed tactfully that he and the Secretary of Defense labored under a “cool, 

never close relationship.”7

 Personalities obviously entered in, but there were also serious 

substantive differences covering a wide range of issues, from the size and allocation of resources under the buildup, to strategic weapons policy, arms control, and the reenergized 

debate over JCS organizational reform. Though Jones and Weinberger tried to keep 
THE R E A G AN B UIL D U P

423

their differences behind closed doors, it was not long before their disagreements spilled 

over into high-level interagency deliberations and eventually into the public arena.

In March 1982, President Reagan announced that General John W. Vessey, Jr., 

USA, Vice Chief of Staff of the Army, would become Chairman when Jones retired 

that summer. At the same time, Reagan announced that Admiral James D. Watkins, 

a former nuclear submarine commander, would succeed Thomas Hayward as Chief 

of Naval Operations, and that General Charles A. Gabriel, a fighter pilot, would 

replace Lew Allen, Jr., as Air Force Chief of Staff.8

 A year later, Reagan completed 

the transformation by naming General John A. Wickham, Jr., to be the next Army 

Chief of Staff, succeeding General Edward C. Meyer, and General Paul X. Kelley, 

the organizer and former commander of the Rapid Deployment Joint Task Force, 

to be the next Commandant of the Marine Corps.9

As a practical matter, the “new” Joint Chiefs of Staff were not much different in 

outlook from the “old.” But as Reagan appointees, they bore a greater degree of personal responsibility for helping to develop and implement the administration’s policies 

and programs. The member who had the most dealings with the White House and 

who was by extension the most closely identified with the administration’s policies 

was the Chairman, General Vessey. Lauded by President Reagan as a “soldier’s soldier” 

in the tradition of General of the Army Omar N. Bradley, Vessey was the last World 

War II combat veteran to serve as Chairman. He was also the only one who had never 

been a Service chief or the head of a unified or specified command. His tour of duty 

in the 1970s as the U.S.-UN commander in Korea was, however, easily comparable 

to that of a unified command and in some ways far more demanding. Like Jones, his 

training and education had been on-the-job and at public universities, not at one of 

the Service academies. Popular and respected among his peers, he had fought in three 

wars and was well known and highly regarded by key foreign leaders. As Chairman, he 

spent a good deal of time traveling in troubled locales such as East Asia and the Middle 

East, where he had numerous friends and contacts. 

Vessey and Weinberger formed a highly effective and productive partnership 

almost immediately. “I have rarely worked with anyone,” Weinberger recalled, “for 

whom I had greater respect and admiration.” In contrast to his intermittent contacts 

with Jones, Weinberger met with Vessey practically every morning for half an hour 

or more to go over business. Each Tuesday, Weinberger would meet collectively with 

Vessey and the Service chiefs in the “Tank,” the JCS conference room in the Pentagon’s National Military Command Center. Though Weinberger and the chiefs did 

not always see eye-to-eye, each one knew where the others stood on key issues.10

Vessey’s advent sparked an immediate improvement in White House–JCS relations. Reagan and Vessey got on well (both were avid storytellers and enjoyed trading 
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jokes) and usually saw one another two or three times a week at NSC meetings and 

other high-level functions. Operating in the “team player” tradition, Vessey saw himself as a bridge between the JCS, on the one hand, and the Secretary of Defense and 

the President, on the other. As one of the conditions for accepting the Chairmanship, 

Vessey insisted that the President meet regularly with the JCS as a group for an informal review of major issues and to become better acquainted. The first such meeting 

took place in early July 1982, shortly after Vessey became Chairman. Afterwards, Vessey 

sent Judge William P. Clark, the President’s Assistant for National Security Affairs, a 

handwritten note recommending that similar meetings be held about every 6 months. 

The next meeting took place in December 1982 and proved so successful that Reagan 

wanted such sessions to be a regular part of his agenda. Thereafter, the meetings were 

held quarterly, continuing on through the end of Reagan’s Presidency. In 1987, the 

chiefs broadened the format to include presentations by the combatant commanders 

at the President’s invitation. Though the specific impact of these meetings is hard to 

assess, the overall impression is that they resulted in closer ties between the President 

and his military advisors and a more informed decisionmaking process all around.11

Improved cooperation at the top did not automatically translate into more 

useful and effective military policies. Indeed, the Reagan years were notorious for 

lapses and mismanagement of foreign and defense affairs that left the Joint Chiefs at 

times bewildered over what the President was trying to accomplish. In keeping with 

their military culture, the Joint Chiefs preferred clearly defined organizational roles 

and lines of authority. What they often got during the Reagan years were vague 

directives, lax assignments of authority, and contradictory behavior from the President and his subordinates. Whenever Reagan was personally interested or involved 

in a problem, things were apt to get done. Otherwise, the looseness of the overall 

structure led to a day-to-day system that often broke down and repeatedly failed to 

assure consistent policies or effective execution and follow-up. The most celebrated 

example was the 1986 Iran-Contra affair, in which rogue elements of the NSC Staff, 

including a Marine lieutenant colonel, Oliver L. North, used the proceeds from 

clandestine arms sales to Iran to finance unauthorized assistance to anti-Communist 

guerrillas in Central America. Though not involved directly in Iran-Contra, the 

Joint Chiefs were affected nonetheless. Iran was under a U.S.-imposed arms embargo that the JCS were responsible for helping to administer and enforce. But, with 

key elements of the President’s own staff undercutting that policy, its credibility became immediately suspect and all the harder for the JCS to oversee and implement.

In addition to coordination breakdowns with the White House, the Joint Chiefs 

faced recurring difficulties with the Office of the Secretary of Defense. The explanation for these persistent confrontations lies in part in the basic friction-prone nature 
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of civil-military relations and in the overlapping functions that OSD and the JCS had 

come to perform. But there was also a strong element of resentment on the part of the 

JCS and serving officers on the Joint Staff toward what many regarded as the unnecessary and unwarranted intrusion by the Secretary of Defense and members of his staff 

into the military planning process. In the critical areas of nuclear and conventional 

strategy, the allocation of resources, and defense budget planning, the oversight and 

direction exercised by upper- and mid-level OSD officials during Weinberger’s tenure 

easily matched or exceeded that of previous administrations. While the Service chiefs 

welcomed and appreciated the budget increases the Reagan administration provided, 

they would have preferred less direct and heavy-handed supervision in managing the 

buildup, something more in line with the easygoing working partnership and sense of 

trust and understanding Vessey enjoyed with Weinberger and Reagan.

Forces and Budgets 

The Reagan buildup was anything but orderly and systematic. According to David 

A. Stockman, Director of the Office of Management and Budget, the Reagan administration entered office with few specific plans and only a generalized estimate 

of military requirements.12 Promises and pronouncements made during the campaign looked ahead to a 600-ship Navy containing “more aircraft carriers, submarines, and amphibious ships,” early deployment of the MX intercontinental ballistic 

missile in “a prudent survivable configuration,” revival of the B–1 bomber program, 

and an all-around increase in the readiness and industrial preparedness of the Armed 

Forces. Left unclear were the priority of programs and the strategic concept that 

would guide the allocation of resources in achieving these goals.13

The absence of a detailed blueprint notwithstanding, the new administration 

moved promptly with requests for line-item amendments to the already enacted 

FY81 defense budget and to the FY82 estimates President Carter submitted to 

Congress before he left office. Known as the “get well” budget, these amendments 

proposed immediate net increases of $32.6 billion in budget authority (i.e., cash and 

unfunded contracts), mostly in the form of add-ons to existing programs.14 At the 

time, defense accounted for just over 5 percent of the country’s gross national product (GNP). Assuming the President and his advisors were serious about making a 

difference, the Joint Chiefs recommended aiming for a target of between 6 and 7 

percent of GNP, a fairly close approximation of what the administration achieved.15

Despite the Joint Chiefs’ eagerness to be included in shaping the buildup, they 

found themselves more or less relegated to the sidelines while Weinberger and Stockman and their aides thrashed out the details of a future military spending program.16
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Under the agreed formula, the target would be an annual 7 percent real increase in 

defense budget authority over the next 5 years, starting in FY83 and using FY82 as the 

base. The net increase, when inflation, the get-well additions, and other supplements 

were figured in, would boost defense spending by about 14 percent above projected 

levels in President Carter’s last 5-year projection. Later, claiming that Weinberger had 

hoodwinked him, Stockman declared the proposed 7 percent increase “flagrantly 

excessive as a matter of pure fiscal affordability” and predicted it would cause crippling budget deficits.17 But despite his fiscal conservatism, Reagan accepted the risk. 

“He said frequently to me,” Weinberger remembered, “that if it ever came down to a 

choice between balancing the budget and spending enough to regain and keep our 

military strength, he would always come down on the side of the latter.”18

These decisions produced the largest and most sustained expansion of military 

spending since World War II. In current dollars, defense budget authority rose from $178 

billion in FY81 to $291 billion by the end of the decade, an increase of over 60 percent. 

The buildup would have been bigger had Congress not trimmed the administration’s 

requests almost every year, starting with the FY82 budget. In constant (FY92) dollars, 

the picture was somewhat different and showed the administration reaping most of its 

gains during its first 5 years in office, when defense spending increased in real terms 

by roughly a third. At its peak in fiscal years 1986 and 1987, the buildup consumed 6.6 

percent of the country’s GNP. Thereafter, defense spending tapered off, so that by the 

end of the decade the military budget was again experiencing negative growth and had 

fallen to 5.8 percent of GNP (see figure 14-1). All the same, the Reagan buildup was an 

impressive “peacetime” accomplishment, with only the rearmament program initiated 

during the Korean War offering anything comparable in scale and scope.19

While the Joint Chiefs of Staff welcomed the Reagan buildup as long overdue, 

they were also concerned that it might not be enough to do the job the administration 

had set for itself. Even with the additions the President proposed, the JCS saw a yawning 

gap between available capabilities and the administration’s perceived objectives. Along 

with the proffered increases in defense spending came heavier demands on the Armed 

Forces and a succession of unplanned tasks (e.g., naval deployments against Libya, peacekeeping operations in Lebanon, and the intervention in Grenada) that put unexpected 

stresses and strains on the military (see below). Also, the initial absence of a coordinated, 

high-level statement of basic national policy encouraged inter-Service competition for 

funds and stymied the development of JCS strategic plans that might have helped to 

clarify the allocation of functions and resources, especially in the Middle East and Southwest Asia. The only guidance the Joint Chiefs had before them came from the Office of 

the Secretary of Defense in the course of the normal budget process. In October 1981, in 

place of the one-and-a-half war planning scenario used since the Nixon administration, 
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Figure 14–1.

Department of Defense Budget Authority FYs 1981–1989 (in billions)

FY81 FY82 FY83 FY84 FY85 FY86 FY87 FY88 FY89

Current Dollars $178 $214 $239 $258 $287 $281 $279 $284 $291

Constant

Dollars (FY 92)

$272 $304 $328 $343 $366 $350 $337 $329 $324

Percentage

Real Growth

13.1 11.5 8.1 4.6 6.7 -4.4 -2.1 -1.5 -2.4

Percentage 

Distribution 

of GNP

5.4 6.0 6.3 6.2 6.4 6.6 6.6 6.2 5.8

Source: U.S. Department of Defense, Office of the Comptroller, National Defense Budget Estimates for FY92 (Washington, DC: Department of 

Defense, March 1991), 98, 147.

OSD substituted a more demanding requirement that the JCS prepare for up to three 

near-simultaneous conflicts—a major NATO–Warsaw Pact war in Europe, and lesser 

conflicts in Korea and the Persian Gulf. The Joint Chiefs duly complied but thought that 

OSD was setting an unrealistic agenda. In General Jones’ opinion, the administration 

seemed bent on “trying to do everything.”20

Even though the buildup was an across-the-board affair, its first order of business was to redress “the deteriorated strategic balance with the Soviet Union.”21

Reagan abhorred nuclear weapons as much as his predecessor and routinely called 

for their complete abolition. But he was even more averse to the risks entailed 

in falling farther behind the Soviet Union in effective strategic power and sided 

with the Joint Chiefs, believing the time had come for the United States to regain 

and maintain at least essential strategic nuclear equivalence with the Soviet Union. 

Strategic forces had been declining almost steadily as a share of the defense budget 

since the mid-1960s. Under Reagan, they rose from 7 percent of military spending 

in FY81 to a peak of 9.5 percent in FY85. Shortly after taking office, the administration set the stage for a major expansion of strategic capabilities to close what 

the President and his advisors often characterized as the “window of vulnerability.” 

Among the strategic program objectives the President approved were the temporary deployment of up to one hundred MX ICBMs in existing Minuteman III or 

Titan silos, creation of a more survivable command and control system for nuclear 

war, modernization of the strategic bomber force with the introduction of two 
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new types of bombers (a revived B–1 program and the recently inaugurated B–2 

“Stealth”), an increase in the accuracy and payload of submarine-launched ballistic 

missiles, and stepped-up research and development of ballistic missile defense.22

The emphasis on improving strategic systems notwithstanding, spending on conventional capabilities accounted for the largest part of the buildup. During the 1970s, 

general purpose forces had averaged 35 percent of the military budget; under Reagan 

they rose to more than 40 percent. Much of the conventional buildup focused on improving power-projection capabilities, which involved nearly tripling the budget for airand sealift support and building three new carrier battle groups for the Navy. Although 

the administration paid close attention to strengthening ground and tactical air capabilities, Weinberger acknowledged that naval expansion received preferential treatment 

because of its unique capacity to mount “offensive missions.”23 Aiming eventually for a 

fleet of 600 combatant vessels, Navy planners justified their shipbuilding and modernization goals under a “maritime strategy” involving forward deployment and vigorous 

offensive operations against the Soviet fleet in the North Atlantic.24 Skeptics, pointing to 

the losses inflicted by Argentine stand-off EXOCET cruise missile attacks on the Royal 

Navy in the 1982 Falklands conflict, questioned the wisdom of heavy new investment 

in surface vessels. Nonetheless, the Navy’s maritime strategy fascinated President Reagan and enjoyed strong backing among key members of Congress.25 The Joint Chiefs 

never explicitly endorsed the maritime strategy but did support the expansion of naval 

forces in conjunction with the overall buildup. As a practical matter, they found the most 

urgent demands for naval power during the Reagan years arising from increased U.S. 

involvement in the Mediterranean and the Persian Gulf.

In May 1982, the President finally approved a statement of basic national security 

policy (NSDD 32) to help guide the buildup. The most detailed treatment of its kind 

in years, NSDD 32 rested on an alarming depiction of Soviet military power and 

sanctioned across-the-board preparations for possible conflict, from low-intensity encounters with Soviet “client” states like Libya, Cuba, and Nicaragua, to regional conventional wars and even nuclear exchanges between the United States and the Soviet 

Union. Adopting the long-haul philosophy that had guided the Eisenhower administration’s defense policy, Reagan’s strategic concept accepted the threat of tensions and 

confrontations with the Soviet Union as a continuous condition and suggested that 

maintaining a high level of military preparedness would have to go on indefinitely.26

As bleak as the outlook seemed, there was also cause for guarded optimism. Shortly after approving NSDD 32, President Reagan received a British intelligence report 

via the CIA pointing to a progressive disintegration of the Soviet system. Entitled 

The Malaise of Soviet Society, the British assessment cited extensive evidence of crime, 

corruption, and economic deterioration throughout the Soviet Union. For all its 
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military power, the report suggested, the Soviet Union was a giant with feet of clay 

that was crumbling from within.27 This was not the first such depiction of the Soviet 

Union that President Reagan saw, nor would it be the last. Yet it was a stark confirmation of what the President himself had been saying for years—that communism 

was a failed concept and that with time and patience, Western-style democracy and 

capitalism would triumph. With the military buildup, Reagan saw the United States 

not only protecting its interests but adding further to the economic and political 

pressure that would sooner or later end the Cold War and help bring down the 

Soviet Union.

Military Power and Foreign Policy 

Even before the buildup’s full effects could be felt, the prospect of a stronger defense establishment encouraged the President and his senior advisors to adopt more 

forceful foreign policies to push back the frontiers of Communist power and influence. While cautious in challenging Moscow directly, Reagan was less restrained 

when opportunities arose to undermine the Soviet Union elsewhere, by encouraging the Polish democratic trade union movement “Solidarity,” for example, or by 

putting politico-military pressure on Soviet “puppet” regimes in the Middle East, 

Southern Africa, and Latin America. Basically, the administration’s strategy combined overt and covert assistance to “those who are risking their lives . . . to defy 

Soviet-supported aggression,” with the selective application of U.S. military power. 

The result, sometimes known as the Reagan Doctrine, was a more proactive antiCommunist foreign policy than anything seen since the Vietnam War.28

Early instances of this policy in operation included the U.S. naval exercises 

in the Gulf of Sidra in August 1981, held in an effort to destabilize Libyan strongman and Soviet collaborator Muammar Qaddafi; military intervention in Beirut 

in 1982−1984; the invasion of Grenada in October 1983; and the steady expansion 

of U.S. economic and military assistance to Central America from late 1981 on. 

Strictly speaking, the Beirut intervention was part of a multinational peacekeeping 

operation to promote stability in the aftermath of Israel’s thrust into Lebanon to 

destroy the Palestine Liberation Organization, while the invasion of Grenada was a 

spur-of-the-moment rescue mission to protect U.S. citizens caught in the middle 

of a leftist putsch. Both, however, had similar underlying objectives that aimed at 

thwarting Soviet proxies—the Syrians who aspired to dominate Lebanon and the 

Cubans who were entrenching themselves in Grenada. Meanwhile, the administration dropped nearly all the Carter-era prohibitions on foreign arms sales, rescinded 

the previous administration’s “leprosy letter” that had proscribed embassy assistance 
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to American weapons dealers operating overseas, and declared arms transfers to 

friendly governments to be an “essential element” of American foreign policy.29

The stepped-up pace of American involvement abroad imposed unexpected requirements on the Joint Chiefs at a time when the buildup was still in its infancy and 

available resources were as yet little improved from those on hand in the 1970s. Exhibiting customary caution, the JCS urged restraint in dealing with the unpredictable Qaddafi and initially argued against military intervention in both Lebanon and Grenada 

until diplomatic and other options had been thoroughly explored and exhausted.30

Invariably overruled, the JCS became the targets of sharp criticism when things went 

wrong, as exemplified by the flawed inter-Service coordination during the awkwardly 

executed Grenada operation and command and control problems preceding the Islamist terrorist attack on the Marine barracks in Beirut in October 1983 that left 241 

U.S. Servicemen dead. In both instances, the JCS acknowledged that they could—and 

should—have done a better job. As a result, they found their image more tarnished 

than ever, with their methods and procedures increasingly under scrutiny by a skeptical 

Congress that was eyeing the possibility of wholesale JCS reorganization and reform.

Despite the problems the administration’s proactive foreign policy posed, the 

Joint Chiefs welcomed the change. In reviewing President Carter’s record, they found 

it lacking in long-range vision and replete with inconsistency in fulfilling U.S. commitments. Expecting the Reagan White House to do better, they were encouraged 

that the United States no longer appeared to be in retreat from problems abroad and 

soon found that they had Oval Office leadership that would back them up. During 

the planning for the Gulf of Sidra exercises, for example, the question arose of how the 

Navy should respond if threatened by Libyan aircraft. Without hesitating, Reagan assured the chiefs that they should not be afraid to let U.S. pilots chase opposing Libyan 

planes “right into the hangar.” Critics denigrated this kind of guidance as “cowboy 

antics,” but it was clear enough to the Joint Chiefs to give them rules of engagement 

they could readily understand and apply in difficult situations.31

Where the Joint Chiefs were least comfortable with the administration’s foreign 

policy was in its lack of explicit sanction, other than the President’s authority as Commander in Chief, to use U.S. military power. This issue was a recurring theme in administration debates and reflected the lingering effects of Vietnam on military thinking. It 

was especially troublesome for the JCS in developing responses to the Sandinistas and 

Soviet- and Cuban-sponsored insurgencies in Central America. The Joint Chiefs had no 

doubt that these movements posed a serious threat to U.S. security interests and required 

prompt and decisive action. However, they balked at the prospect of a protracted struggle undertaken without clear support from the public and Congress. President Reagan 

was no more inclined than his military advisors to see U.S. combat troops introduced 
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into Central America. But he was equally determined to block any further Communist 

takeovers. The upshot was a quasi-covert war orchestrated by the CIA and organized 

around support of the Nicaraguan Contras, a coalition of anti-Sandinista insurgents 

formed after Somoza’s downfall.32 Repeatedly attacked by liberal Democrats in Congress, the administration’s Central America policy became intensely controversial and 

hard to manage amid frequently changing legislative mandates that restricted the types 

and amounts of aid the administration could provide. Though the Joint Chiefs arranged 

occasional air drops and other logistical support to the Contras, they studiously avoided 

direct U.S. military contact and involvement. Meanwhile, U.S. Southern Command, 

headquartered in Panama, simply looked the other way whenever the Contras mounted 

operations against the Sandinistas and their Cuban allies.33

A similar pattern emerged with respect to administration policy toward Afghanistan where, again, the CIA had the lead. Here, however, given the recent creation of the Rapid Deployment Force and a growing security mission across Southwest Asia, the JCS would have preferred a more active role and a corresponding 

regional strategy with a clear-cut allocation of resources and responsibilities. Instead, 

as Secretary of State Shultz described it, the policy that evolved placed the CIA 

in charge of running the war and assisting the anti-Soviet “freedom fighters” (the 

mujahideen). Shoring up U.S. defense and security interests fell to the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff. A rather ambiguous governing directive (NSDD 99), adopted in the summer 

of 1983, acknowledged that the United States had vested interests across the region 

that would require involvement at various levels, the prepositioning of military supplies and equipment, and a U.S. presence for the indefinite future.34

To handle their growing responsibilities in the Middle East and Southwest 

Asia, the Joint Chiefs upgraded the Rapid Deployment Force to a separate unified 

command on January 1, 1983. Known as U.S. Central Command (USCENTCOM), 

the new organization was supposed to be less susceptible to the pressures of interService rivalry and friction than the RDJTF, in part because it operated with a more 

defined charter that placed it in charge of protecting U.S. interests within a specific 

area of responsibility (AOR) stretching from Pakistan to the Horn of Africa. Carefully excluded, however, was any USCENTCOM involvement with Israel, a move 

taken at JCS insistence to protect the new command’s credibility and operational 

flexibility in the Arab world. As a practical matter, guaranteeing the security of the 

Persian Gulf and its oil supplies was USCENTCOM’s uppermost concern.35

The Joint Chiefs initially identified a Soviet invasion of Iran launched through 

neighboring Afghanistan as the primary threat to the region.36 But as they became 

more familiar with the Persian Gulf and its problems, they recognized that the 

dangers were more complex than previously assumed. The turning point in JCS 
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thinking was the 1984 “tanker war” between Iran and Iraq during which the United 

States, in cooperation with other Western powers, accepted responsibility for escorting neutral shipping through the Persian Gulf. As a rule, however, the Joint Chiefs 

shied away from major force commitments to the Middle East and embraced instead a “current force strategy” that relied on periodic show-of-force deployments, 

the expansion of support facilities on Diego Garcia, and combined exercises with 

friendly governments to underscore the U.S. commitment. Prior to the first Gulf 

War of 1990−1991, the only forces permanently attached to USCENTCOM were 

a small flotilla, the Middle East Force, which had routinely patrolled the Persian 

Gulf since the late 1940s. Meanwhile, under a deployment instigated by the Carter 

administration, two carrier task forces—normally one from U.S. Pacific Command 

and the other from U.S. Atlantic Command—operated periodically in the adjacent 

Arabian Sea. According to General Vessey, the Joint Chiefs wanted Central Command “to be very visible in the region” as a deterrent, but to carry limited capabilities. Vessey characterized this strategy as “deception of a grand order.”37

Like the military buildup, the Reagan administration’s foreign policy was part of 

the resurgence of American power. It served notice that the United States refused to 

accept Moscow’s hegemonic ambitions and would take whatever steps it deemed necessary to block further Soviet inroads and, where opportunities presented themselves, to 

roll back Communist influence. Critics, arguing that the administration exaggerated the 

Soviet threat, viewed such behavior as unduly provocative and indifferent to the aspirations of struggling Third World countries, a throwback to the controversial practices 

of the 1950s and early 1960s that some felt had brought on Vietnam. The Joint Chiefs 

of Staff concurred that the administration’s foreign policy had its limitations—that its 

authority to apply force was questionable and that it placed demands on the military 

without taking full account of available resources and commitments elsewhere. But as 

the Reagan buildup progressed and the chiefs became more familiar with what was 

expected of them, JCS objections became fewer and fewer. The net effect by the time 

Reagan left office was to increase the role of military power in foreign policy to a point 

where it was stronger and more pronounced than at any time since World War II.

The Promise of Technology: SDI 

The Reagan buildup involved not merely expanding the capabilities of the Armed 

Forces, but doing it in the time-honored American tradition with the most up-to-date 

weapons and equipment. The 1970s had witnessed a stunning array of breakthroughs 

and improvements in technologies with military applications, from the expanded use 

of computers and space-based satellites for communications and battle management 
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on the ground and in the air, to more sophisticated “smart bombs” and high-energy 

lasers. The potential seemed limitless. Some military analysts even suggested the possibility that in the not-too-distant future increasingly accurate and lethal conventional 

munitions could replace strategic nuclear weapons as the mainstay of the country’s offensive deterrent force.38 But until the Reagan buildup, limited funding had prevented 

the Services from fully exploring the opportunities these new technologies presented.

The Reagan administration’s most ambitious effort to exploit this situation was 

the Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI), a program conceived and instigated in large 

part on the advice of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The pivotal decision was the President’s 

announcement in a nationally televised speech on March 23, 1983, that the time had 

come to draw a halt to the arms race between the United States and the Soviet Union 

and to move away from deterrence based on offensive arms and the threat of “mutual 

assured destruction,” or MAD. In the absence of a negotiated bilateral agreement, 

Reagan was taking unilateral action. Summoning the scientific community to help, 

he called for an aggressive R&D program aimed at determining the feasibility of using 

new technologies to render ballistic missiles “impotent and obsolete.” For more than 

10 years, since the signing of the 1972 ABM Treaty, ballistic missile defense (BMD) had 

languished as a low priority. Now it was suddenly back atop the national agenda.39

While the Joint Chiefs played no part in drafting the President’s speech, their role 

in shaping his decision to launch SDI was fundamental. As a rule, the Joint Chiefs had 

never taken a close corporate interest in research and development. Leaving R&D 

choices largely in the hands of the military Services, the JCS had concentrated on 

establishing general guidelines consistent with overall strategic plans. But by the early 

1980s, they faced a unique situation that saw the rapid rise of new technological possibilities in BMD converge with a growing political controversy in the United States 

over the future of the ICBM force. The upshot was the emergence of a consensus 

among the chiefs that more needed to be done to coordinate and promote missile defense, a recommendation that appealed to the President’s antinuclear prejudices without diminishing the administration’s commitment a strong military posture. The resulting Strategic Defense Initiative (ridiculed as “Star Wars” by critics) undoubtedly went 

farther than anything the JCS had in mind. Yet once Reagan endorsed the program, 

it seemed to acquire a momentum of its own, which its proponents saw as having the 

potential of revolutionizing warfare, much like the Manhattan Project of World War II.

The revival of ballistic missile defense was initially a haphazard affair, drawn from 

scattered research carried out by the Army’s ballistic missile defense organization at 

Huntsville, Alabama, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) 

in Washington, DC, and the two key government-run research laboratories—

Los Alamos in New Mexico and Lawrence Livermore in California. Out of a dozen 
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or more such projects dating from the late 1960s and 1970s came encouraging 

progress in such fields as kinetic kill vehicles, high energy lasers, particle beams, 

and other directed-energy systems operating from land-, sea-, and space-based platforms. With the Armed Forces increasingly dependent on space-based communications, the Joint Chiefs were mainly interested in these systems as a hedge against the 

possibility that the Soviet Union might develop an antisatellite (ASAT) capability 

to cripple U.S. communications systems.40 But as the impact of these breakthroughs 

became more apparent, the JCS began to recognize that they offered a possible new 

counter to increasingly capable ground, air, and space-borne military threats.

Popular interest in these new technologies was also catching on. Among the more 

enthusiastic supporters of an increased BMD effort was Republican Senator Malcolm 

Wallop of Wyoming. A member of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, Wallop favored stepped-up work on U.S. space-based chemical lasers to counter the growing Soviet missile threat. Instead of a strategy of deterrence resting on mutual assured 

destruction, Wallop and a handful of others in Congress foresaw the coming of a new 

era they termed “mutual assured survival” built around defensive rather than offensive 

technologies.41 A private citizens’ group known as High Frontier envisioned a similar 

future. Headed by Lieutenant General Daniel O. Graham, USA (Ret.), a former director of the Defense Intelligence Agency and a defense adviser to Ronald Reagan’s 1976 

and 1980 campaigns, High Frontier gained widespread public notice by promoting a 

Buck Rogers-style, space-based missile defense system utilizing futuristic and existing 

technologies. But because of questionable technical data and dubious cost estimates, 

High Frontier’s proposals received a tepid reception at the Pentagon.42

Even though the Joint Chiefs took no position on which specific BMD technologies to pursue, they made it plain that they were far from satisfied with the 

constrained level of R&D since the signing of the ABM Treaty. While it prohibited 

large-scale deployments, the treaty had not banned either the United States or the 

Soviet Union from conducting research and laboratory testing. With the advent of the 

Reagan administration, the JCS saw an opportunity to accelerate the pace and repeatedly urged the White House to do so. The chiefs’ call for increased attention to ballistic missile defense took place against the backdrop of a growing popular movement at 

home and abroad for a “freeze” on further nuclear deployments. Adopting a “liberalpacifist” orientation, the freeze movement used sit-ins and large-scale demonstrations 

to convey its message. Its members ranged from prominent liberal members of Congress to social activists and middle class professionals who had participated in antiwar 

causes during Vietnam. An international phenomenon, the freeze was especially active in the United Kingdom and Western Europe, where it became a prime candidate 

for penetration by the KGB, the Soviet espionage service. But as Christopher Andrew 
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revealed in his authorized history of MI5, Britain’s counterintelligence organization, 

the KGB backed off on discovering that competing Western intelligence agencies had 

already heavily penetrated the freeze movement.43

A favorite target of freeze advocates in the United States was the MX, the Air 

Force’s new ICBM, which continued to enjoy a precarious fate. Shortly after taking 

office, President Reagan had jettisoned the Carter administration’s “race track” deployment plan for the MX as too expensive and had ordered that one hundred of the 

missiles (half the planned force) be deployed temporarily in Minuteman silos.44 In the 

spring of 1982, the Office of the Secretary of Defense advanced a longer-term solution 

it called the Closely Spaced Basing (CSB) plan, known commonly as “dense pack.” 

Under the plan, the Air Force would deploy the remaining one hundred MX missiles 

in closely spaced, super-hardened silos near Cheyenne, Wyoming. The principle behind 

dense pack was that incoming Soviet warheads would destroy or divert themselves 

upon detonating, a phenomenon known as fratricide. But without the protection of 

a layered ballistic missile defense system, some analysts warned, dense pack was likely 

to become increasingly vulnerable to expected improvements in Soviet capabilities.45

The Joint Chiefs split over how to proceed. While the Air Force member, General Gabriel, praised the dense pack concept, the other chiefs doubted whether it offered sufficient survivability and recommended against it. Suggesting that long-range 

land-based missiles had outlived their usefulness, they thought the future lay in phasing out ICBMs and shifting primary reliance to a sea-based deterrent force organized 

around Trident submarines, backed by a heavy BMD overlay to prevent the Soviets 

from holding U.S. cities “hostage” in a crisis. Unwilling to give up on the MX so 

easily, General Vessey proposed a middle course that involved accepting dense pack 

and stepping up ballistic missile defense R&D, while holding an ABM deployment in 

abeyance pending a clearer picture of Soviet intentions. Warming to Vessey’s proposal, 

President Reagan in late November 1982 gave it the green light to proceed.46

Despite the President’s endorsement of the dense pack plan, Congress deemed 

it too risky and in December 1982 cut off MX funding while directing the administration to review the program. By then the Joint Chiefs were more divided than 

ever over the MX (recently named the Peacekeeper by the Air Force) and could 

only agree that, if it went forward, it should be in conjunction with a vastly enhanced ballistic missile defense R&D effort. The leading opponent of the MX was 

Admiral James D. Watkins, the Chief of Naval Operations, who considered further 

investment in ICBMs a waste of money. Deeply religious, Watkins saw the administration losing moral ground to the nuclear freeze movement and sought to shift the 

focus of the debate away from offensive weapons by stressing the deterrent potential 

of strategic defenses. While not as averse as Watkins to the MX, Vessey shared the 
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CNO’s worry that it constituted a huge political liability and could interfere with 

completion of the rest of the JCS strategic modernization program. Matters came 

to a head during an executive session of the Joint Chiefs in the Chairman’s office 

on February 5, 1983, held to prepare for a meeting less than a week later with the 

President. Citing the recent progress that BMD-related research had made, Watkins 

reiterated his support for an intensified ABM program and persuaded his colleagues 

that they should put the matter before the President for his consideration.47

Although not part of the formal agenda, strategic defense emerged as the principal topic at the chiefs’ meeting with the President on February 11, 1983. Going 

into the meeting, Weinberger wanted to confine the discussion to issues relating to 

Peacekeeper, dense pack, and alternative basing modes. But at Vessey’s request, he 

agreed to give the chiefs leeway. “I have asked the JCS to present their views to you 

today,” Weinberger reportedly told the President, “because they differ from mine. 

. . . I don’t agree with their recommendation, but you should hear it.”48 Vessey then 

devoted half an hour to presenting a detailed critique, with visual aids, of Soviet war 

aims, U.S. weapons employment policy, targeting concepts, and the capabilities of 

U.S. strategic and intermediate-range systems. The thrust of Vessey’s talk was that 

the United States faced growing problems of maintaining effective deterrence with 

its existing and foreseeable arsenal of offensive weapons and that the time had come 

to take a fresh look at defensive alternatives. On the conclusion of Vessey’s remarks, 

Reagan polled the Service chiefs to see if they agreed with the Chairman’s analysis. Finding that they did, he opened the floor to discussion, whereupon Watkins 

jumped in with a strong endorsement of an enlarged BMD program. “Would it not 

be better,” he asked the President, “if we could develop a system that would protect, 

rather than avenge, our people?” Deeply moved, Reagan seized on the idea and 

indicated that he wanted to pursue it. “Don’t lose those words,” he said.49

Exactly what the chiefs expected to achieve remains a matter of conjecture. At 

no point during the meeting did they indicate whether they were thinking about 

a comprehensive air and missile defense against nuclear weapons or against ICBMs 

only. Nor was it clear whether they were proposing a nationwide system or merely 

the protection of missile silo fields, or whether they favored a treaty-compliant, 

land-based BMD system or a more sophisticated space-based system that might require revision or abrogation of the ABM Treaty. Instead, their apparent aim was the 

more general wish to alert the President to the problems of the current system of 

deterrence, make him more aware of the possible alternatives, and stimulate greater 

interest in and funding for research and development. “It was the idea that defense 

might enter the equation more than in the past,” Vessey recalled. “It was the idea that 

new technologies were more promising than they had been in the past.”50
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While the Joint Chiefs were fairly certain as they left the White House that 

they had an impact on the President’s thinking, it was not until his speech to the 

Nation on March 23 that they finally learned the extent of it. By calling for increased efforts to render ballistic missiles “impotent and obsolete,” Reagan was 

not merely setting an objective; he was charting his vision of the future, when 

dependence on deterrence through MAD would end and a new era of security 

resting on defense-based systems would begin. The avowed intent, in other words, 

was nothing less than a new strategic posture that would rid the world of having to 

live under the constant threat of nuclear annihilation. Critics were soon insisting 

that what Reagan had in mind was a leakproof, impenetrable shield—costly, risky, 

and doubtless unattainable. But others, including the Joint Chiefs, thought it was at 

least worth exploring the possibility while reaping whatever benefits the program 

might yield.

Reagan’s speech of March 23, 1983, was, as it turned out, the high point of JCS 

influence on the President’s Strategic Defense Initiative, as it soon became known. 

Indeed, from that point on, their role in the program steadily diminished as Weinberger, sensing enormous opportunities, gathered its components as closely as he 

could under his immediate control. Expecting the Services to carry out most of the 

R&D, the Joint Chiefs in May 1983 offered a plan known as “Project Defender” (the 

same name used for an experimental missile defense system in the 1960s) that would 

have created a joint JCS-OSD oversight body to provide the military departments 

with policy guidance and coordination for the program. Weinberger, however, had 

other ideas. Instead of two or three loosely linked Service-run programs, he wanted 

a centralized effort structured along functional lines. The upshot was the creation in 

April 1984 of the Strategic Defense Initiative Organization (SDIO), an OSD staff 

agency with its own director who reported to the Secretary of Defense.51

Although denied a direct hand in managing SDI, the Joint Chiefs remained 

strong advocates of the program and were confident that with the necessary resources and political support, it would show dramatic results in due time. They believed it only prudent to maintain a vigorous missile defense R&D program to stay 

abreast of what the Soviets might be doing and to take advantage of the spin-offs in 

such areas as antisatellite systems and space-based surveillance, reconnaissance, and 

communications. Adopting a long-term view, they projected a transition period of 

30 years or more—time enough, if judiciously managed, to move away from reliance on offensive forces and MAD without the attendant risks that many strategic 

analysts predicted. In sum, the chiefs were upbeat about the program. But unlike 

many who found the President’s vision enticing, they had no illusions about the 

problems involved and the chances of SDI succeeding.
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Meanwhile, the Peacekeeper program experienced a slow but inexorable demise, ushered along by the findings of a bipartisan Presidential commission chaired 

by former national security advisor Lieutenant General Brent Scowcroft, USAF 

(Ret.).52 The commission’s report, released to the public in early April 1983, essentially signaled that, like the dreadnought, the era of the large, heavy ICBM was 

drawing to a close. Convinced that the dense pack deployment was flawed, the 

commission recommended against it and favored scaling back the Peacekeeper program to fifty or so units, all housed in Minuteman silos. Had it not considered the 

Peacekeeper to have some residual value as a “bargaining chip” in arms control, the 

Scowcroft Commission might well have advised terminating the program entirely. 

Looking ahead, the panel saw the Nation’s security better served by a mobile fleet 

of small, single-warhead ICBMs dubbed “Midgetmen,” which would be harder for 

the Soviets to target in a surprise attack.53

Scowcroft reportedly observed that after the President’s SDI speech, the Peacekeeper was doomed no matter what the commission recommended.54 Not everyone, 

to be sure, agreed, least of all the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Even though some members had 

doubts, they continued to endorse the MX as part of the country’s mix of strategic 

forces for the foreseeable future. In assessing the impact of the Scowcroft Commission 

report, the JCS worried that its recommendation to downsize the Peacekeeper program was apt to delay other strategic modernization measures and generate pressures 

to shift money from strategic to conventional weapons. Consequently, even though 

they were divided over Peacekeeper’s ultimate contribution, they remained unified in 

their support of full funding for all Service-recommended strategic programs in the 

interest of preserving a proper balance between strategic and conventional capabilities. 

But in light of the commission’s report and the renewed interest in strategic defenses, 

political support for the Peacekeeper continued to wane and in 1985 Congress limited 

further deployment to the Scowcroft-recommended force of 50 launchers.55

Arms Control: A New Agenda 

With its focus on restoring U.S. military power, the Reagan administration seemed at 

times to have little patience for or interest in arms control. Like his predecessor, Jimmy 

Carter, however, Ronald Reagan wanted nothing more than to do away with nuclear 

weapons and end the threat of nuclear war. But his means of doing so often diverged 

sharply from those of previous administrations and could just as easily stress unilateral 

actions like SDI over negotiated agreements like SALT. Many within the administration, 

from the President on down, shared Secretary of Defense Weinberger’s view that 

the 1970s had been “a melancholy chapter” in the history of arms control, resulting 
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THE R E A G AN B UIL D U P

in agreements that had done more to increase U.S. vulnerability than to lessen it.56

Learning from these presumed mistakes, the Reagan administration adopted the position that it was almost pointless to take new initiatives in the arms control field until 

the country had rebuilt its defenses and could negotiate from a stronger posture. 

The Joint Chiefs concurred that the more the United States did to bolster its 

defenses, the stronger its negotiating position would be. Nevertheless, they considered it impractical not to include arms control as a factor in shaping the overall 

content and thrust of the buildup. During the 1950s and 1960s, the JCS had been 

among the staunchest skeptics of arms control, mainly because they had little faith 

in available verification measures. But as the arms control process gathered momentum during the 1970s, they began making adjustments in their thinking to accommodate the new reality. Though they may have preferred other outcomes, they 

found themselves operating under negotiated accords that impinged directly on the 

development, size, and configuration of military programs. Whether the JCS liked it 

or not, arms control had become an integral part of the military planning process. 

During the debates over arms control policy in the Reagan years, the Joint 

Chiefs found themselves often advocating positions that, only a generation earlier, 

their predecessors would have dismissed out of hand. Given the limitations on available verification measures, they seriously questioned whether some arms control 

measures were feasible to carry out with confidence. Yet overall, they believed that 

the United States should continue to adhere to existing agreements and negotiate 

suitable replacement accords consistent with allowing improvements in the country’s strategic posture. Since they considered the United States to have fallen behind 

the Soviet Union in effective military power, they looked to arms control as a means 

of buying time to protect programs that had yet to come to fruition and to preserve 

the tenuous military balance from a possible Soviet “breakout.”

Under Reagan, arms control initially comprised three separate but related sets of 

negotiations—strategic nuclear forces, intermediate-range nuclear forces (INF), and 

conventional forces. In the last category were the Mutual and Balanced Force Reduction (MBFR) talks launched in 1973 in the euphoric early days of détente. Part of the 

“confidence-building” agenda at the time, the MBFR negotiations were supposed to 

help ease tensions in Europe by reducing conventional forces in the area surrounding East and West Germany where NATO and the Warsaw Pact had the greatest 

concentration of troops and equipment. The fundamental difficulty was that by the 

West’s calculations the Warsaw Pact had significantly more troops, tanks, and other 

hardware deployed there than did NATO. Initially, the Western powers sought phased 

reductions to reach parity of forces, while the Soviet side wanted equal reductions 

in soldiers and equipment, a formula the West rejected because it would perpetuate 
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and effectively institutionalize Soviet supremacy in conventional arms. Finding the 

talks essentially deadlocked as it entered office, the Reagan administration adopted a 

relaxed attitude and appeared in no rush to seek a breakthrough.57

Far more urgent—and unavoidable—were the problems growing out of 

NATO’s 1979 “dual track” decision to deploy new American intermediate-range 

missiles in Europe to counter the Soviet SS–20 threat. A legacy of the Carter years, 

it fell to the Reagan administration to determine whether a negotiated settlement 

could be reached before NATO deployment began. The administration’s publicly 

stated goal was the “zero-zero option” under which both sides would forego their 

INF deployments, dismantle their weapons, and restore the status quo ante. But with 

the Soviets so heavily invested in SS–20s, there was little optimism in the West that 

Moscow could be easily talked into doing away with its missiles.

Like the MBFR talks, the INF negotiations hit one snag after another. Convinced 

by the summer of 1982 that a zero-zero outcome was unattainable, the senior U.S. 

representative, Paul H. Nitze, on his own initiative, persuaded his Soviet counterpart, 

Yuli Kvitsinskiy, to entertain the possibility of an alternative solution known as the 

“walk in the woods” formula.58 Under this the United States would deploy a reduced 

number of ground-launched cruise missiles, forego deployment of the Pershing II, 

and accept curbs on intermediate-range fighter bombers in exchange for scaled-back 

deployment of the Soviet SS–20s.59 Over the years, officers in the military had come 

to have the highest regard for Nitze, who had a reputation as a hard-nosed negotiator 

and ardent proponent of a strong defense posture. But by offering concessions that the 

JCS had specifically cautioned against, Nitze tarnished his credibility with the chiefs. 

As it turned out, neither Reagan nor the leadership in Moscow thought very highly 

of the walk in the woods offer and the deal fell through. Lest there be similar episodes 

in the future, the JCS began to monitor the negotiations more closely.

In November 1983, the Joint Chiefs commenced the deployment of INF systems to Western Europe. When completed, NATO would have a refurbished arsenal of 572 up-to-date mobile INF launchers—464 ground-launched cruise missiles 

(GLCMs) and 108 Pershing II ballistic missiles, all armed with single warheads. 

Almost immediately, in protest over the deployment, Kvitsinskiy and his delegation 

walked out of the INF talks in Geneva and served notice that they were “discontinuing” further negotiations.60 By coincidence, NATO at this time was wrapping up 

its annual Autumn Forge series of exercises with a command post exercise called Able 

Archer 83, a test of release options for nuclear and chemical weapons. More extensive and realistic than previous such exercises, Able Archer 83 included the simulated 

use of Pershing II missiles. The KGB suspected that by coinciding with the INF 

deployments, Able Archer might be the cover for a surprise nuclear and chemical 
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attack against the Warsaw Pact. The Soviets were so worried that Marshal Nikolai 

Ogarkov, Chief of the Soviet General Staff, reportedly moved his headquarters into 

a reinforced bunker buried deep below Moscow. From all indications, however, the 

Joint Chiefs were unaware that they were on the verge of a serious crisis. Fritz W. 

Ermarth, a senior intelligence analyst, recalled that none of the steps taken by the 

Soviets “crossed the thresholds that would have made our warning lights begin to 

flash.” The incident passed without serious consequence and the INF deployments 

proceeded as planned, but in an atmosphere ripe for accidental war.61

At the same time the Soviets withdrew from the INF talks, they also suspended 

their participation in parallel negotiations on strategic arms. Now known as the Strategic Arms Reduction Talks (START), these negotiations had been underway since 

June 1982 and were supposed to find a replacement accord for the stillborn SALT II 

Treaty, which was due to expire toward the end of 1985. The chief U.S. negotiator at 

these talks was Edward Rowny, previously the JCS representative to SALT II. As a 

general objective, President Reagan wanted nothing less than “substantial reductions” 

in the strategic arsenals of both sides.62 Adopting a different negotiating strategy from 

his predecessors, the President declined to engage in back-channel discussions of the 

sort Kissinger had conducted between 1971 and 1977, and discontinued the practice of 

separate high-level talks that had accompanied SALT II negotiations under President 

Carter. Thus, when INF and START both collapsed at the end of 1983, the United 

States and Soviet Union were for the first time in 14 years without a forum of any 

kind for discussing limitations and controls on nuclear arms.

Ignoring the dire predictions of the news media, the administration took the 

collapse of the talks in stride. Personally, President Reagan had a low opinion of 

the whole arms control process and privately characterized the unratified SALT II 

Treaty as a “lousy” agreement.63 The Joint Chiefs basically agreed, but they were 

also uneasy that the longer the talks were in recess, the greater the temptation for 

the Soviets to take matters into their own hands. Without a SALT II replacement 

accord, the JCS were afraid that Moscow might forge ahead with new deployments 

that could negate the effects of the Reagan buildup. Rather than risk a renewed Soviet buildup, the JCS had been among those warning the President, almost from the 

moment he took office, to avoid any actions prior to the conclusion of a START 

accord that would be inconsistent with existing U.S.-Soviet strategic arms control 

agreements as long as the Soviet Union exercised similar restraint. The President 

had accepted this advice and in the jargon of the day had agreed not to “undercut” 

earlier SALT agreements. Later, he amended that position by refusing to abide by 

those accords if they came into conflict with “the survivability of our ICBM force” 

as the U.S. buildup progressed.64
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To reach his goal of “substantial reductions,” President Reagan in May 1982 

publicly unveiled a complex formula that called for equal numbers of strategic warheads at levels one-third below current inventories, and further limitations leaving 

no more than half the remaining warheads on land-based ICBMs.65 A departure 

from the previous philosophy toward arms control, which had emphasized numerical restraints on launchers rather than curbs on their destructive power, the President’s proposal was the product of lengthy bureaucratic bargaining and compromise 

to address the differences among his advisors. The Joint Chiefs had doubts about the 

plan but recognized that, if implemented, it would practically eviscerate the Soviet 

ICBM force, reducing it by two-thirds, while leaving major elements of the U.S. 

buildup (the MX, the B-1, and Trident) virtually untouched. Not surprisingly, once 

the negotiations began, the Soviets countered with proposals, based largely on an 

extension of the SALT II accords, for curbing U.S. programs while leaving theirs 

basically intact. Some give and take ensued, yet by the time the Soviets walked out, 

there was nothing to suggest that a breakthrough was imminent.66

While the abrupt cessation of the START negotiations took many people by 

surprise, no one in the Reagan administration regarded it as a fatal setback. Those in 

Washington familiar with Moscow’s negotiating techniques, including the Joint Chiefs, 

scoffed at the notion that the talks were dead and expected the Soviets to return to 

START in the spring or summer of 1984.67 From everything the JCS could glean, the 

Soviets appeared interested in resuming a dialogue with the United States that would 

end the spiraling deterioration in relations between Washington and Moscow. But with 

the U.S. Presidential election coming up, Moscow was probably reluctant to do anything 

to enhance the current administration’s prospects by being able to claim a major success 

in the areas of arms control or U.S.-Soviet relations. Hence, there was the likelihood of 

a continuing impasse even if the START negotiations resumed.

Increasingly, the issue that bothered the Soviets most was President Reagan’s 

determination to press ahead with his Strategic Defense Initiative. While critics in 

the West dismissed SDI as a fanciful notion, the Soviets took it very seriously. Having invested enormous effort and resources into bolstering their strategic offensive 

forces, they now found themselves confronted with a revolutionary strategic paradigm that could seriously cripple, if not negate, everything they had accomplished. 

Condemning SDI as “irresponsible” and “insane,” Soviet leaders saw it as nothing 

less than a “bid to disarm” their country.68 Whether the decrepit and inefficient 

Soviet economy could rise to the occasion and compete with the United States in 

the new arena remained to be seen. Reagan suspected that no matter how Moscow 

responded, whether by trying to develop a competing missile shield or by embarking on a further offensive buildup in the hope of overwhelming U.S. defenses, the 
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Soviets would end up bankrupting themselves. One way or another, Reagan said, 

he was determined to “lean on the Soviets until they go broke.”69

The Joint Chiefs agreed that bit by bit under the Reagan buildup the United States 

was regaining the initiative. But they were less optimistic than the President that the Soviets would come around to the West’s way of thinking anytime soon, if ever. To them, 

the Soviet Union remained first and foremost a military colossus—a nuclear superpower whose military capabilities, if unleashed upon the West, could inflict enormous death 

and destruction. Like others who had wrestled with the problem over the years, the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff had grown so accustomed to the Cold War that they assumed it would 

go on indefinitely and paced themselves accordingly, with military programs designed 

for the long haul. Under the Reagan buildup, they were finally making strides toward 

redressing the strategic balance in ways they believed would carry the country’s security 

into the next century. Little did they suspect that with the advent of new leadership in 

Moscow, the entire security environment was about to undergo a fundamental change 

and make way for the Cold War to end sooner than anyone expected.

Notes

1 Jones’s Statement, “Perspectives on Security and Strategy in the 1980s,” in U.S. Joint 

Chiefs of Staff, United States Military Posture for FY82 (Washington, DC: Organization 

of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, n.d.), vii (unclassified edition).

2 Ronald Reagan, An American Life (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1990), 235.

3 A public information organization, the Committee on the Present Danger had been 

a leading critic of the SALT II Treaty and had been in the forefront of advocating a 

stronger defense posture.

4 Thomas C. Reed, At the Abyss: An Insider’s History of the Cold War (New York: Ballantine 

Books, 2004), 247.

5 Erik B. Riker-Coleman, “Political Pressures on the Joint Chiefs of Staff: The Case of 

General David C. Jones” (Paper Presented before the Society of Military History Annual Meeting, Calgary, Alberta, May 2001), 16–18; copy in JHO Files.

6 Caspar W. Weinberger, In the Arena: A Memoir of the 20th Century (Washington, DC: Regnery, 2001), 293.

7 Jones quoted in James R. Locher III, Victory on the Potomac (College Station: Texas 

A&M Press, 2002), 34.

8 “Nomination of Gen. John W. Vessey, Jr., To Be CJCS,” March 4, 1982, and “Remarks 

Announcing the Nominees for CSAF and CNO,” March 18, 1982, Public Papers of the 

Presidents of the United States: Ronald Reagan, 1982 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1982), 265, 

324–325. Hereafter cited as Reagan Public Papers with year.

9 “Nomination of General John A. Wickham, Jr., To Be CSA,” March 15, 1983, and 

“Nomination of General Paul X. Kelley To Be Commandant of the Marine Corps,” 

March 24, 1983, Reagan Public Papers, 1983, 396, 444.
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10 Weinberger, In the Arena, 293.

11 Letter, Vessey to Clark, July 2, 1982, U, NSC Executive Secretariat Collection, Agency 

Files, box 11376, DOD Vol. VI folder, Reagan Library; Deborah Hart Strober and Gerald S. Strober, eds., Reagan: The Man and His Presidency (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, 

1998), 78. Records of JCS meetings with the President are filed randomly in the NSC 

Executive Secretariat Collection, System Files, Reagan Library.

12 David A. Stockman, The Triumph of Politics: How the Reagan Revolution Failed (New York: 

Harper & Row, 1986), 105; Caspar Weinberger, Fighting for Peace: Seven Critical Years in 

the Pentagon (New York: Warner Books, 1990), 47.

13 “Republican Party Platform of 1980,” Adopted July 15, 1980 at Detroit, Michigan, available 

at <http://www.Presidency.ucsb.edu/ws/index.php?pid=25844> (accessed July 18, 2011).

14 Daniel Wirls, Buildup: The Politics of Defense in the Reagan Era (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1992), 35–37.

15 Jones et al. testimony, February 4, 1981, U.S. Congress, House, Committee on Armed 

Services, Hearings: Military Posture 97:1 Pt. 1 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1981), 207; Memo, 

Weinberger to Reagan, March 9, 1981, “Joint Strategic Planning Document,” U, White 

House Situation Room, Agency Files, box 91376, DOD Vol. VI folder, Reagan Library; 

United States Military Posture for FY84 (Washington, DC: Organization of the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff, n.d.), 3 (unclassified edition).

16 Stockman, 106–108; Weinberger, Fighting for Peace, 49.

17 Stockman, 277. Carter budget estimates from Congressional Quarterly Almanac, 1982, 73.

18 Weinberger, In the Arena, 275.

19 U.S. Office of the Comptroller, National Defense Budget Estimates for FY92 (Washington, DC: 

Department of Defense, March 1991), 98. Even though the Reagan administration set new 

records for long-term military spending, the largest single-year Cold War military budget 

(in constant dollars) remained that enacted under the Truman administration for FY52.

20 Jones quoted in Richard Halloran, “Military Forces Stretched Thin,” The New York 

Times, August 10, 1983: 1.

21 NSDD 12, “Strategic Forces Modernization Program,” October 1, 1981 (sanitized), 

NSC Executive Secretariat Collection, Reagan Library, available at <http://www.fas.

org/irp/offdocs/nsdd/nsdd–12.pdf> (accessed July 18, 2011).

22 Budget percentages derived from National Defense Budget Estimates for FY92, 74–75. For 

strategic objectives under the buildup, see NSDD 12, loc. cit.

23 Weinberger testimony, February 2, 1982, in U.S. Congress, Senate, Committee on 

Armed Services, Hearings: Department of Defense Authorization for Appropriations for Fiscal 

Year 1983 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1982), 18.

24 See John Allen Williams, “The U.S. Navy Under the Reagan Administration and Global Forward Strategy,” in William Snyder and James Brown, eds., Defense Policy in the Reagan Administration (Washington, DC: National Defense University Press, 1988), 273–303.

25 See Entry, May 18, 1982, in Douglas Brinkley, ed., The Reagan Diaries (New York: HarperCollins, 2007), 85.

26 NSDD 32, “US National Security Strategy,” May 20, 1982 (declassified), NSC Executive Secretariat, box 91311, NSDD 32 folder, Reagan Library, available at <http://www.

fas.org/irp/offdocs/nsdd/nsdd–032.htm> (accessed July 18, 2011).
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27 Gordon S. Barrass, The Great Cold War: A Journey Through the Hall of Mirrors (Stanford, 

CA: Stanford University Press, 2009), 284.

28 Quote from “Address Before a Joint Session of the Congress on the State of the Union,” 

February 6, 1985, Reagan Public Papers, 1985, 135.

29 NSDD 5, “Conventional Arms Transfer Policy,” July 8, 1981, in Reagan Public Papers, 1981, 

615–617. See also Roy A. Werner, “The Burden of Global Defense: Security Assistance 

Policies of the Reagan Administration,” in Snyder and Brown, eds., Defense Policy in the 

Reagan Administration, 143–165.

30 See Weinberger, Fighting for Peace, 143–144; Shultz, Turmoil and Triumph, 106–107; Edgar 

F. Raines, Jr., “The Interagency Process and the Decision to Intervene in Grenada,” in 

Kendall D. Gott and Michael G. Brooks, eds., The U.S. Army and the Interagency Process: 

Historical Perspective (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute Press, 2009), 33–64.

31 Minutes, NSC Meeting on July 31, 1981, 4, (declassified), NSC Executive Secretariat 

Collection, NSC 00018, Reagan Library, available at <www.thereaganfiles.com> (accessed July 18, 2011); and Reagan, An American Life, 289.

32 Shultz, Turmoil and Triumph, 289; NSDD 17, “Cuba and Central America,” January 4, 1982 

(redacted), available at <http://www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/nsdd/nsdd–017.htm>(accessed 

July 19, 2011); NSDD 37, “Cuba and Central America,” May 28, 1982 (declassified), available at <http://www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/nsdd/nsdd–037.htm> (accessed July 19, 2011); 

and NSDD 37A, “Cuba and Central America,” May 28, 1982 (redacted), available at 

<http://www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/nsdd/nsdd–037a.htm> (accessed July 18, 2011).

33 Author’s interview with former USCINCSOUTH Gen Paul F. Gorman, USA (Ret.), 

July 27, 2000.

34 George Shultz, Turmoil and Triumph: My Years As Secretary of State (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1993), 570, 692; Robert M. Gates, From the Shadows (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1996), 251–252; NSDD 99, “United States Security Strategy for the Near East and South 

Asia,” July 12, 1983 (sanitized), available at <http://www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/nsdd/nsdd–099.

htm> (accessed July 18, 2011); entry, July 12, 1983, in Brinkley, ed., Reagan Diaries, 165.

35 Ronald H. Cole et al., The History of the Unified Command Plan, 1946–1999 (Washington, 

DC: Joint History Office, 2003), 63–67.

36 United States Military Posture for FY83 (Washington, DC: Organization of the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff, n.d.), 39 (unclassified edition).

37 Letter, Vessey to BG David A. Armstrong, USA (Ret.), September 23, 1995, U, JHO 

Files.

38 See Gen Bennie L. Davis, USAF, “Indivisible Airpower,” Air Force Magazine (March 1984), 

46–50; and Carl H. Builder, The Prospects and Implications of Non–Nuclear Means of Strategic 

Conflict, Adelphi Paper 200 (London: International Institute for Strategic Studies, 1985).

39 “Address to the Nation on Defense and National Strategy,” March 23, 1983, Reagan 

Public Papers, 1983, 442–443.

40 Paul B. Stares, The Militarization of Space: U.S. Policy, 1945–1984 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell 

University Press, 1985), 201–215.

41 Malcolm Wallop, “Opportunities and Imperatives of Ballistic Missile Defense,” Strategic 

Review 7 (Fall 1979), 13–21. See also Angelo Codevilla, While Others Build (New York: 

Free Press, 1988), which sets forth Wallop’s strategic defense rationale and blueprint. 
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Codevilla was Wallop’s staff assistant. The two worked extremely closely together to 

promote legislation and interest in BMD.

42 Daniel O. Graham, Confessions of a Cold Warrior (Fairfax, VA: Preview Press, 1995), 117–

146; Sanford Lakoff and Herbert F. York, A Shield in Space? Technology, Politics, and the 

Strategic Defense Initiative (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 10–11.

43 Christopher Andrew, Defend the Realm: The Authorized History of MI5 (New York: Knopf, 

2009), 673–676.

44 John Edwards, Superweapon: The Making of MX (New York: W.W. Norton, 1982), 210; 

Patrick Glynn, Closing Pandora’s Box: Arms Races, Arms Control, and the History of the Cold 

War (New York: Basic Books, 1992), 324–325.

45 Christian Brahmstedt, Defense’s Nuclear Agency, 1947–1997 (Washington, DC: Defense Threat 

Reduction Agency, 2002), 262; David H. Dunn, The Politics of Threat: Minuteman Vulnerability in American National Security Policy (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1997), 153–157.

46 Donald R. Baucom, Origins of SDI, 1944–1983 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 

1992), 185; Minutes, NSC Meeting, November 18, 1982, “M–X Basing Decision” (declassified), NSC Executive Secretariat Collection, NSC 00066 folder, Reagan Library, 

and <http://jasonebin.com/nsc66.html> (accessed July 18, 2011); NSDD 69 (sanitized), 

November 22, 1982, “The M–X Program,” NSC Executive Secretariat Collection, box 

91286, NSDD 69 folder, Reagan Library, and <http://www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/nsdd/

nsdd–069.htm> (accessed July 18, 2011).

47 Baucom, Origins of SDI, 184–190; Interview by Donald R. Baucom with ADM James 

D. Watkins, September 29, 1987, Revised by Watkins, October 22, 1989, U, 6, Missile 

Defense Agency Historian’s Files.

48 Baucom Interview with Watkins, 6–7.

49 Weinberger, Fighting for Peace, 304–305. See also Baucom, Origins of SDI, 191–192; William J. Broad, Teller’s War: The Top-Secret Story Behind the Star Wars Deception (New York: 

Simon & Schuster, 1992), 124–125; and Don Oberdorfer, The Turn (New York: Poseidon 

Press, 1991), 26–27.

50 Vessey quoted in Hedrick Smith, The Power Game: How Washington Works (New York: 

Random House, 1988), 607–608.

51 Memo, Weinberger to DepSECDEF et al., April 24, 1984, “Management of the Strategic Defense Initiative,” U, JCS 1977/449.

52 NSDD 73 (declassified/sanitized), “Peacekeeper Program Assessment,” January 3, 1983, 

NSC Executive Secretariat Collection, NSDD 73 folder, Reagan Library, available at 

<http://www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/nsdd/nsdd–073.htm> (accessed July 18, 2011).

53 President’s Commission on Strategic Forces, Report of the President’s Commission on Strategic 

Forces (Washington, DC: The President’s Commission on Strategic Forces, 1983), 16–19. See 

also NSDD 91 (declassified), “Strategic Forces Modernization Program Changes,” April 19, 

1983, NSC Staff and Office Files: Office of the Secretariat, NSDD 91 folder, Reagan Library.

54 See Janne E. Nolan, Guardians of the Arsenal: The Politics of Nuclear Strategy (New York: 

New Republic/BasicBooks, 1989), 15–16.

55 Joseph Kruzel, ed., American Defense Annual, 1986-1987 (Lexington, MA: Lexington 

Books and the Mershon Center, 1986), 68-71.

56 U.S. Department of Defense, Annual Report of the Secretary of Defense to Congress: FY83 

(Washington, DC: GPO, 1982), chap. I, 19.
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57 Raymond L. Garthoff, Détente and Confrontation: American-Soviet Relations from Nixon 

to Reagan (Washington, DC: Brookings, 1994, rev. ed.), 533–537; Terrence Hopmann, 

“From MBFR to CFE: Negotiating Conventional Arms Control in Europe,” in Richard Dean Burns, ed., Encyclopedia of Arms Control and Disarmament (New York: Charles 

Scribner’s Sons, 1993), II, 970–974.

58 The name “walk in the woods” came from the manner in which Nitze and Kvitsinskiy 

negotiated the deal. To preserve secrecy, they met privately in the forested hill country 

outside Geneva.

59 Paul H. Nitze with Ann M. Smith and Steven L. Rearden, From Hiroshima to Glasnost: 

At the Center of Decision—A Memoir (New York: Grove Weidenfeld, 1989), 376–389.

60 Ibid., 397.

61 Ermarth quoted in Barrass, 300. See also Ben B. Fischer, A Cold War Conundrum: The 

1983 Soviet War Scare (Washington, DC: Central Intelligence Agency, Center for the 

Study of Intelligence, 1997), 24–26; and Peter Vincent Pry, War Scare: Russia and America 

on the Nuclear Brink (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1999), 33–44.

62 “Remarks to the National Press Club on Arms Reduction and Nuclear Weapons,” 

November 18, 1981, Reagan Public Papers, 1981, 1066.

63 Reagan’s comments in Minutes, NSC Meeting, April 21, 1982, 6 (declassified), NSC 

Executive Secretariat Collection, NSC 00046 folder, Reagan Library; available at 

<http://jasonebin.com/nsc46.html> (accessed July 18, 2011).

64 NSDD 36 (declassified), “US Approach to START Negotiations—II,” May 25, 1982, 

available at <www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/nsdd/nsdd–036.htm> (accessed July 18, 2011). 

President Reagan approved this modification to his no-undercut policy in the expectation of deploying the MX/PEACEKEEPER in the “dense-pack” mode which would 

violate the SALT I-imposed ban on the construction of new ICBM launchers.

65 “Address at Commencement Exercises at Eureka College in Illinois,” May 9, 1982, 

Reagan Public Papers, 1982, 584–585.

66 Garthoff, Great Transition, 511–512.

67 Talks resumed, but not until March 1985. See below, chap. 15.

68 Soviet General Secretary Yuri Andropov quoted in The New York Times, March 27, 1983. 

See also Paul Lettow, Ronald Reagan and His Quest to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (New 

York: Random House, 2005), 114–115.

69 Quoted in Reed, At the Abyss, 227.
Admiral William J. Crowe, Jr., USN, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1985–1989
Chapter 15

A New 

Rapprochement

By the mid-1980s, as Ronald Reagan embarked on his second term, the military 

buildup launched at the outset of the decade was beginning to show results. Increasingly reassured, the Joint Chiefs believed that they had turned the corner and were 

now better poised to compete effectively in military power with the Soviet Union 

than at any time since the Vietnam War. Despite the re-imposition of congressionally mandated funding constraints, starting with the FY86 budget, they saw the 

balance of forces shifting back in their favor. As always, the JCS wanted more to be 

done than available money allowed and urged the President and Congress to be, if 

nothing else, consistent in their level of support for military programs. Yet, all things 

considered, the buildup seemed to be having the desired effect of restoring both a 

stronger defense posture and a renewed respect for the country’s Armed Forces. Not 

since the early 1950s had the Nation’s Military Establishment felt so assured. 

Though more confident in the future than they had been for some years, the 

JCS were hardly complacent. As the President’s second term began, changes in the 

Soviet Union, highlighted by the emergence of new leadership under the reformminded Mikhail S. Gorbachev, created uncertainties in assessing the future direction 

of Soviet policy. At the same time, the ongoing modernization of Moscow’s strategic 

forces, the heavy concentration of Soviet troops in Europe backed by SS–20 missiles, the continuing intervention in Afghanistan, and a surge of Cuban and Eastern 

Bloc “advisors” into Nicaragua suggested that the Communist threat remained as 

real and dangerous as ever. Against this backdrop, the Joint Chiefs saw no choice but 

to continue the defense policies and programs already in effect and to maintain a 

high level of military preparedness for the indefinite future.

Debating JCS Reorganization 

Of the challenges facing the Joint Chiefs at the outset of President Reagan’s second 

term, none took up more of their time or was more frustrating than the growing 

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Coun c il of War

movement in Congress for JCS reform. While dissatisfaction with the JCS system 

had existed ever since passage of the National Security Act of 1947, it had grown 

appreciably in the aftermath of Vietnam, the hurried execution of the 1975 Mayaguez rescue operation, and the failed Desert One mission in 1980 to free the Tehran 

hostages. Over the years it had become virtually an article of faith in some academic 

and congressional circles that the Joint Chiefs were little more than a committee 

of bickering military bureaucrats, wholly incapable of detaching themselves from 

parochial interests and rendering objective advice on such cross-Service matters as 

the allocation of resources and the impartial assignment of military functions.1

At the outset of the Reagan administration, some of the most severe critics of 

the JCS system were, in fact, its own members, including the serving Chairman, 

General David C. Jones, USAF. During his early days as CJCS, Jones had dismissed 

talk of restructuring the JCS as unwarranted and had taken the position “that the 

fundamental organizational structure is sound.”2

 But he had changed his mind by 

the early 1980s. Having served on the JCS as Air Force Chief of Staff and as CJCS 

for a combined total of 8 years by the time he retired—longer than any other officer—he found himself increasingly frustrated with what he saw as a lengthening 

list of JCS lapses, failures, and “lowest common denominator” solutions. “The tough 

issues,” he recalled, “got pushed under the rug.”3

Jones’ discontent first surfaced outside the Pentagon in early February 1982 

when he and Secretary of Defense Weinberger appeared at a closed-door session of 

the House Armed Services Committee. During an exchange with committee members, Jones acknowledged his dissatisfaction with the current system and confirmed 

his support for measures to augment the powers of the Chairman, curb the heavy 

personnel turnover on the Joint Staff, and create a more efficient and responsive JCS 

organization.4

 A few weeks later, he went public with interviews to the news media 

and an article (cleared in advance with Secretary Weinberger), “Why the Joint Chiefs 

of Staff Must Change,” in the February 1982 issue of Directors & Boards, which was 

reprinted a month later in Armed Forces Journal International, with a somewhat larger 

readership. Characterizing current arrangements as a “cumbersome committee process,” Jones described the system as rife with inter-Service rivalry and competition. 

“We need to spend more time on our war fighting capabilities,” Jones insisted, “and 

less on an intramural scramble for resources.” Toward that end, Jones endorsed reforms 

to strengthen the authority of the Chairman over the combatant commanders, limit 

Service staff involvement in JCS actions, and broaden the training, experience, and 

rewards for joint duty. To facilitate attainment of these goals, Jones also favored providing the Chairman with a deputy.5
A N EW RA P P RO CHEME N T

451

Among the Service heads at the time, only Army Chief of Staff General Edward 

C. Meyer showed any interest in Jones’ proposals. Arguing that times had changed 

since World War II when the JCS came into existence, Meyer considered the existing 

system obsolete. Going well beyond Jones’ proposals, Meyer wanted to abolish the 

Joint Chiefs and vest full authority over military planning and direction of the Joint 

Staff in the CJCS.6

 But after General Vessey’s appointment as Chairman in the summer of 1982, Meyer muted his criticism. Vessey and Weinberger agreed that while the 

JCS system could be improved, its corporate structure and organization were sound 

and whatever reforms were needed could be achieved through administrative means. 

Indeed, for Vessey, the very essence of the JCS system was its corporate character, 

which he was loath to tamper with in the name of progress and reform. 

After discussing the matter at length with the Service chiefs, Vessey notified 

the Secretary of Defense on November 22, 1982, that he could find no consensus 

among his colleagues in support of “sweeping changes.” While conceding that their 

operations were not without “flaws,” there was agreement among the Joint Chiefs 

that the problem stemmed largely from tensions that had developed over time between OSD and the JCS because of overlapping responsibilities. Vessey declined to 

assign blame for this situation but did acknowledge that the JCS needed to be more 

professional and objective in providing military advice. Still, he and his colleagues 

saw little they could do directly and felt that it was up to the Secretary of Defense 

to take corrective action by according them larger staffing and a more substantive 

role “on major decisions of strategy, policy, and force requirements.”7

Meanwhile, inspired by Jones, Meyer, and a lengthening list of think-tank studies, key members of Congress began taking a closer look at alleged JCS shortcomings. Many on Capitol Hill initially agreed that Vessey’s advent had improved the 

overall efficiency, effectiveness, and image of JCS operations. But after the bombing 

of the Beirut barracks and reports of breakdowns in coordination during the Grenada operation in October 1983, sentiment in Congress began to coalesce around 

the need for legislative action to strengthen the JCS system and make it more 

responsive. Stung by the untoward publicity, Vessey rushed through a series of administrative reforms aimed at improving JCS performance in the areas of resource 

allocation, the evaluation of cross-Service needs, and participation by the combatant 

commanders in the programming and budgeting process.8

 But it was too little too 

late, and in October 1984 Congress added a provision to the Defense authorization (P.L. 98-525) broadening the powers of the Chairman over the Joint Staff and 

simultaneously serving notice that it intended to revisit the entire question of JCS 

organization in the next session.9
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Coun c il of War

Vessey now found himself unexpectedly at the center of a looming battle royal 

with Congress. While acknowledging that he faced “considerable outside pressure 

to reorganize,” he continued to believe that through the stringent application of administrative reforms he could fend off the imposition of congressionally-mandated 

changes. If he could improve the effectiveness of the Joint Staff, he thought he could 

demonstrate that “we’re doing our job as laid out in the law.”10 But despite Vessey’s 

best efforts to find in-house solutions, support in Congress for legislative action 

continued to grow and by the summer of 1985 both the House and the Senate 

were actively considering bills to reform the JCS. In June 1985, hoping to head off 

a wholesale reorganization, President Reagan created a Blue Ribbon Commission 

on Defense Management, chaired by former Deputy Secretary of Defense David 

Packard, to review the overall status of defense organization and suggest appropriate 

remedies.11 Undeterred, reformers in Congress refused to await the Packard Commission’s findings and pressed ahead along a course of their own that would culminate in the 1986 Goldwater-Nichols Department of Defense Reorganization Act.

Feeling that he had done as much as he could, Vessey stepped down as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs on September 30, 1985, more than 6 months before the 

end of his term. His successor, Admiral William J. Crowe, Jr., USN, came with a 

lengthy résumé of staff and joint command jobs. Like Vessey, Crowe saw room for 

improvement in the quality and effectiveness of the Joint Staff.12 But he was far 

less averse than his predecessor to accepting legislatively-mandated changes and 

had once testified before Congress in support of increased statutory powers for the 

Chairman and a stronger joint system.13 Realizing that his views were at variance 

with the prevailing sentiments of his fellow Navy officers, he explained that his 

position was the result of experience. “I happened to be one of the people [in the 

Navy] who agreed that some reorganization was appropriate,” Crowe recalled. “For 

three years, from 1977 to 1980, I had served as the Navy’s JCS deputy, and during 

that time I had done a lot of thinking about the subject.”14 As Chairman, Crowe 

tempered his views somewhat to bring them more into line with Weinberger’s. Yet 

overall, Crowe’s advent was highly instrumental in tipping the balance in favor of 

the reform movement.

Soon after becoming Chairman, Crowe established informal staff-level contacts with the congressional committees considering the new legislation and sounded out the Service chiefs about a possible compromise. Crowe acknowledged that 

some degree of legislatively-imposed reorganization was unavoidable, but he shared 

his colleagues’ concern that Congress, in its zeal to reform, had “overdramatized” 

the problem of inter-Service rivalry and its impact on JCS effectiveness.15 While 

favoring measures to streamline the system, Crowe and the chiefs unanimously 
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A N EW RA P P RO CHEME N T

condemned any effort by Congress to abolish the JCS organization and replace it 

with a joint military advisory council. “While this proposal may have some theoretical appeal to some,” they told the Secretary of Defense, “it has no ‘real world’ 

merit and, if adopted, would dramatically compromise the quality of advice to 

you and to the President.”16 Incorporating these views with his own, Weinberger 

notified the Senate Armed Services Committee on December 2, 1985, that while 

he was prepared to entertain modest changes, including a stronger advisory role 

for the Chairman and creation of a Vice Chairman to help expedite JCS business, he saw no need for the sweeping reorganization some in Congress insisted 

was needed.17

By now, differences had become so pronounced that an easy and amicable 

reconciliation of views between the congressional reformers and the administration 

was practically out of the question. The most contentious issues were those involving personnel policy centering on the creation of a joint officers corps, a proposal 

that had especially strong support in the House Armed Services Committee. Worried that a joint officer corps would deprive them of their best officers, the Service 

chiefs opposed the measure. In an effort at compromise, Crowe invited members 

of the committee, including Congressman Bill Nichols of Alabama, a key figure in 

shaping the emerging legislation in the House, to a breakfast meeting with the Joint 

Chiefs at the Pentagon on June 24, 1986. As the meeting progressed, the atmosphere 

became visibly strained. Finally, in an emotional outburst, the Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Watkins, said: “You know, this piece of legislation is so bad it’s, it’s 

. . . in some respects it’s just un-American.” Nichols, who had lost a leg in combat in 

World War II, was personally offended and left the meeting indignant, less disposed 

than ever to listen to the chiefs or to accept Pentagon advice.18

After this regrettable incident, the Joint Chiefs played a diminishing role in 

the legislative process that culminated in passage of the Goldwater-Nichols Act. 

As often happens in the legislative process, the reorganization bills passed by the 

House and Senate required a conference to iron out differences. Working together, 

the co-chairs of the conference committee, Nichols and Barry Goldwater of Arizona, Chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee, wrote the final law. As 

the conference was getting underway, Admiral Crowe made a last-minute appeal to 

delete all provisions relating to personnel policy.19 But his request fell on deaf ears. 

The final legislation—approved in the Senate on September 16 and in the House 

the next day—reflected congressional preferences far more than anything the White 

House or the Pentagon wanted. Secretary of the Navy John F. Lehman, Jr., suggested 

that President Reagan ought to veto the legislation, but the President, facing other 

problems in Congress, signed it into law on October 1, 1986.20
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Coun c il of War

The Goldwater-Nichols Act of 1986 

Culminating nearly 4 years of public debate and legislative maneuvering, the Goldwater-Nichols Department of Defense Reorganization Act of 1986 (P.L. 99-433) 

was the most extensive revision of the National Security Act since 1958. The most 

significant changes were those affecting the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the military 

command structure. Throughout the new law, the emphasis was on achieving a 

higher level of inter-Service cooperation and collaboration and a greater degree 

of integrated effort in practically every level and area of military activity, a concept 

increasingly referred to as “jointness.” Though military leaders by and large agreed 

that it was a worthy objective, many if not most would have preferred a less detailed 

and less prescriptive law. 

The most striking features of the law were those affecting the Chairman who 

now became “principal military advisor” to the President, the National Security 

Council, and the Secretary of Defense, superseding the JCS in that role. Functions 

and duties previously conferred collectively on the Joint Chiefs of Staff now passed 

to the Chairman, thus ending the days of corporate decisionmaking and consensus 

recommendations. In effect, the Service chiefs became a committee of senior military advisors to the Chairman. For assistance in discharging his expanded duties, the 

CJCS acquired a Vice Chairman and unfettered authority over the Joint Staff. Held 

to its current strength of 1,627 military and civilian personnel (a ceiling repealed 

in 1991), the Joint Staff remained barred from becoming “an overall Armed Forces 

General Staff,” a prohibition first introduced in 1958. Still, with an added proviso in 

the law requiring officers to have joint duty for high-level promotion, the Joint Staff 

stood poised at last to gain primacy over the Service staffs.

In addition to increasing the Chairman’s stature and authority, the new law gave 

him more specific responsibilities vis-à-vis the combatant commands and the military command structure. Although there had been talk of including the Chairman 

in the military chain of command, Goldwater-Nichols made only slight changes in 

the interests of protecting and preserving civilian control. Command lines, as laid 

out in 1958, continued to run from the President to the Secretary of Defense to the 

combatant commanders. However, the new law also authorized the Secretary to use 

the Chairman as his channel of communication with the combatant commanders, 

a practice already in effect. With the added authority of Goldwater-Nichols, the 

Chairman’s role as the routine channel of communications between the National 

Command Authority (NCA) and the combatant commanders became fully institutionalized. In consequence, even though the Chairman had no statutory authority to exercise command, his responsibility for receiving political directives and 
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A N EW RA P P RO CHEME N T

translating them into operational orders gave him a de facto measure of command 

authority.21

The most controversial feature of the new law was its treatment of military 

personnel policy. Admiral Crowe and others had tried to persuade Congress not to 

include these provisions or, at least, to tone them down. But by the time the final 

legislation came to be written, relations between the Pentagon and Capitol Hill had 

become so strained that members of the conference committee were in no mood 

to listen. The result, bearing the designation of Title IV, was a highly prescriptive set 

of regulations for joint duty and promotion aimed at improving professionalism and 

eradicating alleged Service parochialism. Although the conferees dropped the idea 

of a joint officer corps, they agreed that officers should be encouraged to develop 

a “joint specialty” and affirmed a practice already in use requiring new flag officers 

to attend a “Capstone” course to prepare them for joint assignments with senior 

officers from other Services.

Implementing the Goldwater-Nichols Act fell largely to the Chairman, Admiral Crowe, who adopted an “evolution-not-revolution” philosophy modeled on 

Forrestal’s approach to unification in the late 1940s. Crowe hoped to complete the 

process with “as little trauma and disruption as possible.”22 On November 6, 1986, 

he approved a directive restructuring the Joint Staff to meet expected Goldwater-Nichols needs. To augment the five existing directorates, Crowe revived the 

moribund Command, Control, and Communications Systems Directorate (J-6) and 

added two new ones—the Operational Plans and Interoperability Directorate (J7), later renamed the Directorate for Operational Plans and Joint Force Development, and the Force Structure, Resource, and Assessment Directorate (J-8).23 Crowe 

also put considerable personal effort into clarifying the role of the Vice Chairman 

(VCJCS), whose only assigned duty under the law was to preside at JCS meetings in the Chairman’s absence. Secretaries of Defense had customarily regarded 

their deputies as their “alter ego” since Forrestal coined the phrase in 1948; Crowe 

believed the Vice Chairman should be prepared to function in a similar capacity.24

The first Vice Chairman, General Robert T. Herres, USAF, took office on February 

6, 1987, but did not receive a specific assignment of functions until April, when the 

Secretary of Defense, at Crowe’s suggestion, directed that the VCJCS should concentrate on acquisition and resource management issues in order to free up time for 

the Chairman to deal with military policy and strategic matters.25

The toughest adjustments were those of redefining the Service chiefs’ role under Goldwater-Nichols. Operating initially under a modified version of the old 

system, Crowe affirmed existing procedures that allowed his colleagues to present divergent views to the Secretary of Defense.26 But since the JCS were no longer bound
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Coun c il of War

Figure 15–1.

JCS Organization Chart, 1987

by the corporate unanimity rule, “split” recommendations became a thing of the 

past. As required by law, Crowe held “regular” (weekly) JCS meetings. In considering cross-Service matters such as arms control and the Strategic Defense Initiative 

(SDI), he routinely sought the collective advice of the Service chiefs and made it a 

practice to submit recommendations to the Secretary on a corporate basis. Crowe’s 

caution and restraint disappointed those in Congress who expected the new law to 

have an immediate and dramatic impact on the way the JCS conducted business.27

But it seemed to Crowe the right thing to do. “I started gently,” he said, “but as time 

passed and the chiefs grew used to the idea of the new arrangements, I exerted my 

authority more and more.”28

Like the original National Security Act passed in 1947, the Goldwater-Nichols 

amendments were a venture into uncharted territory. An intricate set of prescriptions, the law established many new responsibilities and created new relationships 

which only time and experience could sort out. It needed to be interpreted, applied, 

and tested. Within the military, it was a less than overwhelmingly popular piece of 

legislation, partly owing to some of its contents, but also because of the legislative 

process that brought it about. As the first Chairman to operate under GoldwaterNichols, Crowe was understandably hesitant to make dramatic changes and sought 
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A N EW RA P P RO CHEME N T

to ease the Services into the new system. Subsequent Chairmen would be less patient and less reticent. But as far as Crowe was concerned, the implementation of 

the Goldwater-Nichols Act was an ongoing process and had barely begun by the 

time he left office. 

NATO Resurgent 

While Congress and the Reagan administration were dueling over the future organization of the Joint Chiefs, a slow but steady transformation was taking place in 

Europe toward equalizing the military balance between East and West. For years, the 

Joint Chiefs had complained that NATO trailed the Warsaw Pact in effective military power and lacked the full spectrum of tactical nuclear and conventional capabilities to realize the goals set for itself under the flexible response doctrine and the 

forward defense strategy. But with the impetus of the Reagan buildup, the situation 

began to change. Determined to eliminate the deficiencies of the past, the Reagan 

administration lent its support to programs it saw as crucial to the restoration of 

NATO’s power and credibility. Among them were the revival of the neutron bomb, 

which President Reagan announced in August 1981, and the decision to press ahead 

with deployment of a new generation of intermediate-range ballistic and cruise 

missiles. Both were controversial decisions that went forward despite public protests 

and sharp criticism. Yet as the process advanced, it became increasingly clear that the 

United States remained not only firmly committed to NATO but to reasserting its 

own influence and leadership within the Alliance as well. 

The most difficult problems, as always, were those surrounding NATO’s conventional capabilities, which routinely fell short of projected requirements. By the 

mid-1980s, having wrestled with this problem for decades to no avail, the Joint 

Chiefs and others in the Pentagon reached the sobering conclusion that the Europeans would probably never meet their agreed conventional force goals and that 

it was pointless to continue badgering them. Rather than seeking quantitative 

improvements in NATO’s capabilities, U.S. defense planners looked to new and 

emerging technologies to provide qualitative multipliers to improve NATO’s defenses. That approach had been tried numerous times, invariably with mixed results. 

But in light of the wide range of breakthroughs and improvements such as those 

driving the Strategic Defense Initiative, the chances of success seemed better than 

ever this time around. The upshot was the Conventional Defense Initiative (CDI), 

which the NATO defence ministers embraced at their May 1985 meeting. While 

many of the taskings were identical to those of the defunct Long-Term Defense 

Plan of the Carter years, the CDI was less ambitious than LTDP (thereby rendering 
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Coun c il of War

it more attainable in theory) and relied squarely on advances in technology as a key 

means of improving NATO’s conventional defense.29

Adoption of the CDI followed in lockstep with a related breakthrough in military thinking known as the Follow-On Forces Attack (FOFA) concept. Much of 

the impetus behind FOFA came from General Bernard W. Rogers, the NATO Supreme Commander from 1979 to 1987. As Army Chief of Staff immediately prior to 

becoming SACEUR, Rogers had encouraged the development of a new doctrinal 

concept known as AirLand Battle, which emphasized close coordination between 

land forces pursuing an aggressive maneuvering defense and air forces attacking the 

enemy’s rear echelon units.30 FOFA emerged from that broad operational concept. 

Meant as an enhancement to the flexible response strategy, FOFA envisioned the 

use of sophisticated surveillance aircraft (called JSTARS) to direct conventional 

attacks behind enemy lines against Warsaw Pact armored formations and other reinforcements. NATO would still need strong ready forces along the central front 

to meet the enemy’s initial attack. But with FOFA, Rogers argued, NATO stood a 

better chance of reducing the number of Warsaw Pact reinforcements to “manageable proportions,” thus lifting the nuclear threshold.31

While the Joint Chiefs applauded NATO’s efforts, they cautioned against overoptimism and warned that the full impact of the CDI and FOFA initiatives was 

difficult to predict and, in any case, would not be felt for some time. Technically 

complex and expensive, FOFA relied on advanced computer systems and precisionguided munitions that were still experimental or in exceedingly limited supply. 

JSTARS, a joint Army-Air Force surveillance and tracking system around which the 

FOFA concept revolved, was barely more than a drawing-board concept. Initially, 

by speeding up the deployment of their reinforcements, the Soviets thought they 

could overcome whatever deep attacks NATO might launch.32 But as they took a 

closer look at the situation and the possibility that not all would go according to 

plan, they came to the conclusion that they were steadily losing ground and that 

the initiative was passing to NATO. Publicly, the Soviets denounced FOFA as a 

veiled instrument of aggression, while privately Warsaw Pact military planners engaged in a frantic search for something to counter it. Increasingly they worried that 

the mainstay of their ground attack force—the heavy battle tank—might soon be 

obsolete. With the potential of President Reagan’s Strategic Defense Initiative factored into the equation, Moscow’s long-term military prospects had never seemed 

bleaker. NATO’s, conversely, were looking up, though as those familiar with the 

Alliance’s condition were well aware, a lot of work remained.33 Still, according to 

British intelligence expert Gordon S. Barrass, “NATO leaders felt that they had 

finally gained the upper hand.”34
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Gorbachev’s Impact 

It was against this background of a resurgent NATO, the intensifying application of 

new technologies by the West, and signs of wavering confidence among Soviet defense planners that Mikhail S. Gorbachev ascended to power in Moscow as General 

Secretary of the Communist Party in March 1985. A dedicated Marxist, Gorbachev 

led a younger generation of reformers whose goal was to protect and preserve the 

Soviet system through the restructuring of the crumbling Soviet economy (perestroika), greater openness in public affairs (glasnost), and improved East-West relations. Curbing the drain caused by heavy defense expenditures was a top priority.35

 While some in the West proclaimed Gorbachev’s advent as the first step toward 

ending the Cold War, others—including the Joint Chiefs of Staff—adopted a more 

reserved outlook. Despite an improved atmosphere in East-West relations, JCS posture statements and threat assessments remained essentially unchanged throughout 

the 1980s. Outward improvements in U.S.-Soviet relations aside, the Joint Chiefs 

continued to view the Soviet Union as an implacable enemy with a “heavy dependence on military capabilities.” Afraid of letting down their guard, the Joint Chiefs 

repeatedly recommended a high level of military preparedness across the entire 

spectrum of conflict contingencies, from sub-limited conventional conflicts to allout nuclear war, until there was clear-cut evidence that the global force-to-force 

balance had shifted in favor of the United States and its allies.36

Still, the sincerity and seriousness of Gorbachev’s overtures were hard to ignore. Wary at the outset, Reagan initially dismissed Gorbachev as “a confirmed 

ideologue,” while Gorbachev looked on the President as “a product of the militaryindustrial complex” prone to “right-wing” extremism.37 But as they became more 

familiar with one another, they reached a meeting of the minds and formed a close 

and productive partnership which, though far from perfect in solving problems, 

proved of fundamental importance in easing East-West tensions and eventually in 

ending the Cold War. Although the Joint Chiefs were slower to come around, their 

gradual acceptance of Gorbachev’s initiatives as more than propaganda ploys effectively set the stage for a wholesale reconsideration of military requirements under 

the next administration. 

Among the breakthroughs that Gorbachev’s advent helped to facilitate, two 

in particular had a major impact on JCS thinking: the 1987 INF Treaty mandating 

the complete elimination of such weapons, and the withdrawal of Soviet troops 

from Afghanistan initiated a year later. Both involved significant concessions which 

in years past the Soviets had strenuously resisted and which the JCS had likewise 

been disinclined to contemplate without adequate assurances of Soviet compliance. 
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Resumed in the spring of 1985, the INF negotiations proceeded in tandem with 

talks on START and space-based defensive weapons (i.e., SDI). The ostensible goal 

was a comprehensive agreement. Unable to make headway on an overall accord, 

Gorbachev indicated in October 1985 that he would entertain dealing with INF 

separately from other systems, a change of procedure that allowed the INF talks to 

go forward at a faster pace.38 The main concern raised by the Joint Chiefs was that 

as the elimination of nuclear weapons gathered momentum, the Soviets would 

be in an even stronger position than before because of their numerical superiority in conventional forces. President Reagan, however, was skeptical and sought to 

reassure the chiefs that their concerns would be addressed one way or another.39

What finally emerged in the form of the INF Treaty, signed in December 1987, 

was practically unprecedented: a worldwide ban on all U.S. and Soviet groundlaunched ballistic and cruise missiles with ranges of 500 to 5500 kilometers, backed 

by enforcement provisions allowing each side to conduct on-site inspections of the 

other’s facilities.40

For Gorbachev, the INF Treaty was both a spectacular gesture of goodwill that 

cemented his reputation as a peacemaker in the West and the coup de grace to the 

Kremlin’s hard-line defense planners who orchestrated the military buildup under 

Brezhnev. Soviet strategy as laid down from the mid-1970s on by Marshal Nikolai V. 

Ogarkov, chief of the General Staff, had relied on the SS–20 to spearhead a massive, 

surprise nuclear strike in conjunction with an immediate, high-speed conventional 

air and ground assault, to overwhelm NATO defenses.41 What Ogarkov and other 

Soviet defense planners had failed to anticipate was that NATO would have the 

unity and resolve to respond with a theater missile modernization program resulting 

in the deployment of a new generation of more effective and usable weapons (the 

Pershing II especially) that could strike the Soviet homeland. Instead of an asset intimidating the West, the Soviet arsenal of SS–20s had become one of Moscow’s most 

notorious liabilities.42 All the same, the hard-liners gave way grudgingly. While Ogarkov’s successor, Marshal Sergei F. Akhromeyev, dutifully endorsed the INF Treaty 

in public, he disparaged it in private as a “lopsided deal.”43 As yet, discontent within 

the Soviet military appeared manageable, but as a massive letter-writing campaign 

against the treaty by retired officers indicated, it was far from popular among the 

former rank and file.44

In the West, the most strenuous objections to the INF Treaty were raised by 

the former NATO Supreme Commander, General Bernard Rogers. Characterizing 

the treaty as the product of “short-term political expediency,” Rogers believed that 

eliminating the Alliance’s INF capability would cripple its capacity to offer the full 

range of effective deterrence.45 Others, however, disagreed. While Crowe recalled 
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some grumbling from Army and Marine Corps leaders, the consensus among the 

Joint Chiefs was that the INF Treaty marked a major breakthrough and was “too 

attractive a proposition to pass up.”46 As the most far-reaching arms control agreement thus far negotiated, President Reagan hailed it as “a realistic understanding” 

capable of providing a “framework” for a fundamentally improved relationship.47

Likewise, it tended to confirm Reagan’s philosophy that patience and persistence 

pay off in the long run and that the elimination of nuclear weapons, a goal his 

critics derided as a fanciful notion, was not so impractical after all. Buoyed by the 

positive outcome of the INF talks, the President indicated that he looked forward 

to signing a START treaty, incorporating a 50 percent reduction in heavy missiles, 

when he and Gorbachev met in Moscow in the summer of 1988. But as the date 

of the summit approached, continuing objections by the Soviets to SDI and a superabundance of unresolved details, many having to do with verification, prevented 

the two heads of state from consummating a deal. Not until 1991 did a START 

agreement materialize.48

No less significant than the INF Treaty in changing JCS thinking was the 

Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan brought on by a combination of diplomatic 

pressure from the West and military pressure from the American-backed mujahideen. 

Dating from the waning days of the Carter administration, U.S. covert involvement 

in Afghanistan had remained a fairly low-key affair until President Reagan took 

steps in March 1985 to bolster the U.S. role.49 As part of the effort, the Joint Chiefs 

waived their self-imposed prohibition on sharing high-technology weapons and 

released shoulder-fired Stinger antiaircraft missiles to the insurgents. A major turning point in the war, the advent of the Stingers severely restricted the Soviets’ use 

of the air and compelled them to make significant changes in strategy and tactics. If 

not decisive, the introduction of the Stingers certainly helped to even the playing 

field and allowed the mujahideen to fight the Soviets and their allied Afghan forces 

to a virtual standstill.

Even before the Stingers were introduced, Gorbachev was convinced that the 

war in Afghanistan (increasingly costly and unpopular at home) could not be won, 

and in the autumn of 1985 he received approval from the Politburo to explore a 

strategy of withdrawal. Yet it was not until after the Stingers made their appearance 

on the battlefield that UN-brokered peace talks began to bear fruit. Eventually, 

under accords signed on April 14, 1988, the Soviet Union agreed to withdraw half 

its troops by August, and the rest by mid-February 1989.50 Assuming Soviet compliance with the accord, the Joint Chiefs expected the logical result to be a steady 

decline in the power and authority of the Soviet-backed Islamic regime in Kabul. 

Whether it would be an inward-looking Islamic state, reserved in its dealings with 
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the United States and the Soviet Union alike, or a “fundamentalist” regime comparable to neighboring Iran, remained to be seen.

The impending withdrawal of Soviet forces from Afghanistan was by any measure a triumph for the Reagan administration’s hard-line foreign policy. Like the 

INF Treaty, it further validated the President’s contention that steady pressure from 

all directions would elicit significant changes in Soviet behavior. A major defeat for 

Kremlin policy, analogous in many ways to the American setback in Vietnam, the 

withdrawal from Afghanistan was perhaps the clearest indication to that point that 

Soviet power and authority were in decline. Yet for the Joint Chiefs and others in 

Washington, recognition of the full implications of the Soviet withdrawal emerged 

slowly. All that seemed to matter at the time was that the Soviets had given up and, 

in so doing, had removed what the JCS had once considered a major menace to U.S. 

interests in Southwest Asia and the Middle East.

Terrorism and the Confrontation with Libya 

With American military power on the rise and signs emerging that the Cold War 

might be winding down, the Reagan administration operated more freely in accepting risks. One of the areas where it stepped up U.S. involvement was against 

the growing threat of state-sponsored terrorism. Bolstered by assistance and coaching from Moscow, state-sponsored terrorist groups had become a favorite means 

among radical Third World regimes of putting pressure on the West. By the mid1980s, one of the most notorious culprits in the eyes of President Reagan, the Joint 

Chiefs, and many others was Libyan strongman Muammar Qaddafi. Charismatic 

and unpredictable, Qaddafi pursued a unique brand of revolutionary ideology that 

combined militant Islam, popular democracy, and communal ownership of property 

to create something approximating an Islamic socialist state. In foreign policy, he 

aligned himself with the Soviet Union in return for military assistance and regarded 

Israel and the “bourgeois” countries of the West, led by the United States, as his 

enemies. He openly offered his support to international terrorist groups to bring 

them down. As one observer put it, “No country . . . not even Syria or Iran, matched 

the record of Libya under Qaddafi as an epitome of lawlessness and contempt for 

international norms.”51

During his first term, President Reagan had authorized varying combinations 

of naval exercises, economic sanctions, and diplomatic pressure to try to persuade 

Qaddafi to moderate his policies and behavior, all to no avail. A major exporter of high-grade crude oil, Libya enjoyed close political and economic ties with 

many European countries, including Italy and France, despite its reputed links to 
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terrorism. The net effect was lukewarm support for sanctions and other nonmilitary 

forms of pressure that Washington tried to apply. Then, in June 1985, Hizballah terrorists hijacked a U.S. airliner flying from Athens to Rome. During the episode the 

hijackers tortured and murdered an American passenger, Navy Petty Officer Robert 

Stethem. While there was no direct evidence connecting Libya to the hijacking, the 

assumption of the Joint Chiefs and others in Washington was that Qaddafi’s role in 

terrorism overall was too pervasive to rule out the possibility and that curtailing that 

role would go far toward curtailing terrorism in general.52

Though committed to a strong stand against Qaddafi and terrorism, the Joint 

Chiefs wanted to avoid overreacting. Supported by Secretary of Defense Weinberger, they urged caution in responding and resisted efforts by Secretary of State 

George P. Shultz, National Security Advisor Robert C. McFarlane, and others who 

wanted to make greater use of military power. But during the waning months of 

1985 came a rapid succession of bloody terrorist incidents—the seizure of the cruise 

liner Achille Lauro, the hijacking of an Egyptian airliner, and the machine gun attack 

on the passenger lounge of the Vienna, Austria, airport. As a result, the JCS found 

themselves under mounting pressure to conduct a major retaliatory campaign that 

would severely punish Qaddafi and weaken his power and prestige if not topple 

him. Finding the options limited, Chairman Crowe initially relied on a resumption of large-scale naval operations off the Libyan coast to convey the message to 

Qaddafi that the United States meant business. But after the April 5, 1986, terrorist 

bombing of a discotheque in West Berlin frequented by U.S. Service personnel, 

President Reagan ordered the JCS to prepare immediately for stronger measures. 

As the President characterized it, the intelligence was “pretty final” that the Libyans 

had helped plan the attack.53

The discotheque bombing set a planning process in motion culminating in the 

most deliberate and deadly military action yet taken by the United States against 

Qaddafi—the bombing raid on Libya carried out jointly by Air Force and Navy 

planes on April 14–15, 1986. Hurriedly assembled, the operational plan preferred in 

the Joint Staff drew on prior contingency planning and exercises conducted by the 

Air Force. It envisioned attacks carried out by F–111 medium-range fighter-bombers flying from bases in the United Kingdom. The President wanted to retaliate as 

soon as possible, and since the British had not as yet approved use of their facilities, 

the Joint Chiefs developed an alternative plan that relied on carrier-based planes 

already in the Mediterranean. A third option—to mount a raid with Tomahawk sealaunched cruise missiles—also received brief consideration but was soon dropped 

for lack of suitably armed and programmed missiles. Eventually, the British came 

around and gave the green light to use their bases. But by then the JCS, working 
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in collaboration with the U.S. European Command, had settled on a composite 

operation (Eldorado Canyon), which incorporated attacks by land- and carrier-based 

air simultaneously. 

The decision to use both land- and sea-based air was a practical move. Though 

derided by some naval aviation enthusiasts as a needless display of “jointness,” it 

reflected the approved rules of engagement prescribing minimum collateral damage 

to civilians in urban areas. To obtain the accuracy the President wanted mandated 

the use of precision-guided munitions that Air Force F–111s were better equipped 

to deliver than Navy planes were at the time. Thus, while the F–111s spearheaded 

the raid with attacks on Tripoli, where the targets tended to be in built-up areas, 

carrier-based F–18s and A–6s hammered the more dispersed military targets across 

the Gulf of Sidra in Benghazi. 54

Cleary punitive, Eldorado Canyon was never intended to inflict permanently 

crippling damage. Like the Doolittle raid on Tokyo in the early days of World War II, 

it was a demonstration of American resolve. Its objectives, as outlined by President 

Reagan prior to the attack, were to highlight Libya’s vulnerability and to demonstrate that Qaddafi’s continuing pursuit of terrorism would not go unpunished. “I 

have no illusion that these actions will eliminate entirely the terrorist threat,” the 

President told his close friend, British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. “But it 

will show that officially sponsored terrorist actions by a government—such as Libya 

has repeatedly perpetrated—will not be without cost.”55

Still, the raid on Libya moved the war on terrorism up a notch or two. A steadily growing menace, terrorism was destined in little more than a decade to succeed 

the Cold War as the number one security issue facing the United States and its allies. 

But in President Reagan’s day, compared with the weighty issues of the Cold War, 

terrorism still seemed a problem of secondary importance and received ad hoc responses. Even so, it was beginning to loom larger and posed challenges that the JCS 

were as yet unsure how to handle. As the head of a country with close economic ties 

to the West through its oil sales, Qaddafi was in some respects a unique case. But he 

was also the same kind of leader, driven by fanatical religious zeal and messianic visions, that the Joint Chiefs were fated to come up against again and again. Inconclusive in its results, the clash with Libya during the Reagan years was a foretaste of the 

much more serious confrontations with terrorism and terrorist states yet to come.

Showdown in Central America 

Despite the new rapprochement in Europe and waning Soviet enthusiasm for the 

conflict in Afghanistan, the Cold War elsewhere continued almost unabated. Nowhere 
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was that more true than in Central America, where the United States remained locked 

in an escalating struggle with the Soviet- and Cuban-backed Sandinista regime of 

Nicaragua. Throughout President Reagan’s first term, the Joint Chiefs of Staff had 

consistently opposed direct military intervention in Central America and had encouraged the administration to rely on surrogates, known as counterrevolutionaries 

or “contras,” to carry the fight to the Sandinistas. But as the President’s second term 

was getting underway, there were growing signs that the contras were running out 

of steam, causing the JCS to reassess their position and to accept the possibility of a 

larger, more direct military role. Out of the ensuing give-and-take emerged a revised 

covert action program which President Reagan approved in January 1986, subject to 

the approval of legislative authority by Congress.56

The new program attempted both to revitalize the contra movement at the 

grass roots level in Nicaragua and to mobilize additional support in the United 

States. Controversial throughout their history, the contras resembled a rump version 

of the deposed Somoza regime and enjoyed barely lukewarm backing on Capitol 

Hill, where there was a general reluctance to provide much beyond humanitarian 

assistance. Under the new program, the administration proposed to expand its help 

to the contras with government-funded arms aid and professional training organized under the Joint Chiefs of Staff. In October 1986, after a lengthy and spirited 

debate, Congress finally approved the administration’s request under its revised “covert” action program for $100 million to help the contras—$70 million in military 

aid and $30 million in humanitarian assistance.57

Almost immediately, however, implementation of the administration’s program 

fell under the gathering cloud of the Iran-contra affair, a scandal that blew up 

over revelations of clandestine arms sales to Iran and the skimming of profits by 

members of the NSC Staff to subsidize the purchase of arms and ammunition for 

the contras. The precipitating event occurred on the morning of October 5, 1986, 

when a Soviet-made surface-to-air missile brought down a chartered C–123 cargo 

plane that was on a resupply mission to contras operating in northern Nicaragua. It 

turned out that the plane and its cargo were part of an off-the-books covert assistance program going back more than a year to circumvent aid prohibitions imposed 

by Congress in 1984. The Joint Chiefs knew of the contra resupply program, but 

they had no part in organizing it and assumed it to be part of a privately-financed 

and privately-run operation. If they had reason to think otherwise, they kept the 

information to themselves.

 Reverberations from the Iran-contra affair extended far and wide, and by the 

summer of 1987 it was a full-blown scandal. Talk of impeaching the President was 

in the air. Ironically, at the same time the administration’s Central America policy 
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was falling under renewed attack in Washington, its revamped covert assistance program was beginning to show signs of turning the military situation to the contras’ 

advantage. Better trained and indoctrinated, they were gradually becoming more 

effective fighters and more accepted by the local population. All the same, many 

Central American leaders, even those aligned with the United States in opposition 

to the Sandinistas, were uneasy about the contras’ activities, and in August 1987 they 

joined in support of a new diplomatic initiative sponsored by Costa Rican President 

Oscar Arias to end the conflict through new, supervised elections.

With momentum building behind the Arias peace plan, Congress in February 

1988 suspended further funding for the contras. Shortly thereafter, backed by Soviet 

attack helicopters and Cuban troops, the Sandinistas launched an all-out assault on 

the contras’ base camps along the Nicaragua-Honduras border. Amid the escalating 

crisis, President Reagan met with his senior advisors and congressional leaders on 

the afternoon of March 16, but was unable to enlist the support of House Speaker 

Jim Wright and other key Democrats who were either noncommittal or opposed 

to any U.S. military action.58 The next day, responding to a formal request from the 

Honduran government for U.S. assistance, President Reagan ordered a brigadesized task force of the 82d

 Airborne to conduct a 10-day “readiness exercise” in 

Honduras. Meanwhile, U.S.-piloted helicopters began ferrying Honduran troops 

into the battle zone.59 Though the JCS rules of engagement governing these deployments made it highly unlikely that U.S. and Sandinista forces would ever confront one another, the implied threat of American military intervention appeared to 

have the desired effect, and within days the Nicaraguans curtailed their offensive. Yet 

even though the contras avoided annihilation, the fighting had taken a heavy toll on 

their numbers. On March 23, 1988, seeing no other choice, their leaders declared a 

unilateral ceasefire.

From that point on, the contras’ fortunes entered a steep decline, a process 

hastened by political infighting within its leadership, dwindling resources, and the 

Reagan administration’s grudging acceptance of the Arias peace plan. By May 1988, 

the contras were down to 400 front-line troops, too few to pose a serious threat to 

the Sandinista regime. Feeling that it had run out of options, the Reagan administration let matters drift until it left office in January 1989. By then, the incoming 

Bush administration, hoping to eliminate Central America as a source of continuing 

domestic political discord, had settled on a different course that abandoned further 

military pressure on Nicaragua in favor of negotiated solutions through multilateral 

diplomacy.60

Though disappointed by the turn of events in Central America, the Joint 

Chiefs took the outcome in stride. While it was a setback in certain respects, the 
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emerging settlement was not the disaster that some within the Joint Staff had worried it might be. Indeed, as the dust settled, it became clear that the Sandinistas were 

far weaker politically than previously supposed. In agreeing to elections—finally 

held in 1990—the Sandinista regime virtually sealed its own demise. Even though 

the Joint Chiefs had not played a large or conspicuous role, their insistence that aid 

and training to the contras be placed on a more systematic and professional basis 

had gone far toward rescuing a faltering program and turning it around. All things 

considered, the chiefs’ involvement helped to produce a more favorable outcome 

than would otherwise have been the case.

Tensions in the Persian Gulf 

While the struggle for Central America tested the Joint Chiefs’ capabilities and 

willingness to cope with low-intensity conflict, the resumption of tensions in the 

Persian Gulf challenged their resourcefulness in more traditional ways. Since taking 

office, using the prism of the Cold War, the Reagan administration had treated a 

Soviet invasion or attack against the Gulf oil fields as the primary danger in that part 

of the world and urged the JCS to plan accordingly.61 Even so, the source of greatest 

volatility in the region was the ongoing conflict between Iran and Iraq. Precipitated 

by Iraqi President Saddam Hussein’s attack on Iran in 1980 over a border dispute, 

the Iran-Iraq war had degenerated into a World War I-style conflict, complete with 

trench warfare, human-wave assaults, and chemical weapons. Deadlocked on the 

battlefield, the two antagonists took to crippling one another’s economic base by 

attacking their respective capacities to produce and export petroleum products. So 

intense did the “tanker war” become that in the summer of 1984 the United States 

and other Western powers joined together to provide naval protection for nonaligned (primarily Kuwaiti) shipping. But by the end of the year, the attacks mostly 

stopped and the international protection effort relaxed.

The official policy of the United States toward the Gulf War was neutrality. 

Unofficially, the Reagan administration leaned in favor of Iraq. Characterizing Saddam as a “no good nut,” President Reagan was fully aware that the Iraqi leader’s 

regime was one of the most corrupt, ruthless, and repressive in the Middle East.62

All the same, he was determined to block Iranian and radical Shia expansionism and 

worried that an Iranian victory over Iraq would destabilize the region. The policy in 

effect at the outset of President Reagan’s second term was to do what was feasible 

and practicable, short of overt assistance or direct intervention, to avoid an Iraqi 

defeat or collapse. In practice, this meant seeking other governments’ cooperation 

in enforcing an arms embargo against Iran (Operation Staunch), encouraging Saudi 
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Arabia, Kuwait, Egypt, France, and other countries friendly with Iraq to keep its war 

machine going, and from time to time providing the Iraqi armed forces with limited 

operational assistance and intelligence.

While tilting toward Iraq, the Reagan administration also pursued backchannel contacts with Iran that had the unintended side-effect of complicating JCS efforts to assure the safety of neutral shipping in the Gulf. The leading figures in this 

enterprise were former National Security Advisor Robert C. McFarlane and an 

assistant, Lieutenant Colonel Oliver L. North, USMC, who secretly helped arrange 

arms transfers to the Iranians in an effort to secure the release of Western hostages 

being held by Islamist militants in Lebanon. Limited initially to a handful of HAWK 

antiaircraft missiles purchased from Israeli stocks and a few hundred antitank TOW 

missiles, the arms-for-hostages deal was never large enough to tip the military balance in Iran’s favor. But it carried immense weight as a symbolic gesture. Privately, 

as North and his associates expanded their contacts with the Iranians, President 

Reagan became concerned that they would send the wrong signal and lead Tehran 

to think that the United States was on its side.63

The initiation of U.S. covert aid to Iran late in 1985 roughly coincided with 

Tehran’s decision to pursue a bolder, more aggressive strategy in its war with Iraq. 

Reeling from years of heavy casualties and mounting costs, Iran’s leadership was 

desperate for a breakthrough, and in February 1986 it launched a two-pronged 

counterattack—a diversionary operation north of the Hawizeh Marshes followed 

by a major amphibious assault in the south that seized the strategically important 

Faw Peninsula. Eventually, the line stabilized, but only after heavy fighting that 

brought the Iranians to the outskirts of Basra, Iraq’s second largest city. Even though 

the chances of Basra falling appeared remote, Iran’s battlefield successes suggested a 

looming strategic shift in the war in Iran’s favor. In March, Iran resumed its attacks 

on Gulf shipping, scoring eight hits, all but one against non-Arab vessels.64

The turning point resulting in U.S. intervention was Kuwait’s request in November-December 1986 for Western and Soviet protection against further Iranian 

attacks on its shipping.65 Until that time, the Joint Chiefs had held stubbornly to 

their current force strategy under which for years they had managed to limit U.S. 

commitments in the region. Playing down the impact of renewed threats to shipping, the JCS cautioned against hasty action. Indeed, during interagency deliberations extending from late 1986 into early 1987, Admiral Crowe and members of his 

staff made the point repeatedly that while they appreciated the seriousness of the 

situation, they saw the Kuwaiti request as opening Pandora’s Box by pressuring the 

United States to protect other noncombatants’ shipping. As Crowe later recalled: 
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“I had done more agonizing over this issue than over any other since my appointment as Chairman.”66

After weighing the pros and cons, President Reagan concluded that the resumption of Iranian raids on Kuwaiti shipping, coupled with the possibility of direct 

Soviet intervention, left the United States no choice but to play a more active and 

direct role. By early March 1987, hoping to head off Soviet involvement, he and his 

advisors settled on a policy of escorting 11 Kuwaiti tankers reflagged as American 

vessels, part of a multinational effort to protect shipping in the Gulf.67 Working out 

the details fell to Admiral Crowe, who arrived in Kuwait a few days later on a previously scheduled visit to the Middle East. By the time he returned to Washington, 

Crowe was convinced that reflagging the Kuwaiti tankers held the key not only to 

the maintenance of regional stability, but also to the preservation of friendly relations with the Arab world. “My conclusion,” he recalled, “was that we should go 

into the Persian Gulf . . . because it was the best chance we had to repair our Arab 

policy and to make some significant headway in an area where it was absolutely 

crucial for us to forge the strongest ties we could manage.”68

Operation Earnest Will

The ensuing escort operation (Earnest Will) finally got underway in July 1987 and 

lasted until September 1988. Though undertaken on a multinational basis, it had 

only token contributions from other Western countries and was predominantly a 

U.S.-led and U.S.-directed affair. At its height, Earnest Will involved 27 U.S. surface 

vessels and 13,700 American Service personnel. It was also the first major test of 

the recently reconstituted joint system under the Goldwater-Nichols Act. Over 

the years, the Rapid Deployment Force and its successor, U.S. Central Command 

(USCENTCOM), had done extensive planning for ground and air operations in 

the Middle East. But having been unable to find a well-qualified senior naval officer 

for his staff, the USCINCCENT, General George B. Crist, Jr., USMC, had as yet 

made limited headway toward developing a maritime plan for the region. Seeking 

to consolidate his authority, Crist sought full control of the operation and in so doing found himself at odds with his Navy counterparts. In late August 1987, to end 

the squabbling, Secretary of Defense Weinberger established a new subcommand—

Joint Task Force Middle East (JTFME)—headed by a naval officer, Rear Admiral Dennis M. Brooks, who exercised day-to-day responsibility for escort duties, 

while Crist oversaw strategic direction of the operation from his headquarters in 

Tampa, Florida.69
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This inauspicious introduction to the era of “jointness” under GoldwaterNichols was soon followed by the need for a wholesale reappraisal of the U.S. role 

and objectives under Earnest Will. As originally envisioned, the operation was to 

have been a fairly passive enterprise focusing on escort functions. But by the time 

it commenced, the security situation in the Persian Gulf had deteriorated to the 

point that U.S. warships were becoming as much the target as commercial shipping. 

A case in point was the cruise missile attack against the American frigate USS Stark

on May 17, 1987, by an Iraqi fighter that nearly sank the ship and left 37 U.S. sailors 

dead. Though the Iraqis promptly apologized, insisting that the attack had been a 

mistake, the incident underscored the dangers involved by the very presence of U.S. 

warships in the Persian Gulf and helped to usher in a more aggressive approach by 

the Joint Chiefs toward their escort responsibilities.

The Iraqi attack on the Stark notwithstanding, the assumption in the Pentagon 

and at USCENTCOM headquarters continued to be that Iran was the principal 

troublemaker and the most likely to come into conflict with U.S. forces. Operating 

on that assumption, JCS planners expected the Iranian threat to take several forms. 

With replacement parts and pilots in short supply, Iran had all but abandoned air attacks on shipping since the spring of 1986 and had turned to unconventional tactics 

carried out by Revolutionary Guards, who proved adept at hit-and-run raids using 

small speedboats and powerful rocket-propelled grenades. At the same time, Iran 

also acquired a small arsenal of short-range Chinese SILKWORM antiship missiles, which it deployed adjacent to the Strait of Hormuz and on the Faw Peninsula 

within range of Kuwait.70 The most dangerous and persistent threat, however, came 

from Iranian antiship mines. Initially, the Iranians denied any involvement in mining 

operations. But on September 21, 1987, a U.S. Army helicopter-gunship, flying from 

a Navy frigate, strafed and disabled the Iran Ajr, a converted Iranian troop ship, as it 

was laying mines in the path of the convoying oil tankers. The next day, U.S. Navy 

SEALS boarded the ship and seized a sizable cache of military documents confirming Iran’s involvement in mine-laying and other operations.71

Following the Iran Ajr incident, American and Iranian forces became engaged 

in a steadily escalating contest for control of the Persian Gulf. By the end of 1987, 

Iranian attacks on shipping were up 53 percent over the year before. Avoiding ships 

under U.S. escort, the Iranians concentrated their attacks on vessels without protection. As a result, the JCS came under mounting pressure (primarily from Saudi 

Arabia) to expand the scale and scope of the U.S. protection regime by providing 

assistance, upon request, to all nonbelligerent vessels under attack. On April 14, 1988, 

the on-again-off-again conflict finally boiled over when the missile frigate USS 

Samuel B. Roberts found itself in the middle of a freshly laid Iranian minefield. In 
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attempting to escape the Roberts suffered heavy damage when it struck one of the 

mines. U.S. retaliation was inevitable. 

The day after the incident, Admiral Crowe attended a breakfast meeting at the 

Pentagon hosted by Secretary of Defense Frank C. Carlucci to discuss retaliatory 

measures. Also present were Secretary of State Shultz and the President’s assistant for 

national security affairs, Lieutenant General Colin L. Powell, USA. Feeling that the 

United States had exercised restraint long enough, Crowe, with Carlucci’s support, 

urged destruction of an Iranian warship to demonstrate that “we were willing to 

exact a serious price.” Around 11 a.m., the meeting adjourned to the White House, 

where President Reagan joined in. In the President’s mind there was no doubt that 

retaliation was imperative. Moreover, he offered no objection to further military action should Iran resist or challenge U.S. forces. Around noon, Crowe placed a secure 

telephone call to Crist at USCENTCOM headquarters in Tampa, Florida, relaying 

the President’s decision and setting in motion Operation Praying Mantis, which got 

underway on April 18.72

The immediate targets were the Sassan and Sirri gas-oil platforms in the central and southern Persian Gulf. While it was against U.S. policy to attack “economic” 

targets, these (like other Iranian oil platforms) were heavily fortified and served as 

bases for raids on shipping. Only the Sirri platform was still pumping oil.73 In retaliation for the destruction of the oil rigs, Iranian air and naval forces counterattacked, 

precipitating a major naval battle. During the engagement, U.S. air and surface units, 

using laser-guided bombs and other advanced technologies, destroyed a missile patrol boat and several smaller craft, sank the British-built Iranian frigate Sahand, and 

severely damaged its sister ship, the Sabalan. By the time the engagement was over, 

Iran had lost half of its navy. The only U.S. loss, apparently the result of a mechanical 

failure, was a Cobra attack helicopter and its two-member crew.74 Still, in assessing 

the overall outcome, Crowe was quite pleased. Feeling that the United States had 

made a much more forceful statement of its resolve this time around, he was also 

deeply impressed by the high degree of joint action achieved in the field.75

By mid-1988, with its economy in a shambles, much of its navy at the bottom 

of the Persian Gulf, and its air force down to a handful of flyable planes, Iran was 

no longer in a position to mount a serious challenge to the United States. Sensing that the worst had passed, JCS planners began to prepare for the drawdown of 

U.S. forces. In April 1988, for air defense purposes, the Navy added an Aegis missile 

cruiser, the USS Vincennes, to its flotilla operating in the Persian Gulf. The decision 

to do so was at the instigation of the NSC Staff, which wanted to avoid a repetition 

of the Stark incident, and went against the better judgment of JCS and Navy planners, who considered Aegis cruisers ill-suited to the relatively shallow “green water” 
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environment of the Persian Gulf.76 According to Admiral Crowe, who reluctantly 

supported the NSC’s recommendation, the deployment of the Vincennes was a belated development and came about only after intelligence reports that the Iranians, 

having become desperate, were reconfiguring what was left of their air force to 

attack U.S. warships.77

On July 3, 1988, while on patrol duty in the Persian Gulf, the Vincennes shot 

down an Iranian civilian airliner, killing all 290 passengers and crew aboard. Unable 

to distinguish one type of plane from another, the Vincennes’ radar mistook the airliner for an Iranian F–14, which had been prowling the same area the past few days. 

Immediately after, as if sobered by the incident, Iran and Iraq dramatically scaled 

back their military operations in the Persian Gulf. The last reported attack against 

neutral shipping by either belligerent occurred on July 20. Having fought one another almost continuously for 8 years, both sides were showing marked signs of 

war-weariness, especially Iran. The end of the war was anticlimactic, as Iran and Iraq 

both grudgingly accepted a UN-brokered cease-fire, which took effect on August 

20, 1988. Escorts ended a month later, though as a precaution the Navy continued 

to operate a less demanding regime of protection, termed an “accompany mission,” 

that lasted until June 1989.

Throughout Earnest Will, the approaching end of the Cold War undoubtedly 

allowed the Joint Chiefs to operate more freely and to take greater risks. A major 

factor in Middle East politics from the mid-1950s on, the Soviet Union was barely 

noticeable during the escort operation and its aftermath. Still, it was the possibility 

that Moscow might steal the march on the West by taking over protection of Kuwait’s tankers that prodded the United State into action in the first place. Though 

not as strong as it was, the specter of Soviet power remained a formidable factor.

Overall, however, the demise of Soviet power was steadily reshaping JCS perceptions of American security interests and the accompanying need for military 

forces. For two generations, the Joint Chiefs had framed their assessments of U.S. 

defense requirements around the dangers posed by a nuclear-armed Soviet Union 

and its satellites. But by the end of the Reagan Presidency, the chiefs’ image of the 

Communist threat had begun to change. Although they still credited the Soviet 

Union as having formidable military capabilities, they could not ignore the emerging changes in Soviet policy instigated by new leadership in Moscow. While it was 

too soon to tell with certainty how the Gorbachev reforms would play out, one 

clearly intended result was to loosen the Soviet military’s grip on resources. Should 

that trend continue, it would doubtless fundamentally alter JCS perceptions of their 

own military requirements. 
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In sum, as the Reagan administration drew to a close, decades of tension and 

competition between East and West were starting to give way, a situation far different from only 8 years earlier. Whether the current rapprochement would last or, like 

“peaceful coexistence” and détente degenerate into another round of the Cold War, 

remained to be seen. As usual, the Joint Chiefs were cautiously optimistic, not wanting to let down their guard but aware also that change was in the air. They could 

sense that they were entering a period of transition but could not as yet foresee its 

outcome or full impact. 

Notes

1 On the background and origins of the JCS reorganization debate, see Gordon Nathaniel Lederman, Reorganizing the Joint Chiefs of Staff: The Goldwater-Nichols Act of 1986

(Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1999), chaps. 1–2; Daniel Wirls, Buildup: The Politics of 

Defense in the Reagan Era (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992), 79–101; and Archie D. 

Barrett, Reappraising Defense Organization (Washington, DC: National Defense University Press, 1983).

2 CM-79-78 to SECDEF, September 1, 1978, “National Military Command Structure 

and Departmental Headquarters Studies,” U, JCS 1977/409-5.

3 Interview with General David C. Jones, USAF (Ret.), by Walter S. Poole and Steven L. 

Rearden, February 4, 1998, Arlington, VA.

4 James R. Locher III, Victory on the Potomac: The Goldwater–Nichols Act Unifies the Pentagon (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 2002), 33–37.

5 David C. Jones, “Why the Joint Chiefs of Staff Must Change,” Armed Forces Journal 

International (March 1982), 62–72.

6 Edward C. Meyer, “The JCS—How Much Reform Is Needed?” Armed Forces Journal 

International (April 1982), 82–90.

7 CM-143-82 to SECDEF, November 22, 1982, “JCS Reorganization,” JCS Reorganization Notebook No. 3, JHO; see also Locher, 79–80.

8 JCS Historical Division, Organizational Development of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1942–1989

(Washington, DC: Joint Secretariat, Joint Chiefs of Staff, November 1989), 60–62.

9 P.L. 98-525, October 19, 1984; H. Rpt. No. 98-1080.

10 “CJCS Guidance to the OJCS Special Study Group,” January 7, 1985, JHO Collection.

11 NSDD 175, “Establishment of a Blue Ribbon Commission on Defense Management,” 

June 17, 1985, U, available at <http://www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/nsdd/nsdd-175.htm>.

12 CM-152-86 to Service chiefs, January 29, 1986, “Nomination and Selection of Quality Officers for Assignment to OJCS,” U; and CM-153-86 to Directors and Heads of 

Agencies, OJCS, January 29, 1986, “Selection of Officers to the OJCS,” U, both in JHO 

15-009.

13 See Crowe’s testimony in U.S. Congress, House, Committee on Armed Services, Subcommittee on Investigations, Hearings: Reorganization of the Department of Defense, 99:2 
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(Washington, DC: GPO, 1986), 343; see also Lederman, Reorganization of the JCS, 72, 138 

note no. 39.

14 William J. Crowe, Jr., The Line of Fire (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1993), 148.

15 JCSM-397-85 to SECDEF, November 13, 1985, “Joint and Service Improvement Initiatives,” U, JHO 15-006; Crowe, Line of Fire, 155.

16 JCSM-401-85 to SECDEF, November 12, 1985, “DOD Organization,” U, JHO 15-006.

17 Letter, Weinberger to Goldwater, December 2, 1985, U, JHO 15-007.

18 Crowe, Line of Fire, 158–159; Locher, 423–424.

19 Letter, Crowe to Aspin, August 13, 1986, U, JHO 15-0012.

20 Congressional Quarterly Almanac, 1986, 459. Although a major event in the history of the 

Department of Defense, passage of the Goldwater-Nichols Act received no mention in 

either Reagan’s or Weinberger’s memoirs.

21 See Christopher M. Bourne, “Unintended Consequences of the Goldwater-Nichols 

Act,” Joint Force Quarterly (Spring 1998), 103–104.

22 Crowe, Line of Fire, 160.

23 CM-424-86 to DJS, November 6, 1986, “OJCS Restructuring,” U; and DJSM 1915-86 

to Directors and Heads of Agencies, OJCS, November 7, 1986, “OJCS Restructuring 

Directive,” U, both in JHO 15-0012; Organizational Development of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, 

1942–1989 (Washington, DC: Historical Division, Joint Secretariat, Joint Chiefs of Staff, 

November 1989), 64–65.

24 Crowe, Line of Fire, 159.

25 CM-660-87 to SECDEF, April 6, 1987, “Duties of the VCJCS,” U, JHO 15-0012; Memo, 

SECDEF to CJCS, April 15, 1987, “Duties of the VCJCS,” U, in notebook labeled 

“OCJCS Restructuring Nov 1987,” JHO Collection.

26 CM-465-86 to CNO, December 5, 1986, “Implementation of the Special Operations 

Command,” U; DJSM 226-87 to SECDEF, February 6, 1987, “Timely Advice,” U, both 

in OCJCS Restructuring November 1987 Notebook, JHO Collection.

27 See Paul Y. Hammond, “Fulfilling the Promise of the Goldwater-Nichols Act in Operational Planning and Command,” in James A. Blackwell, Jr., and Barry M. Blechman, 

eds., Making Defense Reform Work (Washington, DC: Brassey’s, 1990), 127–129.

28 Crowe, Line of Fire, 161.

29 Richard L. Kugler, Commitment to Purpose: How Alliance Partnership Won the Cold War 

(Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1993), 428–430; John S. Duffield, Power Rules: The Evolution 

of NATO’s Conventional Force Posture (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1995), 227.

30 Though Rogers was instrumental as Army Chief of Staff and SACEUR in promoting 

the AirLand Battle concept, much of the inspiration behind the idea came from two successive heads of the U.S. Army’s Training and Doctrine Command (TRADOC)—General William E. DuPuy and General Donn A. Starry. See John L. Romjue, “The Evolution 

of the AirLand Battle Concept,” Air University Review 35 (May–June 1984), 4–15.

31 Bernard W. Rogers, “Follow-on Forces Attack: Myths and Realities,” NATO Review, 

No. 6 (December 1984), 1–9.
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32 William E. Odom, The Collapse of the Soviet Military (New Haven: Yale University Press, 

1998), 75–78.

33 According to General Sir Peter de la Billière, who led British troops during Desert 

Shield/Desert Storm in 1990-1991, efforts by the British Army of the Rhine to assemble 

one fully operational armored brigade for that operation “turned the whole system 

inside-out.” “Some of our armoured vehicles were old and plain worn out; others 

were run down and not properly maintained or else not used due to the lack of spares, 

money and training.” General Sir Peter de la Billière, Storm Command: A Personal Account 

of the Gulf War (London: HarperCollins, 1992), 26.

34 Gordon S. Barrass, The Great Cold War: A Journey Through the Hall of Mirrors (Stanford, 

CA: Stanford University Press, 2009), 341.

35 Mikhail Gorbachev, Memoirs, trans. by Georges Peronansky and Tatjana Varsavsky (New 

York: Doubleday, 1995), 401f.

36 Joint Staff, United States Military Posture FY 1989, 1–9 and passim, U, JHO 13-005.

37 Ronald Reagan, An American Life (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1990), 615; Gorbachev quoted in Jonathan Haslam, Russia’s Cold War (New Haven: Yale University 

Press, 2011), 354.

38 Maynard W. Glitman, The Last Battle of the Cold War: An Inside Account of Negotiating the 

Intermediate Range Nuclear Forces Treaty (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006), 117–119.

39 Reagan Diary, October 27, 1986, available at <http://www.reaganlibrary.com/white–

house–diary.aspx>.

40 Joseph P. Harahan, On–Site Inspections Under the INF Treaty (Washington, DC: On–

Site Inspection Agency, U.S. Department of Defense, 1993), 169–175, reprints the INF 

Treaty. The treaty did away with 2,692 missiles and banned eight types of systems. For 

the NATO powers, these were the Pershing II, the BGM–109 ground–launched cruise 

missile, and the Pershing 1A. For the Soviet Union, they were the SS–20, SS–4, SS–5, 

SS–12, and SS–23. Two missiles that had been tested but not deployed were also banned 

because of their ranges: the U.S. Pershing 1B and the Soviet SSC–X-4 cruise missile.

41 Joseph D. Douglass, Jr., The Soviet Theater Nuclear Offensive (Washington, DC: Office 

of Director of Defense Research and Engineering, Net Technical Assessment, 1976), 

examines the origins of this strategy and his philosophic underpinnings.

42 Haslam, 359.

43 Akhromeyev quoted in George P. Shultz, Turmoil and Triumph: My Years as Secretary of 

State (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1993), 1012.

44 Barrass, 212–214, 342–343; Odom, 134–135.

45 Hugh A. Williams, “Flexible Response and the INF Treaty: What Next? (Study Project, 

U.S. Army War College, Carlisle Barracks, PA, March 14, 1988), 1, 13–17.

46 Crowe, Line of Fire, 264.

47 “Remarks on the Departure of General Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev,” December 10, 

1987, Reagan Public Papers, 1987, 1498–1499.

48 Reagan, An American Life, 697–705; Raymond L. Garthoff, Détente and Confrontation: 

American-Soviet Relations from Nixon to Reagan (Washington, DC: Brookings, 1994, rev. 

ed.).
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49 Shultz, 1086–1087.

50 Tom Rogers, The Soviet Withdrawal from Afghanistan: Analysis and Chronology (Westport, 

CT: Greenwood Press, 1992), 31–36.

51 Brian L. Davis, Qaddafi, Terrorism, and the Origins of the U.S. Attack on Libya (New York: 

Praeger, 1990), 18.

52 NSDD 179, July 20, 1985, “Task Force on Combatting [sic] Terrorism,” available at 

<http://www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/nsdd/nsdd-179.htm>.

53 Diary Entry, April 7, 1986, Douglas Brinkley, ed., The Reagan Diaries (New York: HarperCollins, 2007), 402–403. Also see Charles G. Cogan, “The Response of the Strong to 

the Weak: The American Raid on Libya, 1986,” Intelligence and National Security 6 (July 

1991), 618.

54 Stanik, Operation Eldorado Canyon, 176–205, summarizes the operation. For criticism of 

the operation as a joint endeavor, see John F. Lehman, Command of the Seas (New York: 

Charles Scribners’ Sons, 1988), 300–301; and Davis, 120.

55 Quoted in Margaret Thatcher, The Downing Street Years (New York: HarperCollins, 

1993), 444.

56 U.S. Congress, Report of the Congressional Committees Investigating the Iran–Contra Affair, 

100:1 H. Rpt. No. 100-433 and S. Rpt. No. 100-216 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1987), 

64–65.

57 PL 99-500, October 18, 1986. See also NSDD 248 (sanitized), “Central America,” 

available at <http://www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/nsdd/nsdd-248.htm> (accessed July 19, 

2011).

58 Robert Kagan, A Twilight Struggle: American Power and Nicaragua, 1977–1990 (New York: 

Free Press, 1996), 588–589.

59 Brinkley, 587–588.

60 See James A. Baker, III, with Thomas M. DeFrank, The Politics of Diplomacy: Revolution, 

War and Peace, 1989–1992 (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1995), 48–53.

61 Michael A. Palmer, Guardians of the Gulf: A History of America’s Expanding Role in the 

Persian Gulf, 1833–1992 (New York: Free Press, 1992), 116–117.

62 Entry, June 11, 1981, Brinkley 25.

63 Entry, February 11, 1987, Ibid., 474.

64 Nadia El–Sayed El–Shazly, The Gulf Tanker War: Iran and Iraq’s Maritime Swordplay (London: Macmillan, 1998), 224–225.

65 Palmer, 122–123.

66 Crowe, Line of Fire, 180.

67 Caspar Weinberger, Fighting for Peace (New York: Warner Books, 1990), 397; Shultz, 925–

926.

68 Crowe, Line of Fire, 181.

69 Palmer, 132.

70 U.S. intelligence identified these missiles as the HY–2, a Chinese copy of the Sovietmade SS–N-2 STYX. The Joint Staff referred to these missiles as the SILKWORM, a 

generic term used to encompass several slightly different models.
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71 Weinberger, Fighting for Peace, 414–415; El–Shazly, 248.

72 Crowe, Line of Fire, 200–201.

73 Hans S. Pawlisch, “Operation Praying Mantis,” Appendix A in Palmer, On Course to 

Desert Storm, 141–146, places output of the Sirri platform at around 180,000 barrels per 

day.

74 David B. Crist, Gulf of Conflict: A History of U.S.–Iranian Confrontation at Sea, Policy 

Focus No. 95 (Washington, DC: Washington Institute for Near East Policy, 2009), 8–9.

75 Crowe, Line of Fire, 201–202.

76 Palmer, 146.

77 CM-1485-88 to SECDEF, August 18, 1988, “Formal Investigation into the Circumstances Surrounding the Downing of Iran Air Flight 655 on 3 July 1988,” (declassified), 

887/546 (July 28, 1988); and <http://www.dod.mil/pubs/foi/reading_room/172.pdf>.
General Colin L. Powell, USA, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, 1989–1993
Chapter 16

Ending the Cold War

Reagan and Gorbachev met for the last time in New York City in December 1988. 

By then the two leaders had developed an easy collaboration that both hoped would 

carry over into the presidency of Reagan’s recently elected successor, George H.W. 

Bush. A former member of Congress, Director of Central Intelligence, ambassador 

to China, and Reagan’s vice president for 8 years, Bush came to the White House 

with more practical experience in national security affairs than any President since 

Eisenhower. As part of his agenda while in New York, Gorbachev addressed the 

UN General Assembly and used the occasion to announce that the Soviet Union 

would unilaterally reduce its armed forces by half a million men and withdraw 

50,000 troops and 5,000 tanks from Eastern Europe over the next 2 years. Moscow, 

Gorbachev insisted, wanted military forces only for defensive purposes and would 

use them for nothing else. A dramatic, headline-grabbing gesture, Gorbachev’s announcement convinced Secretary of State George Shultz that the Cold War was 

more than drawing to a close. Indeed, Shultz insisted: “It was over.”1

While Shultz’s declaration may have been premature, it aptly captured the prevailing mood. After decades of tension and confrontation, the prospect of establishing a 

peaceful modus vivendi between East and West was too appealing for anyone, including 

the Joint Chiefs, to ignore. Practically no one expected the Soviet Union to disappear 

or its Warsaw Pact allies to lay down their arms. But with Gorbachev continuing to 

tender the olive branch, the opportunities for normalizing relations, settling differences 

in a peaceful atmosphere, and creating new partnerships seemed measurably improved.

Policy in Transition 

Like others in Washington, the Joint Chiefs were hard pressed to draw a fully coherent picture of the future from the rapid changes taking place in East-West relations. 

Typically cautious, they believed that relaxed tensions with the Soviet Union offered 

opportunities to improve relations but were reluctant to let down their guard. Their 

attitude at the outset of the Bush administration remained essentially the same as it 

had been during the last few years of Reagan’s Presidency when the motto had been 

“Trust but verify.” The Bush White House was of a similar persuasion, eager to explore 

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the settlement of outstanding issues yet leery of taking too much for granted. As the 

new national security advisor, Lieutenant General Brent Scowcroft, USAF (Ret.), 

recalled: “I was suspicious of Gorbachev’s motives and skeptical of his prospects.”2

Scowcroft’s concerns were not unfounded. True, there had been dramatic 

improvements in East-West relations since Gorbachev’s advent and the signing of 

the 1987 INF Treaty. But since then, progress in the strategic arms reduction talks 

and parallel negotiations aimed at limiting conventional forces in Europe had been 

negligible. Gorbachev’s pledge to withdraw 50,000 troops from Europe may have 

sounded like a major concession, but to the Joint Chiefs of Staff and other military 

experts it would do little to alter the overall strategic balance, which remained 

heavily weighted toward the Warsaw Pact. Despite denials by Gorbachev, reports 

reaching the West also pointed to a high priority Soviet program to develop a new 

range of biological weapons.3

 Meanwhile, Moscow continued to pursue policies in 

other areas that were inimical to U.S. interests. Even as it withdrew its troops from 

Afghanistan, the Soviet Union still poured heavy amounts of assistance into propping up a pro-Communist regime in Kabul. Likewise, it remained a firm ally of the 

Sandinistas in Nicaragua who, with the help of Cubans and East Germans, continued to export Communist revolution throughout Central America. 

Thus, even though the Cold War might have appeared to be over, the Bush administration found itself up against problems that suggested an ongoing, albeit lower-keyed, 

competition with the Soviet Union. Neither friend nor foe, Moscow fell awkwardly in 

between. Pointing to the “challenges and uncertainties” that the waning Cold War presented, President Bush decided to launch a comprehensive review of basic U.S. policy 

(designated NSR 12) shortly after taking office.4

 Among other things, he wanted to 

know how he should balance policy toward Moscow with the steady decline of support for defense spending, a reflection of expectations in Congress and with the public 

at large that as East-West relations improved, the United States could reduce the size of 

its armed forces. Actually, the process of reaping a “peace dividend” was well underway. 

From consuming a post-Vietnam high of 6.6 percent of the country’s GNP in fiscal 

years 1986 and 1987, national defense had declined to 5.8 percent by the time President 

Bush entered the Oval Office. When he left in 1993, it would be down to 4.7 percent, 

the lowest since the end of demobilization immediately following World War II.5

Within the Pentagon, a debate quickly developed between the Office of the 

Secretary of Defense and the Joint Staff over how and where to allocate resources 

to meet the “challenges and uncertainties” mentioned in the President’s directive. 

OSD wanted to maintain the force structure more or less within its current configuration, with a continuing focus on Europe, while the Joint Staff wanted to strike 

a balance with other regions of the world. Assuming a low level of threat to Europe 
E N D IN G THE C OL D W AR

481

and a reduced force posture in years to come, JCS planners sought to make better 

use of available resources by shifting from the Cold War strategy of “forward defense,” with forces deployed at static points along the Soviet Union’s periphery, to a 

strategy of “forward presence” emphasizing flexibility to move forces around and to 

insert them as needed in the event of regional contingencies.6

As these debates were taking place, events in Eastern Europe were acquiring a 

dynamic of their own, bringing down one Communist regime after another over 

the course of 1989 and culminating in the toppling of the infamous Berlin Wall 

that November. Unable to keep up with the rapid changes sweeping Europe, the 

Bush administration suspended work on NSR 12 and several other reviews it had 

requested on the future of U.S.-Soviet relations until things settled down. Rather 

than relying on recapitulations of past policies, President Bush wanted fresh ideas 

and new insights.7

 As Colin Powell later remarked, NSR 12 failed to measure up 

and became “doomed to the dustbin.”8

 All the same, not all was lost. Out of the 

give and take connected with the project at the Pentagon emerged a new National 

Military Strategy for 1992–1997 (NMS 92-97), which Admiral Crowe, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, submitted to Secretary of Defense Richard B. Cheney and 

President Bush in late August 1989. Though not as far reaching a change as the Joint 

Staff had originally intended, the new strategy—described by the Chairman as “forward defense through forward presence”—clearly downplayed prior commitments 

to Europe and stressed instead the role of force projection and flexible response to 

deal with regional crises and instability and to preserve worldwide U.S. influence.9

Powell’s Impact as Chairman 

Presentation of the new National Military Strategy was one of Admiral Crowe’s last 

formal functions as Chairman. On October 1, 1989, he relinquished his duties to General Colin L. Powell, USA, the first African-American to become Chairman, and at age 

52 the youngest CJCS. A product of the Reserve Officers’ Training Corps program at 

City College of New York, Powell had served two tours in Vietnam, earning two purple 

hearts, and had decided to make the Army his career. A rising star, his military duty for 

the next two decades alternated between field assignments and high-profile jobs in 

Washington either at the Pentagon or the White House. During the Reagan years, he 

served as military assistant to Secretary of Defense Weinberger and as the President’s assistant for national security affairs from 1987 to 1989. Promoted to general in April 1989, 

he served briefly as head of U.S. Army Forces Command (FORSCOM), then a JCS 

specified command, at Fort McPherson, Georgia, before President Bush named him as 

Crowe’s successor, passing over about a dozen more senior officers.10
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With Powell’s appointment as Chairman, the 1986 Goldwater-Nichols Act finally 

came of age. While Crowe had done a faithful job of implementing the law, his tenure 

had straddled two stools, from the corporate decisionmaking practices that had existed 

prior to Goldwater-Nichols, to the new era that vested primary authority and responsibility in the CJCS. Embracing an evolution-not-revolution philosophy, Crowe had 

made changes slowly in order to gain the Service chiefs’ cooperation and confidence in 

the new system. Though he had restructured the Joint Staff to meet Goldwater-Nichols requirements, his alterations were relatively minor and basically involved reshuffling 

existing offices and personnel. In February 1989, seeing room for improvement, the 

Director of the Joint Staff, Lieutenant General Hansford T. Johnson, USAF, initiated 

an in-depth review of Joint Staff functions, looking to reduce Service influence while 

broadening the scope of Joint Staff participation in DOD affairs. The immediate results, 

however, were minimal. Overall, the Joint Staff continued to operate much as it had, as 

a long-range planning and strategic advisory body dominated by inter-Service committees whose officers’ primary loyalty remained to their respective Services.11

Under Powell the emphasis within the Joint Staff shifted to addressing more 

current affairs and to providing up-to-date joint assessments to assist the Chairman 

and the Secretary of Defense in the policy process. Determined to exercise the powers given him under Goldwater-Nichols, Powell siphoned off the best officers from 

the Services. In so doing he vastly enhanced the stature, influence, and effectiveness 

of the Joint Staff over the Service staffs and within the interagency system.12 With 

representation at practically every level, the Joint Staff was assured “a seat at the table” 

in every major policy discussion and could assert its prestige and power on a range of 

issues extending beyond those of the Chairman’s personal interest. In sharp contrast to 

the ponderous methods associated with it in years past, the post-Goldwater-Nichols 

Joint Staff as Powell redesigned it acquired a reputation for incisive and fast responses. 

The upshot was a more visible, active, and aggressive Joint Staff with institutionalized 

influence placing it on a par with OSD, the State Department, the CIA, and other established agencies in the policy process. By the time he returned to civilian life, Powell 

considered it “the finest military staff anywhere in the world.”13

Like Crowe, Powell placed high priority on developing effective working relationships with the Service chiefs and his deputy, the Vice Chairman. The serving Vice 

Chairman when Powell took office was General Robert T. Herres, USAF, who opted 

for early retirement in 1990. Both he and his successor, Admiral David E. Jeremiah, 

USN, were able and respected officers. A former astronaut, Herres had been first head 

of the United States Space Command, while Jeremiah was a former naval task force 

commander in the Mediterranean and fiscal advisor to the Secretary of the Navy. In 

theory, they functioned as the Chairman’s alter ego. But like all deputies, they operated 
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in their boss’s shadow and performed whatever chores he might assign, more often

than not the less glamorous administrative tasks.

The situation with respect to the Service chiefs was more delicate and complicated. With the strength of Goldwater-Nichols behind him, Powell knew that he 

was under no obligation to seek a corporate consensus before making recommendations. But after friction developed over his handling of the base force plan (see 

below), he realized that it was preferable to have the chiefs’ cooperation and support 

than their opposition. Taking the lesson to heart, he met with them over 50 times 

during Operation Desert Shield/Desert Storm but held most of the meetings in his 

private office rather than in the “tank,” thereby removing all doubt as to who was in 

charge. Attempting to establish an air of collegiality, he sought to work with the Service chiefs as a team and often referred to the JCS as the “six brothers.” Yet he was 

also not averse to acting on his own when he deemed it necessary and thought it 

more important to win the approval of the Secretary of Defense and the President.14

According to journalist Rick Atkinson, Powell was “the most politically deft” CJCS 

since Maxwell Taylor.15 Having been Weinberger’s protégé and Reagan’s national security advisor, Powell knew the ins and outs of power as well as anyone and moved easily 

in the rarified atmosphere of high-level policymaking. Under Bush, he was welcomed 

immediately into the President’s “Core Group” of close friends and advisors.16 One of 

the assets he brought with him as Chairman was a personal familiarity with many senior 

members of the Bush administration, including the President himself. Even though 

Bush wanted his administration to be distinct and separate, not merely an extension of 

his predecessor’s, there were still many familiar faces from Reagan’s presidency. Powell 

was on a first-name basis with practically all of them. As much as anything, Powell’s influence derived from the thoroughgoing sense of professionalism he projected and what 

President Bush described as the Chairman’s “quiet, efficient” manner.17

At the Pentagon, Powell’s most difficult challenge was to develop a productive 

partnership with his immediate superior, Secretary of Defense Richard B. Cheney. 

A former congressman from Wyoming, Cheney impressed Powell as incisive, smart, 

and tough. Yet even though the two generally worked well together most of the 

time, there were stresses and strains in their relationship which, according to one 

account, left “an intellectual divide and a residue of mistrust” between them that 

lasted for years.18 Cheney took a narrow view of the Chairman’s advisory role and 

on more than one occasion rebuked Powell for offering what he regarded as unsolicited political opinions. “I was not the National Security Advisor now,” Powell 

recalled; “I was only supposed to give military advice”19

Indeed, in dealing not only with Powell but with other senior officers, Cheney 

insisted on close civilian control and oversight of the military. Shortly after taking 
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office, he publicly reprimanded Air Force Chief of Staff General Larry D. Welch for 

“freelancing” to gain a congressional committee’s support for the Peacekeeper missile. Later, in September 1990, in part at Powell’s instigation, he fired Welch’s successor of less than 3 months, General Michael J. Dugan, for “poor judgment” stemming 

from comments Dugan made to the press about Iraq’s recent invasion of Kuwait 

and how the United States should respond. Aware of the Secretary’s sensitivities, 

Joint Staff action officers became increasingly cautious in their public remarks and 

learned to double check whatever they were working on with OSD to avoid any 

appearance of an “end run” around Cheney’s authority.20

While Powell left his mark as Chairman in many ways, one of his most wellknown contributions was the “doctrine” that bore his name concerning the use of 

military power. Modeled on six “tests” that Secretary of Defense Weinberger had 

enumerated in 1984, the Powell Doctrine laid out broad guidelines to help shape 

any decision committing U.S. forces to combat. Weinberger’s purpose had been to 

preempt critics and allay their concerns that the Reagan administration’s proactive 

use of military power might lead, as in Vietnam, to open-ended commitments or 

“unwinnable” wars.21 For Powell, the function of the guidelines he developed was 

more personal. Having witnessed the debacle in Vietnam first-hand, he resolved that 

the lessons of that war should not be lost. Powell was no pacifist, but his caution in 

committing U.S. troops to combat often frustrated and irritated his superiors. Some 

called him the “reluctant warrior.” As a professional soldier Powell believed that 

military force should be applied in careful and deliberate ways, with the full support 

of Congress and the American public, toward achieving identifiable political objectives, and that once involved in a conflict the United States should use all power at 

its disposal to bring the campaign to a swift and successful conclusion.22

Powell’s thoughts on these matters had been evolving for 20 years and came to 

fruition with his service as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, first in the aftermath of the 

Panama operation in 1989 and, later, in connection with the liberation of Kuwait. 

Though the JCS never formally endorsed the Powell Doctrine, parts of it found 

their way into an updated version of the National Military Strategy issued in 1992. 

Powell wanted to include a statement that the ability to use “overwhelming force,” 

as during the operations in Panama and Kuwait, was the most effective deterrent 

in a regional crisis. At the White House, however, the prevailing sentiment was that 

Powell’s prescription went too far. “I was strongly opposed to the Powell doctrine,” 

recalled Scowcroft. “I thought it precluded using force unless we went all out. I 

thought it was nonsense.”23 At the suggestion of Under Secretary of Defense Paul 

D. Wolfowitz, Powell toned down his rhetoric and called instead for the application 

of “decisive force,” a somewhat less explicit concept. Yet as far as Powell was concerned, the fundamental strategic purpose remained the same.24
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The Base Force Plan 

One of Powell’s most significant contributions as Chairman was his “base force” blueprint for the post-Cold War defense establishment. Although the Joint Chiefs had 

considerable experience in downsizing after previous wars, they had yet to find a 

formula that avoided fierce inter-Service rivalry and competition for dwindling resources, accompanied by a precipitous drop-off in the effectiveness of the Armed 

Forces. Past build-downs had invariably yielded low morale among the Services and a 

defense establishment of either hollow capabilities, as after World War II and Vietnam, 

or a seriously unbalanced force structure, as after Korea, that had severely constrained 

the plausible range of military options in crises. As they looked to the future, Cheney 

and Powell agreed that the post-Cold War demobilization should be different, and 

that it should retain the essential elements of a balanced, robust military.25

Developing the base force went hand in hand with fashioning a military strategy adapted to the emerging post-Cold War spectrum of threats. While Crowe had 

begun the process with the submission of NMS 92-97, his assessments still reflected a 

fairly rigid Cold War outlook, stressing preparations for global and regional conflicts. 

Powell’s first task was to interject greater flexibility into strategic planning. Expecting 

regional contingencies in Southwest Asia, the Far East, and Latin America to predominate, he downplayed the danger of a global war and made a leap of faith that the Soviet 

threat would steadily diminish. At the time, there was considerable uncertainty in the 

Intelligence Community over whether Gorbachev would remain in power and much 

speculation that sooner or later a conservative reaction would bring his authority and 

reforms to an end. Indeed, by 1990 there were signs that in response to these pressures, 

Gorbachev was veering toward a more conservative stance and that the process of 

reform and restructuring was losing its momentum.26 Powell assumed, however, that 

even though Gorbachev might waver from time to time, he would stay the course. 

Convinced that the Soviet Union was changing for the better, Powell believed that 

the Gorbachev reforms were practically irreversible and that the net effects would 

be a progressive weakening of centralized Communist Party authority, a decline in 

Soviet military power, and eventually the transformation of the Soviet Union into a 

federation or commonwealth-type state. One clear sign that Soviet power was on the 

wane was the disestablishment of the Warsaw Pact in the summer of 1991. In light of 

this and other evidence of diminishing Soviet authority, Powell anticipated a reduced 

need by the United States for either a large arsenal of expensive strategic weapons 

for deterrence purposes or costly ground and air forces built around fighting a war of 

attrition in Europe.27

During the early stages of planning the base force, estimated reductions for 

U.S. forces remained in flux. Projected manpower cutbacks ranged from a low of 10 
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Figure 16–1.

Comparison of Projected Base Force and 

Actual Convential Capabilities, FYs 1986–1999

FY 1986 

(Reagan Buildup)

FY 1991 (Actual at 

End of Cold War)

Projected Base 

Force by FY 1999

Active Duty Personnel 2.2 million 2 million 1.6 million

Army Active Divisions 18 16 12

Air Force Active Divisions TFWs 24 22 15

Navy Carriers* 13 12 13

Other Navy Combatants 363 307 259

USMC Divisions/Wing Teams 3/3 3/3 3/3

*Total is number of carriers on active duty; does not include one ship normally in service life extension and/or nuclear refueling 

overhaul and one training carrier.

Source: 1991 Joint Military Net Assessment (March 1991), chapter 3.

percent envisioned by the Office of the Secretary of Defense, to as much as 25 percent in planning papers generated by the Joint Staff. As it turned out, the JCS figure 

proved the more accurate.28 Based on his estimate of future strategic requirements, 

Powell saw no Service emerging unscathed, though he expected the cutbacks to fall 

most heavily on the Army and the Air Force. Anticipating strenuous objections from 

the Services (not to mention the “leaks” to the press that would inevitably follow), 

Powell avoided discussing these matters in detail with his JCS colleagues prior to 

briefing the Secretary of the Defense and the President.29

By late November, Powell had a green light from the Secretary and the President for further planning and had completed a preliminary round of consultations 

with his budget and resource advisors, the Service chiefs, and the combatant commanders. By then, the Berlin Wall had fallen and Communism was in open retreat 

across Eastern Europe. Even the most die-hard skeptics were coming around to the 

view that the Cold War was over and that the time was rapidly approaching to make 

corresponding adjustments in the U.S. force posture. Still, there were legitimate 

differences of opinion among the Service chiefs and the CINCs over where to cut 

and how far to go.30 Powell realized that with the power and authority he possessed 

under Goldwater-Nichols, he had no need to consult with anyone other than the 

President, the Secretary, and the NSC. But as an experienced military bureaucrat, he 
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also recognized that without the Service chiefs and the CINCs behind him, he was 

unlikely to get the cooperation he needed to carry his plan forward.

One of Powell’s main concerns as planning progressed was to avoid reductions 

imposed arbitrarily by either the OMB or Congress. The most serious challenge 

came from Senator Sam Nunn of Georgia, a prominent Democrat and chairman 

of the Senate Armed Services Committee. Focusing his public career on defense 

matters, Nunn had been instrumental in drafting the Goldwater-Nichols Act and 

had played a key role in a companion measure (the Nunn-Cohen Act) to bolster 

special operations forces by mandating the creation of a unified command for that 

purpose.31 Rumored to have his eye on a run for the Presidency, Nunn repeatedly 

accused the Bush administration of being slow to recognize the benefits of the Cold 

War’s demise. Nunn was well aware of the strong sentiment in Congress in favor of 

cutting defense and sought to turn it to his advantage. Urging fellow Democrats not 

to act rashly, he laid out an alternative strategic concept for the post-Cold War era 

which he termed “flexible readiness—high readiness for certain forces and adjustable readiness for others.” Elaborating his views in a series of speeches between late 

1989 and the spring of 1990, Nunn called for a large-scale pull-back of U.S. troops 

from Europe, greater reliance on tactical nuclear weapons for deterrence purposes, 

and increased emphasis on Reserve capabilities.32

Toward the end of April 1990, with Nunn nipping at his heels, Chairman Powell confirmed in a speech to the Council on Foreign Relations in Washington that, 

in response to the changes taking place in Eastern Europe and elsewhere, the Bush 

administration was reexamining its long-term military requirements. Shortly thereafter, he told the Washington Post that he was looking at reductions in force strength 

of up to 25 percent over the next 5 years.33 Predictably, cuts of such magnitude encountered objections from the Service chiefs, who had already agreed to significant 

reductions as part of the normal budget process. The base force cuts would be on 

top of that. But through continuous reworking of the figures and augmentations to 

the force structure here and there, Powell was able to overcome their resistance and 

produce a broadly acceptable plan.34

Accompanied by Secretary Cheney and Under Secretary of Defense Paul Wolfowitz, the Chairman briefed President Bush on June 26, 1990, on the development 

thus far of the base force plan and the strategic concept behind it. After a lengthy 

discussion Bush approved the plan and indicated he wanted to highlight it in a 

public speech. Delayed because of a mix-up between the White House and the 

Pentagon over who was responsible for drafting the speech, Bush finally unveiled 

his administration’s new defense strategy in an appearance at the Aspen Institute 

in Colorado on August 2, 1990, the same day Iraqi troops invaded and occupied 
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Kuwait. Though Bush offered few specifics, he confirmed that cutbacks of 25 percent in conventional forces were on the way by the end of the decade and that under the forward presence concept “regional contingencies” would replace Europe 

as the focus of future U.S. military planning. He also indicated that sooner or later 

there would be cutbacks in strategic forces as well, but implied that for the time 

being the requirements of preserving an “effective deterrent” while negotiating a 

Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty (START) with the Soviet Union would take precedence in determining the size and configuration of the strategic arsenal.35

While preparations to implement the base force plan were ongoing throughout 

the fall of 1990 and on into the winter of 1991, the emergency in Kuwait and the Bush 

administration’s decision to mount a military challenge to the Iraqi invasion left JCS 

planners in the awkward position of overseeing a major buildup in the Middle East 

even as they were preparing for general reductions in force levels. Budget estimates 

forwarded to Congress in February 1991 reflected some of these downward adjustments. As more details appeared, the vision grew of a permanent post-Cold War defense establishment of 1.6 million uniformed personnel (down from 2.2 million at the 

height of the Reagan buildup) organized into an Active-duty Army of 12 divisions, an 

Air Force of 15 tactical fighter wings, a Navy of 272 combatant vessels (including 13 

carriers), and a Marine Corps of 3 division-air wing teams.36

For some, especially those reluctant to admit that the Cold War was over, the Gulf 

War was a clear warning against large defense cuts. But for Chairman Powell, it was a 

distraction from the unavoidable process of adjusting to a new security environment 

in which large defense establishments would play a diminishing role. Once the Kuwait 

emergency was over, Powell expected calls from Congress and the public for a “peace 

dividend” to intensify. The base force was the most realistic way Powell saw of providing the expected cuts while avoiding the pitfalls of previous demobilizations and 

preserving a credible long-term defense posture. No one, least of all the Service chiefs, 

saw it as the ideal solution. But as regional contingencies and humanitarian assistance 

missions replaced the threat of a large-scale conflict in Europe as the country’s top 

security concerns, it became harder and harder to justify the maintenance of a defense 

establishment comparable in size and capabilities to that of the past.

Despite the time and energy invested in developing it, the base force concept 

proved relatively short-lived. Under the planning done by the Chairman and his aides, 

force structure targets were to be reached between fiscal years 1995 and 1997, with the 

overall structure firmly in place by FY99 (see figure 16–1). But with the change of administrations in 1993 came pressure to take a fresh look at the country’s defense posture 

and to achieve larger reductions. The result was the Clinton administration’s bottomup review (BUR), something the new President had promised during the campaign. 
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Resting on a strategic concept similar to that of the base force, the BUR continued to 

stress the importance of effective capabilities for regional conflicts, but envisioned force 

cuts of one-third or more and comparable savings in spending based on FY90 levels.37

A more ambitious agenda than Powell’s, the BUR’s goals also proved more difficult to 

achieve without producing shortfalls in capabilities which Joint Staff planners saw as 

increasing the level of risk in executing the approved military strategy.38

Operations in Panama 

As Powell grappled with shaping a new force structure, the kinds of post-Cold War 

problems he expected Washington to face were already beginning to appear. One 

was the uneasy situation in Panama, where the United States had enjoyed a military 

presence and well-established security interests for nearly a century. At the center of 

the controversy was Panamanian strongman Manuel Antonio Noriega, who came 

to power following the 1981 death of General Omar Torrijos in a suspicious airplane crash. A career soldier, Noriega had been Torrijos’ military intelligence chief 

and boasted that one of his jobs was to provide liaison between the CIA and Cuban 

president Fidel Castro.39 In August 1983, Noriega enhanced his position by promoting himself to general and becoming the de facto head of state. Shortly thereafter, he 

pressured the legislature into converting the National Guard into the Panama Defense 

Forces (PDF), over which he alone exercised authority. As his power grew, so did graft, 

corruption, illegal drug trafficking, and the repression of political opponents.

Throughout Noriega’s rise to power, the Joint Chiefs’ primary concerns were 

the security of the Panama Canal and the integrity of the extensive network of 

U.S. military installations in the former Canal Zone (CZ), where U.S. Southern 

Command (USSOUTHCOM) had its headquarters. While the 1977 Panama Canal 

Treaty had ended U.S. ownership and control of the canal, the United States and 

Panama continued to share joint responsibility for its defense until the end of 1999. 

After that, any further presence of U.S. forces in Panama would be by the agreement of both parties. Economically, there was little to justify continuing the U.S. 

military presence in Panama. The canal was too narrow to accommodate modern 

supertankers and other large ships, and by the 1980s its revenues had fallen into a 

steady decline, much to the consternation of the Panamanian government. But as 

long as there remained a leftist insurgency in nearby El Salvador and a Soviet and 

Cuban presence in Nicaragua, the JCS balked at giving up their base of operations. 

Now was not the time, the chiefs believed, to cut and run.

Despite Noriega’s unsavory reputation and brutish behavior, the Joint Chiefs 

were cautiously confident that they could do business with him. But as the political 
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climate in Panama continued to deteriorate, they became less and less optimistic. 

Aware that many in Washington were having second thoughts about backing him, 

Noriega turned to Libya, Nicaragua, and Cuba for economic and military assistance.40 In response to PDF harassment of U.S. personnel, the commander of USSOUTHCOM, General Frederick F. Woerner, Jr., USA, became openly critical of 

Noriega and his regime. Though advised by both Crowe and Powell (who was still 

at the White House serving as National Security Advisor) to tone down his rhetoric, Woerner persisted in attacking Noriega. Persuaded that Woerner had become 

a political liability, President Bush named General Maxwell R. Thurman, USA, as 

his successor. In early July 1989, without consulting Crowe, who was out of town, 

Secretary of Defense Cheney arranged for Army Chief of Staff General Carl E. 

Vuono to go to Panama to deliver the news to Woerner that he was to be relieved.41

By then, President Bush knew that sooner or later he would have to seek Noriega’s removal from power. Approved policy (NSD 17) sanctioned by the National Security Council in July 1989 authorized the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Secretary 

of Defense to develop plans for asserting U.S. treaty rights in Panama and to keep 

Noriega and his supporters off balance. Authorized operations fell into four categories 

based on an escalating scale of risks and visibility, all aimed in one way or another at 

grinding down Noriega’s power and authority. Only as a last resort would the United 

States undertake direct military action to overthrow Noriega’s regime.42 Much of the 

preparatory work and logistical planning for these operations fell under Powell’s aegis 

while he headed FORSCOM at Fort McPherson, Georgia. Thus, as he made ready 

to take up new duties as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Powell was already well versed 

in the plans and preparations that would eventuate in Noriega’s downfall.

Rather that resorting to military intervention, the Bush administration would have 

preferred that the Panamanians take matters into their own hands and remove Noriega 

themselves. However, there were few people left in Panama by then who were willing 

to risk defying Noriega’s authority. One of the exceptions was a respected Panamanian 

officer, Major Moisés Giroldi Vega, a senior member of Noriega’s security detail who 

had become disenchanted with the regime. At some point, Giroldi’s wife made contact 

with the CIA and sought American help for her husband in staging a coup to topple 

Noriega.43 Giroldi originally scheduled the coup for October 1, 1989, but because of 

changes in Noriega’s schedule he delayed acting until 2 days later. By then, Thurman, 

the newly arrived SOUTHCOM commander, had become suspicious of the whole 

affair, as had his superiors in Washington, including General Powell. When at last Giroldi 

did act, elite PDF units loyal to Noriega promptly intervened to rescue their leader. By 

that evening they had routed the plotters and Giroldi had been tortured and executed.
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In the aftermath of the failed October 3 coup, a reign of terror descended on 

Panama as Noriega dramatically increased repression of the civilian opposition and 

carried out a blood-purge of dissident elements in the PDF. Reliable reports estimated that he executed as many as 70 soldiers and arrested 600 more.44 Heavily criticized 

for not giving Giroldi more credence and support, the Bush administration began active preparations for toppling Noriega’s government under a joint military intervention plan called Blue Spoon. Although Powell as always was uneasy about the use of 

force and the casualties that were bound to result, he was increasingly convinced that a 

military solution might be the only viable option for ending Noriega’s control. Insisting that the job be done thoroughly, Powell favored the application of overwhelming 

military power, not only to assure Noriega’s downfall but to neutralize his primary 

source of support—the PDF—and “pull it up by the roots.”45

Despite preparations to intervene, neither Bush nor Powell was eager for a 

showdown. Remembering earlier interventions, Bush wanted to avoid a repetition 

of the failed 1980 Iran hostage rescue mission or a recurrence of the debilitating 

inter-Service rivalry that had hampered the 1983 Grenada invasion.46 No less concerned than Bush that the intervention should succeed, Powell paid meticulous attention to the planning process and insisted on numerous rehearsals to make sure U.S. 

forces were fully trained and prepared. Gaining in complexity, Blue Spoon called for 

a closely coordinated all-arms attack using around 25,000 troops, supported by four 

separate combatant commands. In contrast, Noriega had at most 4,000 effective fighters, backed by 8,000 paramilitaries. By mid-December 1989, about half of the U.S. 

ground troops allocated to the operation were already in-country, with the rest on 

72-hour alert at bases in the United States, awaiting airlift. Thurman wanted as much 

firepower as possible to be in place before action commenced, and toward that end he 

arranged to have Sheridan light tanks and Apache attack helicopters brought in under 

the cover of darkness, then concealed them at secure secret locations.47

Even with the United States poised to strike, Powell declined to recommend a 

timetable for launching operations. Preferring to bide his time, he hoped that American economic and political sanctions would nudge Noriega into stepping down without recourse to military action. But as the standoff continued, Noriega’s defiance only 

grew stronger. On December 15, 1989, he delivered a fiery speech to the Panamanian 

National Assembly, after which the lawmakers adopted a resolution proclaiming a 

state of war “while [U.S.] aggression lasts.” The next evening, members of the PDF 

shot and killed an American Marine lieutenant riding in a car that ran a roadblock, 

beat up a U.S. Navy officer who witnessed the incident, and threatened to rape his 

wife. Convinced that Noriega had “gone over the line,” Powell held an emergency 

meeting with Cheney and Wolfowitz on the morning of Sunday, December 17. All 
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agreed the time had come to intervene, whereupon Cheney arranged a meeting with 

the President that afternoon. Remembering the mistake he made with the base plan, 

Powell wanted to make sure he had the support of the Service chiefs before going to 

the White House, and later that morning he invited them to his official quarters at 

Fort Myer, adjacent to the Pentagon. Following an impromptu briefing and a review 

of the latest intelligence, all agreed that Blue Spoon was a sound plan. The only reservations were those expressed by the Commandant of the Marine Corps, General 

Alfred M. Gray, Jr., who regretted that it did not give the Marines a larger role.48

The meeting with the President that afternoon lasted nearly 2 hours and produced no surprises. Besides Powell, Cheney, and President Bush, the only others to 

attend were Scowcroft, his deputy Robert M. Gates, Secretary of State James A. Baker 

III, and Marlin Fitzwater, the President’s press secretary. Like everyone else, Bush was 

fed up with Noriega and wanted him removed before he killed or roughed up more 

Americans, seized hostages, or launched a surprise attack on U.S. installations. According 

to Baker’s recollections, there was very little if any debate over the merits of invading 

Panama. Instead, discussion focused on the mechanics of the operation, clearing it with 

congressional leaders, and the myriad diplomatic and logistical details linked to the invasion. Earlier, echoing views they heard repeatedly from Capitol Hill, Baker and others 

at the State Department had been urging more forceful action against Panama. Now 

that Powell had come around to their point of view, they felt vindicated and somewhat 

smug. “After years of reluctance,” Baker later wrote, “the Pentagon was ready to fight.”49

Three days later, during the early hours of December 20, the attack commenced, with Navy special forces, Army Rangers, and Air Force “stealth” fighters 

spearheading the assault against key strategic installations. Now called Just Cause, 

the operation proceeded in methodical fashion to suppress PDF resistance. Fighting 

around the Comandancia, Noriega’s headquarters, was the most intense of all. But by 

the next day, except for occasional skirmishes, the conflict was over and Guillermo 

Endara, whose election as president earlier in the year Noriega had nullified, was 

installed in office. Given the size of the overall effort, U.S. casualties were relatively 

light: 23 killed and 312 wounded. Panamanian losses were 297 killed, 123 wounded, 

and 468 detained.50 Unable to flee the country, Noriega initially hid in a brothel, 

then took sanctuary in the Papal Nunciatura in Panama City. Quickly wearing out 

his welcome there, he surrendered in early January 1990 and was returned to Miami, 

Florida, where he was jailed under a 1988 warrant for drug trafficking.

A complex and difficult operation to mount, Just Cause was the Joint Chiefs’ 

most all-encompassing joint venture under the new Goldwater-Nichols law to that 

point. To be sure, there were some complaints that it had been “an Army-run show 

from start to finish.”51 Others, however, praised it as a model of inter-Service collaboration. “Just Cause,” said one senior commander afterwards, “was a joint opera-
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tion in every sense of the word.”52 Its success stemmed not only from the availability 

and use of overwhelming force to subdue Noriega and his followers, but also from 

the meticulous advance planning, streamlined command and control, and improved 

coordination at all levels—all products to one degree or another of the GoldwaterNichols legislation. Unlike the haphazard Grenada operation, where the Marines 

invaded one half of the island and the Army the other with limited coordination 

between attacking units, the United States went into Panama in a unified effort, using inter-Service task forces to achieve designated objectives. While similar results 

might been have been achieved under the Joint Chiefs’ old corporate decisionmaking system, there doubtless would have been longer debates, less assurance of effective inter-Service cooperation, and in the end higher casualties. As the first real test 

under Goldwater-Nichols, the new JCS system rose to the challenge.

The CFE Agreement

Part of the success behind the Panama operation was that the United States was able 

to carry it out with virtually no worry of interference from the Soviet Union, even 

while Moscow continued to have strong ties to nearby Cuba and Nicaragua. But as 

the Cold War drew to a close, the Soviets, heeding Gorbachev’s lead, seemed to offer 

fewer challenges, as if they were no longer in a position to resist. Most striking of 

all was a more relaxed and flexible Soviet approach toward negotiations. To be sure, 

the Soviets did not give way easily, nor did their interpretations of accords always 

match those of the West. But for the first time, they began to show an uncommon 

interest in harmonizing differences sooner rather than later, a sharp departure from 

past negotiating practices. For the Joint Chiefs as for others in Washington, it was a 

novel experience that was in many ways hard to comprehend.

Among the notable accomplishments were those in the field of arms control, 

which for decades had been the Cold War’s most contentious diplomatic battlefield. 

Even with the Cold War winding down, the JCS remained as uneasy and suspicious of arms control as ever. But over the years they had learned to accommodate 

themselves and to fit strategy and programs within arms control confines. Building 

on the momentum of the 1987 INF Treaty, President Reagan hoped to conclude 

reduction agreements for conventional and strategic forces before leaving office but 

did not have time to complete his mission. What he bequeathed to his successor 

was a half-finished agenda: a “mandate,” approved jointly by NATO and Warsaw 

Pact leaders in January 1989, laying out a work plan for achieving limitations on 

conventional forces in Europe (CFE); and a draft Strategic Arms Reductions Treaty 

that aimed at a 50 percent cut in offensive strategic arms.
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For the incoming Bush administration and for the Joint Chiefs as well, President 

Reagan had been moving too fast. In surveying the scene, Scowcroft thought Reagan had “rushed to judgment about the direction the Soviet Union was heading” 

under Gorbachev and had lost his sense of priorities. Instead of paying attention to 

the “strategic aspects of arms control,” Scowcroft believed, Reagan and his advisors 

became absorbed in trying to promote Gorbachev’s success at home and ended up 

“placing emphasis on reductions as a goal in itself.”53 By and large, the Joint Chiefs 

agreed. The first order of business was to determine whether progress was feasible in 

the CFE arena, which was the subject of resumed negotiations in Vienna in March 

1989. Previously known as the Mutual and Balanced Force Reduction (MBFR) 

talks, these negotiations had dragged on inconclusively since 1973, a tribute to both 

sides’ perseverance and latent optimism if nothing else. Energized by Gorbachev’s 

pledge to withdraw 50,000 Soviet troops from Eastern Europe, the CFE talks received a further boost in May 1989, when the Warsaw Pact agreed in principle to 

accept a NATO proposal calling for equal levels of heavy weapons, a long-standing 

Western goal. A year and a half later emerged the CFE Treaty, signed in Paris in November 1990 amid growing euphoria over improved East-West relations. By then, 

popular discontent had swept Communist governments from power throughout 

Eastern Europe, the Warsaw Pact seemed to be on its last legs, and Gorbachev had 

endorsed the need for political pluralism in the Soviet Union.

In light of the sweeping changes taking place in Eastern Europe at the time, the 

impact of the CFE Treaty was largely symbolic. With or without an agreement, NATO 

and the Warsaw Pact were disarming posthaste anyway. What the treaty provided were 

guideposts, coupled with provisions for on-site inspections to make sure that both sides 

duly complied. Dealing only with military hardware from the Atlantic to the Urals 

(ATTU), the treaty capped total deployment in the 2 alliances at 40,000 battle tanks, 

40,000 artillery pieces, 60,000 armored combat vehicles, 13,600 combat aircraft, and 

4,000 attack helicopters.54 But since NATO’s combat holdings were already at or below 

the treaty’s levels in several categories, the JCS expected its restraints to have a limited 

effect on curbing Western capabilities.55 To accompany the treaty, there was a joint declaration proclaiming “the end of the era of division and confrontation” which the two 

sides promised to replace with “new partnerships and . . . the hand of friendship.”56

While many commentators heaped praise on the CFE Treaty, the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff reserved judgment. Shortly before the treaty was signed, the Soviets withdrew 

large amounts of military equipment behind the Urals rather than proceeding with 

destruction as called for in the agreement. On the day before the signing ceremony, 

they tabled new data indicating the sudden discovery of three “coastal defense divisions” subordinate to the Soviet Navy. Since the CFE agreement did not cover naval 
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forces, the Soviets argued that none of the arms assigned to these divisions (5,400 

pieces) should count against the allowed Eastern Bloc total.57 As British historian 

Jonathan Haslam observed, “The [Soviet] General Staff were digging in their heels.”58

Suspicious of Moscow’s intentions, the Joint Chiefs of Staff gave the CFE Treaty a 

tepid recommendation during testimony before Congress in the summer of 1991. Attempting to put the best face possible on the deal, Chairman Powell called it “a major 

success story for the Atlantic Alliance” that would “strengthen stability and security in 

Europe” and help establish “a stable and secure balance of conventional armed forces 

. . . at much, much lower levels.” His JCS colleagues, however, offered notably more 

restrained endorsements. All the same, the treaty represented greater progress toward 

limiting conventional forces than anything else to that point, and on that basis alone it 

stood out as a major contribution toward ending the Cold War.59

Start I and Its Consequences 

With the CFE talks finally bearing fruit, the Bush administration turned its attention to the unfinished Strategic Arms Reduction Talks Treaty. Deeming Reagan’s 

goal of a 50 percent cutback in offensive arms excessive and probably unattainable, 

the Bush White House, with JCS concurrence, set its sights on lesser objectives.60

But with the Cold War abating, there was far less political pressure either at home 

or abroad than in years past to demonstrate progress on controlling strategic arms. 

Thus, in addressing the problem the Bush administration avoided seeking wholesale 

changes to what had already been agreed upon and decided to wait until follow-on 

talks (START II) to launch any major initiatives. At the same time, however, senior 

Bush administration figures saw a clear link between effectively addressing arms 

control issues and preserving the U.S. leadership role with its friends and NATO 

allies. “If we performed competently in arms control,” Scowcroft believed, “alliance 

confidence in our ability to manage the broader relationship would soar.”61

While working on the base force plan, Powell skirted the issue of reductions in 

strategic forces on the assumption—confirmed by President Bush in his Aspen Institute speech—that the principal sizing mechanism for the strategic arsenal would 

be a finished START agreement. Thus, Powell had no choice other than to treat 

estimates of strategic capabilities as highly tentative. Since reaching a post-Vietnam 

peak in FY 1985, U.S. spending on strategic forces had fallen steadily, so it stood to 

reason that the trend would continue for the foreseeable future. Like the cutbacks 

in conventional forces, Powell expected reductions in strategic forces to level off 

around the middle of the decade and stabilize by the end. Even before factoring in 

arms control, he estimated that to stay within projected spending limits, it might be 
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necessary to eliminate the entire air-breathing leg of the strategic triad including the 

B–2 stealth bomber, a proposal that drew sharp objections from the Air Force.62 Bowing to political realities, Powell revised his estimates and came up with projections 

of a strategic force by the end of the decade comprising 18 Trident missile submarines, 550 ICBMs, and about 250 manned bombers, including 50 B–2s.63

The trouble in reaching a START agreement had less to do with overall numbers of delivery vehicles than with the characteristics and performance of weapons, the 

continuing proliferation of MIRVed systems, and sublimits on air- and sea-launched 

cruise missiles. These issues had vexed arms controllers and military planners for years 

and came no closer to permanent resolution in START I than they had during earlier 

negotiations. To help facilitate progress, President Bush authorized what amounted to 

two sets of negotiations: the formal talks held in Geneva, and parallel discussions between Secretary of State Baker and Soviet Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze. It was 

largely through the latter that the START I agreement emerged. In the past, the use of 

back-channel negotiations to broker deals had been a major source of irritation to the 

Joint Chiefs. But owing to the changes in lines of authority brought about by Goldwater-Nichols, coupled with the regular and direct access that Powell enjoyed to the Oval 

Office, there were rarely any serious problems of this sort during the Bush years.

A major difference between the Reagan and Bush administrations was the 

waning enthusiasm of the latter for the Strategic Defense Initiative and its corresponding effect on gaining Soviet cooperation on reaching an offensive strategic 

arms agreement. By the time the Bush administration took office, it was increasingly 

clear that support for SDI in Congress was declining and that, on technical grounds 

alone, an effective system of strategic defense was still decades away. Under consideration for possible validation were no fewer than six competing technologies.64 

In assessing SDI’s long-term prospects, neither Crowe nor Powell saw it playing 

a significant role in foreseeable American defense plans. Both endorsed continuing research and development but reserved judgment on full-scale production and 

deployment.65 Weighing one thing against another, Bush concluded that “a shield 

so impenetrable” that it would obviate the “need for any kind of other defense” 

was too expensive and impractical.66 By deciding to downgrade SDI and turn it 

back into an R&D program, Bush removed a source of intense friction in SovietAmerican relations and made it easier to negotiate a START agreement.67

The first big breakthrough in the START negotiations came in February 1990 

when, in a sharp turnaround, the Soviets indicated their readiness to accept U.S. 

loading rules and verification procedures dealing with air- and sea-launched cruise 

missiles. What prompted the Soviets to drop their previous objections is unclear, 

though it probably had something to do with Gorbachev’s desire for a further 
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improvement in U.S.-Soviet relations in order to increase Moscow’s chances of obtaining economic aid from the West. Whatever the reason, it seemed at the time that 

a START agreement was near at hand. But by April, when Shevardnadze visited 

Washington for further discussions, the Soviets had retreated from their earlier position and now demanded new conditions and more restrictions. From the increased 

presence of senior military officers on the Soviet delegation and their apparent 

influence, the signs were unmistakable that Gorbachev’s strategy of accommodation 

with the West was under attack at home and that the conservatives were striving to 

regain a larger voice in Soviet policy. As one observer described it, Secretary of State 

Baker “swallowed hard” and went back to the bargaining table.68 By then, keeping 

Gorbachev in power had become as important to Bush and his advisors as it had 

been to Reagan, and in some ways it overshadowed the particulars of any agreement. “We in the Bush Administration,” Baker recalled, “knew we could not reform 

the Soviet Union. But we realized nonetheless that we could assist the process.”69

Still, it took more than a year of further negotiations before a START agreement 

reached final form. Signed on July 31, 1991, the START I Treaty required the United 

States and the Soviet Union to cap their strategic warheads at 6,000, with sublimits on 

various missile types, and to reduce the number of strategic launch vehicles on each 

side by about one-third, to 1,600 from 2,250 (the limit allowed under SALT II). For the 

United States, which had fewer delivery vehicles to begin with, the reductions were more 

like 25 percent, while for the Soviets they were closer to 35 percent overall and more than 

50 percent in heavy ICBMs, the mainstay of the Soviet strategic arsenal. Under a separate 

“political agreement” dealing with long-range nuclear sea-launched cruise missiles, the 

two sides embraced controls that generally accorded with American preferences. For 

verification purposes, the treaty relied on on-site inspections, regular exchanges of test 

data, and national technical means. According to Powell and Cheney, the thrust of the 

agreement was to move both parties away from land-based ICBMs, which might be used 

precipitously in a crisis, and to encourage greater reliance on less destabilizing systems 

such as ballistic missile submarines and “slow flyers” like cruise missiles.70

Nearly 10 years in the making, the START I Treaty was a historic achievement—

the first offensive strategic arms accord that actually mandated force reductions. But 

while it was generally applauded in the West, it met with stiffening resistance in Moscow, where the consensus among conservatives was that Gorbachev had gone too far 

in making concessions. On top of the CFE treaty, the recent collapse of the Warsaw 

Pact, and Gorbachev’s penchant for political and economic reform, the START I 

agreement was the last straw. In August 1991, while Gorbachev was vacationing in the 

Crimea, hard-line Communists attempted a coup. Observing events from Washington, 

Powell was initially alarmed that the plotters might succeed in installing a reactionary 
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regime. But by the second day, his worries began to subside as evidence appeared that 

the coup had little or no support from either the KGB or the military rank and file.71

Rallying behind Boris Yeltsin, head of the Supreme Soviet of the Russian Federation 

(i.e., Russia’s state president), supporters of the regime formed a phalanx to protect 

the Russian parliament building where Yeltsin had his headquarters. The coup leaders, 

unable to generate significant popular backing for their cause, soon lost heart and the 

revolt was over within 4 days. Gorbachev immediately returned to Moscow to claim 

victory, but from that point on it was Yeltsin’s power and authority that were on the 

rise. By the end of the year, Gorbachev was out of a job, the Soviet Union had dissolved, and a federation of former Soviet states had taken its place.

As the Soviet Union was breaking up, a debate was taking place in Washington 

between the Pentagon and the White House over how the United States should 

respond. To show his solidarity with the reformers and to keep the Soviet Union’s 

large arsenal of nuclear weapons from falling into the wrong hands, Bush proposed 

seeking immediate additional cuts in strategic nuclear arms, a so-called START-plus 

agreement. Skeptical whether the time was right in view of the unsettled political 

situation in Eastern Europe, Secretary of Defense Cheney declared such measures to 

be “premature” and perhaps “imprudent.” Meanwhile, Powell and the Joint Chiefs 

submitted a list of less ambitious suggestions, including a lowering of the alert status of U.S. strategic bombers and the removal of short-range nuclear missiles from 

surface ships and attack submarines. More discussions followed, culminating in late 

September 1991 in a televised address by the President outlining his START-plus 

plan to remove all remaining U.S. short-range nuclear missiles from Europe (those 

under 500 kilometers which the INF Treaty did not cover), cancel further work on 

a rail-garrison version of the Peacekeeper missile program, and seek a complete ban 

on all remaining U.S. and Soviet MIRVed ICBMs.72

As part of his initiative, President Bush also announced that the Strategic Air Command (SAC), long the symbol and repository of American nuclear power, would stand 

down and that a new U.S. Strategic Command (USSTRATCOM) would replace it. 

This change had been in the making for some time and grew out of the recognition 

among the Joint Chiefs and the combatant commanders that as Cold War tensions 

relaxed and the defense budget shrank, there was less justification for a single command 

devoted exclusively to strategic operations. A key figure in creating the new organization was SAC’s last commander in chief, General George Lee Butler, USAF, who as 

director of strategy and plans (J-5) on the Joint Staff had been instrumental in helping 

Powell develop the base force plan. Butler believed that SAC suffered from an outdated 

mission focus that equated “strategic” with “nuclear” operations and that the new command should have a broader vision of its responsibilities combining functions previously 
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assigned to SAC with similar conventional and nuclear tasks performed by other commands. As usual, there were lengthy debates and considerable competition among the 

Services for authority and influence within the new organization. After sorting out the 

various proposals, Powell recommended and President Bush approved a revision to the 

Unified Command Plan that took effect on June 1, 1992. Now a unified rather than a 

single-Service “specified” command, as SAC was, USSTRATCOM consolidated elements of the old Strategic Air Command with components drawn from the former 

Atlantic command, Pacific Command, and U.S. Space Command.73

Many people believed that the Cold War began with the advent of the atomic 

bomb in 1945 and gathered momentum as both sides sought to outdo each other in 

nuclear weapons. If so, the 1991 START I agreement, more than anything else, marked 

the end of the Cold War and the onset of a new era in which the United States and 

the remnants of the Soviet Union began the laborious process of turning back the 

clock and doing away with their nuclear arsenals. Having been key participants in the 

buildup, the Joint Chiefs of Staff were now in the forefront of the process of disarming. Testifying in the summer of 1992 in support of the START I agreement, General 

Powell lauded it as “a critical foundation” for further reductions in strategic arms and, 

as such, a major step from “a confrontational to a cooperative relationship” between 

East and West. This time, in sharp contrast to the lukewarm endorsement they had 

given the CFE Treaty the year before, the Service chiefs enthusiastically praised the 

START I agreement as being in the country’s best interests.74

The chiefs’ change of attitude doubtless had a lot to do with the collapse of 

the Soviet Union and, with it, the dissolution of the Soviet armed forces, once one 

of the most formidable military organizations in history. As it became apparent that 

the Soviet state would not survive the abortive coup of August 1991, the military 

also knew its days were numbered. Under a deal reached that December, the leaders of the former Soviet republics—soon to be the Confederation of Independent 

States (CIS)—agreed to preserve unified command and control of the armed forces 

insofar as feasible, including the strategic rocket forces. But it was too little too late 

to keep the old organization intact, and as the year ended, the Soviet armed forces 

along with the Soviet Union itself formally ceased to exist. A rump establishment, 

the CIS armed forces continued to function, but with no practical way of exercising 

authority, it was out of business in a year and a half as Russia, the Ukraine, and the 

other former Soviet states set up their own ministries of defense.75

The downfall of the Soviet Union sealed the end of Cold War. By then, as an ongoing institution, the Joint Chiefs of Staff had seen it all, from the uneasy collaboration 

between Washington and Moscow in World War II, down through the collapse of cooperation after the war, the dark days of the Korean conflict, the tense moments of the 
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Cuban Missile Crisis, the agony of Vietnam, and the decades of costly competition in 

strategic nuclear arms. With these experiences before them, Powell and the Joint Staff 

had done their best to prepare the U.S. military for the expected transition into the 

post-Cold War world. But they scarcely imagined the scale and scope of the changes 

that would actually take place. As the Cold War ended, it ushered in a new era that was 

in some ways more dangerous and certainly less predictable than the one it replaced.

Notes

1 Comments by Shultz at a conference in Princeton, NJ, February 1993, in William C. 

Wohlforth, ed., Witness to the End of the Cold War (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University 

Press, 1996), 91.

2 George Bush and Brent Scowcroft, A World Transformed (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 

1998), 13.

3 David E. Hoffman, The Dead Hand: The Untold Story of the Cold War Arms Race and Its 

Dangerous Legacy (New York: Doubleday, 2009), 349–351.

4 NSR 12, March 3, 1989, “Review of National Defense Strategy,” (declassified), available 

at <http://www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/nsr12.pdf>.

5 U.S. Department of Defense, National Defense Budget Estimates for FY 1992 (Washington, 

DC: Office of the Comptroller, March 1991), 147.

6 Lorna S. Jaffe, The Development of the Base Force, 1989–1992 (Washington, DC: Joint History Office, Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, July 1993), 3–4.

7 Robert Gates, From the Shadows: The Ultimate Insider’s Story of Five Presidents and How 

They Won the Cold War (New York: Touchstone, 1996), 440. See also David Rothkopf, 

Running the World: The Inside Story of the National Security Council and the Architects of 

American Power (New York: Public Affairs, 2005), 273–275; and Michael R. Beschloss 

and Strobe Talbott, At the Highest Levels: The Inside Story of the End of the Cold War (Boston: Little, Brown, 1993), 24–25.

8 Colin Powell with Joseph E. Persico, My American Journey (New York: Random House, 

1995), 437.

9 Jaffe, 4.

10 The Chairmanship of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1949–1999 (Washington, DC: Joint History 

Office, Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, 2000), 159–165, gives a synopsis of 

Powell’s career.

11 DJSM-147-89 to VDJS, February 11, 1989, “Joint Staff”; SM-508-89 to DJS, June 13, 

1989, “Examination of Joint Staff Responsibilities and Structure”; and MFR by Colonel James A. Moss, Jr., USAF, October 15, 1989, “1989 Review of Joint Staff Functions, 

Structure and Administrative Support,” U, all in Notebook “1989 Review of Joint Staff 

Functions,” JHO Notebook Collection, No. 172.

12 Charles A. Stevenson, “The Joint Staff and the Policy Process” (Paper for 1997 Annual 

Meeting of the American Political Science Association, Washington, DC, August 28–31, 

1997), 7–9, 14–15.

13 Powell, My American Journey, 445.
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14 Jaffe, 49–50; Powell, My American Journey, 438–439; and Peter J. Roman and David W. 

Tarr, “The Joint Chiefs of Staff: From Service Parochialism to Jointness,” Political Science 

Quarterly 113 (1998), 104–106.

15 Rick Atkinson, Crusade: The Untold Story of the Persian Gulf War (Boston: Houghton 

Mifflin, 1993), 123.

16 Peter W. Rodman, Presidential Command (New York: Knopf, 2009), 181.

17 Bush and Scowcroft, 23.

18 James Mann, Rise of the Vulcans: The History of Bush’s War Cabinet (New York: Viking, 

2004), 184.

19 Powell, My American Journey, 464 (emphasis in original).

20 Bob Woodward, The Commanders (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1991), 76–80; Powell, 

My American Journey, 404–406, 476–478; Joint Staff Memo for Distribution, April 28, 

1989, “Yr Paper—Strategy Review,” U, JHO 16-0076.2; R.W. Apple, Jr., “Confrontation in the Gulf: The General’s Error,” The New York Times, September 19, 1990.

21 Caspar Weinberger, Fighting for Peace (New York: Warner Books, 1990), 397, 401–402, 

433–445.

22 Powell, My American Journey, 434; Powell, “US Forces: The Challenges Ahead,” Foreign 

Affairs (Winter 1992), 32–45. See also Walter LaFeber, “Colin Powell: The Rise and Fall 

of the Powell Doctrine,” in Anna Kasten Nelson, ed., The Policy Makers: Shaping American 

Foreign Policy from 1947 to the Present (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2009), 153–177.

23 Scowcroft quoted from an interview in Jon Western, “Warring Ideas: Explaining U.S. 

Military Intervention in Regional and Civil Conflicts” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, May 2000), 324.

24 U.S. Department of Defense, National Military Strategy of the United States, 1992 (Washington, DC: GPO, January 1992), 10 (unclassified); Jaffe, 48.

25 A collaborative effort, the development of the base force plan reflected inputs from a variety 

of sources. While Powell remained in overall charge of the effort, giving it a high degree of 

personal attention, he relied heavily on advice and analytical inputs provided by Lieutenant 

General George Lee Butler, USAF, and Major General John D. Robinson, directors of the 

Joint Staff responsible for strategy and resource allocation, respectively. At the same time, 

to avoid any misunderstandings later, Powell maintained an ongoing dialogue with Under 

Secretary of Defense Paul Wolfowitz, who advised Cheney on strategy and policy matters.

26 Raymond L. Garthoff, The Great Transition: American-Soviet Relations and the End of the 

Cold War (Washington, DC: Brookings, 1994), 437–444, looks at the difficulties Gorbachev faced and the shifts in policy that took place at that time.

27 Don M. Snider, Strategy, Forces and Budgets: Dominant Influence in Executive Decision Making, Post-Cold War, 1989–91 (Carlisle Barracks, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, 1993),7–13.

28 Jaffe, 9–10; Eric V. Larson, David T. Orletsky, and Kristin Leuschner, Defense Planning in 

a Decade of Change (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 2001), 9.

29 Powell later characterized his failure to brief the Service chiefs prior to briefing the 

Secretary and the President as a “mistake.” See Powell, My American Journey, 438–440.

30 Snider, 13–18.

31 John Partin, United States Special Operations Command History (MacDill AFB, FL: HQ 

USSOCOM/ SOCS-HO, 2002), 4–5; SM-54-87 to DJS, January 16, 1987, “Implementation Planning for Activation of USSOCOM,” U, Enclosure B to JCS 2542/175.
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32 Quote from “Sen. Nunn on Vision of Military,” The New York Times, April 20, 1990. See 

also “Nunn Says U.S. Should Negotiate Deeper Cuts on Troops in Europe,” The New 

York Times, January 1, 1990; and “Nunn Opens a Double Attack In Military Spending 

Debate,” ibid., March 23, 1990. 

33 The Washington Post, May 7, 1990.

34 Powell, My American Journey, 451–455; Jaffe, 30–35.

35 “Remarks at the Aspen Institute Symposium in Aspen, Colorado,” August 2, 1990, Bush 

Public Papers, 1990, 1089–1094.

36 Force levels from 1991Joint Military Net Assessment (March 1991), chap. 3, 5–8, JHO 14-

010. In its general outline, the force structure proposed in Powell’s base force bore exceedingly close similarities to the force structure incorporated into the FY50 military 

budget, the first unified defense budget prepared by the JCS after World War II.

37 Les Aspin, Report on the Bottom-Up Review (Washington, DC: Department of Defense, 

October 1993), 107–109.

38 See Larson et al., 41–81.

39 Deborah Hart Strober and Gerald S. Strober, eds., Reagan: The Man and His Presidency

(Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1998), 164–165.

40 Ronald H. Cole, Operation Just Cause: The Planning and Execution of Joint Operations in 

Panama: February 1988–January 1990 (Washington, DC: Joint History Office, 1995), 6.

41 Lawrence A. Yates, The U.S. Military Intervention in Panama: Origins, Planning, and Crisis 

Management, June 1987–December 1989 (Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 

2008), 223–224; Woodward, 96–97.

42 NSD 17, July 22, 1989, “US Actions in Panama,” summarized in Yates, 232; and Cole, 11–12.

43 Yates, U.S. Military Intervention in Panama, 249; James A. Baker, III, The Politics of Diplomacy: Revolution, War and Peace, 1989–1992 (New York: G. Putnam’s Sons, 1995), 185.

44 Frederick Kempe, Divorcing the Dictator: America’s Bungled Affair with Noriega (New York: 

G. Putnam’s Sons, 1990), 396.

45 Powell quoted in Cole, Operation Just Cause,14.

46 Cole, Operation Just Cause, 29.

47 Yates, 270; Cole, Operation Just Cause, 19, 37–38.

48 Yates, 274–76; Herspring, The Pentagon and the Presidency, 307; Woodward, 162–167;

Powell, My American Journey, 422–423.

49 Baker, Politics of Diplomacy, 189.

50 U.S. losses from JS Form 136, J-1 to DJS, July 18, 1990, “Congressional Request . . . 

Regarding American Casualties during the Invasion of Panama,” SJS 1778/473-00; 

Panamanian losses from Cole, Operation Just Cause, 65. Cole gives U.S. wounded as 322, 

an apparent misprint.

51 Bernard E. Trainor, “Jointness, Service Culture, and the Gulf War,” Joint Force Quarterly

(Winter 1993–1994), 71.

52 LTG Carl W. Stiner, USA, quoted in Cole, Operation Just Cause, 71.

53 Bush and Scowcroft, 12.

54 ‘Treaty on Conventional Armed Forces in Europe,” November 19, 1990, and “White 

House Fact Sheet,” ca. November 19, 1990, Public Papers of George Bush, 1990, 1640–1641.
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55 See the statement by USAF/CoS Gen Merrill A. McPeak, July 16, 1991, in U.S. Congress, 

Committee on Foreign Relations, Subcommittee on European Affairs, Hearings: The CFE 

Treaty, 100:1 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1991), 130 (hereafter cited as CFE Treaty Hearings).

56 “Joint Declaration of Twenty-Two States,” November 19, 1990, Public Papers of George 

Bush, 1990, 1644.

57 Lambert W. Veenendaal, “Conventional Stability in Europe in 1991: Problems and Solutions,” NATO Review 47, no. 4 (August 1991), 3–8. See also Bush and Scowcroft, 500. 

58 Jonathan Haslam, Russia’s Cold War: From the October Revolution to the Fall of the Wall

(New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011), 379.

59 Quote from Powell testimony, July 16, 1991, CFE Treaty Hearings, 86; Service chiefs’ 

statements, ibid., 129–131.

60 See NSD 40, May 14, 1990, “Decisions on START Issues,” U, available at <www.fas.

org/irp/offdocs/nsd/nsd40.pdf> (accessed July 19, 2011).

61 Bush and Scowcroft, 40.

62 Jaffe, 23, 39, 

63 1991 Joint Military Net Assessment, chap. 3, 5–6.

64 Steven L. Rearden, “Congress and the Strategic Defense Initiative, 1983–1989” (Study 

Prepared for the Strategic Defense Initiative Organization, January 31, 1992), chap. 7, 

U; and Sanford Lakoff and Herbert York, A Shield in Space? Technology, Politics, and the 

Strategic Defense Initiative (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 116.

65 In his National Military Strategy for 1992–1997, Crowe recommended that the United States 

“actively pursue a strategic defense program” to determine its “feasibility.” Powell concurred 

in the need for further R&D but endorsed a “smaller and less expensive” program than SDI 

oriented toward providing protection against limited attacks. See Colin L. Powell, The National Military Strategy of the United States (Washington, DC: GPO, January 1992), 6–7.

66 “President’s News Conference,” January 27, 1989, Bush Public Papers, 1989, 26.

67 Beschloss and Talbott, 117–118.

68 Don Oberdorfer, The Turn: From the Cold War to a New Era—The United States and the 

Soviet Union, 1983–1990 (New York: Poseidon Press, 1991), 407. See also Garthoff, 422–423.

69 Quoted in Gordon S. Barrass, The Great Cold War: A Journey Through the Hall of Mirrors

(Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2009), 349–350.

70 U.S. Congress, Senate, Committee on Foreign Relations, Hearings: The START Treaty, 

100:2 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1992), 122 (hereafter cited as START Treaty Hearings).

71 Powell, My American Journey, 538–539.

72 Beschloss and Talbott, 445–446; Bush and Scowcroft, 541–542; “Address to the Nation on 

United States Nuclear Weapons,” September 27, 1991, Bush Public Papers, 1991, 1220–1224.

73 Ronald H. Cole et al., The History of the Unified Command Plan, 1946–1999 (Washington, 

DC: Joint History Office, 2003), 92–95.

74 START Treaty Hearings, 114, 144–147.

75 William E. Odom, The Collapse of the Soviet Military (New Haven: Yale University Press, 

1998), 370–374.
Night Attack, by Mario Acevedo (Courtesy of the Center of Military History)
Chapter 17

Storm in the Desert

As the Cold War drew to a close, other problems took its place. None was more 

threatening to American interests than Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein’s invasion 

of Kuwait in early August 1990. The Joint Chiefs of Staff had long viewed the 

Middle East and Southwest Asia as potential trouble spots, and over the years they 

steadily became more mindful of the region’s difficulties. Indicative of the growing 

importance they attached to the Middle East was their decision in 1983 to create 

a regional planning organization, the U.S. Central Command (USCENTCOM). 

While maintaining a limited U.S. presence in the area, USCENTCOM conducted 

combined training exercises with friendly countries, bolstered diplomatic support 

for U.S. interests, and coordinated multilateral protection of international shipping. 

Assuring unfettered access to the Persian Gulf oil fields was normally USCENTCOM’s top concern. But with the Soviet threat to Europe and an unstable situation on the Korean peninsula still claiming priority, the JCS had refused to allocate 

significant resources to the region on a permanent basis and had dealt with it in ad 

hoc fashion as the need arose.

The demise of the Cold War combined with Saddam Hussein’s covetous designs on his oil-rich neighbor, Kuwait, changed JCS perceptions of U.S. security 

requirements in Southwest Asia. As the Soviet threat to Europe receded, the JCS 

also adopted a more relaxed outlook toward the Far East where improved relations 

with China pointed to a more stable geopolitical environment. As a result, the Joint 

Chiefs felt more comfortable earmarking assets for regional contingencies elsewhere in line with the emerging “forward presence” doctrine. Though Southwest 

Asia was not the only place that caught their eye, it loomed larger than the others 

because of its strategic location, economic importance to the West, and growing 

potential for trouble.

Origins of the Kuwait Crisis 

Following the UN-brokered armistice ending the Iran-Iraq War in the summer of 

1988, the United States intensified its efforts to broaden relations with Baghdad, 

always the U.S.-favored party in the conflict. Shortly after taking office, the Bush 

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administration launched a comprehensive review of U.S. policy toward the Persian 

Gulf (NSR 10), focusing on U.S. interests there, the role of the Soviet Union, relations with Iran, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, and the other Gulf states, and the level of U.S. 

military involvement. The key issue raised in NSR 10 was whether U.S. interests 

in the region—economic, political, and military—remained vital in view of the 

changed strategic environment there and, if so, whether the existing investment of 

U.S. power and resources reflected that importance.1

The review confirmed that major changes in the strategic environment of 

the Persian Gulf over the past decade mandated greater American interest and involvement, and recommended that the United States bolster regional peace and 

stability through closer cooperation and collaboration with friendly governments. 

Step-by-step improvements in U.S.-Iraqi relations were crucial to the success of 

this policy. While aware that problems with Saddam were bound to arise, the Bush 

administration was cautiously optimistic that it could moderate his behavior and 

increase U.S. influence in Iraq through carefully targeted economic, political, and 

military assistance. In exchange for U.S. help, Saddam should be prepared to give 

up his chemical and biological weapons, curb his nuclear ambitions, break his ties 

with terrorist organizations, and stop meddling in the internal affairs of Lebanon 

and other Mideast countries.2

Saddam, however, had his own agenda, which involved nothing less than establishing an Iraqi hegemony across the region. Bloodied but undefeated in the 

war with Iran, the Iraqi dictator was at the pinnacle of his power and prestige, 

a formidable, dangerous, and unpredictable figure who had the largest and most 

powerful military force in the region at his disposal. Aiming to regain some of the 

oil export market he lost to other Gulf producers during the conflict, Saddam accused neighboring Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, and the other Gulf states of undercutting 

Iraq’s recovery by surreptitiously increasing oil production and driving down prices, 

even though these countries had been among his staunchest allies in the recent 

conflict. According to former Russian Foreign Minister Yevgeny Primakov, who 

knew Saddam personally, the Iraqi leader assumed that he had a more or less free 

hand, based on U.S. help against Iran, and could do virtually as he pleased without 

risking American retaliation as long as Iran remained under the control of a radical 

anti-Western regime.3

Meanwhile, the United States launched a progressive military draw-down in the 

Persian Gulf. With Operation Earnest Will coming to a close, the Joint Chiefs saw no 

justification for the sizable air and naval forces they had assembled to escort neutral 

shipping at the height of the Iran-Iraq war in 1987−1988. By the summer of 1989 

USCENTCOM’s presence in the Gulf was essentially back to its pre-escort level—a 
S T OR M IN THE DESE R T

507

handful of naval vessels backed by the intermittent presence of a carrier battle group 

in the Indian Ocean and North Arabian Sea. Whether the retention of a larger U.S. 

naval presence in Southwest Asia would have assured greater stability, deterring Iraq 

from aggression against Kuwait, remains an open question. Saddam’s ruthless drive 

to dominate Middle East politics and his insatiable ambitions would have been hard 

to check in any case. Nonetheless, as U.S. forces withdrew, the odds increased that 

they would be back again sooner or later. The retreat may have been unavoidable, but 

it left the Joint Chiefs, among others, decidedly uneasy and created a political and 

military vacuum in the region that Saddam was only too happy to fill.4

During the summer of 1990 Saddam steadily increased the pressure on Kuwait. 

While complaining that his neighbor was pumping excessive oil and driving down 

prices, Saddam precipitated a border dispute with Kuwait, the same pretext he used 

for going to war with Iran in 1980. He also became highly critical of the United 

States and stepped up menacing rhetoric and gestures toward Israel by deploying 

Scud ballistic missiles aimed at Tel Aviv. Still committed to the constructive engagement policy, the Bush administration hoped to diffuse the situation and elicit cooperative behavior from Saddam with pledges of nonlethal military assistance, loans, 

and credit guarantees to help finance grain imports and to rebuild Iraq’s battered 

economy. Much to Saddam’s irritation, however, the proffered assistance was slow 

to materialize.5

Increasingly belligerent, Saddam began massing forces along Iraq’s common 

frontier with Kuwait in a show of gunboat diplomacy. While the Intelligence Community declined to rule out the possibility of an invasion, it could find no hard 

evidence that Saddam was preparing an attack. Indeed, the absence of Iraqi logistical 

support led General Powell and analysts on the Joint Staff to suspect that Saddam 

was bluffing and was more interested in eliciting concessions from Kuwait and its 

neighbors than in starting another war.6

 Following the Chairman’s lead, JCS action 

officers dealing with the Middle East shied away from recommending anything remotely resembling a military response without first exploring other options and ascertaining clear-cut political objectives. But with tensions building, a military confrontation seemed increasingly unavoidable. On July 25, 1990, Saddam summoned 

April Glaspie, the U.S. Ambassador to Baghdad, to an impromptu interview. Professing friendship for the United States, Saddam expounded at length on his desire for a 

peaceful resolution of the dispute with Kuwait but did not rule out military action. 

In return, Glaspie assured him that President Bush was also interested in a peaceful 

outcome but also wanted close U.S. relations with Iraq. Subsequently, critics of the 

Bush administration pounced on Ambassador Glaspie’s remarks as a virtual invitation for Saddam to invade Kuwait. Whether Saddam viewed them in that light is 
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unclear. More than likely, he had already made up his mind to attack Kuwait and 

in summoning Glaspie, was trying to gauge how the United States would respond.7

While continuing to give lip service to a diplomatic solution, Saddam moved 

more units into position and by the end of July had approximately 140,000 troops 

and 2,000 Soviet-made T-72 tanks and other armored vehicles along the border 

with Kuwait. On August 2, 1990, he launched his attack. The invaders met light 

resistance and within a few days were in full control of the country, which Saddam 

proceeded to annex. Demanding that Saddam withdraw his forces immediately, 

President Bush declared that Iraqi aggression “will not stand.”8

 But despite a tough 

declaratory policy, the administration had no firm plan of action. For the time being, containing Saddam’s aggression and deterring him from attacking neighboring 

Saudi Arabia were the administration’s only firm objectives. Only time would tell 

whether the United States would be willing to go further and take steps to evict 

Iraqi forces from Kuwait.

Framing the U.S. Response 

Even though General Powell and the Joint Staff had been closely monitoring the 

situation in the Middle East for some time, looking at alternative contingency plans 

as they went along, Saddam’s invasion still caught them by surprise and unprepared. 

Like almost everyone else in Washington at the time, they expected the confrontation between Iraq and Kuwait to end peacefully. As Lieutenant General George 

Lee Butler, USAF, director of J-5, described the state of mind in the Joint Staff, “We 

had the warning from the intelligence community—we refused to acknowledge 

it.”9

 When the Iraqis attacked Kuwait, the Joint Chiefs of Staff had few forces in 

or near the vicinity of the Persian Gulf and were only beginning to take steps to 

get more there. Most of the planning done prior to the Iraqi invasion centered on 

OPLAN 1002-90, an updated version of a Cold War-era USCENTCOM plan to 

defend Iran against a Soviet invasion. Arguing that the threat of Iraqi aggression now 

outweighed the danger of a Soviet attack, General H. Norman Schwarzkopf, USA, 

Commander in Chief of Central Command (USCINCCENT), had requested JCS 

permission to shift the geographic focus of OPLAN 1002-90 to reflect a possible 

Iraqi invasion of either Kuwait or Saudi Arabia. In December 1989 the Joint Chiefs 

gave Schwarzkopf permission to proceed.10

While the detailed work of revising OPLAN 1002-90 had just begun by the 

time Iraq invaded Kuwait, its broad outlines were fairly clear and well known. Basically, OPLAN 1002-90 envisioned war on a grand scale, with the mobilization and 

deployment of 200,000 U.S. ground troops and supporting air and naval units taking 
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on an Iraqi force of comparable if not larger size and capabilities. With a strength 

of over one million men, the Iraqi Army was one of the largest in the world. But it 

relied heavily on conscripts armed with older models of Eastern Bloc and Chinese 

weapons. The core of Iraq’s defense establishment consisted of eight elite Republican Guard divisions (expanded to 12 divisions following the invasion of Kuwait) 

commanded by officers who had sworn personal allegiance to Saddam. Made up 

of volunteers, the Republican Guard carried more up-to-date weapons than the 

regular army and constituted Saddam’s most effective and reliable force. Military 

and political analysts in the West generally considered it a key prop of Saddam’s 

regime. Iraq’s air component, though strong on paper with over 800 planes, had few 

experienced pilots and operated under a defensive doctrine that limited its range 

and effectiveness. On the other hand, Iraq’s air defenses, though somewhat outdated, 

were rated among the best in the world, built around sophisticated low-level antiaircraft artillery and portable surface-to-air missiles.11

The greatest dangers Iraq posed sprang from the uncertainties surrounding 

its capabilities for chemical, biological, and nuclear warfare, known collectively as 

“weapons of mass destruction,” or WMD. Available delivery means included shortrange Scud missiles, aerial bombs, artillery shells, rockets, and spray tanks mounted 

on aircraft. Saddam’s desire to make Iraq a nuclear power was well known. Even 

though the Israelis dealt his program a major setback by destroying the Tuwaitha 

atomic reactor in 1981, rumors persisted that he was continuing to explore ways 

of acquiring atomic bombs and might have stockpiled enough fissionable material 

for a small arsenal. Biological weapons were also of interest to Saddam but seemed 

to hold less promise and appeal than chemical weapons. During the 1980s, Saddam 

mounted poison gas attacks against local insurgencies and Iranian troop formations. 

Since then, he had continued to replenish his chemical weapons stockpile, threatening to use it against anyone who got in his way.

In surveying what they were up against, senior members of the Bush administration were understandably wary. By far the most cautious was the Chairman of the 

Joint Chiefs, General Powell. Convinced that Saddam should be contained, Powell 

readily agreed to rush reinforcements to the Middle East to block the Iraqis from 

moving against Saudi Arabia (Operation Desert Shield). But he initially opposed offensive operations aimed at liberating Kuwait, a much larger and more complicated task 

which, based on preliminary estimates, would require substantially more troops and 

eight months to a year of preparation. In view of the risks involved, he was prepared to 

treat Kuwait as expendable and concentrate on protecting Saudi Arabia. “I think we’d 

go to war over Saudi Arabia,” he told Schwarzkopf, “but I doubt we’d go to war over 

Kuwait.”12 Recalling the popular backlash against Vietnam, Powell believed that any 
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attempt to liberate Kuwait by force would need full congressional and public support. 

Without that, he saw little hope of success. As an alternative to military action, Powell 

endorsed a regime of economic, political, and diplomatic sanctions against Iraq and 

was prepared to wait up to 2 years for them to have an effect.13

Powell’s strategy of restraint contrasted sharply with the emerging determination in the White House to restore the status quo ante one way or another as 

quickly as possible. Like the Chairman, President Bush hoped to avoid going to 

war. But he had less confidence than Powell in the efficacy of sanctions and felt that 

the longer the West delayed in acting, the more entrenched Saddam would become. 

Applying a historical perspective, Bush saw a “direct analogy” between the invasion 

of Kuwait and Nazi Germany’s aggression against Poland in World War II. Prodded 

by Scowcroft, who considered Powell overly cautious, the President moved steadily 

toward a policy of liberation through military action and looked to Cheney to 

manage the details and bring the Joint Chiefs of Staff into line. “Cheney recognized 

early that sooner or later it would come to force,” Bush recalled. “Dick was probably 

ahead of his military on this.”14

During the early days of the crisis, as the administration sought to define its 

position, Powell and Cheney seemed to go separate ways. Resisting hasty decisions 

and commitments, Powell played for time and tried to focus the debate on political 

objectives and whether military action was in the best interest of the United States. 

Cheney became frustrated and insisted that Powell concentrate more on developing 

and refining military options.15 “Colin,” he said, “you’re Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. 

You’re not Secretary of State. You’re not the National Security Advisor anymore. And 

you’re not Secretary of Defense. So stick to military matters.” Looking back, Powell 

agreed that Cheney was right, but he gave way grudgingly and offered military advice 

that was almost always framed, as only Powell could do, around its potential political 

impact during the ensuing planning process and buildup of forces.16

Operational Planning Begins 

Despite the Goldwater-Nichols reforms, operational planning for Desert Shield–Desert 

Storm encountered many of the problems the Joint Chiefs had experienced during crises in the past. This included initial confusion and uncertainty, followed by 

largely improvised responses, with inputs from several sources at the same time. While 

Powell was gradually turning the Joint Staff into an unrivaled planning and staffaction organization, he had yet to complete the process. Thus, the door remained 

open for the Services’ planning staffs to make inputs, often on their own initiative. 

With limited staff available and his own plans in flux, Schwarzkopf desperately needed 
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help from wherever he could get it. The result was a rather chaotic period at the outset 

of the crisis that saw planning diverge along two separate lines, one running through 

the Joint Staff where Powell’s influence predominated, the other through a wholly 

separate Air Staff planning cell known as Checkmate. Eventually, these lines converged 

at Schwarzkopf’s USCENTCOM headquarters, where they became integrated into 

an overall strategic concept. But in their origins and purpose, they reflected two 

sharply different military philosophies for coping with the crisis.

Powell and the Joint Staff initially occupied the stronger and more influential 

position owing to their statutory role and increasing preeminence within military 

planning circles. After the extraordinary success of the Panama invasion, few dared 

to gainsay the Joint Staff’s growing skill for organizing and coordinating joint operations. While the President had not yet fully made up his mind about Kuwait, those 

close to him could sense the drift in his thinking. As a precaution, in addition to 

the defensive actions taken under Operation Desert Shield at the outset of the crisis, 

Secretary Cheney ordered the CJCS and USCENTCOM to develop an offensive 

option that would be available to the President in case Saddam Hussein chose to 

engage in further aggression or other unacceptable behavior, such as killing Kuwaiti 

citizens or foreign nationals in Kuwait or Iraq.17 As characterized by one account, 

the Joint Staff’s earliest response resembled “a typical cold-war, limited-option sort 

of thing.”18 Using OPLAN 1002-90 as their guide, Joint Staff planners initially estimated that evicting the Iraqis could be done with a force not much larger than 

that being organized at the time for Operation Desert Shield—about 200,000 troops 

plus supporting air and naval units. Powell, however, found these estimates insufficient. With his eye on avoiding a military confrontation, the Chairman hoped to 

intimidate Saddam and convince him through a combination of sanctions and a 

highly visible military buildup to back down without a fight. Should that approach 

fail, he wanted to be prepared to conduct “a full-scale air, land, and sea campaign” 

that would quickly overwhelm Saddam, just as he had overwhelmed Noriega. “We 

had learned a lesson in Panama,” Powell contended. “Go in big and end it quickly.” 

With these as Powell’s planning guidelines, Joint Staff estimates of the required force 

varied almost daily and became practically open-ended.19

Initially, Powell operated under very few constraints. Looking at the military 

possibilities and various options, a consensus developed early on in Washington 

that the United States would need sizable forces to counter Saddam and that the 

build-down under the base-force plan, only recently announced by the President, 

should be put on hold. Yet as projected force requirements for the Middle East began to mount, they pointed to increased expenditures that left senior administration 

officials decidedly uneasy. Hoping to defray some of the “staggering” expense, as 
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Secretary of State Baker described it, the Bush administration actively solicited contributions of money and/or troops from around the world to create a multinational 

coalition to liberate Kuwait. Eventually, nearly fifty countries agreed to provide 

assistance in one form or another. But even with those inputs, there was still a high 

likelihood that the United States would bear the brunt of the costs.20

Cheney never presumed to challenge Powell’s professional expertise, but as 

Secretary of Defense, his first concern was to weigh the financial impact of the 

operation. It was on that basis that he began to take a closer look at the proposals 

coming out of the Joint Staff. The Goldwater-Nichols Act may have streamlined 

the advisory process, making it more timely and responsive, but it also inadvertently 

created barriers to the flow of military ideas and information reaching the Secretary, the President, and the NSC. Though he continued to rely heavily on Powell 

and the Joint Staff, Cheney decided to shop for other views as well. As one military 

analyst described it, “Cheney adroitly and informally bypassed Powell for additional 

military opinions to assure himself of differing views. . . . This technique did not sit 

well with Powell and, although he never challenged Cheney’s right to solicit advice 

from others, it angered him.”21

The most attractive alternative to a large-scale buildup on the ground was 

increased reliance on airpower. Actually, Powell and Cheney were both skeptical 

of strategies built around airpower and could not find much evidence that the air 

campaigns of previous wars had been either very successful or decisive. In years past, 

even some airpower enthusiasts would have agreed. But since Vietnam, as the Air 

Force shed its dependence on nuclear weapons and turned to reviving its conventional capabilities, its confidence in the efficacy of airpower rose steadily. By the end 

of the Cold War, with the advent of improved planes employing stealth technology, 

increasingly reliable precision-guided munitions, and more effective command and 

control using high-speed computers and space-based satellites, the chances of a conventional bombing campaign having a decisive impact on future wars seemed more 

assured than ever. Little by little, as interest at the White House in developing an 

airpower-oriented strategy began to grow, views on airpower around the Pentagon 

likewise began to change.22

Powell concurred that airpower had a major role to play, and in the immediate 

aftermath of the Iraqi invasion both he and Schwarzkopf turned to airpower as their 

most readily available and effective means of deterring Saddam from further aggression or punishing him if he should make a move against Saudi Arabia.23 Of the forces 

rushed to the Middle East under Operation Desert Shield, Joint Staff planners put 

major emphasis on large Air Force deployments of combat aircraft and aerial reconnaissance planes as the bulk of the initial “package.” All the same, Powell resisted the 
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notion, popular in some quarters of the Air Force, that a carefully orchestrated air 

campaign could practically win a war alone.24 To Powell’s consternation, the Air Force 

Chief of Staff, General Michael J. Dugan, openly suggested such a possibility shortly 

after Iraq invaded Kuwait. During the return flight from a fact-finding trip to the 

Middle East in August 1990, Dugan regaled reporters with his views, which subsequently appeared in the Washington Post. While making the Iraqis “look like a pushover” with airpower, Powell recalled, Dugan further suggested that American military 

planners were “taking their cue from Israel” on how to deal with Saddam, a remark 

that was sure to antagonize many Arabs. Cheney agreed that Dugan’s behavior was 

“dumb, dumb, dumb” and promptly fired him for “poor judgment.” The ignominious 

departure meant that Dugan’s tenure as Chief of Staff lasted only 3 months.25

Even though airpower advocates had lost one of their strongest and most influential spokesmen, their cause remained very much alive. Hints of growing interest 

in airpower at the White House doubtless fueled the process. Soon to emerge as the 

initial architect of the air campaign against Iraq was Air Force Colonel John A. Warden III, who headed a planning cell in the Air Staff known as Checkmate. Trained 

as a fighter pilot, Warden served in Vietnam and during the 1970s and 1980s steadily 

refined his views on the role and application of airpower. Some regarded him as the 

most innovative thinker the Air Force had produced since Billy Mitchell after World 

War I. Basically, Warden took issue with the AirLand Battle doctrine, the dominant 

military concept since Vietnam, which urged closer coordination between ground 

and air forces, with the aim of using airpower to achieve decisive maneuver on the 

ground. In Warden’s scheme of things, air superiority should take precedence; once 

achieved, “in many circumstances it alone can win a war.”26

Amid rising tensions in the Middle East, Warden emerged as the leading spokesman for increased reliance on airpower in the expected showdown with Saddam. 

One of Warden’s admirers was Secretary of the Air Force Donald B. Rice, a former 

president of the RAND Corporation (originally an Air Force think tank) and an 

ardent proponent of airpower. If previous U.S. involvement in the Persian Gulf had 

been primarily a Navy show and toppling Noriega predominantly an Army affair, 

Rice and like-minded others wanted the looming conflict with Iraq to be first and 

foremost an air war. Warden and his staff (a group comprised initially of about two 

dozen young Air Force officers) were eager to oblige. Within days of Iraq’s invasion 

of Kuwait, they received an urgent request from the Vice Chief of Staff of the Air 

Force to provide General Schwarzkopf with advisory assistance. Expecting to be 

called upon sooner or later, Warden had initiated work the day before on an outline 

plan called “Instant Thunder” for strategic air operations against Iraq. As described 

by Air Force historian Richard G. Davis, “Instant Thunder” was “a stand-alone 
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war-stopper” that called for a concerted 6-day effort designed to incapacitate the 

Iraqi leadership and destroy its key military capabilities.27

While Powell duly acknowledged Checkmate’s contributions, terming them 

“the heart of the Desert Storm air war,” he took issue with the single-Service approach and around mid-August directed that Army, Navy, and Marine Corps officers be included in Warden’s organization. Thenceforth, Checkmate’s papers and 

reports bore the logo of the Joint Staff, and its activities acquired the appearance, if 

not always the reality, of jointness under the Directorate of Operations (J-3).28 The 

spirit of Goldwater-Nichols notwithstanding, inter-Service coordination, especially 

with the Navy, remained tenuous throughout the crisis. As eager as the Air Force 

was to leave its mark, the Navy disliked having its carrier-based aircraft placed under 

a joint tasking system and would have preferred to operate on its own.29 During the 

conflict, applying its own priorities as the opportunity arose, the Navy withheld as 

many as a third of its aircraft to protect its carriers. Of the Navy planes that did participate in offensive operations, only a limited number were equipped to deliver the 

precision-guided munitions that were crucial to the execution of Warden’s strategic 

bombing concept. The Navy’s most significant contribution to the air campaign 

was its Tomahawk land-attack cruise missiles (TLAMs). Launched from surface ships 

and attack submarines, the low-flying TLAMs were ideal for daytime attacks against 

highly defended targets and could also be used when adverse weather grounded 

fighter-bombers.30

Checkmate’s direct involvement in shaping the air war was relatively shortlived. At Schwarzkopf’s request, Warden flew to Riyadh and on August 20 briefed 

Lieutenant General Charles A. Horner, USAF, Schwarzkopf’s air deputy and USCENTCOM’s acting forward commander. Horner accepted Checkmate’s target 

scheme but rejected Warden’s “airpower alone” strategy because it ignored the large 

number of Iraqi troops and tanks poised on the border with Saudi Arabia.31 Asserting control from there on out, Horner created his own Special Planning Group for 

air operations, a multi-Service unit (later expanded to include NATO and Saudi 

representatives), and placed Brigadier General Buster C. Glosson, USAF, in charge. 

Dubbed the “Black Hole,” it operated in utmost secrecy out of the basement of the 

Royal Saudi Air Force headquarters in downtown Riyadh. Throughout the crisis, 

Glosson was in constant contact with Warden and drew heavily on Checkmate for 

advice, ideas, and personnel. But from that point on, primary responsibility for air 

war planning became an inter-Service operation, with Checkmate, the Joint Staff, 

and Glosson’s Black Hole organization in Saudi Arabia working in unison.32

Checkmate’s eclipse brought a fundamental change of philosophy that steered 

planning for the air campaign back into line with Powell’s view of airpower as a 
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supporting element of the ground war. On that point, Powell and Schwarzkopf—

both Army officers—thought exactly alike. “Instant Thunder” disappeared and in 

its place emerged a more conventional plan for an integrated air-ground campaign. Though still built around Warden’s phased sequence of attacks and basic target scheme, Schwarzkopf’s integrated approach took a larger range of military and 

related targets into account. As the target list grew, so did the need for aircraft, 

intelligence, and logistical support. What Warden and his colleagues in Checkmate 

had originally envisioned as an intensive 6-day bombing and interdiction campaign 

turned into plans for a month or more of round-the-clock air operations aimed not 

just at driving the Iraqis out of Kuwait but at eliminating Saddam and his armed 

forces as a future threat to the region.

The Road to War 

By late September 1990, working closely with Schwarzkopf, Powell had assembled a 

plan to defend Saudi Arabia and was gradually developing a military strategy to expel 

the Iraqis from Kuwait, starting with an intense air campaign, should sanctions and 

diplomacy fail. Major elements of the Desert Shield force were now in place, while the 

remainder were either en route to Saudi Arabia or being fitted out for deployment. 

Whether more would follow remained to be seen. Although Powell had repeatedly 

discussed the various options in general terms with Cheney and the President, he had 

yet to receive a clear signal of the President’s intentions. As a result, final preparations 

remained in limbo. Privately, the President was increasingly reconciled to a military 

showdown. Frustrated by Saddam’s intransigence in the face of efforts by Gorbachev 

and others to broker a settlement, Bush saw the chances of a peaceful resolution 

steadily slipping away and now looked on the looming confrontation as “a moral crusade.” Rumors had already begun to spread that should armed intervention become 

necessary, the JCS expected a minimum of 10,000 casualties and up to 50,000 if Saddam used chemical and biological weapons. Even though public and congressional 

opinion generally endorsed the administration’s “get tough” approach toward Saddam, 

the prevailing sentiment leaned more toward sanctions than the exercise of military 

power. Among leaders on Capitol Hill, reliance on air and sea capabilities received 

preference over a potentially bloody ground campaign. 

Realizing that the country was in no mood for a war if one could be avoided, 

President Bush continued to defer a final decision on military action. Before making further commitments, he wanted a clearer picture of what it would take to defeat Saddam and arranged with Powell for a formal briefing at the White House on 

October 11, 1990.33 Schwarzkopf had recently moved his headquarters from Tampa 
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to Riyadh and, pleading that his plans were still gestating, wanted to come to Washington to explain the situation and lead the briefing himself. At Powell’s insistence, 

however, he stayed behind and designated his chief of staff, Major General Robert 

B. Johnston, USMC, to lead the USCENTCOM delegation. The day before going 

to the White House, Powell held a dry-run presentation at the Pentagon for Cheney, 

the Service chiefs, and senior members of the Joint Staff. Glosson summarized the 

progress on the air war while an Army lieutenant colonel gave the briefing on the 

ground campaign. Afterwards, Powell drew Glosson aside and admonished him for 

making the air war look too easy. For the presentation the next day, Powell wanted 

Glosson to “tone it down” and curb his estimates of the outcomes. “Be careful over 

at the White House tomorrow,” Powell said. “I don’t want the President to grab 

onto that air campaign as a solution to everything.”34

The White House briefing on October 11 revealed a military planning process at 

midstream. Glosson’s toned-down presentation notwithstanding, it was clear that planning for the air campaign was well ahead of preparations for the ground war, which 

was now designated Phase IV in the planned sequence of operations. Utilizing forces 

and equipment currently deployed, Phase IV was basically a single-corps thrust into 

the middle of the Iraqi defenses, a strategy that one senior OSD official mocked as the 

“charge of the light brigade into the wadi of death.”35 While bypassing Iraqi strong 

points, the proposed attack would still encounter key Iraqi ground units. Heavy casualties were almost certain.36 As Scowcroft remembered the briefing, it “sounded unenthusiastic, delivered by people who didn’t want to do the job. . . . I was appalled with 

the presentation and afterwards I called Cheney to say I thought we had to do better.”37

Like many of Roosevelt’s meetings with the Joint Chiefs of Staff during the 

early days of World War II, the White House briefing on October 11, 1990, was a 

largely exploratory affair. If Powell’s underlying purpose was to dissuade Bush from 

hasty action, he was eminently successfully. “The briefing made me realize,” Bush 

recalled, “we had a long way to go before . . . we had the means to accomplish our 

mission expeditiously, without impossible loss of life.”38 But the episode also deepened the rift between Powell and Cheney and made the Secretary of Defense more 

aware than ever that he needed an alternative to the CJCS as a source of advice. 

Disappointed in what Powell and Schwarzkopf came up with, Cheney established 

a special advisory unit in OSD headed by retired Army Lieutenant General Dale A. 

Vesser. A former Director of J-5 and currently Assistant Deputy Under Secretary of 

Defense for Resources and Plans, Vesser had been involved in deployment planning 

for Desert Shield almost from the outset. His new tasking from the Secretary was to 

double check the planning coming out of the Joint Staff and USCENTCOM and 

to look into alternative strategic concepts.39
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Shortly after the ill-starred White House briefing, at the urging of the President 

and the Secretary of Defense, Powell flew to Saudi Arabia in hopes of finding a “more 

imaginative” Phase IV strategy. He carried assurances from the President that Schwarzkopf could have “whatever forces he needed to do the job.”40 Earlier, to augment his 

planning staff, USCINCCENT requested help from the Jedi Knights, an elite Army 

planning team from the Command and General Staff College at Fort Leavenworth, 

Kansas. To overcome the defects in the earlier concept, they proposed a strategy that 

promised a higher degree of success with fewer casualties through a flanking maneuver west of the Iraqi defenses in Kuwait. Though bolder and more innovative, the 

new plan would also require more troops, more heavy armor, and additional air and 

sea support. By the time Powell arrived, Schwarzkopf had already given the plan his 

enthusiastic blessing and had a request in hand for at least another mechanized corps. 

Powell cautioned that it might be necessary to secure “a clear mandate from Congress 

and the American people” before bringing more forces into the Gulf or committing 

them to combat. But his immediate concern was to reassure Schwarzkopf that, as the 

President had indicated, he could have whatever he needed to complete his mission. 

“If we go to war,” the Chairman said, “we will not do it halfway.”41

Returning to Washington, Powell held a series of briefings starting with 

Cheney and the Service chiefs to present the new strategy and its force requirements, now approaching half a million troops. While acknowledging that the new 

plan needed work, he still saw it as a significant improvement. By and large, the 

Service chiefs agreed. The sole exception was General Merrill A. McPeak, who 

succeeded Dugan as Air Force Chief of Staff. Suspecting that the available intelligence had inflated Iraqi capabilities, McPeak doubted the need for the massive 

ground build-up that Powell and Schwarzkopf were planning and saw it mainly as 

an attempt by the Army to embellish its role at Air Force expense. But his efforts to 

dissuade Powell were apparently half-hearted and he soon gave up, realizing that the 

momentum was against him.42

On October 30, Powell personally presented the new strategy to the President 

and his core group of advisors. Powell recalled that as he ran down the list of force 

requirements, there were gasps and gulps from practically everyone in the room except the President. Scowcroft thought the proposed augmentations were “so large 

that one could speculate they were set forth by a command hoping their size would 

change [the President’s] mind about pursuing a military option.”43 Bush, however, was 

unfazed. Remembering Glosson’s briefing of a few weeks before, he inquired about 

the increased use of airpower in lieu of ground forces but found the Chairman more 

adamantly opposed than ever. “Mr. President,” he said, “I wish to God that I could assure you that airpower alone could do it, but you can’t take that chance.”44
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To speed up deployment of the heavy armor Schwarzkopf requested, Powell 

proposed withdrawing VII Corps from Germany (comprising half of the Army’s 

strength in Europe) and moving it en masse to Saudi Arabia. Assuming all went well, 

U.S. forces would be in a position to commence offensive air operations around the 

middle of January 1991 and launch a ground attack a month later. Only a few years 

earlier, with the Soviet threat hanging over Western Europe, the unilateral withdrawal of U.S. forces from Germany on this scale was utterly unthinkable. But in 

the light of recent events—the pending CFE Treaty and the collapse of Communist 

power in Eastern Europe—the situation changed.45

On November 8, President Bush announced a significant augmentation in 

the number of troops being sent to the Persian Gulf, setting off a political battle in 

Washington that lasted into the new year.46 At issue was the 1973 War Powers Act, 

a legacy of Vietnam, which curbed the President’s authority to commit to combat 

without explicit approval from Congress. Bush and Scowcroft both scoffed at the 

law, arguing that it infringed on the President’s duties as Commander in Chief and 

was therefore unconstitutional. Powell, however, took the matter more seriously and 

welcomed an open airing of the issues. During the preparations for the Panama operation, he had not paid much attention to gathering congressional support, mainly 

because he found sentiment on Capitol Hill to be ahead of the administration on 

the need for intervention.47 A large-scale war in the Middle East involving the 

call-up of Reserves, with possibly thousands of U.S. casualties, was another matter. 

Echoing positions taken by the Joint Chiefs from the early days of the Reagan administration on, Powell wanted congressional preferences clearly on record before 

taking military action against Saddam. The upshot was a vigorous debate in Congress culminating on January 12, 1991, in the adoption of resolutions by both houses 

authorizing the President to use force to expel the Iraqis from Kuwait in accordance 

with UN directives. At long last, Powell had the mandate he wanted.

Final Plans and Preparations 

President Bush’s decision to augment the U.S. buildup in the Persian Gulf set the 

stage for the largest U.S. military campaign since Vietnam—the liberation of Kuwait, 

also known as Operation Desert Storm. Like the 1944 D-Day invasion of Europe, 

Desert Storm was both a joint and combined operation. As such, it tested not only 

the Bush administration’s diplomatic skills in coalition-building, but also its progress 

toward fulfilling the goals of the Goldwater-Nichols Act. While not the resounding 

display of “jointness” that some hoped it would be, the overall operation still reflected 
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an increased level of inter-Service cooperation and collaboration, a positive sign that 

the Goldwater-Nichols reforms were slowly but surely taking hold.

At the heart of the American-led effort to liberate Kuwait was an unusual set of 

command and control arrangements. From his temporary headquarters in Riyadh, 

General Schwarzkopf exercised broad strategic direction over an international coalition that grew to 700,000 troops representing 28 countries by the time military action commenced early in 1991. His direct operational control (OPCON) extended 

to about two-thirds of the total, mostly U.S. and British forces. French forces operated independently but coordinated closely with USCENTCOM. Egyptian, Syrian, 

and other Islamic forces invited to participate in military operations did so with the 

understanding that they would be subject to Saudi OPCON. A tricky arrangement 

in theory, it worked remarkably well in practice. By the time the ground offensive 

began in February 1991, the coalition had effectively evolved into two combined 

commands—the Western allies under Schwarzkopf, and the Islamic members under 

the senior Saudi commander, Prince Khalid bin Sultan.48

Final planning and preparations for Desert Storm took place through 

Schwarzkopf’s USCENTCOM organization. Like other combatant commands 

under the Joint Chiefs, USCENTCOM operated at the top with an integrated 

military staff but functioned through Service-oriented subcommands for ground, 

sea, air, and amphibious operations.49 The only one of those that approached truly 

joint-combined status during Desert Shield–Desert Storm was Horner’s air component, U.S. Air Forces Central Command (CENTAF), which from September 1990 

on included Navy, Marine, and British representatives.50 Among his duties, Horner 

functioned as Joint Forces Air Component Commander (JFACC), in which capacity he had authority to plan the air war, but not Service-specific command for anything other than Air Force assets.51 Still, his control of coalition air assets exceeded 

that of any U.S. commander in either the Korean or Vietnam Wars.52 Despite its 

joint appearance, CENTAF retained a distinctly Air Force perspective that heavily 

influenced the use of intelligence, targeting priorities, and the allocation of resources for the air campaign—all sources of friction to some degree with the other 

Services, which had their own views on how airpower should be applied. The Navy, 

which operated under less rigid planning procedures than the Air Force, found 

CENTAF’s methods especially onerous.53 As a rule, CENTAF either worked around 

those problems or relied on informal agreements to paper over them. Though not 

always the ideal solution, these ad hoc agreements seemed to avoid any serious 

misunderstandings. One of the earliest and most successful compromises, dating 

from September 1990, was the agreement reached between CENTAF and the 
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Marine Corps, under which the Marines allocated roughly half their combat planes 

in-theater to CENTAF-directed strategic operations in exchange for assurances of 

B–52 and Air Force tactical support of their ground operations.54

While providing overall strategic direction, Schwarzkopf was determined to 

avoid micromanaging field operations as he and Powell often complained McNamara 

and President Johnson did in Vietnam, to the detriment of the war effort. Preferring 

a system of decentralized command, he allowed his subordinates maximum freedom 

of action as long as they adhered to USCINCCENT’s overall strategy. That applied to 

planning for the air war as well as for the ground campaign and resulted in less than 

ideal coordination between USCENTCOM’s component commands. The upshot 

was that Schwarzkopf personally assumed operational control of all ground forces in 

the Kuwait Theater of Operations (KTO) but was still unable, once the fighting began, to achieve much more than nominal synchronization between USCENTCOM’s 

advancing Army (ARCENT) and Marine Corps (MARCENT) components.55

Despite his reputation for fastidious planning and attention to detail, Powell left 

Schwarzkopf more or less alone once they had an agreed plan of action. Describing 

him as “testy by nature” and “short-tempered,” Powell acknowledged that Schwarzkopf 

could be difficult to work with. But he had the utmost confidence in the USCINCCENT’s leadership and wanted to protect the longstanding American tradition that 

accorded commanders independence and initiative in the field, a concept he thought 

the Vietnam experience had assailed. In effect, Powell extended this doctrine a step 

further by applying it to the planning process. Using his CJCS position as a buffer, 

he allowed Schwarzkopf to move ahead with final preparations for Desert Storm with 

minimal interference from the “armchair strategists” in Washington.56

On December 19, 1990, Powell and Cheney arrived in Riyadh for 2 days of 

briefings, the final review before the President approved launching Desert Storm. 

Back in Washington, there was growing pressure from Secretary of the Air Force 

Rice and officers on the Air Staff to suspend preparations for a ground assault and to 

rely exclusively on airpower to defeat the Iraqis. At issue was Europe’s overburdened 

transportation network, which was causing intermittent disruptions in redeploying 

VII Corps’ heavy equipment from Germany to the Middle East.57 Seizing the opportunity, Rice launched an eleventh-hour effort to derail the ground offensive and 

arranged for Warden to conduct a special briefing for the Secretary of Defense on 

December 11 to persuade Cheney that an airpower-alone strategy could crush Iraqi 

resistance and win the war. Giving a heavy-handed performance, Warden insisted 

that a concerted air campaign could cut the strength of the Republican Guard in 

half and with enough time and bombs reduce Iraqi armor and artillery in the KTO 
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by 90 percent. Cheney was noncommittal, but as he and Powell arrived in Riyadh 

they knew they faced some hard decisions.58

Much of what they heard covered familiar ground. While Horner defended 

the particulars of the air campaign as currently planned, Schwarzkopf did the same 

for the ground war. Wanting to leave no stone unturned, Cheney peppered both 

commanders with tough questions and eventually asked them point blank whether 

Warden and other airpower enthusiasts were right in claiming that air strikes could 

take the Republican Guard down by 50 percent. Horner and Schwarzkopf acknowledged that computer analysis deemed it feasible and that Glosson and his 

staff were operating with that goal in mind. But with the moment of truth fast approaching, they conceded that it was a tall order and that nothing like it had ever 

been tried. While offering a generally positive assessment, Horner made no secret 

of his doubts.59

As for the ground offensive, Schwarzkopf offered assurances that despite delays, 

the buildup was moving ahead and would continue under cover of the air strikes. 

He estimated that he would be ready to launch his land attack (G-Day) sometime 

between mid-February and March 1. Ground combat would entail several interrelated operations. XVIII Airborne Corps and a French division would attack to 

the west and cut off Iraqi forces in the KTO. VII Corps and British units would 

conduct the main Coalition effort and attack to the east of XVIII Corps, engaging 

and destroying the Republican Guard. Finally, along the coast, U.S. Marines and 

Arab units would launch a combined offensive to hold enemy forces and eventually 

open the way for retaking Kuwait City. Schwarzkopf expected to have Kuwait back 

in safe hands in 2 weeks and spend another 4 weeks consolidating his victory. What 

would happen after that was apparently not discussed.60

Seeing no better alternative, the Secretary of Defense approved USCINCCENT’s plans and returned to Washington where he and Powell discussed them 

further with the President. While lauding the professionalism of the air campaign 

planners, Cheney admitted to being less impressed with preparations for the ground 

war. Though there was still the debate in Congress to contend with, Bush agreed 

to go ahead with scheduling the air offensive but determined that the actual start 

of the land campaign would require a subsequent Presidential decision in February. 

Only a few weeks earlier, Bush had listened to what he characterized as an “upbeat 

briefing” by McPeak on the air campaign and may have hoped it would rule the 

day and avoid the need for a bloody confrontation on the ground. Powell, as always, 

remained skeptical, but everyone involved realized that the time for planning and 

for theoretical discussions was fast drawing to a close.61
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On January 15, 1991, President Bush approved a general statement of war aims 

(NSD 54) authorizing U.S. military action in accordance with various UN resolutions. Despite the enormous force the United States and its coalition partners were 

assembling, the stated objectives in the President’s directive were limited to bringing 

about “Iraq’s withdrawal from Kuwait” and restoring the region to the status quo 

prior to the invasion. Only if Saddam resorted to the use of chemical, biological, or 

nuclear weapons, carried through on threats to mount a terrorist campaign against 

the United States and its allies, or adopted a scorched earth policy by destroying 

Kuwait’s oil fields, should steps be taken to replace his regime.62 In contrast, USCENTCOM’s preparations for military action both on the ground and in the air—

plans approved at the highest levels—envisioned a much more ambitious agenda 

that included not only the restoration of Kuwait’s sovereignty but also the de facto 

disarmament of Iraq and the annihilation of Saddam’s most formidable military 

forces, the Republican Guard. Under the air campaign, U.S. forces planned to “fragment and disrupt Iraqi political and military leadership,” a goal sometimes described 

as “decapitating” the Iraqi government. In short, there would be no holding back. 

If the opportunity presented itself, Schwarzkopf and his field commanders had tacit 

authority to go all the way and eradicate Saddam’s regime.63

Liberating Kuwait: The Air War 

Operation Desert Storm commenced during the early hours of January 17, 1991, with 

an attack by Army Apache helicopters against enemy radar installations in western 

Iraq. As the Iraqi installations burned, more than one hundred coalition fighterbombers swept through the “hole” in the enemy radar fence bound for various 

targets across the country. Almost simultaneously, a squadron of Air Force Stealth 

F–117s using precision-guided bombs struck key command, control, and communications nodes in Baghdad, while British Tornados bombed key airfields with special 

munitions designed to incapacitate the runways. There soon followed additional attacks from conventional air-launched cruise missiles (CALCMs) delivered by B–52s 

based in the United States and Tomahawk missiles fired from Navy vessels in the 

Persian Gulf and Red Sea. All in all, it was a dazzling display of joint and combined 

airpower and the most closely coordinated operation of its kind in history. Five 

hours into the air campaign, a voice identified as Saddam Hussein’s declared over 

state radio: “The great duel, the mother of all battles, has begun.”

Coalition air and missile strikes continued with only occasional let-up until 

the cessation of hostilities on February 28, 1991. Though a few Iraqi jets made it 

into the air to offer a challenge, most stayed on the ground. Some pilots flew their 
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planes to sanctuary in neighboring Iran. Initially, the bombing campaign adhered 

closely to the targeting and phased sequence of attacks as recommended by Warden’s Checkmate organization and as subsequently modified by Glosson’s Special 

Planning Group. Directed against 12 separate target sets, the intended goals of the air 

campaign were to assure coalition forces’ air superiority, cripple Saddam’s political 

and military command and control, disrupt essential industries and public services, 

isolate Iraqi forces in Kuwait and eventually defeat them, and deny Iraq the wherewithal to carry out future aggression or to pose a threat with nuclear, biological, or 

chemical weapons. In pursuit of those objectives, coalition forces flew nearly 65,000 

combat sorties during the war, with 75 percent of them directed against Iraqi forces 

in the KTO.64

Shortly after the air war began, planners came under unexpected political pressure to amend their objectives. The day after the air campaign commenced, Saddam 

made good on a threat to launch Scud missiles armed with high-explosive warheads 

against Israel. Six hit Tel Aviv and two landed on Haifa, doing little physical damage but having immense psychological impact.65 Since the onset of the crisis, the 

Bush administration did everything it could to dissuade the Israelis from becoming 

involved and now faced the prospect of Israeli retaliation unless U.S. forces took 

out the Scuds. With an effective range of only 500 miles, a relatively small warhead 

(between 200 and 500 pounds), and limited accuracy, the Scud missile, in Horner’s 

opinion, was “militarily insignificant.” Only if the Iraqis armed their Scuds with 

chemical or biological agents did Horner or other military planners see a serious 

danger. Weighing one thing against another, CENTAF planners downplayed the 

Scud threat. After destroying the fixed sites targeted at the outset of the bombing 

campaign, they looked to the Army’s Patriot missile defense system to cope with 

the problem.66

Following the attacks on Israel, however, Schwarzkopf and Horner came under 

mounting pressure from Washington to divert more air assets than they had intended 

to neutralize the Scuds. Intelligence was sketchy and proved to be on the low end, 

but as a working estimate planners assumed an Iraqi arsenal of 600 Scud missiles (and 

variants), 36 mobile launchers, and 28 fixed launchers in 5 complexes in western 

Iraq.67 The mobile systems proved the most vexing. Out of roughly 2,000 sorties 

per day during the early stages of the air campaign, Schwarzkopf estimated that USCENTCOM and its allies diverted approximately a third of their assets to the mobile 

“Scud hunt,” largely to no avail other than to placate the Israelis.68 Meanwhile, NATO 

reassigned four Patriot antimissile batteries to Israel, while the Joint Chiefs established 

a special planning cell within the U.S. Embassy in Tel Aviv, headed by a senior Joint 

Staff intelligence officer, to coordinate with the Israelis.69 As a rule, Schwarzkopf had 
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a low professional opinion of special operations forces and used them sparingly. But 

to help get the air campaign back on track, he called in the Joint Special Operations 

Command (JSOC), which deployed a 400-man unit to western Iraq in late January 

1991. Joined by British commandos, the JSOC teams scoured the Iraqi desert for mobile Scuds and claimed a dozen “kills,” though none were confirmed.70

According to after-action reports, the hunt for the elusive Scuds caused preplanned attacks against some targets to be postponed but did not significantly degrade the effectiveness of the air campaign. Equally if not more detrimental to the 

air war was a weather front that stalled over Iraq on the third day of the conflict, 

disrupting operations for the next 3 days and resulting in the cancelation of some 

attacks. But by the tenth day of the offensive (D+10), the coalition had achieved 

undisputed air superiority over Iraq, permitting operations at high and medium 

altitudes with “virtual impunity.” From that point on, coalition aircraft went about 

their tasks with systematic thoroughness.71

After the war, the air campaign’s role in Iraq’s defeat became a hotly debated 

issue. For those who had been around long enough, it conjured up memories of 

the contentious strategic bombing controversy after World War II (see chapter 3). 

Most assessments gave the air campaign mixed marks. On the plus side, it was without doubt a striking success in demonstrating the capabilities of new technologies 

(especially Stealth fighter-bombers and precision-guided munitions) in crippling 

Iraq’s communications and war-supporting infrastructure. But it was less effective 

in undermining Saddam’s leadership and eliminating the residual capabilities of his 

armed forces. Intelligence on Saddam’s chemical, biological, and nuclear programs 

proved so poor that many key installations that were carefully hidden remained 

untouched. While air bombardment destroyed thousands of Iraqi tanks and other 

vehicles, about half of the losses occurred during the Iraqi Army’s headlong retreat 

in the face of advancing coalition ground forces. The goal of a 50 percent reduction 

in effective Iraqi military strength through airpower prior to launching the ground 

war was never achieved.72 A large part of the explanation for the air campaign’s 

shortcomings was the brief duration of the war. Hence, even in areas where airpower achieved all of its objectives, it still fell below expectations. “It was prudent to 

have done so,” observed the authors of the Gulf War Airpower Survey, “but attacking oil refineries and storage in Iraq bore no significant military results due to the 

swift collapse of the Iraqi Army.” The same was essentially true of strategic attacks 

against Iraq’s electrical power grid and other public services.73

Yet without the air war, the liberation of Kuwait doubtless would have taken far 

longer at far greater cost. Assured by their superiors that the air campaign would last 

no more than a week, many Iraqi units found the month-long bombing intolerable 
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and surrendered at the first opportunity when the ground campaign began.74 As an 

exercise in jointness, the air war was probably the most successful and effective single 

part of the campaign. Air Force planners played the leading role in orchestrating the 

air war and in overseeing its execution. The Air Force also provided more planes than 

any other Service and flew the largest number of sorties—three and half times more 

than the Navy and over 60 percent of the total for the conflict.75 As the dominant 

Service in the air war, the Air Force tended to impose its judgments and values on 

the other Services and coalition partners. Friction, especially with the Navy, became 

virtually inevitable. But by the same token, there was a predisposition on the part of 

all involved to compromise and cooperate as the need arose. In a very real sense, there 

was no other choice. Mounting the air campaign was the most complex and technically demanding aspect of the Gulf War. It created an operational environment in 

which success was directly dependent on effective joint collaboration.

Phase IV: The Ground Campaign 

While the United States and its allies achieved air superiority against Iraq with 

relatively little difficulty, indications were that they would have a much tougher 

time overcoming resistance on the ground in Phase IV. Evicting an estimated half 

million Iraqi troops from Kuwait, many of them heavily dug in and experienced in 

trench warfare from years of conflict with Iran, was a daunting prospect. More ominous was the possibility that Saddam might employ chemical or biological weapons 

against advancing coalition forces. Assessments, both official and unofficial, ranged 

from a few hundred to tens of thousands of American casualties. Preparing for the 

worst, USCENTCOM’s medical staff expected as many as 20,000 U.S. killed and 

wounded.76 Though Scowcroft, McPeak, and a few others considered these estimates of Iraqi capabilities exaggerated, most policymakers and planners were too 

cautious not to take them seriously; hence the willingness of Bush and Cheney to 

follow Powell’s advice and expedite a massive buildup of land armies.

In pushing for the buildup, Powell’s purpose had been twofold: to intimidate 

Saddam into capitulating without a fight or, failing that, to apply overwhelming 

force that would crush Iraqi resistance with as few losses as possible to the United 

States and its allies. The air war was the critical first step, but under the strategy embraced by Powell and Schwarzkopf it was never an end in itself. Though both lauded 

the role of airpower, neither saw it as decisive. As in Panama, they expected the fate 

of Kuwait to be decided on the ground.

Thinking along similar lines, Saddam was confident that his forces could ride 

out an air bombardment and effectively resist a ground assault.77 Drawing on his 
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experience in positional warfare against Iran, Saddam created a layered defense with 

elaborate trenches, sand berms, and mine fields to slow the attackers’ advance and 

inflict heavy casualties. Bolstering his strategic reserve, he quietly began removing 

his Republican Guard divisions from Kuwait in September 1990 and redeployed 

them to rear echelon positions. Regular army infantry replaced them. Time and 

again during the war with Iran, Saddam used similar battlefield tactics. Once the 

thrust of the attacker’s offensive was apparent and had been reduced by the forward 

units, the reserve force made up of Republican Guard divisions would move in for 

the kill and destroy the enemy. A successful strategy against the limited capabilities 

of the Iranians, it proved considerably less effective against the coalition’s relentless air bombardment, heavy armor, mechanized artillery, and other sophisticated 

weapons.78

Coalition ground forces had limited contact with the opposing Iraqis prior to 

launching their main offensive in late February 1991. Up to then, the largest and 

most intense engagement was the battle of Khafji, a coastal Saudi town just south 

of the Kuwaiti border. Believing that the coalition was massing its forces there for 

a thrust up the coast, Saddam ordered a division-sized preemptive attack against 

Khafji on January 29, 1991. Heavy fighting raged for two days. In the end both sides 

claimed victory—the Iraqis for having requited themselves reasonably well in the 

face of overwhelmingly stronger opposition and the coalition for inflicting heavy 

losses on the invaders and driving them back to their lines using intense air, artillery, 

and naval bombardment. Militarily, the battle had little impact on the course of the 

war. But it did much to bolster the morale of Saudi forces who had taken part in 

the fighting and convinced Schwarzkopf that Iraqi combat skills were overrated.79

By the time the main attack to liberate Kuwait commenced on February 

23–24, Schwarzkopf had at his disposal one of the most impressive arrays of conventional firepower ever assembled including all the best of the Reagan buildup, 

from the planes, helicopters, and missiles flying overhead, to the tanks and armored 

personnel carriers on the ground, to the ships offshore. Since the Iraqis were armed 

largely with Soviet tanks and other Eastern bloc weapons, some in the press likened 

Desert Storm to a Cold War proxy conflict. In line with the Bush administration’s 

pending base force reorganization plan, many U.S. units and their equipment were 

slated for immediate demobilization once Kuwait was liberated. Desert Storm was to 

be their last hurrah. 

Under the weight of this awesome force, Iraqi resistance crumbled faster than 

anyone expected and the fighting was over in 100 hours. Some Iraqi units held their 

ground and offered credible resistance, but many gave up quickly and surrendered 

or deserted the battlefield. It turned out that allied intelligence had consistently 
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overestimated the size and capabilities of the Iraqi Army, so when the showdown 

came it was almost anticlimactic. Instead of the half million or more Iraqi troops in 

Kuwait as originally believed, there were probably between 200,000 and 220,000. 

Prewar intelligence also credited the Iraqis with 800 more tanks and 600 more 

artillery pieces than they had.80 Enemy casualties were likewise far fewer than the 

10,000 that were widely reported. A revisionist account, intentionally aimed at deflating such claims, asserted that there were as few as 4,500 Iraqi military losses 

during both the air and ground wars. This conjecture, based on selective anecdotal 

evidence, is probably too low. But remembering the unfavorable publicity and sordid controversy arising from McNamara’s enemy “body count” in Vietnam, Powell 

suppressed the issuance of official figures on Iraqi losses.81

Like the air war, the ground campaign fell short of achieving some of its key 

objectives due in large part to its relatively brief duration. The greatest disappointment was the coalition’s failure to destroy the Republican Guard, one of the cornerstones of Saddam’s political and military power. Eliminating the Guard as an effective fighting force was a declared objective in NSD 54 and was the responsibility 

of the all-mechanized VII Corps commanded by Lieutenant General Frederick M. 

Franks, Jr., USA, which spearheaded the main assault. Brought in on short notice 

from Germany, VII Corps was organized, trained, and equipped to operate against 

the Warsaw Pact along a fairly static front in Central Europe and did not have 

much time to acclimate itself to the faster pace of desert warfare. “I do not want a 

slow, ponderous pachyderm mentality,” Schwarzkopf declared. “I want VII Corps to 

slam into the Republic Guard.”82 Though Franks did what he could to pick up the 

tempo, it was still not fast enough to suit the USCINCCENT. Ultimately, in combination with ongoing air attacks, VII Corps inflicted heavy equipment losses on 

some of the Republican Guard’s best units, including the elite Medina, Hammurabi, 

and Tawakalna divisions. Franks declared it “a victory of staggering battlefield dimensions.”83 Confirming Franks’ assessment, Powell told President Bush that, based 

on initial reports, U.S. forces were “crucifying” the enemy.84 Later, however, Powell 

learned that much of the Republican Guard never committed to battle and that 

three divisions escaped essentially intact to the safety of fallback positions near the 

Iraqi city of Basra.85

Failure to destroy the Republican Guard meant that Saddam remained a credible and dangerous military power. As a result, instead of a prompt withdrawal from 

the Persian Gulf, the United States became entangled for more than a decade in a 

low-intensity conflict using air and naval power to contain Saddam’s rogue regime 

and police the region. While toppling Saddam was never an overt objective of Desert 

Storm (indeed, some Islamic governments would never have joined the coalition if it 
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was), it was always one of the Bush administration’s preferred outcomes. An elusive 

goal, it would continue to haunt American foreign policy until the combined U.S.-

British invasion of Iraq in 2003 finally brought down Saddam’s government. 

The Post-hostilities Phase 

On March 3, 1991, Schwarzkopf and senior officers of the U.S.-led coalition met 

with Iraqi generals at Safwan airfield just inside Iraq to conclude a ceasefire. Looking back, Bush and Scowcroft acknowledged that they agreed to halt the war based 

on mistaken information that the Republican Guard had been largely destroyed 

and that air strikes had rendered Saddam’s WMD research and production facilities 

inoperable. By the time they learned otherwise, it was too late to reconsider. Saddam’s politico-military base of power remained secure. Still, they insisted that they 

had done the right thing by bringing the war to a prompt conclusion. The Bush 

administration had achieved its declared aim of evicting the Iraqis from Kuwait, 

but as the fighting subsided it faced an unexpected backlash of “bad press” arising 

from reports of civilian casualties, televised bomb damage in Baghdad, and pictures 

of destroyed enemy tanks and assorted vehicles along the “highway of death” out 

of Kuwait City. President Bush wanted the United States to emerge from the war 

with improved relations and a favorable image in the Arab world, and it served his 

purposes better to limit further carnage.86

After the war, there was much second-guessing that by ending the conflict too 

soon the United States and its partners had passed up the opportunity to topple 

Saddam. Army planners attached to USCENTCOM had in fact sketched out a 

plan for a march on Baghdad if the opportunity arose. But the concept they proposed lacked defined objectives and assumed that the mere presence of U.S. forces 

nearing the city would be enough to compel Saddam to capitulate and step down. 

How U.S. forces would respond if Saddam refused was unclear. Not surprisingly, 

the plan received a cool reception followed by a curt rejection at Schwarzkopf’s 

headquarters.87 Weighed against Desert Storm’s initial accomplishments, moreover, 

U.S. and coalition casualties were incredibly light, and no one was eager to incur 

more. While some in the Air Force would have preferred additional time to test 

their theories about the role and impact of airpower, most were satisfied that they 

made large strides toward proving their case. With enemy resistance collapsing on 

all fronts, Powell and Schwarzkopf concurred that the Iraqi Army was a spent force 

and that a ceasefire would be in the interest of all concerned.88

Compared to the meticulous planning that went into the military preparations for 

the Gulf War, planning for the postwar period was sketchy and haphazard. According to 
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Charles W. Freeman, Jr., the U.S. Ambassador to Saudi Arabia, the Bush administration 

downplayed long-term political planning lest leaks “unhinge the huge and unwieldy 

coalition” the United States had so painstakingly put together to fight the war.89 As a 

result, preparing for the postwar period was not a high priority on anyone’s agenda. Still, 

to some extent it was unavoidable. Undertaken on a close-hold basis, postwar planning 

became largely an interagency distillation of views by the NSC Deputies Committee, 

where the Vice Chairman, Admiral David E. Jeremiah, represented the JCS.

In early February 1991, while testifying on Capitol Hill, Secretary of State 

Baker presented the gist of the deputies’ deliberations to that point. One proposal under active consideration was to create a permanent Arab peacekeeping force 

backed by an increased U.S. naval presence in the Persian Gulf. During preliminary 

discussions of this and other issues affecting postwar security arrangements, Joint 

Staff (J-5) planners opposed an increased U.S. military presence in Southwest Asia 

on the grounds that it would divert resources from other missions and go against 

promises the United States made to the Saudis and other Arab governments that 

Western forces would promptly withdraw from the region once Kuwait was liberated. As the deputies’ deliberations progressed, however, a consensus emerged that 

there was no alternative other than for the United States to assume a larger, more 

active postwar role in Gulf affairs. While the UN was likely to have overall responsibility, the United States, operating through USCENTCOM, had the only reliable 

organization in place with the necessary resources to police the region, assure the 

delivery of humanitarian aid to refugees displaced by the war, and assist Kuwait with 

its reconstruction. The deputies agreed that to the extent feasible the U.S. presence 

should be discrete and inconspicuous. For planning purposes, they were looking at 

the prepositioning of supplies and equipment for several Army brigades that could 

be quickly airlifted to the Middle East in case of renewed trouble, the permanent 

stationing of an Air Force tactical fighter wing somewhere in the Persian Gulf, additional units of Marines afloat offshore at all times, and an unspecified increase in 

naval forces with more frequent carrier visits to the region.90

The rest of Baker’s plan traversed familiar ground and envisioned regional arms 

control agreements to curb the proliferation of conventional arms and prevent Iraq 

from reviving its WMD capability, a program of regional economic development, 

renewed energy conservation to lessen U.S. dependence on Middle East oil, and last 

but not least a revived peace process between Israel and the Palestinians. The formidable agenda looked good on paper. But as the Secretary of State acknowledged, 

the plan was still very tentative. To succeed it would need the full cooperation of all 

involved, including the Iraqis. Hardest of all would be a revived Arab-Israeli peace 

process that did not include substantial prior concessions from Israel.91
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Efforts by the Deputies Committee to clarify a postwar strategy for the Middle 

East were still underway when the coalition’s senior military officers met with their 

Iraqi counterparts in early March to sign the Safwan ceasefire accords. Some of 

Cheney’s aides wanted the ceasefire to include tough restrictions on Iraq’s military 

capabilities and full Iraqi disclosure of all WMD research sites. But the Joint Staff 

saw no need for such detail and argued successfully that specific guidance would 

only complicate Schwarzkopf’s mission of negotiating an effective truce.92 Modeled 

on a recently adopted UN Security Council resolution (S/RES 686), the ceasefire 

imposed limited constraints on enemy forces and left Iraq’s military establishment 

essentially intact. Toward the end of the Safwan meeting, the Iraqis requested permission to use helicopters, which they insisted were essential for communication 

purposes owing to the damage coalition bombing had caused to ground transportation systems. Schwarzkopf was without instructions on the matter and, treating it as 

a reasonable request, agreed. He soon regretted his decision.93 Shortly after the truce, 

Iraqi armed forces began using helicopter gunships to help suppress rebellions that 

had broken out among dissident Shiites in southern Iraq and Kurds in the north. 

Press accounts exaggerated the role the helicopters actually played, but the impression in the West was that the coalition had seriously blundered by not banning them.

Thus, despite the setback in Kuwait, Saddam remained as defiant and dangerous as ever and a source of continuing tensions in the Persian Gulf. All the same, 

the most lasting impression from the Gulf War was that it was a stupendous military 

triumph for the United States. Shaking off the stigma of Vietnam, U.S. forces had 

put on an awesome display of military power that achieved stated objectives with 

stunning efficiency and effectiveness. The Powell Doctrine of applying overwhelming force against the enemy had again prevailed, probably saving countless American 

lives. Not since World War II had the American public’s confidence in the military 

and its leadership been so high. Much of the adulation fell on Schwarzkopf, whose 

gruff, no-nonsense manner, and commanding bearing made him an instant celebrity. 

Yet others basked in approbation as well. Indeed, for the vast majority of the Persian 

Gulf veterans it was an exhilarating experience as they returned home to tickertape 

parades and open-arm welcomes, honors that had eluded Vietnam veterans.

An unintended side effect of the Gulf War was the impetus it gave to reassessing the nature of future conflicts. In orchestrating such a lopsided victory, American 

planners exploited the latest military technologies to the fullest and in so doing 

made the defeat of Saddam’s forces look easy—maybe too easy. Underlying the 

American success was a phenomenon known as the revolution in military affairs 

(RMA), which helped give the United States swift military dominance over Iraq. 

Dating from theoretical studies initiated in the 1970s, RMA stressed the interaction 
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of new forms of communications, improved battlefield management techniques, 

and the application of “smart” weaponry to gain superiority over the enemy. As 

the “lessons” of RMA’s application in the Gulf War emerged, the notion took hold 

in some circles that future wars could be short, precise, and relatively painless. No 

member of the JCS, least of all General Powell who had done as much as anyone 

to engineer the victory, seriously believed that. But as the conflict ended, it seemed 

that a new era in warfare might be near at hand.

A further result of the war was the growing recognition that “jointness” had 

been an integral part of the victory. Iraq’s defeat had come about not merely by 

superior force of arms but through carefully coordinated planning and the joint 

application of military power. While Service planning staffs played key roles at the 

outset of the crisis in shaping both the air and ground campaigns, and while the 

conflict had not always gone as scripted (especially during the ground war phase), 

it was clear by the war’s end that joint direction and control had a major impact in 

shaping the outcome. Indeed, in Powell’s estimation, the Gulf War saw the “triumph 

of joint operational art.”94 That jointness would be a prerequisite to the success of 

future military operations as resources continued to contract was almost certain. 

Implementation of the Goldwater-Nichols Act may not yet have been in full stride 

as its authors intended, but things were moving inexorably in that direction.

Notes

1 NSR 10, “US Policy Toward the Persian Gulf,” February 22, 1989 (declassified), Bush Presidential Records, available at <http://bushlibrary.tamu.edu/research/pdfs/nsr/nsr10.pdf.

2 NSD 26, October 2, 1989, “US Policy Toward the Persian Gulf,” U, Bush Presidential 

Records, available at <http://bushlibrary.tamu.edu/research/pdfs/nsd/nsd26.pdf>.

3 Yevgeny Primakov, Russia and the Arabs, trans. Paul Gould (New York: Basic Books, 

2009), 314–315.

4 Powell mentions the military’s apprehension in his Oral History, PBS “Frontline,” aired 

January 9, 1996, transcript, 3–4, available at <www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/

gulf/oral/decision.html>.

5 NSD 26, October 2, 1989, loc. cit.; James A. Baker III, The Politics of Diplomacy: Revolution, War and Peace, 1989–1992 (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1995), 266–267.

6 Powell Oral History, PBS “Frontline,” transcript, 3.

7 Baker, Politics of Diplomacy, 272.

8 “Remarks and an Exchange with Reporters on the Iraqi Invasion of Kuwait,” August 

5, 1990, Bush Public Papers, 1990, 1102.

9 Quoted in Matthew M. Aid, The Secret Sentry: The Untold History of the National Security 

Agency (New York: Bloomsbury Press, 2009), 192.
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10 Robert H. Scales, Jr., Certain Victory: United States Army in the Gulf War (Washington, 

DC: Office of the Chief of Staff, United States Army, 1993), 43.

11 Alexander S. Cochran et al., Gulf War Airpower Survey, Vol. I., Part I, Planning (Washington, DC: GPO, 1993), 203–207 (series hereafter cited as GWAPS); and U.S. Department 

of Defense (DOD), Conduct of the Persian Gulf War: Final Report to Congress (Washington, DC: GPO, 1992), 9–16.

12 Quoted in H. Norman Schwarzkopf, with Peter Petre, It Doesn’t Take a Hero (New York: 

Bantam Books, 1993), 344.

13 Michael R. Gordon and Bernard E. Trainor, The Generals’ War: The Inside Story of the 

Conflict in the Gulf (Boston: Little, Brown, 1995), 130–131.

14 George Bush and Brent Scowcroft, A World Transformed (New York: Knopf, 1998), 354, 375.

15 Dick Cheney, with Liz Cheney, In My Time: A Personal and Political Memoir (New York: 

Threshold Editions, 2011), 185.

16 Colin L. Powell, American Journey (New York: Random House, 1995), 465–466.

17 DOD, 65.

18 Richard T. Reynolds, Heart of the Storm: The Genesis of the Air Campaign Against Iraq

(Maxwell AFB, AL: Air University Press, 1995), 16.

19 Powell, American Journey, 479, 487.

20 Baker, Politics of Diplomacy, 288.

21 Bernard E. Trainor, “Jointness, Service Culture, and the Gulf War,” Joint Force Quarterly

(Winter 1993–94): 72.

22 Richard G. Davis, On Target: Organizing and Executing the Strategic Air Campaign Against 

Iraq (Washington, DC: Air Force History and Museums Program, 2002), 3–9.

23 Diane T. Putney, Airpower Advantage: Planning the Gulf War Air Campaign, 1989–1991

(Washington, DC: Air Force History and Museums Program, 2004), 24.

24 See Powell’s testimony of December 3, 1990, in U.S. Congress, Senate, Committee on 

Armed Services, Hearings: Crisis in the Persian Gulf Region—U.S. Policy Options and Implications, 101:2 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1990), 662–663; and Putney, 263–264.

25 Powell, American Journey, 476–477.

26 John A. Warden III, The Air Campaign: Planning for Combat (Washington, DC: National Defense University Press, 1988), 169. Also see Richard P. Hallion, Storm over 

Iraq: Airpower and the Gulf War (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1992), 

116–117.

27 Thomas A. Keaney and Eliot A. Cohen, Gulf War Airpower Survey: Summary Report

(Washington, DC: GPO, 1993), 36–37; Richard G. Davis, “Strategic Bombardment in 

the Gulf War,” in R. Cargill Hall, ed., Case Studies in Strategic Bombardment (Washington, 

DC: Air Force History and Museums Program, 1998), 546–547.

28 GWAPS, I, Pt. I, 114; DOD, 65.

29 Edward J. Marolda and Robert J. Schneller, Jr., Shield and Sword: The United States Navy 

and the Persian Gulf War (Washington, DC: Naval Historical Center, 1998), 184.

30 Putney, 344.

31 GWAPS, I, Pt. I, 125–126, and Pt. II, 158.
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32 Davis, “Strategic Bombardment in the Gulf War,” 545.

33 Bob Woodward, The Commanders (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1991), 303.

34 Powell quotations from Putney, 221.

35 Henry Rowen quoted in Gordon and Trainor, 144.

36 Frank N. Schubert and Theresa L. Kraus, eds., The Whirlwind War: The United States Army 

in Operations DESERT SHIELD and DESERT STORM (Washington, DC: Center of 

Military History, 1995), 107.

37 Bush and Scowcroft, 381; Cheney Oral History Interview, no date, PBS “Frontline,” 

transcript, 4, available at <www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/gulf/oral/cheney>.

38 Bush and Scowcroft, 381.

39 Cheney, “Frontline” Oral History, 5; Putney, 228; Gordon and Trainor, 144–145. One of 

Vesser’s tasks was to evaluate the so-called “Western Excursion,” a proposal developed 

in OSD to occupy western Iraq and from there to launch or threaten an attack on 

Baghdad. Arguing that it was logistically unsupportable, USCENTCOM strenuously 

opposed the plan and it eventually died. Still, it was a lingering source of friction between OSD and USCENTCOM. See Schwarzkopf, 428–429.

40 DOD, 66; also see Schwarzkopf, 419.

41 Scales, Certain Victory, 131–133; Powell quotes from Schwarzkopf, 426–427.

42 Rick Atkinson, Crusade: The Untold Story of the Persian Gulf War (Boston: Houghton, 

Mifflin, 1993), 123–124; Woodward, 313–314.

43 Bush and Scowcroft, 431.

44 Powell Oral History, PBS “Frontline,” transcript, 2; see also Powell, American Journey, 488–489.

45 Schubert and Kraus, 107–110; Bush and Scowcroft, 393–395.

46 “President’s News Conference on the Persian Gulf Crisis,” November 8, 1990, Bush 

Public Papers, 1990, 1580–1581.

47 See Powell, American Journey, 419–20.

48 DOD, 42–45; Schubert and Kraus, 130.

49 USCENTCOM also included a fifth combat component command for special operations, but lacking a full-blown organization it functioned in a limited capacity and had 

no operational role. A separate organization, the U.S. Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC), carried out special operations during Desert Storm. 

50 Davis, “Strategic Bombardment in the Gulf War,” 545.

51 DOD, 101–102.

52 James A. Winnefeld and Dana J. Johnson, Joint Air Operations: Pursuit of Unity in Command 

and Control, 1942–1991 (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press and RAND Corp., 1993), 126.

53 See Marolda and Schneller, 183–190.

54 Putney, 175, 274–294 and passim; Gordon and Trainor, 311–312.

55 Atkinson, 67–68; John R. Ballard, From Storm to Freedom: America’s Long War with Iraq

(Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 2010), 52–53; and Trainor, “Jointness, Service Culture, 

and the Gulf War,” 73.

56 Powell, American Journey, 503.
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57 See James K. Matthews and Cora J. Holt, So Many, So Much, So Far, So Fast: United 

States Transportation Command and Strategic Deployment for Operation Desert Shield/ Desert 

Storm (Washington, DC: Joint History Office and Research Center, U.S. Transportation 

Command, 1995), 167–169, 174–175.

58 Gordon and Trainor, 186–190; Putney, 262–263.

59 Putney, 305–309.

60 DOD, 230–231, 243.

61 Davis, On Target, 161; Bush and Scowcroft, 431–432; DOD, 70.

62 NSD 54, “Responding to Iraqi Aggression in the Gulf,” January 15, 1991, Bush Presidential Records, NSC Collection; and <http://bushlibrary.tamu.edu/research/pdfs/

nsd/nsd54.pdf> (accessed July 19, 1911).

63 DOD, 95–96.

64 Davis, “Strategic Bombardment in the Gulf War,” 528; DOD, 253.

65 During the war, Saddam also launched Scud attacks against coalition positions in Saudi 

Arabia; 39 Scuds struck Israel and 44 hit Saudi Arabia. The most deadly attack came on 

February 25, 1991, when a Scud landed on barracks in Dhahran killing 25 U.S. military 

personnel and injuring another 100.

66 Atkinson, 85–90; Putney, 267–270. Developed originally as an antiaircraft missile, the 

Patriot was upgraded in 1988 to provide a limited capability against tactical ballistic 

missiles. The Gulf War was its first practical test.

67 DOD, 97.

68 Schwarzkopf, 486. Coalition air crews reported destroying around 80 mobile Scud launchers, 

nearly all of which were later found to have been decoys. A few actual launchers may have 

been destroyed but probably not more than a dozen. See GWAPS Summary Report, 83–90.

69 DOD, 168.

70 Gordon and Trainor, 244–246.

71 DOD, 124–129.

72 GWAPS, II, Pt. 2, 202–220.

73 GWAPS Summary Report, 77 (quote) and passim.

74 See Perry D. Jamieson, Lucrative Targets: The U.S. Air Force in the Kuwaiti Theater of Operations

(Washington, DC: Air Force History and Museums Program, 2001), 144–145 and passim.

75 Table 64, “Total Sorties by U.S. Service/Allied Country by Mission Type,” GWAPS, V, 232.

76 Woodward, 349.

77 Aid, 193.

78 DOD, 83–84.

79 Schwarzkopf, 496.

80 GWAPS, II, Pt. 2, 218–220.

81 See John G. Heidenrich, “The Gulf War: How Many Iraqis Died?” Foreign Policy 90 

(Spring 1993): 108–125.

82 Schwarzkopf, 502. Emphasis in original.
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83 Tom Clancy with Fred Franks, Jr., Into the Storm: A Study in Command (New York: G.P. 

Putnam’s Sons, 1997), 447.

84 Powell quoted in Atkinson, 469.

85 Scales, Certain Victory, 300–301, 314–315; DOD, 281; Ballard, 74.

86 Gordon and Trainor, 412; Bush and Scowcroft, 488–489.

87 Gordon and Trainor, 452–454.

88 Schwarzkopf, 542–543; Powell, 519–525. Shortly after the war, in a televised interview, 

Schwarzkopf changed his mind and indicated that he would have preferred to continue 

fighting a few more days but neglected to mention what specific objectives he had in mind.

89 Freeman interviewed March 31, 1998 and quoted in Andrew Cockburn and Patrick 

Cockburn, Out of the Ashes: The Resurrection of Saddam Hussein (New York: HarperCollins, 1999), 33.

90 Baker testimony, February 6, 1991,U.S. Congress, House, Committee on Foreign Affairs, Hearings: Foreign Assistance Legislation for Fiscal Years 1992–93, 102:1 (Washington, 

DC: GPO, 1991), Pt. 1, 6–7 and passim; Baker, Politics of Diplomacy, 412–413.

91 Baker, Politics of Diplomacy, 412–414.

92 Gordon and Trainor, 444.

93 Schwarzkopf, 566–567.

94 Gordon and Trainor, 464.

Chapter 18

Conclusion

Like the defeat of Germany and Japan in World War II, the victory over Iraq in 1991 

proved to be a watershed in the history of American military policy and strategy. 

The biggest military operation mounted by the United States since the Vietnam 

War, Desert Shield/Desert Storm was also exceedingly complex and difficult to execute. One of the keys to its success was the coordinated planning and direction 

provided by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Colin Powell, and the officers of the Joint Staff, working in collaboration with the military Services; the 

theater commander, General Norman Schwarzkopf; and the allies who made up 

the anti-Iraq coalition. The result was not only an awesome display of American-led 

military power, but also a reaffirmation that joint planning and joint direction of 

components in the field were increasingly essential to success in modern warfare.

What may seem to have been a relatively easy victory was far from preordained. 

Rather, it was the product of a long and complicated process, with antecedents 

reaching back to the creation of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in World War II. Established 

in January 1942 to expedite wartime planning and strategic coordination with the 

British, the Joint Chiefs operated initially under the direct authority and supervision 

of the President, performing whatever duties he assigned in his capacity as Commander in Chief. After the war, as part of the 1947 reorganization of the Armed 

Services under the National Security Act, the JCS acquired statutory standing with 

a list of assigned duties and became a corporate advisory body to the President, the 

Secretary of Defense, and the National Security Council. The corporate nature of 

the Joint Chiefs’ advisory role ended upon passage of the 1986 Goldwater-Nichols 

Act, which transferred the tasks and duties previously performed collectively by 

the JCS to the Chairman. But in retaining the Joint Chiefs of Staff as an organized 

entity, the new law affirmed that they should continue to hold “regular” meetings 

and act as “military advisors” to the Chairman.

Prior to Goldwater-Nichols, the role, influence, and reputation of the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff waxed and waned. World War II undoubtedly marked the high-water 

mark of JCS authority and influence. Operating without a formal charter, they 

exercised a virtual monopoly on national security, oversaw the formulation of strategy, maintained essential military liaison with America’s allies, and provided general 

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direction for a broad array of key war-related activities. Despite their wide-ranging 

mandate, however, the JCS never became a fully functioning general staff. The greatest weakness of the JCS system, then as later, was its composition as a committee of 

coequal Service chiefs. Expected in theory to rise above their individual concerns, 

they were all too susceptible to inter-Service pressures and rivalries, a legacy of the 

separateness between the Services in years past and a harbinger of things to come. 

With the Army focused on the war in Europe and the Navy concentrating on 

the Pacific, two sets of interests invariably competed for manpower and industrial 

production, resulting in disagreements over strategy and the allocation of resources. 

With the emergence of the Army Air Forces as a de facto separate Service, reaching consensus decisions became even more difficult. Fortunately, the level-headed 

influence of Admiral William D. Leahy, Chief of Staff to the Commander in Chief, 

and President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s imposing presence prevented these quarrels 

and rivalries from getting out of hand. Yet given the personalities involved and the 

entrenched institutional interests each JCS member represented, it was remarkable 

that they accomplished what they did.

As World War II drew to a close, the role and functions of the Joint Chiefs 

began to change. In addition to their planning and advisory duties, the JCS acquired oversight responsibilities for the various unified and specified commands 

that sprang from the 1946 Unified Command Plan (UCP). An extension of the 

World War II practice of creating “supreme commands,” the UCP affirmed that 

joint planning and joint operational control should go hand in hand. However, the 

most far-reaching changes affecting the chiefs’ functions were those arising from the 

postwar debate over unification of the Armed Services. Embracing a War Department proposal, President Harry S. Truman sought to abolish the JCS and replace 

them with a single chief of staff and a closely unified structure overseen by a civilian 

secretary of defense. Opponents of unification, led by the Navy, championed a less 

centralized system. Arguing the need for improved coordination in lieu of outright 

unification, they opposed the single chief of staff concept and urged a loosely knit 

committee-style system that included preserving the JCS more or less unchanged. 

The ensuing compromise under the National Security Act of 1947 leaned toward 

the Navy’s model and kept the JCS intact, subject to the direction, authority, and 

control of the Secretary of Defense. The Joint Staff, which had been an integral part 

of JCS operations during the war, also acquired statutory standing, but with a ceiling 

of only one hundred officers it was a mere shadow of its former self and was soon 

swamped with more work than it could handle.

The next few years were a period of painful adjustment for the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff. Promising “evolution, not revolution” to ease the transition, the first Secretary 
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539

of Defense, James Forrestal, took a go-slow approach to unification. Seeing himself 

as a coordinator, he looked to the Joint Chiefs for much-needed assistance and leadership in keeping the Services in line and in recommending the most effective and 

efficient allocation of resources. A daunting task, it tested the chiefs’ patience with one 

another practically to the breaking point. Despite the menacing behavior of Moscow 

and several “war scares,” the chiefs were often at odds over the assignment of Service 

functions and the choice of weapons and strategy for coping with the Soviet threat. 

As more and more of the disputes became public, they left the JCS with a tarnished 

image and a growing reputation as a committee of quarrelsome military bureaucrats 

intent on protecting vested interests at the expense of the common good.

Whether a more centralized system with stronger authority at the top could 

have avoided these early difficulties is open to question. While it might have helped, 

it would not have solved the underlying problem—a fundamental difference of 

opinion within the defense establishment on how to arm, train, and prepare for future wars. New technologies—the atomic bomb premier among them—and rapid 

advances in aviation, missiles, electronics, and other fields created fresh opportunities 

for the Services and new ways of looking at military strategy. But with money in 

short supply, inter-Service competition and friction displaced rational discussion. 

Treating one another as rivals rather than partners, the Services scrambled to lay 

claims to military functions that would guarantee them continuous future funding.

Early efforts to improve JCS performance met with mixed success. While Congress welcomed greater military efficiency and effectiveness, it refused to tamper 

with the basic JCS corporate structure lest it acquire the traits of a “Prussian-style 

general staff.” Moving cautiously, Congress agreed in 1949 to add a full-time JCS 

Chairman who was without Service responsibilities and to double the size of the 

Joint Staff. While the Chairman’s powers were initially narrowly defined, his designation as the Nation’s senior military officer heightened his stature and prestige well 

beyond his legal authority. The first JCS Chairman, General Omar Bradley, USA, 

was initially guarded in exercising his authority and in offering advice. But as he became more familiar with what was expected of him, Bradley realized that he had no 

choice and had to become more actively involved. Adopting a procedure that other 

Presidents would copy, Truman directed that only the CJCS attend NSC meetings 

on a regular basis. As a result, it became almost routine for the Secretary of Defense, 

the President, and the National Security Council to work directly with or through 

the Chairman, a practice that further enhanced his de facto role as spokesman for 

the military. In dealing with the Service chiefs, however, the Chairman’s powers 

to resolve disputes remained limited. He could coax and cajole and sometimes 

engineer compromises, but he could not compel cooperation. To preserve JCS 
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credibility, Chairmen often resorted to advancing their own interpretation of JCS 

advice rather than trying to compose differences and achieve a common view.

Meanwhile, the intensification of the Cold War, new U.S. commitments under 

the North Atlantic Treaty, and the emergence in the summer of 1949 of the Soviet 

Union as a nuclear power increased pressure on the United States to strengthen its 

defense posture. Driven by domestic budgetary considerations and recent breakthroughs in nuclear weapons design, the evolving U.S. strategy downplayed the role 

of conventional forces and stressed air-atomic retaliation by the Air Force’s longrange bombers in case of Soviet aggression. Not everyone agreed that this was a 

sound course to follow, certainly not the Navy, which had its own competing view 

of national security built around a proposed fleet of flush-deck “super carriers.” But 

as an all-around solution to the country’s defense needs, the air-atomic strategy 

was irresistible. An intimidating threat, it was technologically feasible, commanded 

strong bipartisan support in Congress, and could be priced to fit practically any 

reasonable spending limit the White House might impose.

Following the outbreak of the Korean War, the brakes on military spending came 

off as the Truman administration launched a “peacetime” military buildup of unprecedented proportions. Under the guidelines laid down in NSC 68, defense planning pointed to a “year of maximum danger” in anticipation of which each Service 

received roughly an equal allocation of resources, an expensive but expeditious approach that allowed the JCS to go about their business amid reduced competition 

and rivalry. But as costs climbed and the expected showdown with the Soviets failed 

to materialize, attention shifted to developing a more stable defense posture for the 

“long haul.” The process accelerated with the change of administrations in 1953. Finding the Joint Chiefs unable to agree on what should be done, President Dwight D. 

Eisenhower took matters into his own hands and gave defense policy a “new look.” 

Convinced that atomic energy held the key, he developed a long-term deterrence 

posture resting on the threat of “massive retaliation” by the Air Force, backed by general purpose forces armed increasingly with tactical and battlefield nuclear weapons. 

Eisenhower assumed that sooner or later the JCS would come around to his 

view that low-yield nuclear weapons represented the new “conventional” weapons and were suitable for limited warfare. Toward that end, both Admiral Arthur 

Radford and General Nathan Twining, the first two Chairmen he appointed, did 

what they could to elicit cooperation from the skeptical Service chiefs. Presented 

with repeated opportunities to test the President’s theory during the Indochina and 

Formosa crises, they declined. For them as for others, crossing the nuclear threshold 

was becoming almost synonymous with all-out war. Since the objectives were invariably in Asia, there were awkward racial implications as well. Nonetheless, the 
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JCS accepted tactical nuclear weapons as an integral part of the American arsenal 

and encouraged NATO to follow suit as a means of offsetting the numerical Soviet 

advantage in conventional forces. NATO’s “new approach” mirrored the new look 

on a lesser scale and relaxed pressures on the European allies to maintain sizable and 

expensive general purpose forces. But it also left NATO more dependent than ever 

on a nuclear response as its first line of defense, a problem that would dog the Alliance down to the dying days of the Cold War.

Despite strenuous efforts to hold down military spending, the Eisenhower administration achieved limited savings. Faced with unexpected increases in Soviet capabilities, it became involved in a steadily escalating strategic arms competition with 

the Soviet Union, first in long-range bombers and later in intercontinental ballistic 

missiles. Though the Air Force’s monopoly on strategic bombers was well established, the missile field was wide open and soon produced a free-for-all competition 

among the Services that required direct intervention by the Secretary of Defense. 

Meanwhile, the Joint Chiefs continued to endorse across-the-board force proposals 

that exceeded available funding. Unable to overcome their “splits” and recommend 

an integrated statement of requirements, they eventually adopted a catch-all approach that lumped Service requirements together in no particular order of priority 

under the Joint Strategic Objectives Plan (renamed the Joint Strategic Planning 

Document in the late 1970s), which critics likened to a Christmas “wish list.”

Frustrated by the disarray among his military advisors, Eisenhower sought further changes to the National Security Act aimed at improving JCS performance. Under revised legislation passed in the summer of 1958, the Chairman acquired about as 

much power and authority as he could reasonably exercise while still operating within 

the traditional JCS corporate structure and the consensus-based advisory system. At 

the same time, however, the new law bestowed additional responsibilities and authority on the Secretary of Defense that diminished the JCS role. From that point on, the 

Secretary of Defense and those around him—not the Chairman, the Service chiefs, 

or the Joint Staff—would be the center of military policy and decisionmaking, the 

galvanizing force, as it were, within the Department of Defense (DOD).

The nadir of JCS influence came during the 1960s as Secretary Robert S. McNamara took charge of the Pentagon and the Vietnam War. Given a free hand by 

Presidents Kennedy and Johnson to reform DOD, McNamara imposed a tight and 

highly sophisticated system of planning, programming, and budget management 

that gave the Office of the Secretary of Defense more control of the military than 

ever before. By the time he finished, the JCS had become a marginalized institution. Though McNamara insisted that he wanted the closest possible cooperation 

and collaboration with the Joint Chiefs, he did not hesitate to act unilaterally if it 
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suited his needs or he perceived the chiefs to be dragging their heels. Pushing the 

doctrine of “flexible response,” he made reducing military dependence on nuclear 

weapons his first order of business, a goal popular with some in the military and 

with a growing number of civilian military theorists. But it was less appealing to 

planners on the Joint Staff and their counterparts in Europe who had to cope 

with limited resources to offset overwhelming Soviet superiority in conventional 

forces. Extending his writ into areas previously the exclusive domain of the JCS, he 

challenged prevailing assumptions about strategic requirements and established new 

targeting criteria, limiting them mainly to the needs of a retaliatory (second-strike) 

“assured destruction” capability. To curb future costs and growth in nuclear forces, 

McNamara capped the size of the U.S. strategic offensive arsenal (a ceiling which, 

in terms of launchers, remained more or less intact until the end of the Cold War) 

and practiced unilateral restraint in the acquisition and deployment of both antimissile defense systems and of new weapons, especially those he deemed to have 

“first-strike” potential.

To the Joint Chiefs, the constraints McNamara imposed seemed almost certain 

to bring about parity if not inferiority in strategic forces vis-à-vis the Soviet Union 

as well as weakening deterrence and inviting Soviet aggression. But from Kennedy’s 

Presidency on, JCS access to and influence within the Oval Office fell off sharply, 

limiting the chiefs’ influence over defense policy and the weapons acquisition process. As a result of the Bay of Pigs debacle, Kennedy lost practically all trust in JCS 

advice and appointed his own in-house consultant on military affairs, retired Army 

Chief of Staff General Maxwell D. Taylor. A personal friend of Kennedy’s, Taylor 

returned to active duty to become Chairman of the Joint Chiefs on the eve of the 

Cuban Missile Crisis and was the only JCS member who participated regularly in 

high-level meetings during that episode. 

Taylor was the first Chairman to see himself almost exclusively as a “trusted 

agent” for the President and the Secretary of Defense. With the possible exception 

of Admiral Radford, previous Chairmen had adopted a middle-of-the-road approach, acting both as spokesmen for the “military viewpoint” (i.e., their Service 

colleagues) and as the administration’s representative to the military. Once the Cuban Missile Crisis was behind him, however, Taylor devoted his time as Chairman to 

bringing the chiefs into line with White House and OSD preferences. A thankless 

task, it produced mixed results and diminished his stature and respect in the eyes 

of his JCS colleagues. The CJCS during Johnson’s Presidency, General Earle G. 

Wheeler, USA, served both as a go-between for the JCS and the White House, 

and as an Oval Office advisor who eventually gained access to the President’s inner circle. Subsequent Chairmen generally followed Wheeler’s lead, though they 
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C ON C LU S ION

sometimes found it hard to tell where their responsibilities as JCS spokesmen ended 

and those of trusted agents of the President or Secretary began. Until GoldwaterNichols redefined the CJCS’s role and responsibilities, Chairmen customarily functioned as a little of both. None, however, came even close to matching the level of 

influence exercised collectively by the JCS in World War II.

The most trying times for the Joint Chiefs were during the Vietnam War. Finding their views and recommendations consistently rejected as too extreme, they 

gave in to a military strategy of graduated responses that they regarded as ineffectual 

and doomed to fail. That they dutifully went along with the Johnson administration’s conduct of the war reflected not only their professionalism and dedication, 

but also their underlying belief that sooner or later the President, the Secretary of 

Defense, and the other civilians running the war would see the light, accept the JCS 

view, and initiate the necessary changes. But by the time that opportunity arose, 

public and congressional opinion had turned so strongly against the war that ramping up the conflict, as the JCS favored, was utterly unthinkable. In the wake of the 

Viet Cong’s Tet offensive in early 1968, the JCS were about the only ones left in 

Washington who still rated the war as winnable.

As the Vietnam War wound down, the JCS struggled to adjust to the realities 

of a country that had lost confidence in its military and was increasingly skeptical of the anti-Communist containment policies of the past. Among the various 

consequences of the conflict, none was more profound than the breakdown of the 

bipartisan Cold War consensus that had governed and sustained American foreign 

policy since World War II. Opposition to Vietnam by a large and vocal sector of the 

American public had realigned the political landscape, while the emergence of the 

Great Society gave domestic programs a growing claim on resources in direct competition with the military’s. The result was a greater-than-expected retrenchment in 

post-Vietnam military spending. During the 1950s and 1960s, the Defense Department had routinely consumed around 10 percent of the country’s gross national 

product; from the early 1970s on, it was lucky to get half of that. Yet despite the severe cutbacks, competition among the Services for funds was less intense than after 

previous wars, thanks in large part to McNamara’s programmatic and procedural 

changes, which now pre-allocated the bulk of the military budget around functional 

categories that changed little from year to year.

The most serious military problem facing the Joint Chiefs in the aftermath 

of Vietnam was the surge in Soviet offensive strategic power. Given the limited 

support in Congress for new defense programs, the Nixon administration turned 

to adroit diplomacy—détente with the Soviet Union and the quasi-alliance with 

China—to shore up the precarious American position. Forced to adjust, the JCS 
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became reluctant converts to the virtues of arms control, a key pillar of détente, as a 

means of curbing the threat posed by Soviet strategic forces. While they had shown 

a fleeting interest in the Baruch Plan for international control of atomic energy 

immediately after World War II, the JCS had since been among the most consistent 

skeptics and critics of arms control and disarmament. But with the Soviets steadily 

gaining in strategic nuclear power, and with little prospect that the United States 

would take up the challenge, the chiefs were compelled to reassess their position.

Indeed, no issue caused the Joint Chiefs more headaches during the later decades of the Cold War than the strategic arms control negotiations with the Soviet 

Union. While the Joint Chiefs saw no choice but to go along, they were uneasy with 

the whole arms control process and found the initial results—a 1972 treaty severely 

restricting antimissile deployments and a temporary “freeze” on offensive strategic 

launchers—deeply disturbing and generally at odds with U.S. interests. Missile defense was an area where the United States had been technologically ahead of the 

Soviets all along, and with the cap on land-based missile deployments, the Soviets 

now enjoyed a 60-percent advantage over the United States in ICBM launchers. 

The United States remained ahead in the number of targetable strategic warheads, 

though even that advantage was slipping away as the Soviets (copying the United 

States) turned increasingly to arming their long-range missiles with multiple independently targetable reentry vehicles. In debating the SALT I agreements before 

Congress in 1972, the Joint Chiefs made their endorsement of the accords conditional upon significant improvements in the U.S. strategic posture, including a new 

manned strategic bomber (the B–1), a more powerful ICBM (the MX), and a fleet 

of Trident submarines carrying more missiles with bigger payloads. Yet even with 

those enhancements, the JCS knew that the strategic balance was likely to remain 

about the same. The days of American strategic superiority were past, and whatever 

advantages that position may have conferred were long gone.

A curious anomaly of the post-Vietnam period was the extent to which the 

country’s political leaders played down the role of military power in American foreign policy while trying to find new ways of making the Department of Defense 

and the JCS appear more efficient and effective. The explanation for this apparent 

paradox lies in the obvious desire of senior policymakers to avoid complications 

abroad like those that led to involvement in Vietnam, while shoring up the public’s 

weakened confidence in its Armed Forces. One means of doing so was to revive 

JCS participation in the policy process on something other than the ad hoc basis 

of the Kennedy-Johnson years when military advice was practically ignored. Starting with the revival of the NSC system under President Richard M. Nixon and his 

assistant for national security affairs, Henry A. Kissinger, the JCS steadily regained 
545

C ON C LU S ION

a regular voice in interagency deliberations that allowed them to make inputs to 

decisions and to have their ideas at least heard at practically every level.

Larger, more fundamental changes in the JCS system seemed inevitable but 

were slow in coming due to a lack of agreement on what they should entail. President Jimmy Carter leaned toward a more streamlined system that would do away 

with consensus-based advice. But he gave JCS reform low priority and became 

preoccupied with other matters—making peace between Israel and Egypt, transferring U.S. control of the Panama Canal, and, above all, negotiating a SALT II Treaty 

with the Soviet Union—that required JCS acquiescence if not outright support to 

get through Congress. In those circumstances, Carter could ill afford to engage in 

a reorganization battle with the chiefs and still expect them to endorse his policies 

enthusiastically. Letting the reorganization issue drift, he expected to return to it in 

his second term but never had the opportunity.

With the advent of the Reagan administration in 1981, attention turned to rebuilding the country’s military power, a task begun cautiously in the dying days of the 

Carter administration as relations with the Soviet Union again deteriorated. Under 

Reagan, bolstering the Armed Forces mushroomed into the longest and largest peacetime military expansion in American history. Still, in terms of GNP, annual military 

spending during the Reagan years never came close to what it was between the Korean and Vietnam wars. By now, Soviet troops were heavily engaged in Afghanistan, 

Communist-backed insurgencies were gaining ground from southern Africa to Central America, and the Soviets were threatening NATO with the deployment of a new 

generation of highly accurate and more usable intermediate-range missiles known as 

the SS–20. With détente dead, the Cold War was again front and center.

Despite his high regard and lavish praise for the military, President Ronald 

Reagan used the Joint Chiefs sparingly to help orchestrate his administration’s rearmament program. The chiefs’ desires for improvements in the force posture were 

well known and were not much different from the agenda the President and his 

advisors brought with them into office. Like the expansion under NSC 68, the 

Reagan buildup was an all-Service affair, with a slight tilt toward the Navy for 

power-projection purposes. Once underway, it acquired a momentum of its own 

under spending guidelines negotiated between OSD and the Office of Management and Budget, a practice dating from McNamara’s time. The chiefs’ most lasting and innovative contribution came in February 1983 when, during a routine 

meeting with the President, they proposed a stepped-up research and development 

program for ballistic missile defense to explore new space-based technologies, thus 

planting the seeds of the Strategic Defense Initiative. The chiefs assumed that as the 

progenitors of the project they would play a major role in its development and act 
546

Coun c il of War

as coordinators with the Services. But after giving SDI an enthusiastic endorsement, 

the President looked to Secretary of Defense Caspar W. Weinberger rather than the 

JCS to carry it forward.

Being well aware of the flaws and limitations of the JCS system, Reagan and 

Weinberger were content to work around the Joint Chiefs. Indeed, they saw nothing fundamentally wrong with the existing setup despite the ingrained culture of 

inter-Service rivalry and competition. By the early 1980s, power and control within 

the Defense Department were concentrated more than ever in the hands of the 

Secretary of Defense and his immediate staff. The Joint Chiefs, with their influence 

dimmed by Vietnam, were a relatively weak and pliable organization. Weinberger 

liked it that way and saw no need for changes that might dilute his authority. His 

critics in Congress, however, had other ideas, and with defense expenditures soaring 

they wanted more checks and balances within DOD. Pointing to a lengthy list of 

lapses in joint operations (the Mayaguez incident, the abortive Iran hostage rescue, 

the Grenada intervention, and the terrorist bombing of the Marine barracks in 

Beirut), they seized on proposals for improvements from a former CJCS, General 

David C. Jones, USAF, and revived the dormant campaign to reform the JCS. Out 

of the legislative action that followed emerged the Goldwater-Nichols Act in 1986.

A sharp departure from the pattern of previous defense reform measures, 

Goldwater-Nichols marked the triumph of congressional preferences over those of 

the Executive. During the debate leading to passage of the legislation, consultation 

between the administration and the reformers on Capitol Hill was perfunctory, 

strained, and limited. Many of the objections the administration raised had to do 

with the enormous amount of prescriptive detail that Congress wanted included 

to institutionalize “jointness” and root out alleged Service parochialism, much of 

it dealing with officer promotion and other personnel matters. Once the law was 

passed, there was little enthusiasm for it at OSD or the White House and even less 

among serving senior military officers. Realizing that it would take time to bring 

the Services around, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Admiral William J. Crowe, Jr., 

adopted “evolution, not revolution” as his motto, an echo of Forrestal’s sentiments 

toward unification four decades earlier. 

Like the 1947 National Security Act, Goldwater-Nichols was a product of its 

times. While the earlier law drew its inspiration from the experiences of World War 

II, Goldwater-Nichols reflected a distinctly Cold War outlook. Addressing threats 

associated with the missile age, when rapid decisions based on prior planning could 

make all the difference, it stressed more streamlined command and control and crisp, 

clear-cut military planning and advice in lieu of the ponderous deliberations and 

sometimes ambiguous recommendations inherent in the traditional JCS corporate 
547

C ON C LU S ION

system. By the time Goldwater-Nichols became law, however, the Cold War was 

already in the initial stages of winding down, rendering the need for such reforms 

less acute. With the advent of new, more moderate leadership in Moscow, the conclusion of the INF Treaty, the Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan, and the disintegration of Communist power in Eastern Europe, Washington and Moscow were on 

track toward a more durable modus vivendi. Increasingly, as the Cold War receded 

into the history books, the threats facing American military planners became less 

obvious and the requirements of national security more complex and subtle than 

coping with a heavily armed adversary like the Soviet Union.

Early tests of the Goldwater-Nichols reforms seemed to pass with flying colors, helped along by the pursuit of narrowly defined objectives—assuring the safe 

passage of oil tankers through the Persian Gulf for one, and overthrowing the brutish Panamanian dictator Manuel Noriega for another. Neither of those operations 

required more than a fraction of the enormous military power the United States 

amassed during the Cold War and both probably could have been carried out with 

equally effective results under the old JCS system. But with the benefits of the 

Goldwater-Nichols reforms gradually coming into play, their execution appeared 

to go more smoothly and efficiently.

Iraq’s invasion and annexation of Kuwait in the summer of 1990 posed a bigger challenge. Yet from all outward appearances, the JCS seemed to take the matter in stride. Citing an uncommonly high level of cross-Service collaboration and 

integrated effort, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Colin L. Powell, USA, 

decreed Desert Shield/Desert Storm to be a model of joint operational art. Even so, 

there was a heavy dependence on the Services’ planning staffs in shaping the air 

and ground campaigns and numerous instances of inter-Service friction stemming 

from continuing differences over doctrine and operating procedures. At the same 

time, Secretary of Defense Richard B. Cheney sometimes bypassed Powell and the 

Joint Staff and sought alternative recommendations outside the normal chain of 

command. Yet even if the first Gulf War was not the unqualified endorsement of 

Goldwater-Nichols principles that the law’s proponents hoped, it amply demonstrated that the system was sound and likely to stay.

The rapid eviction of Iraqi forces from Kuwait also erased the remaining stains 

of Vietnam and restored the American public’s confidence in its Armed Forces. One 

untoward consequence of the campaign, however, was that it fostered the erroneous 

and rather naïve belief that modern military technology could achieve wonders 

and that future wars could be fought quickly and successfully at limited cost and 

sacrifice. Underlying the American success against Iraq was the availability of overwhelming military power augmented by the Reagan buildup. Yet even before Desert 
548

Coun c il of War

Shield/Desert Storm began, plans were well advanced to dismantle the Nation’s huge 

Cold War defense establishment and replace it with a smaller, more efficient “base 

force.” Recalling the debilitating effects of previous build-downs, the architect of 

the base force plan, General Powell, sought to preserve residual capabilities that 

would avoid the harsh and disruptive cutbacks of the past. But after the collapse 

of the Soviet Union in the summer of 1991, the lure of further “peace dividends” 

became irresistible. While the United States emerged from the Cold War as the only 

remaining “superpower,” it was a title won by default that was soon to be accompanied by a significantly less robust military establishment. 

The demise of the Cold War did not, of course, bring a cessation to threats 

from abroad. Likened sometimes to a marathon rather than a sprint, the challenge 

of preserving national security remained an ongoing problem. As the focal point of 

the Nation’s military planning, the Joint Chiefs of Staff organization continues to 

play an active and prominent role in national policy. Because of the changes mandated under the Goldwater-Nichols Act, JCS participation increasingly reflects the 

judgments, preferences, and recommendations of the Chairman and the Joint Staff, 

rather than the corporate assessments of the past. All the same, the JCS remains a 

unique organization whose individual members can still approach the Secretary of 

Defense directly to discuss contentious issues. Over time JCS contributions have 

profoundly helped to shape the role and impact of the United States in world affairs. To be sure, the JCS system as it emerged and evolved from World War II on 

was hardly perfect. Yet without it, military planning would have been far different 

and more haphazard, and the outcomes would have been both less certain and less 

favorable to the protection of U.S. interests.
549

Glossary

AAF Army Air Forces

ABDACOM Australian-British-Dutch-American 

Command

ABM antiballistic missile 

AEC Atomic Energy Commission

ARVN Army of the Republic of Vietnam 

BMD ballistic missile defense 

BOB Bureau of the Budget 

BUR bottom-up review 

C3

I command, control, communications, 

and intelligence 

CBI China-Burma-India Theater

CCS Combined Chiefs of Staff

CDI Conventional Defense Initiative

CFE Conventional Forces in Europe 

CIA Central Intelligence Agency

CENTAF U.S. Air Forces Central Command

CINCNELM Commander in Chief, U.S. Naval Forces, 

Eastern Atlantic and Mediterranean

CINCPAC Commander in Chief, Pacific 

CINEUR Commander in Chief, Europe

CINCFE Commander in Chief, Far East

CINCUNC Commander in Chief, United Nations 

Command (Korea)

CIP counterinsurgency plan 

CIS Confederation of Independent States

CJCS Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff

CNO Chief of Naval Operations
550

Glossary

COMUSMACV Commander, U.S. Military Assistance 

Command, Vietnam

DARPA Defense Advanced Research 

Projects Agency 

DASA Defense Atomic Support Agency 

DCI Director of Central Intelligence 

DEW distant early warning

DIA Defense Intelligence Agency 

DMZ demilitarized zone

DSTP Director of Strategic Target Planning 

EAC European Advisory Commission

EDIP European Defense Improvement Program 

EDP European Defence Community

ERP European Recovery Program

EWP emergency war plan

FAL Forces Armées de Laos

FCDA Federal Civil Defense Administration

FOFA Follow-on Forces Attack 

FRG Federal Republic of Germany

FSLN Sandinista National Liberation Front 

FY fiscal year

FYDP Five-Year Defense Program

GLCM ground-launched cruise missile 

GNP gross national product

GPO U.S. Government Printing Office

IAEA International Atomic Energy Agency 

ICBM intercontinental ballistic missile
551

IOC initial operational capability

INF intermediate-range nuclear forces 

IPCOG Informal Policy Committee on Germany

IRBM intermediate range ballistic missile 

JAAN Joint Action of the Army and Navy

JCS Joint Chiefs of Staff

JFACC Joint Forces Air Component Commander

JHO Joint History Office

JIC Joint Intelligence Committee

JLRSE Joint Long-Range Strategic Estimate

JOEWP joint outline emergency war plan 

JPWC Joint Post-War Committee

JSCP Joint Strategic Capabilities Plan 

JSM [British] Joint Staff Mission

JSOP Joint Strategic Objectives Plan

JSPC Joint Strategic Plans Committee

JSPD Joint Strategic Planning Document 

JSSC Joint Strategic Survey Committee

JSTARS Joint Surveillance Target Attack Radar System

JSTPS Joint Strategic Target Planning Staff 

JWPC Joint War Plans Committee

KMAG Korean Military Advisory Group

KTO Kuwait Theater of Operations 

LTDP Long-Term Defense Program 

MB Munitions Board

MBFR mutual and balanced force reductions

MDAP Mutual Defense Assistance Program 

Glossary
552

Glossary

MED Manhattan Engineer District

MILREP Military Representative to the President

MIRV multiple independently targetable 

reentry vehicle

MLC Military Liaison Committee

MLF multilateral nuclear force 

MRBM medium-range ballistic missile

MRV multiple reentry vehicle 

MTDP Medium Term Defense Plan

NAC North Atlantic Council

NATO North Atlantic Treaty Organization

NCA National Command Authority

NCO noncommissioned officer

NESC Net Evaluation Subcommittee 

NIE national intelligence estimate

NME National Military Establishment

NORAD North American Air Defense Command

NPG Nuclear Planning Group 

NSA National Security Agency 

NSC National Security Council

NSDM National Security Decision Memorandum 

NSRB National Security Resources Board

NSTL National Strategic Targeting List 

NVA North Vietnamese Army

OCB Operations Coordinating Board

ODM Office of Defense Mobilization

OMB Office of Management and Budget 
553

Glossary

ONI Office of Naval Intelligence

OPEC Organization of the Petroleum 

Exporting Countries 

OSS Office of Strategic Services

PDF Panama Defense Forces

PPBS planning, programming, and budgeting system 

R&D research and development

RDB Research and Development Board

RMA revolution in military affairs 

RV reentry vehicle

POL petroleum, oils, and lubricants

RDF Rapid Deployment Force

RDJTF Rapid Deployment Joint Task Force 

ROC Republic of China 

ROK Republic of Korea

SAC Strategic Air Command

SACEUR Supreme Allied Commander Europe

SALT Strategic Arms Limitation Talks 

SAM surface-to-air missile

SDI Strategic Defense Initiative 

SEAC Southeast Asia Command

SEATO Southeast Asia Treaty Organization 

SHAPE Supreme Headquarters, Allied Powers 

Europe 

SIGINT signals intelligence

SIOP Single Integrated Operational Plan

SLBM submarine-launched ballistic missile
554

Glossary

START Strategic Arms Reduction Talks

SVN South Vietnam 

SWNCC State-War-Navy Coordinating Committee

TFW tactical fighter wing

UAR United Arab Republic 

UCP Unified Command Plan

ULMS undersea long-range missile system 

UMT universal military training

UN United Nations

UNC United Nations Command

USCENTCOM U.S. Central Command

USCINCCENT Commander in Chief of Central 

Command 

USFORSCOM U.S. Army Forces Command

USMACV U.S. Military Assistance Command, 

Vietnam

USREDCOM U.S. Readiness Command

USSOUTHCOM U.S. Southern Command

USSTRATCOM U.S. Strategic Command 

VCJCS Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff 

WSAG Washington Special Action Group

WMD weapons of mass destruction

WSEG Weapons Systems Evaluation Group
INDEX

555

Page numbers with n indicate notes.

Italicized page numbers indicate illustrations.

A–6s, 464

A–12 spy plane, 182, 183, 205n47

Able Archer 83 exercises, NATO’s, 440–441

Abrams, Creighton W., 304, 313, 319, 323, 377

Acheson, Dean

on Berlin access rights, 216

on Bradley as CJCS, 113

on European versus Asian issues, 117

Korean War onset and, 103, 104

MacArthur and, 107, 114–115

military spending projections and, 101

on MTDP goals and German rearmament, 120

on U.S. and China, 97–98

on U.S. role in NATO, 96

as Z Committee advisor, 99

Ad Hoc Requirements Committee, CIA and, 162

AD–70, on NATO improvements, 345, 346

Adams, Sherman, 200

Advanced ICBM (AICBM), 370. See also MX

advanced manned strategic aircraft (AMSA), 262, 368

Advanced Research Projects Agency (ARPA), 265

Aegis missile cruisers, 471–472

Afghanistan

CIA and mujahideen of, 431

Soviet invasion of, 335, 395, 400, 409–410

Soviet Union and pro-Communist regime in, 480

Soviet withdrawal from, 459, 461–462

Africa. See North Africa

African-Americans, Ledo Road building from Burma 

to China by, 35

Agnew, Spiro, 355, 378

Air Force

airpower for Desert Shield/Desert Storm and, 

512–513, 520–521, 524–525

Ballistic Systems Division, 262

on counterforce of bombers and missiles, 174–175

intelligence estimates on Soviet missile program by, 

180, 182

on land-based aviation for antisubmarine warfare, 

72

McNamara on massive retaliation doctrine of, 248

on McNamara’s assured destruction strategy, 250

missile development and, 175, 176, 177, 183

NATO retardation bombing plan and, 118–119

as New Look beneficiary, 143–144

nuclear weapons for, 79

on U.S. Strategic Command to replace SAC, 187

X–16 photoreconnaissance plane and, 161

aircraft. See also specific types of

for the Soviets during World War II, 19

aircraft carriers, swing strategy for, 145

AirLand Battle, 458, 474n30, 513

air-launched cruise missiles (ALCMs), 380–381

airpower. See also Vietnam War

for Desert Shield/Desert Storm, 512–513, 520–521, 

524–525

Akhromeyev, Sergei F., 460

Algeria, 156

Allen, Lew, Jr., 393, 423

Allison, Royal B., 337–338, 341–342, 376

Ambrose, Stephen E., 195

amphibious operations, 67, 69, 72

ANADYR (Soviet missiles to Cuba), 226–227, 

241n74

Anderson, George W., Jr., 219, 224, 231, 233

Andrew, Christopher, 434–435

Angola, Soviet support for Marxist regimes in, 383

anti-ballistic missile (ABM) system

as essential, JCS on, 263–264

McElroy on Army and, 181

McNamara on, 268

testing of, 146

U.S.-Soviet negotiations on, 266, 339–340

Vietnam War and, 308

Watkins on, 436

antisatellite (ASAT) weapons, 434

antiwar movement

Fulbright and, 285

Johnson and, 293

Nixon and, 317, 325

Vietnam War and, 297, 306, 308, 319, 543

Arab-Israeli conflict. See also Middle East

Gulf War (1990) and, 529

October War (1973) and, 346, 352, 354–357

partitioning of Palestine and, 76–77

Six Day War (1967) and, 308, 352–353
556

Coun c il of War

State Dept. on Baghdad Pact and, 190–191

Árbenz Guzmán, Jacobo, 196

ARCADIA meetings (1941), 1–2, 9, 34

Arias, Oscar, 466

Armed Forces

Bush review of size of, 480

demobilization after World War II of, 59

JCS on Reagan buildup and capabilities of, 

426–427

nuclear weapons for, 79

planning for post-World War II organization and 

composition of, 38–40

post-Desert Storm public opinion on, 547–548

post-Vietnam war modernizing of, 367–370

post-World War II defense policy for, 61–64

Powell’s base force plan for, 485–489

Reagan on image of, 421–425

reorganization and reform of, 64–69

Roosevelt’s personal control of, 2–3

arms control. See also détente; Strategic Arms Limitation Talks

Chinese Communists’ testing H-bomb and, 

267–268

at end of Cold War, 493–495

INF Treaty (1987), 459–461, 475n40

JCS concerns on détente and, 336–337, 543–544

Reagan buildup and, 438–443

U.S. and Soviets negotiations on, 159

U.S. scientists on ABM development and, 266

use of term, 160

arms sales, foreign, Carter-era versus Reagan-era, 

429–430

Army, U.S.

on amphibious operations, 67, 72

inter-Service rivalry between Navy and, 3

MacArthur on proposed postwar Navy–Marine 

Corps merger, 65–66

missile development and, 177, 183

New Look defense budget and, 145–146

peacetime total force (1970s) and, 367

Plans Division, Navy’s joint general staff proposal 

and, 4–5

post-World War II projections for size and capabilities of, 39

Special Forces, JFK’s expansion of, for Vietnam 

War, 279

Vietnam War effect on, 329

Army Air Forces (AAF)

on air transport control, 67

ARCADIA meetings (1941) and, 1–2

China as base for targeting Japan by, 35, 37

Combined Chiefs of Staff and, 2

509th Composite Group of, 48

Flying Tigers absorbed into, 36

JCS consensus decisions and, 538

MacArthur on proposed postwar Navy–Marine 

Corps merger and, 65–66

Pacific Ocean Area command support by, 32

Army-Navy Petroleum Board, 7

Arnold, Henry H.

atomic bomb and, 47, 48

CCS at the Second Quebec Conference and, xiv

Chinese affairs and, 35

Combined Chiefs of Staff and, 2

on post-World War II organizational reform, 39, 40

steps down from JCS, 60

strategic bombing of Germany and, 13

Twentieth Air Force in the Pacific under, 30–31, 46

Asia-Pacific War (1942–1945)

China-Burma-India Theater, 33–37

dawn of the atomic age and, 46–52

ending war with Japan, 43–46

post-World War II planning beginning during, 

38–43

strategy and command in the Pacific, 29–33

two-front war and, 29

assured destruction strategy

controlled escalation and, 373

McNamara on, 248–250, 265, 268

Schlesinger on selective changes to, 374–375

SIOP on, 371

Aswan Dam, Egypt, 191

Atkinson, Rick, 483

Atlantic Alliance. See North Atlantic Treaty Organization

Atlas (ICBM), 176, 202n1

atomic bomb. See also nuclear weapons

development of, 46–47

interdepartmental Interim Committee on, 48–49

post-World War II war debates on, 62–63, 544

Roosevelt on Soviets and, 19

testing of, 47–48, 63–64, 78–79

UMT in light of, 61–62

Atomic Energy Act (1954), 155

Atomic Energy Commission (AEC), 62, 69–70, 

78–79, 99, 115, 234

“Atoms for Peace” speech, Eisenhower’s, 160

Attlee, Clement R., 114, 252

attrition, war of, in Vietnam, 294, 296, 297, 306

Australia, 147, 306

Australian-British-Dutch-American Command 

(ABDACOM), 30

Autumn Forge exercises, NATO’s, 440

Awarding the Channel Command (ACCHAN), 

NATO’s, 121

B–1 bomber
IN DEX

557

Brown as CJCS and, 377

Carter’s cancellation of, 392–393, 395

fly-before-you-buy policy and, 368–369

JCS requests for, 262, 337, 341, 544

Reagan buildup and, 427–428

Rumsfeld on, 385

Schlesinger on, 374, 375

B–2 stealth bomber, 428, 496, 524

B–29s

to Britain in 1950, 118

ending war with Japan and, 45

modified for atomic bomb, 48

Pacific Ocean Area command support by, 32

as reinforcement of American airpower in Europe 

(1948), 78

retirement of, 143

SILVERPLATE, nuclear-delivery system of, 72

Soviet targets and, 82, 91–92n89

U.S. bombing missions from China and, 37, 

53–54n34

B–36s, 82, 143

B–47 medium range aircraft, 143, 248

B–50s, 82, 143

B–52s

bombing in Vietnam by, 295, 325–326

intercontinental, New Look defense budget and, 

143

JCS requests for, 262

LeMay’s objection to cancellation of, 248

Soviets on ALCMs for, 380–381

transfer to Western Pacific (1965), 289–290

B–70 supersonic bomber, 248

Backfire bomber, Soviet, 380, 381

Baghdad Pact, 190–194, 352

Baker, James A., III, 492, 496, 497, 511, 529

Ball, George W., 226, 232, 289, 294

ballistic missile defense (BMD)

McNamara on, 265

Reagan’s revival of, 433–438, 545–546

resource allocation controversy for, 181–182

Soviet Union and, 264, 338

Barrass, Gordon S., 357, 458

Baruch Plan, 62, 69, 160, 544

base force plan

collaborative development of, 501n25

force levels for FY 1950 compared to, 502n36

Powell and, 485–489, 501n29

Soviet Union collapse and, 548

START agreement and, 495–496

Batista, Fulgencio, 197

Baxter, James Phinney, 178

Bay of Pigs operation, 198, 213–216, 225, 542

Belgium, NATO and, 157, 259

Beneš, Eduard, 73

Berlin. See also West Germany

access rights to, 216–217

contingency plans for, 199–200

Live Oak plans for, 200–201

Nixon and Kissinger on solution for, 343

Soviet blockade of, 73, 77–78, 90n53

Berlin Task Force, interdepartmental, 217

Berlin Wall, 210, 218, 219–220, 481, 486

Bermuda conference (1953), 154

Betts Report (DOD, 1964), 265

Bevin, Ernest, 78

Bikini Atoll, atomic bomb testing at, 64

biological weapons, 480, 506, 509, 522–525

Bissell, Richard M., Jr., 170n123, 183

Black Hole organization, Saudi Arabia, 514

Blandy, William H. P., 63

Blue Ribbon Commission on Defense Management, 

452

Blue Spoon (against Noriega government), 491–492

Blue Steel Mk1 missile, 254

Blue Streak air-to-surface missile, Britain’s, 253–254

body counts, for Vietnam War, 297

BOLERO-ROUNDUP plans for Continental invasion, 10–11

bomb shelter programs, 1950s, 178

Bomber Command, Britain’s, 78, 117

Boone, Walter F., 194, 195

bottom-up review (BUR), Clinton’s, 488–489

Bradley, Omar N.

defense reorganization (1958) and, 184–185

as Eisenhower political supporter, 134–135

on ending the Korean War, 139–140

Far East tour by Johnson and, 102

increased role of CJCS and, 124, 539

JCS meeting at Naval War College (1948) and, 58

joins the JCS, 74

Korean War and, 103, 107, 109, 110, 128n56

MacArthur’s dismissal and, 115–116

on nuclear weapons for Europe, 119

Truman on NSC meetings and, 113

on U.S. involvement in Asian mainland wars, 290

Brezhnev, Leonid I., 340, 355, 357, 380–381, 382, 

398–399

Britain. See also Bomber Command, Britain’s; Chiefs 

of Staff Committee; Churchill, Winston S.; 

United Kingdom

AAF on air-atomic missions from, 64

Arab-Israeli conflict and, 191–192

Baghdad Pact and, 192–193, 194

Casablanca Conference and, 13–14

Communist attack against Korea and, 119

Desert Shield/Desert Storm and, 519, 522
558

Coun c il of War

Grand Alliance during World War II and, 18–19

Live Oak (planning body) and, 200–201

Middle East presence of, 190

MLF demise and, 257

NATO and, 121, 157, 259

on NATO improvements, 345

on NATO’s Conventional Defense Initiative, 

475n33

North African decision and, 10

on nuclear weapons, 114, 147

on Palestine withdrawal by, 77

Skybolt program and, 253–255

Soviet blockade of Berlin and, 78

U.S. bombing Libya and, 463–464

Vietnam War and, 307

war on the periphery and, 11

Brooke, Alan F., xiv, 1, 16, 17

Brooks, Dennis M., 469

Brown, George S., 377, 379–380, 382, 392

Brown, Harold, 254, 392, 393–394, 395, 396, 409

Brzezinski, Zbigniew, 396, 404–405, 406, 408, 411, 

412

Budget Advisory Committee, 80

Bundy, McGeorge

Cuban missile crisis and, 227, 232

on ending the Korean War, 140

on JCS estrangement with JFK, 233

JCS unhappiness with graduated pressure and, 287

joint congressional resolution on Southeast Asia 

and, 285

NSC under Kennedy and, 212

Vietnam War strategy and, 288, 291

Bundy, William P., 288

Bureau of the Budget, 101, 137

BURIA (Warsaw Pact exercise in Berlin), 220

Burke, Arleigh A.

on Bay of Pigs operation, 214, 215–216, 225

on defense reorganization, 184, 185–186, 188

on McNamara and his staff, 212

on military operation against Cuba, 197–198

on Nasser’s strength, 191

on swing strategy for carriers, 145

Burma, 33, 36–37

Burma Road, 28, 35

Bush, George H.W. See also Operation Desert Shield/

Desert Storm; Powell, Colin L.

on air campaign for Desert Storm, 521

base force plan under, 485–489

briefing Desert Shield for, 515–516

CFE Treaty under, 493–495

as CIA director, 384–385

on halting Gulf War, 528

on Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait, 510

military policy in transition under, 479–481

Panama operations under, 489–493

Powell on forces for Desert Storm and, 517

Powell’s impact as CJCS under, 481–484

START I and its consequences under, 495–500

Bush, Vannevar, 47, 56n79, 85–86

Butler, George Lee, 498, 501n25, 508

C4 missiles, 369, 374

Cairo Conference (SEXTANT, Nov. 1943), 37

Cambodia

bombing halted in, 326

invasion of (1970), as Vietnamization test, 318–319

Mayaguez affair (1975) and, 378, 379

secret bombing in, 317–318

Vietnam War and, 294, 316

Canada, need for U.S. bases in, HALFMOON plan 

and, 75

Carlucci, Frank C., 471

Carney, Robert B., 135, 145, 151, 154, 155

Carter, Jimmy

Iran hostage rescue mission under, 411–414

JCS relationship with, 391–394, 545

NATO and INF controversy under, 400–403

Rapid Deployment Force creation under, 408–411

SALT II and, 397–400

strategic forces and PD-59 of, 394–397

Third World crises under, 403–407

Carter, Rosalynn, 413

Carter Doctrine, 410

Casablanca Conference (Jan. 1943), 12–13

Casey, William J., 422

Castro, Fidel, 196, 197, 198–199, 227, 228. See also

Cuba

Central America. See also Latin America; Nicaragua

Carter administration goals for, 408

Cold War in, 464–465, 480

economic and military assistance under Reagan 

for, 429

Reagan on Communist takeovers in, 430–431

Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). See also Intelligence Community

Afghanistan’s mujahideen and, 431

Bay of Pigs operation and, 214

British deception on Suez crisis for, 192

on Chinese forces in Korea (1950), 110

covert action against Castro and, 198–199

creation of, 68

JCS under Powell and, 482

MacArthur’s conflicts with, 102

OPLAN 34A for Vietnam and, 280–281

on Soviet bloc forces’ preparedness (1956–1957), 

158
559

IN DEX

on Soviet missile capabilities in 1950s, 182

on Soviet missiles in Cuba, 227–228

on Soviet Order of Battle, 253

on Soviet Union’s nuclear weapons program, 98

U–2 photoreconnaissance plane and, 161, 162–163, 

170n123

U.S. overthrow of Árbenz regime and, 196

on Warsaw Pact buildup, 345

Central Treaty Organization (CENTO), 196

chain of command

defense reorganization (1958) and, 186

Goldwater-Nichols legislation on, 454–455

Johnson and McNamara in Vietnam War and, 

297–298

Key West Agreement (1948) removing JCS from, 

134

Kissinger and, 316, 322, 389n67

Nixon in Vietnam War and, 322

in North Africa and Europe under CCS, 29–30

in Pacific under JCS, 30–31

Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff (CJCS). See also

individual CJCSs

Defense authorization broadening powers of 

(1984), 451

Eisenhower on strengthening powers of, 134, 184, 

185

evolution of role of, 542–543

Goldwater-Nichols legislation on, 454–455, 548

Korean War and emergence in importance of, 124

legislation establishing role for, 82, 539

nuclear test ban and, 236

President’s Special Committee on Indochina and, 

148

SALT II talks and, 376–377

target selection for air war in Vietnam and, 295

Truman on NSC meetings and, 113, 539

U–2 photoreconnaissance plane and, 161–162

Chamberlin, Stephen J., 74

Chamoun, Camille, 194, 195

Chapman, Leonard F., Jr., 314

Checkmate (Air Staff planning cell), 511, 513, 

514–515, 523

Checkpoint Charlie. See also Berlin Wall

confrontation at, 219–220

chemical weapons

Korean War and, 139

Saddam Hussein and, 467, 506, 509, 515, 522–525

U.S. work on, 434, 440–441

Vietnam War and, 311

Warsaw Pact and, 344

Cheney, Richard B.

Panama operations (1989) and, 491–492

planning Desert Shield/Desert Storm, 511, 512, 513, 

520–521

on post-Cold War demobilization, 485, 487

Powell and, 483–484, 510, 516

Powell’s briefing on Desert Storm and, 516, 517

as Sec. of Defense, 481, 547

on START I Treaty, 497

Chennault, Claire L., 36

Chiang Kai-shek. See also China; Nationalist Chinese; 

Republic of China; Taiwan

Cairo meeting with Roosevelt, Churchill, and the 

CCS, 17

CCR and JCS difficulties of working with, 37

JCS coordination during World War II with, 9

Nationalist regime collapse and, 95, 96–97

retreat to interior China by, 34

Stilwell as chief of staff for, 34–35

Stilwell’s contempt for, 35–36

Taiwan Strait crisis (1955) and, 152

on U.S. bombing missions from China, 53–54n34

Wedemeyer as chief of staff for, 38

Chiefs of Staff Committee, Britain’s, 1, 9, 121, 153, 

190

Childs, Marquis, 341–342

China. See also Chiang Kai-shek; Mao Zedong; 

People’s Republic of China

becomes Communist People’s Republic, 95–97

Soviet engagement during World War II in, 21

U.S. military in World War II and, 33–34

China Lobby, in Washington, D.C., 98, 349

China Theater, 37–38

China-Burma-India Theater (CBI), 33

Chinese Communists, 150, 267. See also Mao Zedong; 

People’s Republic of China

Chinese Nationalists. See Chiang Kai-shek; Taiwan

Chou En-lai, 152, 350, 351

Christopher, Warren M., 413

Chromite attack on North Korea, MacArthur’s, 

107–108

Churchill, Winston S.

ARCADIA meetings (1941) and, 1–2

on Axis surrender, 13

on combined unified command, 29–30

on Continental invasion (May 1943), 15–16

Grand Alliance during World War II and, 18–19

on North African invasion, 11

post-World War II plan for Germany and, 42

on propping up Chiang, 37

QUADRANT talks and, 16

at Second Quebec Conference, xiv, 18

Clark, Mark W., 138–139

Clark, William P., 424

Claude V. Ricketts, USS, 258

Clay, Lucius D., 74, 77–78

Cleveland, Harlan, 153
560

Clifford, Clark M., 268, 311, 312

Cline, Ray S., 162

Clinton, Bill, 488–489

Closely Spaced Basing (CSB) plan, for MX missiles, 

435

Codevilla, Angelo, 445–446n41

Colby, William E., 385

Cold Dawn (Newhouse), 338

Cold War. See also détente; specific administrations; specific 

wars or conflicts

Lippmann’s naming of, 69

Cold War, ending of

CFE Treaty (1990) and, 493–495

East-West relations and, 479–481

operations in Panama and, 489–493

Powell as CJCS and, 481–484

Powell’s base force plan and, 485–489

START I and its consequences for, 495–500

collateral damage estimates, for Harmon Committee, 85

Collins, J. Lawton, 107, 113, 115, 134–135

color plans, Joint Army and Navy Board on, 3–4

Combined Chiefs of Staff (CCS). See also Quebec 

Conference

Asia-Pacific War plans and, 32

Atlantic-European strategy during World War II 

under, 9

command chain in North Africa and Europe under, 

29–30

confirmation of Overlord and diminished involvement of, 17–18

JCS formation and, 2, 5, 23n6

JSSC on tripartite United Chiefs of Staff replacing, 

26n76

at the Second Quebec Conference, xiv

Command, Control, and Communications Systems 

Directorate (J-6), 455

command, control, communications, and intelligence 

(C3

I), 249

Commander in Chief, Far East (CINCFE), 105, 115, 

116

Commander in Chief, Pacific (CINCPAC)

McNamara, Tonkin Gulf incident and, 284–285

OPLAN 34A for Vietnam and, 280–281

Vietnam conflict assessment (1960) and, 278

Commander in Chief, U.S. Naval Forces, Eastern 

Atlantic and Mediterranean (CINCNELM), 

190, 194, 208n109

Committee on the Present Danger, 422, 443n3

Communications and Electronics Directorate (J-6), 

185

Communist China. See People’s Republic of China

Communists. See also Cuba; Soviet Union; Warsaw 

Pact

Greek insurgency and, 69

Conant, James B., 56n79

Confederation of Independent States (CIS), 499

Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe 

(CSCE), 343

Congress. See also Goldwater-Nichols Defense Reorganization Act

on defense spending, 426, 428, 435, 480, 487

on Desert Shield/Desert Storm, 515, 518

JCS reform during second Reagan term and, 

450–453, 546

on Kissinger’s power under Ford, 385

McNamara on defense spending and, 246

McNamara on MLF for NATO and, 258

mobilization of Reserves for Vietnam and, 297

nuclear test ban and, 234

post-World War II nuclear program oversight by, 61

on SALT I agreements, 341

SALT II and JCS backchannel talks with, 379

on Strategic Defense Initiative, 496

on Vietnam War, 285–286, 325

Vinson and, 185

contras, Nicaraguan, 424, 431, 465–466

controlled response, assured destruction strategy and, 

248–249

Conventional Defense Initiative (CDI), NATO’s, 

457–458

Conventional Forces in Europe (CFE) Treaty, 

494–495, 518. See also Mutual and Balanced 

Force Reduction Talks

Coolidge, Charles A., 184–185

Cooper-Church amendment, 320

counterforce/no-cities doctrine, 249, 374–375

counterinsurgency plan (CIP), for South Vietnam, 278

Counterterrorist Joint Task Force (CTJTF), 414

countervailing strategy (1978), 396–397

covert operations

Berlin crisis and, 201

in Cuba, RFK and, 225

in Egypt to undermine Soviet influence, 192

under Eisenhower, 198–199, 202

in Indochina, direct military involvement versus, 

148

to prevent Soviet presence in Western Hemisphere, 

196

Taylor as MILREP and, 213

in Third World conflicts, 383, 403

in Vietnam, 279, 281, 286, 321

Crist, George B., Jr., 469

cross-Channel operation, World War II, 15, 21, 46

Crowe, William J., Jr.

as CJCS, 448, 482

Congress on JCS reorganization and, 452–453

Coun c il of War
561

implementation of Goldwater-Nichols by, 455–457, 

531

on INF Treaty, 460–461

on Iranian aggression in Persian Gulf, 468–469, 471

Libyan terrorism and, 463

NMS 92–97 and, 481

on Strategic Defense Initiative, 496

cruise missiles, 380–381, 403, 514

Cuba

Burke on military action against, 197–198

Ethiopian–Somalia conflict and, 404

Grenada and, 429

missile crisis, 228–233, 243n105, 542

missile crisis origins, 224–228, 240–241n71

revolution (1959) in, 196

Sandinistas in Nicaragua and, 408

Soviet combat brigade in (1979), 400

State Department halts shipments (1958) to, 197

Cunningham, Andrew B., xiv

current force strategy, Middle East policy during 

Reagan era and, 432

Cushman, Robert E., Jr., 377

Cutler, Robert, 178

Cypress, Greece and Turkey tensions over, 308

Czechoslovakia, 73, 90n53, 269, 336

D5 missiles, 369

damage limitation debate, Soviet nuclear stockpile 

and, 261–262

Davis, Richard G., 513–514

Davy Crockett (spigot mortar), 146

DC 6/1 (NATO’s organizing defense plan), 117

DC 13 (Medium Term Defense Plan), 119

de Gaulle, Charles, 257, 258–259

Deane, John R., 20–21

Decker, George H., 219, 222

DEFCON 3, 357

Defense, Secretary of. See also Defense Department; 

Office of the Secretary of Defense; specific 

individuals

Eisenhower on ballistic missiles as responsibility 

of, 176

Eisenhower’s relationships with, 136

Forrestal on JCS chair as, 82

on functional responsibility of Services for missile 

development, 177

on FY 1952 military budget, 110

Key West Agreement on advise on Service functions for, 203n19

National Military Establishment under, 68

NSA’s 1958 amendments on authority of, 246, 541

review of NESC targeting priorities and, 188

SACEUR communication with, 120

on U–2 program oversight committee, 170n123

Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency 

(DARPA), 265, 433

Defense Atomic Support Agency (DASA), 188, 234

defense budget. See military budget

Defense Department. See also War Department

budget authority FYs 1981–1989 of, 427

Eisenhower on aerial reconnaissance over Soviet 

Union and, 161

on fly-before-you-buy acquisitions, 368

McNamara system for, 245–247

reorganization (1958) of, 184–186, 206n63

Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA), 338, 345, 355

Denfeld, Louis E., 58, 74, 81, 85, 86, 99

Dennison, Robert L., 85, 230

dense pack, for MX missiles, 435, 436, 438, 447n64

Dereliction of Duty (McMaster), 327

Desert One, 412, 413–414

Desert Storm. See Operation Desert Shield/Desert Storm

Desoto Patrol Program, Gulf on Tonkin incident and, 

284, 286

détente (1972–1979). See also strategic stability

arms control and, 543–544

China quasi-alliance and, 347–351

Middle East involvement and, 351–358

Moorer’s summary of, 358

overview of, 335–336

SALT I and, 336–342

shoring up NATO and, 342–346

Diem, Ngo Dinh, 278, 279, 281

Dien Bien Phu, 1954 siege at, 148

Dill, John, xiv, 5, 22–23n3

Director of Strategic Target Planning (DSTP), 189

Directorate for Operational Plans and Joint Force 

Development (J-7), 455

disarmament negotiations. See arms control

Discoverer spy satellite, 205n53, 218

Dobrynin, Anatoly, 232, 338–339, 378

Dominican Republic crisis (1965), 292

domino theory, 293

Donovan, William J., 7

DOWNFALL plan for Japan, 45

draft Presidential memorandums (DPMs), 246, 247

DROPSHOT (long-range plan 1950–51), 111

dual-basing, McNamara on, 259

Dubcek, Alexander, 336

Dugan, Michael J., 484, 513

Dulles, John Foster

Bay of Pigs operation and, 214, 215–216

as Latin America specialist, 196

on liberation doctrine, 421

on massive retaliation policy, 142

IN DEX
562

on military budget (1956), 157

on missile gap and national intelligence estimates, 

182–183

NATO’s New Approach and, 154

on nuclear weapons against Chinese Communists, 

151

President’s Special Committee on Indochina and, 

148

DuPuy, William E., 474n30

East Germany, 158, 201, 217, 343. See also Warsaw 

Pact

Easter Offensive, by North Vietnamese Army, 323, 

340, 351

Eastern Europe, 42, 157–158, 220, 481, 486. See also

Warsaw Pact

Eden, Anthony, 192, 193

Egypt. See also Arab-Israeli conflict; Suez Canal

Anglo-French-Israeli coalition invasion into, 193

covert operations in, 192

Desert Shield/Desert Storm and, 519

HALFMOON plan and, 75

Soviet support for, 352, 353, 354

Eighth Air Force, 66–67

Eighth Army, 107–108

Einstein, Albert, 47

Eisenhower, Dwight D.

on Bay of Pigs operation, 214

defense spending under, 245–246

on Indochina conflict, 278

JCS service by, 60, 65, 66, 74, 82

Laos crisis and, 221, 239n45

as military officer in World War II, 17–18, 30

on MLF in Grand Design for European union, 256, 

272n50

as NATO Supreme Allied Commander, Europe, 

118–123

Eisenhower, Dwight D., first term

arms race curbing under, 158–163

elected president (1952), 133–134

on ending the Korean War, 137–140

Indochina as test for New Look, 146–149

on JCS reorganization, 134–137

NATO’s conventional posture and, 156–158

New Approach in Europe and, 152–156

New Look security strategy under, 140–146, 540

Taiwan Strait confrontation, 149–152

Eisenhower, Dwight D., second term

Berlin pressured by Soviets, 199–202

Cuba, Castro, and Communism, 196–199

Gaither Committee report and, 177–179

on JCS reorganization, 184–185

Middle East defense under, 190–196

missile gap and BMD controversies during, 

179–183

missile program evolution, 174–177

reorganization and reform (1958–1960), 183–190

Sputnik I, Third World issues and, 173–174

Eisenhower, Milton, 196

Eisenhower Doctrine (1957), 194, 195

Ely, Paul, 148–149

Embick, Stanley D., 11

Endara, Guillermo, 492

Eniwetok, nuclear weapons testing at, 78

Enterprise (nuclear-powered carrier), 144

ERASER (nonnuclear alternative to HALFMOON), 

75–76

Ermarth, Fritz W., 441

Essex-class attack carriers, 31–32

Ethiopia, war with Somalia and, 404

Europe. See Eastern Europe; North Atlantic Treaty 

Organization; Western Europe; specific countries

Europe, war in (1942–1945)

North African decision and, 10–12

origins of joint planning and, 2–9

preparing for Overlord, 15–18

second front debate and JCS reorganization during, 

12–15

two-front war and, 29

unified command after, 65

U.S. collaboration with Soviet Union during, 

18–22

European Advisory Committee (EAC), 42

European Defence Community (EDC), 120, 123, 155

European Defense Improvement Program (EDIP), 

345, 346

European Recovery Program (ERP), 69, 75

executive agent system, in Asia-Pacific during World 

War II, 30–31

Executive Committee (ExCom), Kennedy’s, 229, 230

Executive Order 9877, delineating Service roles and 

missions, 67, 69

F–18s (carrier-based bombers), 464

F–111 (medium-range fighter-bomber), 368, 464

Fairchild, Muir S., 11

Faisal II, King of Iraq, 194–195

FAL (Forces Armées de Laos), 221–222, 223–224

Farouk, King of Egypt, 191

Fat Man bomb, 48, 50

Fechteler, William M., 134–135

Federal Civil Defense Administration (FCDA), 178

Federal Republic of Germany (FRG). See West 

Germany

Felt, Harry D., 221–223, 224

Fermi, Enrico, 47

Fifteenth Air Force, SAC and, 66–67

5412 Committee, 198

Coun c il of War
563

Finletter Commission, 72

Fitzwater, Marlin, 492

509th Composite Group, 48, 66–67

Five-Year Defense Program (FYDP), 247

FLAMING DART reprisal raids against Viet Cong, 

289

FLEETWOOD plan, for unified defense budget, 75, 

80

flexible-response force posture. See also Follow-On 

Forces Attack concept; graduated pressure or 

response

Berlin access rights and, 217

JFK on, 211, 247–248

McNamara on, 542

NATO and, 251–253, 342–343

NATO’s MC 14/3 strategy on, 260–261

Nitze on, 179

U.S. reserves for NATO versus Vietnam War and, 

259–260

fly-before-you-buy acquisitions (1970s), 368–369

Flying Tigers, 36

Follow-On Forces Attack (FOFA) concept, 458

force de frappe, France’s, 256–257, 258

Force Structure, Resource, and Assessment Directorate (J-8), 455

Ford, Gerald R.

becomes President, 378

Mayaguez affair (1975) and, 383–384

personnel changes under, 384–385

SALT II and, 379, 380–382

Foreign Affairs, “The Sources of Soviet Conduct” 

(Kennan, 1947), 70–71

foreign policy, Reagan buildup and, 429–432

Formosa. See Taiwan

Formosa Strait. See Taiwan Strait

Forrestal, James V.

on absence of presiding JCS chair, 82

on coordinating role of JCS after World War II, 60

on custody and control of nuclear weapons, 79

death of, 82–83

on ERASER as alternative to HALFMOON, 

75–76

inter-Service bickering and, 69

on JCS as key to unification law, 71–73, 538–539

on McCloy on atomic bomb to Truman, 49–50

military budget for FY 1950 and, 76, 79–81, 89n46

push to increase military budget by, 73, 74

reliance on U.S. nuclear monopoly by, 98

as Sec. of Defense meeting with JCS, 58

Truman on holding military budget limits by, 76

unification bill and, 67

unified command in Pacific and, 65–66

Weapons Systems Evaluation Group and, 85, 86

Forrestal, Michael, 288

Forrestal-class super carriers, 144–145

Foster, John S., Jr., 372–373, 374

Foster, William C., 178

Fracture Jaw plan, 311

France

Communist attack against Korea and, 119

deferring action on the EDC, 155

Desert Shield/Desert Storm and, 519

Live Oak (planning body) and, 200–201

Nasser’s nationalization of Suez Canal and, 192–193

NATO and military commitments at end of 1950s 

by, 156

NATO buildup in Europe and, 122–123

on nuclear weapons against expansion of Chinese 

Communist power, 147

opposition to MLF by, 256–257

Pleven Plan, European Defence Community and, 

120

Soviet blockade of Berlin and, 78

Treaty of Paris (1952) and, 123

war-weariness for Indochina conflict and, 146–147

Franklin D. Roosevelt (carrier), 356

Franks, Frederick M., Jr., 527

Freedman, Lawrence, 263

Freeman, Charles W., Jr., 529

FRG (Federal Republic of Germany). See West 

Germany

FSLN (Sandinista National Liberation Front), 

407–408

Fulbright, J. William, 285–286

“Functions of the Department of Defense and Its 

Major Components” (DOD Directive 5100.1, 

1958), 186

Gabriel, Charles A., 423, 435

Gaddis, John Lewis, 142

Gaither, H. Rowan, 178

Gaither Committee, 177–179

Galahad commando unit (Merrill’s Marauders), 33

Galosh (Soviet air defense system), 264, 265

Gardner, Trevor, 175

Gast, Philip C., 412

Gates, Robert M., 492

Gates, Thomas S., Jr., 136, 182–183, 188

Gayler, Noel, 325, 378–379

General Advisory Committee, AEC’s, 62

Geneva conference(s), 162, 171n134, 277, 358

Geneva Convention, on repatriation of POWs (1949), 

138

Germany. See also West Germany

ARCADIA meetings (1941) on defeat of, 9

Casablanca Conference (Jan. 1943) on combined 

bombing of, 13

Informal Policy Committee on, 43

IN DEX
564

post-World War II treatment of, 42–43

Soviet troops in (1948), 73

Gilpatric, Roswell L., 218, 219, 232

Giroldi Vega, Moisés, 490–491

Glaspie, April, 507–508

Glass, Henry E., 213

Glosson, Buster C., 514, 516, 517, 521, 523

Goldwater, Barry, 286

Goldwater-Nichols Defense Reorganization Act 

(1986)

backchannel talks and, 496

CJCS authority under, 537

controversial features of, 454–455

Desert Shield/Desert Storm and, 518–519

diminished JCS role in passage of, 453

flow of military ideas and information and, 512

implementation of, 455–457

Joint Task Force Middle East under, 469–470

Operation Just Cause under, 492–493

Packard Commission and, 452

planning procedures under, 112

post-Vietnam War JCS role and, 327, 546–547

Powell as CJCS and, 482

special operations and, 384

Goodpaster, Andrew J., 345, 360n42

Gorbachev, Mikhail S.

on armed forces reductions, 479, 480

coup against, 497–498

Powell on reforms by, 485

as reform-minded Soviet leader, 449

Saddam Hussein and, 515

Soviet Union restructuring by, 459–462

START negotiations and, 496–497

graduated pressure or response

air war in Vietnam and, 309, 310

JCS and, 543

Kennedy on, 211

McMaster on JCS acceptance of, 327

McNamara on, SIGMA I–64 testing of, 283

SIGMA II–64 testing of, 287

Taylor on, 282–283

as Vietnam War strategy, 287–289

Graham, Daniel O., 434

Grand Alliance, 18–19, 61. See also Britain; Soviet 

Union; United States

Gray, Alfred M., Jr., 492

Gray, Gordon, 178

Great Debate (1951), on U.S. commitment to NATO, 

121

Great Society, Johnson’s, 250, 293, 543

Grechko, Andrei, 382

Greece, 69, 121–122, 123, 308

Green Berets, 279

Greene, Wallace M., Jr., 282, 301n61

Greenfield, Kent Roberts, 7

Grenada invasion (1983), 429, 430

Gribkov, Anatoli I., 240–241n71

Gromyko, Andrei, 380

ground-launched cruise missiles (GLCMs), 403

Groves, Leslie R., 47, 48, 51

Gruenther, Alfred M., 58, 154, 162, 184–185

Guam Doctrine, Nixon’s, 343, 366

Guantanamo Bay, U.S. naval base at, 198

Guatemala, 196

Gulf of Tonkin incident, 284–292

Gulf War (1990). See Iraq; Kuwait; Operation Desert 

Shield/Desert Storm

Gulf War Airpower Survey, 524

Haig, Alexander M., Jr., 346, 357, 422

Haile Selassi, 404

HALFMOON plan, for unified defense budget, 

75–76, 80

Halloween Massacre (1975), 384–385

Halperin, Morton H., 263, 337

Halsey, William F., 31

Handy, Thomas T., 1

Hanyok, Robert J., 285

hard-knock option

for Dominican Republic crisis (1965), 292

for Vietnam War, 288, 289, 290, 291, 323

Harmel, Pierre, 261

Harmel Report, on NATO’s MC 14/3, 261, 342

Harmon, Hubert R., 84–85

Harriman, W. Averell

on Laos crisis, 223

MacArthur’s dismissal and, 115

named Ambassador to the Soviet Union, 20

named special assistant for national security affairs, 

113

nuclear test ban and, 235

on waning Soviet interest in military collaboration, 21

Harrison, William K., Jr., 138

Haslam, Jonathan, 495

Hawaiian Conference (1966), 296

Hayes, Grace Person, 32

Hayward, Thomas D., 393, 423

Herres, Robert T., 455, 482

High Frontier, 434

High Level Group (HLG), 402

Himalayas (“the Hump”), supplies and equipment for 

China and, 35

Hiroshima, bombing of, 50, 51

Hitch, Charles J., 254

Hizballah terrorists, airliner hijacking by (1985), 463

Coun c il of War
565

Ho Chi Minh Trail, 296, 309, 311, 319–320, 321

Hoffmann, Stanley, 335

Hollis, Leslie, C., xiv

Holloway, James L., Jr., 195

Holloway, James L., III, 208n115, 377, 393, 413

Honolulu conference (1965), 292

Hopkins, Harry, 8, 10

Horner, Charles A., 514, 519, 521

Hound Dog missile, 254

House Armed Services Committee, 450, 453

Hull, Cordell, 8

Hull, John E., 86–87

human rights, Carter on, 395, 416n18

Hungarian rebellion (1956), 158, 193

Hussein, King of Jordan, 194, 195

Huyser, Robert E., 406

hydrogen bomb (H-bombs), 98–99, 141, 144, 159, 

174

I Corps region, South Vietnam’s, 307, 308, 310–311

Ia Drang Valley conflict, Vietnam (1965), 296

ICBMs. See intercontinental ballistic missiles

Iklé, Fred C., 422

IL–28 fighter-bombers, Soviet, 243n105

Inch’on Operation, MacArthur and, 107–108

Independence (carrier), 355–356

India, 33, 159

India-Burma Theater, 37–38

Indochina. See also Vietnam War

crises of 1954–1955 in, 135

French and Communist Viet Minh struggle in, 

146–147

JCS debate on involvement in war in, 147–148

Informal Policy Committee on Germany (IPCOG), 

43

initial operating capability (IOC), for Soviet ICBMs, 

175

Instant Thunder plan against Iraq, 513–514, 515

Institute for Defense Analyses (IDA), 369

Intelligence Community. See also specific intelligence 

units

accuracy of intelligence on Soviet capabilities and, 

142

British deception on Suez crisis for, 192

on China’s political dominance in Asia, 348

concerns on 1948 Soviet buildup in Germany, 

73–74

on Cuba and the Soviet Union in late 1950s, 197

on Gorbachev, 485

JCS interpretations of same data differently from, 

180–181

overlooking Far East before North Korea attacked 

South Korea, 102

on Saddam’s forces against Kuwait, 507

on South Vietnam collapse, 382

on Soviet bloc forces’ preparedness (1956–1957), 

157–158, 160–161

on Soviet ICBM arsenal (late 1960s), 338

on Soviet missile in 1950s, 175, 182

on Soviet missile in 1960s, 264

on Soviet missiles in Cuba, 227

on Soviet Union’s nuclear weapons program, 98

on Warsaw Pact buildup, 345

Intelligence Directorate (J-2), 185

intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs)

Air Force development of, 183, 337

Carter on reductions in, 398

Gaither Committee report on, 177–179

intelligence on Soviet development of, 180–181

interim SALT agreement on, 359n21

Jackson on SALT agreements and, 341

JCS estimates on quantity needed for assured 

destruction strategy, 249–250, 270n23

JCS on frozen numbers for, 340–341, 544

land-based, assured destruction strategy and, 248

post-SALT I Soviet testing of, 342, 375

Powell’s estimates for, 496

on SALT I agenda, 338

small, single-warhead, Scowcroft Commission on, 

438

Soviet, surprise attacks during 1950s by, 144

Soviet launch of (1957), 173

Soviet R&D on, 264

START I Treaty on, 497

U.S. concerns on 1950s Soviet development of, 

174–177

Interim Committee, interdepartmental, on atomic 

bomb policies and use, 48–49, 50

intermediate-range ballistic missiles (IRBMs). See also

SS–4; SS–5; Thor

Air Force development of, 183

French development of, 257

land-based, Army testing of, 146

Soviet testing of, 175

intermediate-range nuclear forces (INF)

NATO on modernization of, 402, 440–441

Treaty mandating elimination of (1987), 459–461, 

475n40

International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), 160

inter-Service rivalry

during and after World War II, 3

conferences on (1948 and 1949), 69

Crowe on overdramatization of, 452–453

Desert Shield/Desert Storm and, 514, 517, 525

fundamental differences of opinion and, 539

JCS in Vietnam era and, 328

in JCS under Radford and Eisenhower, 135–137

IN DEX
566

Jones on JCS organizational structure and, 450

of mid- to late-1950s, 173–174

missile development and, 176–177, 183–184

MX missile and, 370

over joint strategic targeting, 187–190

peacetime total force (1970s) and, 366–367

Rapid Deployment Force and, 409

Rapid Deployment Joint Task Force and, 431

Reagan buildup and, 426, 546

rearmament for Korean War and, 112

Richardson Committee study on post-World War 

II organizational reform and, 40

Vietnam War strategy and, 308

during World War II, 3, 538

Zumwalt on inter-Service cooperation and, 315

Iran. See also Iran-Iraq war

antiship mines in Persian Gulf of, 470–471

as anti-Soviet U.S. ally, 405–406

Baghdad Pact and, 190

hostage rescue mission (1979–1980), 411–414

Khomeini’s rise to power in, 406–407

U.S. embassy seizure in, 409

U.S. on Baghdad Pact and, 191

U.S. relations with (1970s), 352

Iran Ajr (minelayer), 470

Iran-contra affair (1986), 424, 465–466

Iran-Iraq war, 432, 467–468, 472, 505

Iraq. See also Iran-Iraq war; Operation Desert Shield/

Desert Storm

Baghdad Pact and, 190

defense establishment of, 509

Kuwait invasion by, 487–488, 505, 508

post-hostilities phase of Gulf War and, 528–531

rebellion (1958) against monarchy of, 194–195, 352

Soviet support for, 352, 383

U.S. on Baghdad Pact and, 191

USS Stark attack by, 470

Ismay, Hastings, xiv, 124

Israel. See also Arab-Israeli conflict

Lebanon invasion by, 429

Nasser and, 191, 192–193

Saddam Hussein’s belligerence against, 507, 

523–524, 534n65

U.S. arms sales to, 352, 353

USCENTCOM excluded from involvement with, 

431

USS Liberty attacked by, 353

Italy, 15–16, 257

Jackson, C.D., 148

Jackson, Henry M., 265–266, 341, 375, 376, 379, 381

Japan

ARCADIA meetings (1941) on defeat of, 9

atomic bomb development and use against, 46–52

ending war with, 43–46

War Plan Orange against, 3, 31–32

Jedi Knights (Army planning staff), 517

Jeremiah, David E., 482–483, 529

Jews, partitioning of Palestine for homeland for, 76–77

Joe 1 (Soviet’s first nuclear device), 98

Johnson, Hansford T., 482

Johnson, Harold K., 286, 290–291, 301n61, 328

Johnson, Louis

becomes Sec. of Defense, 83

briefed on ROK Army strength, 103

on military spending projections under NSC 68, 

101–102

Revolt of the Admirals (1949) and, 99–100

steps down as Sec. of Defense, 107, 128n56

on U.S. troops sent to Korea, 104

on weapons effects and WSEG studies, 85

as Z Committee advisor on U.S. atomic energy 

program, 99

Johnson, Lyndon B. See also McNamara, Robert S.; 

Vietnam War

air war in Vietnam and, 295

arms sales to Israel under, 353

on call-up of Reservists for NATO, 260

Dominican Republic crisis and, 292

on ending Vietnam War, 311

Glassboro summit with Kosygin and McNamara 

and, 267

on JCS strategy for Vietnam, 329

McNamara as Sec. of Defense under, 245

MLF demise and, 258

on not seeking reelection, 305

SALT and, 336

strategic review of Vietnam War (1966) and, 296

Vietnam bombing suspended by, 312–313

Vietnam War chain of command and, 297–298

Johnston, Robert B., 516

Joint Action of the Army and Navy (JAAN), 4, 23n16

Joint Administrative Committee, 14

Joint Analysis Directorate (JAD), 206n73

Joint Army and Navy Board, U.S., 3, 5

Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS). See also Chairman, Joint 

Chiefs of Staff; détente; inter-Service rivalry; 

National Security Council

Bay of Pigs operation and, 214–216

on catalog of commitments military budget would 

support, 80

chain of command in Vietnam War and, 297–298

on China as threat, 348

Cold War and niche for, 124–125

contingency plans for U.S. troops supplied to 

NATO by, 122

Cuban missile crisis and, 229–231, 232–233

Coun c il of War
567

divergences from CCS organization, 6–7

early meetings and work of, 5–6

formation of, 1–2

Goldwater-Nichols legislation on, 454–455, 482

Intelligence Community and, 180–181

Johnson’s deescalation of Vietnam War and, 

312–313

Kennedy administration and, 211–213

Korean War onset and, 103–104

Laos crisis and, 221–224, 240n55

leadership at Tehran Conference (Nov. 1943) by, 

17–18

legal status of, 8–9, 67–68, 538

MacArthur and, 106–107

McNamara on increased defense spending and, 246

NCA amendments (1948) on diminished role for, 

82, 541–542

North African decision and, 10–11

nuclear test ban and, 234

as obstacle to Eisenhower’s plans, 141–142, 150

organization chart (1942), 6

organization chart (1947), 68

organization chart (1959), 187

organization chart (1987), 456

Pacific strategy during World War II under, 9

on post-World War II atomic bomb use, 63, 64

post-World War II defense establishment and, 51–52

on post-World War II military readiness, 61–62

Reagan’s meetings with, 424

Reagan’s Strategic Defense Initiative and, 433, 

436–438

rearmament for Korean War and, 112–113

redefined mission (1947) of, 68

reorganization after Casablanca Conference of, 

13–14

SACEUR communication with, 120

showdown with McNamara over air war in Vietnam and, 309–310

strategic bombing of Germany and, 13

Tonkin Gulf incident and, 284–285

TRIDENT Conference and, 14–15

Truman on unification debate and, 60

Vietnam War and, 286–292, 326–329

World War II influence of, 7–8, 537–538

Joint Forces Air Component Commander (JFACC), 

519

Joint Intelligence Committee (JIC), 4, 5, 70, 72

Joint Intelligence Group, 72

Joint Logistics Committee, 6, 14, 72

Joint Logistics Group, 72

Joint Long-Range Strategic Estimate (JLRSE), 112

Joint New Weapons Committee, 6

Joint Outline Emergency War Plan (JOEWP), 111, 

114

Joint Planning Committee, U.S., 4

Joint Post-War Committee (JPWC), 42

Joint Program for Planning, 246

Joint Psychological Warfare Committee, 6

Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC), 524, 

533n49

Joint Staff Mission (JSM), Britain’s, 2

Joint Staff Planners (JPS). See also Joint Strategic Plans 

Committee

on ending war with Japan, 45

McNarney’s JCS reorganization and, 14

Operation Crossroads under, 63

staffing for, 5

Unified Command Plan and, 66

war in the Pacific and, 44

Wedemeyer on State Dept. liaison with, 41

Joint Strategic Capabilities Plan (JSCP), 112, 136, 194

Joint Strategic Committee, U.S., 4

Joint Strategic Objectives Plan (JSOP)

under Carter, 393

McNamara’s use of systems analysis and, 246–247

Nixon and Kissinger on reordering priorities in, 

347–348

rearmament for Korean War and, 112

as Service requirements without priorities, 136, 541

timeframe for, 269n5

Joint Strategic Planning Document (JSPD), 393, 541

Joint Strategic Plans Committee (JSPC), 72, 83, 

84–85, 138–139. See also Joint War Plans Committee (JWPC)

Joint Strategic Survey Committee (JSSC)

on atomic bomb’s military and strategic impact, 51

Casablanca Conference on combined bombing of 

Germany and, 13

creation of, 11

first objectives of, North African decision and, 12

FY 1952 military budget review and, 100

JPWC under, to work with State and EAC, 42

on naval blockade of Cuba, 228

part-time inter-Service offices on, 72

on replacing CCS with tripartite United Chiefs of 

Staff, 26n76

Service functions report (1946) by, 67

as State Dept. and JCS liaison, 41

to study Marshall’s proposal for post-World War II 

organizational reform, 39–40

on Weapons Systems Evaluation Group, 85–86

World War II membership on, 6

Joint Strategic Target Planning Staff (JSTPS), 186–187, 

188, 189, 206n78, 252

joint task force (JTF 116), 221–222

Joint Task Force Middle East (JTFME), 469

Joint War Games Agency, 206n73, 283

Joint War Plans Committee (JWPC), 14–15, 41, 45, 

46, 71. See also Joint Strategic Plans Committee

IN DEX
568

jointness. See also Goldwater-Nichols Defense Reorganization Act

Checkmate and, 514

Desert Storm as, 518–519, 525, 531, 547–548

Goldwater-Nichols legislation on, 454, 546

Gulf War (1990) and, 531

Kuwait shipping escort operation and, 470

Libyan bombing raid as display of, 464

Jones, David C.

as CJCS, 390, 392–393

on countervailing strategy (1978), 396

on increasing the military budget, 421

Iran hostage rescue mission and, 411, 413

on JCS organizational structure, 450, 546

joins the JCS, 377

on SALT II, 399–400

on Steadman group’s reorganization plan for JCS, 

394

on stealth technology, 395

on three near-simultaneous conflicts’ planning, 427

Weinberger’s relationship with, 422–423

Jordan, 195, 352, 357

Jordan, Hamilton, 413

JSTARS (surveillance and tracking system), 458

Jupiter (medium-range ballistic missiles, MRBMs)

Army and Navy development of, 176

Khrushchev on Cuban missile crisis and, 232–233

with NATO host countries (1950s), 252

retirement of, 272n46

Soviet IRBMs in Cuba comparable to, 228–229

testing of, 146

in Turkey, Soviets’ complaints about, 226

Wilson assigns to Air Force, 177

Karch, Frederick J., 277

Kassim, Abdul-Karim, 195

KC–135 jet tankers, 143

Kelley, Paul X., 410, 423

Kennan, George F., 70, 80, 100

Kennedy, John F. See also McNamara, Robert S.

assassination of, 245

Bay of Pigs operation under, 213–216

Berlin under siege and, 216–220

Cuban missile crisis origins under, 224–228, 

241n84

Cuban missile crisis under, 228–233

defense spending increases under, 246

on flexible response doctrine, 211

JCS estrangement with, 233–234

Laos crisis under, 221–224

Macmillan meeting on Skybolt or Polaris with, 

254–255

on McNamara’s FYDP, 247

nuclear test ban and, 234–236

Vietnam commitment under, 278–279, 280, 281

Kennedy, Robert F., 213, 215–216, 222, 225, 232, 305

Kenney, George C., 31

Key West Agreement (1948), 113, 134, 203n19

KGB, 434–435, 440–441. See also Soviet Union

Khalid bin Sultan, Prince, 519

Khe Sanh battle, Vietnam War, 305, 307–308, 310–311

Khomeini, Ruhollah (Ayatollah), 407

Khrushchev, Nikita S.

on Berlin and the West, 199

deploying missiles to Cuba, 226–227

Eisenhower meetings with, 201

on liberation wars in Latin America, 225–226

on McNamara’s counterforce/no-cities doctrine, 

249

on MRBMs in Turkey versus Cuba, 232, 243n105

nuclear test ban and U.S. relations with, 234, 235

on Open Skies proposal, 162

Powers’ U–2 mission and summit with Eisenhower 

and, 183

propaganda and deception campaign on missile 

development by, 180

Vienna meeting with JFK and, 217

Vietnam War and, 296

on wars of national liberation, 278

Killian, James R., Jr., 161, 162, 173

Kim Il-song, 103

King, Ernest J.

atomic bomb development and, 47

Casablanca Conference (Jan. 1943) and, 13

on casualty estimates for ending war with Japan, 46

CCS at the Second Quebec Conference and, xiv

on charter for JCS during World War II, 8

Combined Chiefs of Staff and, 2

ending war with Japan and, 44–45, 49

on JSSC’s objective for landing in Europe, 12

Leahy appointment as Chief of Staff to Commander in Chief and, 7

MacArthur friction with Nimitz and, 32

on major offensive in Central Pacific, TRIDENT 

Conference and, 14, 15

on numerical superiority for Pacific Ocean Area 

command, 31–32

on post-World War II organizational reform, 39, 40

QUADRANT (Aug. 1943) talks on Overlord and, 

16

on Russia’s role in Europe during World War II, 9

steps down from JCS, 60

on Truman’s decision to use atomic bomb, 50

on unified combined commands, 30

working in harmony with Marshall during World 

War II by, 3

Kinkaid, Thomas C., 31

Coun c il of War
569

Kissinger, Henry A.

on air campaign against North Vietnam, 322–323

on ALCMs discussed at Vladivostok, 381

backchannel contacts by, 316, 322

on chain of command, 389n67

on Christmas bombing in Vietnam, 325

on concessions to PRC involving Taiwan, 349–350, 

351

on détente, 335

dual roles in Nixon administration of, 363n87

ending Vietnam War and, 313

Ford and, after Nixon’s resignation, 378, 379

Ford on role of, 385

Laird’s plan for Vietnamization and, 318

on LAM SON 719 operation, 319, 320

on MIRV limitation for SALT II, 379

on new strategic weapons after Vietnam, 375

NSC system and, 544–545

October War (1973) and, 355

policy process under, 315

on reorienting U.S. strategy on PRC, 348

Rowny and, 376

SALT I backchannel talks with Dobrynin and, 339, 

378

Schlesinger rivalry with, 378, 383

Schlesinger standoff on Israeli assistance with, 356

secret talks with China and, 348

on Shah of Iran, 405–406

on Sino-Soviet relations (1970s), 361n46

on Soviet ICBM arsenal, 338

on targeting practices in SIOP, 371

on Vietnamization, 319

Kistiakowsky, George B., 182, 189

Knox, Frank, 8

Korean Military Advisory Group (KMAG), U.S., 103

Korean War (1950–1953)

Chinese intervention in, 110

Cold War and outbreak of, 96

ending, Eisenhower and, 137–140

impact of Chinese intervention in, 111–113

as JCS turning point, 124

MacArthur, Inch’on Operation, and, 105–108

onset of, 102–105

Truman meeting with MacArthur and, 109

Truman on NSC 68 and, 108–109

Kosygin, Alexei N., 267

Kuwait. See also Operation Desert Shield/Desert Storm

appeal for shipping protection by, 468–469

Iraq’s invasion of, 487–488, 505, 508

origins of 1990 crisis in, 506–508

shipping escorts for, 469–472, 547

Kvitsinskiy, Yuli, 440, 447n58

Kwantung army, Japanese, 21

Kyes, Roger M., 148

Laird, Melvin R.

on air campaign in Vietnam War, 321, 322, 323

on Kissinger and targeting doctrine, 372

on Kissinger’s circumvention of authority, 316

on Soviet ICBM arsenal (late 1960s), 338

on targeting doctrine revisions to Nixon, 373

on Trident missile submarines, 370

on U.S. support for NATO, 345

in Vietnam, ca. 1969, 304

Vietnamization strategy and, 318

LAM SON 719 operation and, 319–321

Land, Edwin H., 162

land-based aviation for antisubmarine warfare, 67, 

69, 72

Landon, Truman H., 100

Lansdale, Edward G., 278–279

Laos, 221–224, 286, 294, 326

Latin America. See also Central America

Eisenhower’s anti-Communist policies in, 196–197

Soviet focus on, 225–226

Lavelle, John D., 322

Lawrence Livermore research laboratory, 433

Lawton, Frederick J., 101

Leahy, William D.

atomic bomb development and, 47

aversion to political-military affairs by, 40–41, 

55n49

CCS at the Second Quebec Conference and, xiv

on charter for JCS during World War II, 8

as Chief of Staff to Commander in Chief, 7, 538

on ending war with Japan, 45

interdepartmental Interim Committee on atomic 

bomb and, 49

as JCS chair during World War II, 82

opposition to unification by, 64–65

post-World War II JCS service by, 60

on post-World War II organizational reform, 40

Roosevelt’s meeting with MacArthur and Nimitz 

and, 44

on Truman’s decision to use atomic bomb, 50

Lebanon, 194, 195, 429, 430

Ledo Road, from Burma to China, 35

Lehman, John F., Jr., 453

LeMay, Curtis E.

on ABM, 263–264

becomes Air Force Chief of Staff, 224–225

Berlin crisis and, 219

Cuban missile crisis and, 230, 232, 233–234

McNamara’s flexible response force posture and, 

248

IN DEX
570

NATO retardation bombing plan and, 119

Operation Crossroads under, 63

as SAC commander, 79

on Taylor and McNamara’s plan for Vietnam, 283

on troops and bombing after Tonkin Gulf incident, 

286

Lemnitzer, Lyman L.

Berlin crisis and, 217, 219

on Cuban surveillance, 228

on 8000-man force versus Win Plan, 279–280

on Laos crisis, 221

Laos crisis and, 223–224

on McNamara and his staff, 212

McNamara’s FYDP and posture statement from, 

247

on nuclear weapons for NATO, 252

steps down as CJCS, 224

Taylor as MILREP and, 213

lend-lease program, 21, 34–35, 37, 54n35

liberation doctrine, Reagan on, 421

Liberty, USS, 353

Libya, 383, 429, 430, 463–464

Lilienthal, David E., 99

limited employment options, in revised targeting 

doctrine (1973), 373

Limited Test Ban Treaty (1963), 235, 266

Lincoln, George A., 178–179

Linebacker, 323–324, 329, 351

Linebacker II, 325–326, 329, 351

Lippmann, Walter, 69

Lisbon Conference (1952), on NATO force goals, 

123

Little Boy bomb, 48, 50

Live Oak (planning body), 200–201, 219

Logistics Directorate (J-4), 185

log-rolling process, 136

Lon Nol, 318–319

long-range bombers, 248, 341

Long-Term Defense Program (LTDP), NATO’s, 401, 

457

Los Alamos, New Mexico, 48, 433

Lovett, Robert A., 96, 134

MacArthur, Douglas

on Chinese forces inside Korea’s borders, 110

Collins’s reports on Korean War and, 113–114

command of war under, 31

as Commander in Chief, Far East, 105–106

ending war with Japan and, 44–45

friction between Nimitz and, 32

Intelligence Community conflicts with, 102

on Republic of China, 349

Southwest Pacific Area command under, 30–31

Truman meeting on Wake Island 1950 with, 94, 

109–110

Truman’s dismissal of, 113–116

unified command in Pacific and, 65–66

Macmillan, Harold, 222, 254–255

Maddox, USS, 284

Mahan, Erin R., 257

The Malaise of Soviet Society (British intelligence 

report), 428–429

Malinovskiy, Rodion, 226

Manhattan Engineer District (MED) (Manhattan 

Project), 47–50, 51, 62, 86

Mansfield, Mike, 344

Mao Zedong, 34, 36, 37, 95–96, 351. See also People’s 

Republic of China

March Crisis of 1948, 73–76, 90n53

Marine Corps

on amphibious operations, 67, 69, 72

arrival in Vietnam, 277, 290

CENTAF compromise with, 519–520

coequal status with Service chiefs for, 394

Johnson on Vietnam mission for, 291–292

post-World War II projections for size and capabilities of, 39

proposed post-World War II merger with Navy, 

65–66

Truman on, 59–60

Mark 12A warhead, 385, 396

Marshall, George C.

on alternative to atomic bomb, 50

atomic bomb development and, 47

becomes Sec. of Defense, 107

cautions Wedemeyer on role in China, 38

CCS at the Second Quebec Conference and, xiv

on charter for JCS during World War II, 8

Chiang Kai-shek and, 97

Chinese affairs and, 35

Combined Chiefs of Staff and, 2

on Continental invasion in 1942 or 1943, 10

Dill’s collaboration with, JCS development and, 5

on direct link between President and JCS, 7

on European Recovery Program, 69

interdepartmental Interim Committee on atomic 

bomb and, 49

MacArthur friction with Nimitz and, 32

MacArthur’s dismissal and, 115–116

on MacArthur’s operations in North Korea, 109

military budget for FY 1950 and, 81

on post-World War II organizational reform, 39, 40

relaying Deane’s sobering assessment of the Soviets, 

20

Roosevelt and, 24n28

Roosevelt’s North African decision and, 10–11

on Soviet collaboration during World War II, 22

Coun c il of War
571

Truman’s reliance on, 60

on universal military training, 61–62

on U.S. support for NATO, 121

on waning Soviet interest in military collaboration, 21

working in harmony with King during World War 

II by, 3

Marshall Plan, 100

Martin, Joseph W., Jr., 115

Masaryk, Jan, 73

massive retaliation doctrine, 248–249, 251, 258, 261

Matsu Islands, Taiwan Strait, 135, 150, 151–152

Mayaguez affair (1975), 383–384

MC 14/1 (NATO’s forward strategy, 1952), 121–122, 

251

MC 14/2 (NATO’s strategy on tactical weapons, 

1957), 157, 251

MC 14/3 (NATO’s flexible-response strategy, 

1966–1967), 258–261, 342

MC 48 (NATO’s New Approach strategy), 152–156, 

541

MC 48/3 (NATO’s implementation strategy, 

1966–1967), 260–261

McCain, John S., Jr., 319

McCarthy, Eugene, 305

McCloy, John J., 49–50

McConnell, John P., 264, 290, 309, 368

McDonald, David L., 233

McElroy, Neil H., 136, 181, 182, 184, 185, 186

McFarlane, Robert C., 463, 468

McMaster, H.R., 283, 327

McNamara, Robert S.

AMSA opposition by, 368

Bay of Pigs operation and, 215, 225

Berlin Task Force and, 217, 218

chain of command in Vietnam War and, 297–298

Cuban missile crisis and, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232

damage limitation debate and, 261–267

disdain for JCS’s position on air campaign by, 309

Honolulu conference (1965) on Vietnam War and, 

292

JCS and, 214, 249–250, 328, 541–543

Laos crisis and, 222, 223–224

on LeMay on the JCS, 233–234

MLF demise and, 255–258

NATO’s MC 14/3 strategy and, 258–261

reconfiguring strategic force posture under, 

247–251

refused expanding bombing in Vietnam, 309–310

as Sec. of Defense, 211–212, 213, 244

Sentinel and seeds of SALT, 267–269

on SIGMA II–64 testing graduated pressure 

hypothesis, 287

Skybolt affair and, 253–255

on stalemate in Vietnam, 305–306

steps down as Sec. of Defense, 311

systems analysis used by, 211, 245–247

target selection for air war in Vietnam and, 295, 296

Trident missile development and, 369

U.S. involvement in Vietnam and, 282

Vietnam assistance policy and, 280

Vietnam War strategy and, 288, 291, 294

McNarney, Joseph T., 14, 80

McNaughton, John T., 288

McPeak, Merrill A., 517, 521, 525

Mediterranean

combined unified command for campaigns in, 

29–30

U.S. Navy during Reagan years in, 428

Voroshiloff questions Brooke on campaigns in, 17

Mediterranean Command (CINCAFMED), NATO’s, 

121

Medium Term Defense Plan (MTDP), 119, 120, 123

medium-range ballistic missiles (MRBMs), 256, 

272n50

Merchant, Livingston, 257

Merrill’s Marauders (Galahad commando unit), 33

Meyer, Edward C., 423, 451

Meyer, John C., 325, 326

Middle East. See also Persian Gulf; specific countries

Carter Doctrine on, 410–411

Eisenhower Doctrine on, 194, 195

Operation Blue Bat in, 194–196

Palestine partitioning for Jewish state in, 76–77

politico-military vacuum in, 193–194

Reagan Doctrine and, 429

Soviet influence in, 190, 383

Soviet-American relations and (1970s), 351–352, 

353–354, 355–356, 357, 358

Suez crisis in, 191–193

U.S. Commander in Chief for, 208n109

Midgetmen ICBMs, 438

military budget

Carter’s proposed reductions in, 392, 395

for Desert Shield/Desert Storm, 511–512

Eisenhower on stable level for, 141, 541

Eisenhower’s reduction of rate of growth in, 143

for FY 1950, gap between requirements and Truman’s limits on, 79–80

for FY 1950, integrated defense plan and, 76

for FY 1950, international situation and, 76–77

for FY 1950, submitted by Forrestal, 81

for FY 1952, Johnson’s hold-the-line spending 

policy for, 99–100

for FY 1952, Korean War onset and, 108–110

for FY 1952, Reagan’s compared with, 444n19

for FY 1981 and FY 1982, Reagan buildup and, 

425–429

IN DEX
572

JCS concerns on NATO budget and, 96

Johnson as JCS Chairman and, 83

Johnson’s Great Society and, 250, 293, 543

March Crisis of 1948 and, 73–74

McNamara’s assured destruction strategy and, 250

McNamara’s use of systems analysis and, 246–247

Nike-X (1966) and, 266

NSC 68 projecting military threat in 1950s and, 

101, 540

Powell’s base force plan and, 495–496

under Reagan, 545

rearmament for Korean War and, 111

Rumsfeld on growth in, 385

supplemental, Kennedy’s call for, 217–218

Truman’s limitation on, integrated statement of 

service and, 71–73

unified, HALFMOON plan for, 75

unified, omitted from NSA (1947), 89n46

Vietnam War and allocation of, 306–307, 365–366

Vietnam War as portion of, 308

Military Committee, NATO’s, 120

Military Liaison Committee, AEC’s, 62, 70

military personnel policy. See also military budget

Goldwater-Nichols legislation on, 455, 546

military technologies. See also specific weapons

Gulf War (1990) and, 530–531

reorganization and challenges of, 65

stealth aircraft, 395

Unified Command Plan and, 66–67

Vessey on strategic defense and, 436–437

MILL POND (interagency plan for Laos), 221–222

mines, Iranian antiship, 470–471

mining North Vietnamese ports, 289, 323, 329, 351

Minuteman (intercontinental ballistic missile), 176, 

248, 374

Minuteman III (MIRVed ICBM), 263

missile gap, 180–183, 218

missile program. See also specific types of missiles

JSTPS and growth of, 186–187

Momyer, William W., 310

Mondale, Walter, 413

MONGOOSE (covert operations in Cuba), 225

Montgomery, Bernard Law, 18, 120, 124

Moorer, Thomas H.

on air attacks against North Vietnam, 321, 322–323

on Christmas bombing in Vietnam, 325, 326

as CJCS, 314, 334

final posture statement to Congress (1974) by, 358

Foster’s study panel on targeting and, 372

Kissinger’s secret rendezvous with Zhou Enlai and, 

350

LAM SON 719 operation and, 319–320

on modernizing U.S. strategic arsenal, 341

October War (1973) and, 355, 356, 357

on peacetime total force (1970s), 367

SALT I agreement and, 339

Morgenthau, Henry, Jr., 42

Mountbatten, Louis, 36–37

Mozambique, 383

mujahideen in Afghanistan, U.S.-backed, 431, 461

multilateral nuclear force (MLF), 252, 255–258

multiple independently targetable reentry vehicles 

(MIRVs), 262–263, 379

multiple reentry vehicles (MRVs), 262

Munitions Board (MB), of National Military Establishment, 68

Murphy, Daniel J., Sr., 356

MUSKETEER (British-French-Israeli military 

operation against Egypt), 192–193

mustard gas, Truman on, 139

Mutual and Balanced Force Reduction (MBFR) 

Talks, 343, 376, 439–440, 494

mutual assured destruction (MAD), 341, 433

mutual assured survival, 434

Mutual Defense Assistance Program (MDAP), 96, 117, 

125n3

MX (intercontinental ballistic missile)

Carter on deployment of, 396

development problems for, 370

as freeze movement target, 435

JCS requests for, 262, 368, 544

Reagan buildup and, 427–428, 438

Rumsfeld on development of, 385

Schlesinger on NSDM 242 and, 374, 375

Nagasaki, bombing of, 50, 51

Nassau agreement (1962), 254–255, 257

Nasser, Gamal Abdul, 191–192, 193

National Command Authority (NCA), 186, 454

national intelligence estimate (NIE 11-5-57), 175

national intelligence estimate (NIE 11-8-59), 175

National Military Establishment (NME), 67–68, 82. 

See also Defense Department

National Military Strategy for 1992–1997 (NMS 92-

97), 481, 484, 485

National Security Act (1947)

on accountable civilians, 134

integration of military budget omitted from, 89n46

on JCS duties as corporate advisory body to 

President, 537

1948 amendments to, increased JCS size under, 72

1948 amendments to, on Chairman, JCS, 82

1958 amendments to, Sec. of Defense authority 

and, 246, 541

statutory standing for JCS under, 67–68, 538

National Security Agency (NSA), 175, 227, 355, 408

National Security Council (NSC)

Coun c il of War
573

Bundy on JCS participation in meetings of, 287

creation of, 68

on Cuban invasion after Bay of Pigs, 225

on curbing expansion of Chinese Communist 

power, 147

to develop national objectives for military requirements, 76

disarmament debates within, 160

as Eisenhower’s high-level policy forum, 136–137

on Foster’s targeting panel’s findings, 372–373

Iran hostage rescue mission and, 413

Kennedy’s changes to, 212–213

Kissinger’s circumvention of, 378

Korean War and changes in, 124

national security policy analysis, Service requirements and, 80

Nixon’s use of, 315, 331n43

on nuclear weapons for Armed Forces, 79

planning FY 1952 military budget and, 111

Review Group, Kissinger as head of, 316

State-Defense review of FY 1952 military budget 

for, 100–101

Truman and enhanced role during Korean War for, 

112–113

national security decision memoranda (NSDM), 

Nixon’s, 316

National Security Decision Memorandum (NSDM 

95), 345

National Security Decision Memorandum (NSDM 

109), 219

National Security Decision Memorandum (NSDM 

133), 345

National Security Decision Memorandum (NSDM 

242), 371–373

National Security Decision Memorandum (NSDM 

245), 379

National Security Resources Board (NSRB), 68

National Security Study Memoranda (NSSM), 

Nixon’s, 316, 347

National Strategic Targeting List (NSTL), 189

national technical means, arms control verification 

using, 337

Nationalist Chinese. See Chiang Kai-shek; Taiwan

Navy, U.S.

air offensive against Soviet war-making capacity 

(1948) and, 75

CENTAF in Desert Storm and, 519

Combined Chiefs of Staff and, 2

inter-Service rivalry between Army and, 3

on Johnson as JCS Chairman, 83

on land-based aviation for antisubmarine warfare, 

67, 69, 72

missile development and, 176, 177, 183

New Look defense budget and, 144

nuclear weapons for, 79

post-World War II projections for size and capabilities of, 39

proposed post-World War II merger with Marines, 

65–66

Reagan buildup and expansion of, 428

Special Projects Office, 262

on Trident missile submarines, 369–370

Navy Department, 3, 6, 40

Navy General Board, 4–5

Navy Plans Division, 4–5

Net Evaluation Subcommittee (NESC), 188

Netherlands, 157, 259

Neutrality Act (1937), U.S., 34

neutron bomb, 402, 457

New Frontier, JFK’s, 211, 236n1

New Look (national security policy). See Eisenhower, 

Dwight D., first term

New Zealand, 147, 306

Newhouse, John, 337–338

Nicaragua

Iran-contra affair (1986) in, 424, 465–466

logistical but not military support for contras in, 

431

Sandinistas in, 407–408, 467

Nichols, Bill, 453

Nike-X ballistic missile defense system, 264–268

Nike-Zeus ballistic missile defense system, 181, 183

NIKE-ZEUS interceptor missile, 146

Nimitz, Chester W.

command of war under, 31

divided command at Pearl Harbor and, 66

ending war with Japan and, 44–45

friction between MacArthur and, 32

joins the JCS, 60

leaves the JCS, 74

Pacific Ocean Area command under, 30–32

on single Pacific command, 65–66

Nitze, Paul H.

ex-official SALT talks and, 339–340

Gaither Committee report and, 178–179

JCS on ABM and, 268

on military power in foreign policy, 100

military spending projections under NSC 68 by, 

101

NSDM 109 and, 219

Reagan’s buildup and, 422

on walk in the woods formula for arms control, 

440, 447n58

Nixon, Richard M. See also détente; Vietnam War

air campaign against North Vietnam and, 322–323, 

324

China and, 348, 350–351

IN DEX
574

on détente, 335–336

on hawks in U.S. after end of détente, 385

on Jackson pressure on SALT negotiating team, 342

JCS and, 313–314, 544–545

Laird’s plan for Vietnamization and, 318

on LAM SON 719 operation, 319, 320–321

Middle East involvement and, 354, 355, 356

modernizing the strategic deterrent under, 367–370

on peace with honor in Vietnam, 305

peacetime total force under, 365–367

policy process under, 315

SALT I under, 336–342

SALT II under, 375–379

on SIOP limitations, 371

on Soviet ICBM arsenal, 338

targeting doctrine revised under, 371–375

on Vietnamization, 319

Watergate scandal and, 346, 355, 356, 377–378

winding down Vietnam War under, 316–321

on Year of Europe (1973), 345–346

Noriega, Manuel Antonio, 489–492, 547

Normandy invasion, planned invasion of Japan versus, 

46

Norstad, Lauris

B-29s in Europe and, 78

on Berlin access rights, 216, 218

contingency plans for Berlin and, 200–201

Executive Order on Service functions and, 69

JCS meeting at Naval War College (1948) and, 58

multilateral nuclear force concept and, 255

NATO retardation bombing plan and, 118–119

NATO’s New Approach and, 154

on nuclear weapons for NATO, 169n98, 252

unification bill and, 67

North, Oliver L., 424, 468

North Africa, World War II and, 10–12, 29–30, 76. See 

also Mediterranean

North American Air Defense Command (NORAD), 

144

North Atlantic Council (NAC), 117–118, 120, 123

North Atlantic Treaty (1949), 95, 96

North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO)

Carter on conventional forces for, 401

conventional posture in late 1950s of, 156–158

creation of, 75

at a crossroads (1952), 124

defense planning for, 117

Desert Storm and, 523

flexible-response force posture and, 251–253

France on MLF and, 256–257

Gorbachev’s restructuring of Soviet Union and, 460

on limiting conventional forces in Europe, 493–495

modernization by (late 1970s), 402–403

morale and discipline (mid-1970s) in, 346

as multilateral nuclear force, 255–256, 272n50

Mutual and Balanced Force Reduction Talks and, 

439–440

Mutual Defense Assistance Program of, 96

New Approach and nuclear weapons for, 152–156, 

541

Nixon and Kissinger on revitalization of, 335

Nixon’s Israeli assistance during Watergate and, 356

one-and-a-half war strategy and support for, 366

Reagan buildup and, 457–458

recognizing upgrades needed by, 345–346, 360n42

Soviet influence in Middle East and, 190

U.S. commitment at end of 1960s to, 342–343

U.S. disagreements on need for support of, 344–345

U.S. Great Debate on commitment to, 121

Vietnam War and, 306

Vietnam War and U.S. power and influence within, 

258–259

Warsaw Pact as threat to, 343–344

Warsaw Pact buildup and, 400–401

North Korea. See also Korean War

invasion of South Korea by, 102–105

repatriation concerns of POWs from, 138

North Vietnam. See also Vietnam War

Laos crisis and, 223

mining ports of, 289, 323, 329, 351

Tonkin Gulf incident and, 284–285

North Vietnamese Army (NVA). See also Ho Chi 

Minh Trail

air defenses of, 295

air strikes on, 323–325

base camps in Cambodia and Laos of, 294, 317

Cambodian invasion (1970) and, 318–319

Khe Sanh siege by, 310

LAM SON 719 operation and, 320

Nixon on withdrawal of, 316

war of attrition and, 297

North Vietnamese Communist Party, 296

NSC 68 (State-Defense review of FY 1952 military 

budget ), 100–101, 108–109, 540

NSC 162/2 (nuclear weapons for use as other munitions), 142

NSD 54 (Desert Storm), 522, 527

NSDD 32 (Reagan’s national security policy), 428

NSDD 99, 431

NSR 10 (Bush’s review of Persian Gulf policy), 506

NSR 12 (Bush’s review of national security), 480, 481

Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT), 266–269

Nuclear Planning Group (NPG), NATO’s, 258, 402

nuclear weapons. See also arms control; atomic bomb; 

Soviet Union; specific types of

Coun c il of War
575

air war in Vietnam and, 295

allies’ objections to use in Western Pacific of, 147

assured destruction strategy under McNamara for, 

248

atmospheric testing of, 159, 162–163

B-29s in Europe implying threat of, 78

Brezhnev’s ultimatum to Nixon on Israel’s October 

War (1973) and, 357

Carter’s control of, 396

China’s development of, 348

freeze movement during Reagan era against, 

434–435

French development of, 256–257

JCS reluctance to use in Indochina, 149

JSPC’s plan to end Korean War using, 138–139, 

164n12

as key to future security, Eisenhower on, 141, 142, 

540–541

Korean War and potential use of, 104

Laos crisis and consideration of, 222–223, 240n55

MacArthur on tactical use in Korea for, 114

McNamara’s assured destruction strategy and, 

250–251, 542

for NATO, flexible-response force posture and, 

251–253

for NATO, JCS in 1960s and, 259–260, 272n61

for NATO, Norstad on, 169n98

for NATO retardation purposes (1951), 118

NATO’s forward strategy on conventional weapons 

versus, 122

NATO’s intermediate-range, 402, 440–441

NATO’s New Approach and, 152–156, 541

production increases under Truman and Eisenhower of, 158–159

Reagan buildup and strategic balance with Soviet 

Union on, 427–428

Saddam’s, intelligence on, 524

Soviet, deployed to Cuba, 226–228, 240–241n71

stockpile of U.S. versus Soviet, 159, 169–170n113

strategic plans for, as classified, 371–372

Taiwan Strait confrontation and, 150–151

test ban, Kennedy and, 234–236, 243n110

Truman on restoring production of, 69–70

Vietnam War contingency planning and, 288

Warsaw Pact’s buildup of, 344

Nuclear Weapons Employment Policy (NUWEP-80), 

397

Nunn, Sam, 487

Nunn-Cohen amendment, 384

Nuri al-Said, 195

October War (1973), 346, 353–358

Office of Defense Mobilization (ODM), 178

Office of Management and Budget (OMD), 367. See 

also Stockman, David A.

Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI), 231

Office of Strategic Services (OSS), 6–7, 21, 102

Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD). See also

Defense, Secretary of

on ballistic missile defense, 182

defense reorganization (1958) and, 184–185, 186

JCS authority in Vietnam era and, 328

JCS under Powell and, 482

JCS under Reagan and, 424–425

Kissinger bypassing of, 316

McNamara’s FYDP and posture statement from, 

247

peacetime total force (1970s) and, 367

planning FY 1952 military budget and, 111

reorganization of 1953 and, 183–184

SALT II talks and, 378–379

on Soviet ICBM arsenal, 338

on three near-simultaneous conflicts’ planning, 

426–427

OFFTACKLE plan for European defense, 117–118

Ogarkov, Nikolai V., 441, 460

oil embargo (1973), 356

Okinawa, 44–45

OMEGA (Anglo-American plan for Middle East), 

192

one-and-a-half war strategy, 348, 366, 426–427

Open Skies proposal, Eisenhower’s, 160, 162

Operation Badr (Egyptian), 355

Operation Blue Bat (Lebanese intervention), 195–196

Operation Broadaxe (deception plan against Japan), 46

Operation Coronet (invasion near Tokyo), 45, 46

Operation Crossroads, 63–64

Operation Desert Shield/Desert Storm

air war phase of, 522–525

coordinated planning and direction of, 537

final plans and preparations for, 518–522

framing U.S. response to Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait, 

508–510

ground campaign in, 525–528

operational planning for, 510–515

origins of Kuwait crisis and, 505–508

post-hostilities phase of, 528–531

road to war and, 515–518

Operation Dominic (atmospheric nuclear weapons 

testing), 234–235, 243n110

Operation Duck Hook, 317

Operation Eagle Claw, 412, 414

Operation Earnest Will, 469–473

Operation Eldorado Canyon, 464

Operation Husky (against Sicily), 12

Operation Just Cause (against Noriega government), 

492–493

IN DEX
576

Operation Matterhorn (B-29s to China), 37, 53–54n34

Operation Nougat (underground nuclear tests), 234

Operation Olympic (invasion of southern Japan), 45, 

46

Operation Overlord, 16, 17

Operation Praying Mantis, 471

Operation Rolling Thunder

air campaign against North Vietnam, 290, 292, 

294–295, 307

graduated rules and, 309

Johnson’s modification to, 310

Linebacker compared to, 323–324

Moorer on, 314

Operation Staunch, 467–468

Operation Torch (against North Africa), 10–11, 12

Operational Plans and Interoperability Directorate 

(J-7), 455

Operations Coordinating Board (OCB), 137, 212

Operations Directorate (J-3), 185–186

OPLAN 34A for Vietnam, 280–281

OPLAN 1002-90 plan for Middle East, 508–509

Organization of American States (OAS), 197

Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries 

(OPEC), 406

Pacific. See also Asia-Pacific War

JCS strategy during World War II in, 9

strategy and command in, 29–33

unification challenges in, 65–66

Pacific Ocean Area command, 30–32

Packard, David, 368, 452

Pahlavi, Mohammed Reza (Shah of Iran), 405–406, 

411

Pakistan, 190, 191

Palestine Liberation Organization, 429

Palestinian terrorist groups (copy), 383

Palmer, Bruce, Jr., 293, 298

Panama Canal, 196, 404, 407, 489

Paris, Treaty of (1952), 123

Pate, Randolph McC., 186

Pathet Lao (Laotian Communists), 221, 223–224

Patterson, Robert P., 67, 73, 89n46

Peacekeeper program demise, 438

peacetime total force. See also Truman, Harry S., 

peacetime challenges for

Nixon administration on, 366

Reagan buildup and, 426

Pearl Harbor, 66, 160

Penkovskiy, Oleg, 218

pentomic divisions, 145–146, 155, 166n51

People’s Liberation Army, 110

People’s Republic of China (PRC). See also Chinese 

Communists; Mao Zedong; Zhou Enlai

JSTPS comprehensive target list against countries 

of, 189

Korean War onset and, 109

Laos crisis and, 223

MacArthur’s overconfidence against, 113–114

military divisions operating in Korea (1950) of, 110

Nixon and Kissinger’s quasi-alliance with, 347–351, 

543–544

Nixon on rapprochement with, 313, 316

North Vietnamese Army support by, 362n70

repatriation concerns of POWs in Korean conflict 

from, 138

Taiwan Strait confrontation and, 152

Perle, Richard N., 422

Pershing II (P–II) ballistic missiles, 403

Persian Gulf. See also Operation Desert Shield/Desert 

Storm; specific countries

Bush administration review of U.S. policy on, 506

Carter Doctrine on cooperative security framework 

for, 410

Kuwait shipping escort operation in, 469–473, 547

Reagan and tensions in, 467–469

Soviet threats during Reagan era in, 431–432

troops for, 517–518

U.S. military draw-down by 1989 in, 506–507

U.S. Navy during Reagan years in, 428

Personnel Directorate (J-1), 185, 377

Philippines, 44, 45

Phoumi Nosavan, 221

Picher, Oliver S., 185

PINCHER studies on potential U.S. war with Soviet 

Union, 71

Pipes, Richard E., 422

planning, programming, budgeting system (PPBS), 

McNamara’s, 246

Planning Board, interagency, 137, 139, 212

Plans and Policy Directorate (J-5), 185, 206n73, 214

plausible deterrence, NATO’s New Approach and, 

155

Pleiku, South Vietnam, Viet Cong strike against, 287, 

289

Pleven Plan, French-sponsored, 120

Pogue, Forrest C., 50

Poland, 429. See also Eastern Europe

Polaris A–3 missile, multiple warheads on, 262

Polaris fleet ballistic missile system

Cuban missile crisis and, 232–233

Eisenhower’s New Look and development of, 144, 

176, 183

integration of, with other strategic forces, 187, 

188–189

McNamara’s acceleration of, 248

missile testing, 234–235

Coun c il of War
577

for NATO, JFK on, 256

as Skybolt substitute, British agree to, 254–255

political-military affairs, JCS and, 40–43, 55n49

poodle blanket paper, 219

Portal, Charles, xiv, 1

Poseidon (submarine-launched MIRV), 262–263

posture statements, 247, 270n8, 358

Postwar Foreign Policy Advisory Committee, U.S., 41

Potsdam Conference (TERMINAL, July-Aug. 1945), 

43, 50

Pound, Dudley, 1

Powell, Colin L.

base force plan and, 485–489, 495–496, 501n25, 

501n29

briefing Bush on Desert Storm, 515–516

as CJCS, 478, 481–484

Desert Shield/Desert Storm coordination and, 537, 

547

Desert Shield/Desert Storm planning and, 510–513, 

514–515, 520–521

on Desert Storm ground campaign, 525

on Iranian aggression in Persian Gulf, 471

on Iraqi army, 527, 528

on Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait, 509–510

on NSR 12, 481

Panama operations (1989) and, 490, 491–492

Schwarzkopf and, 517, 520

on START I Treaty, 497, 499

on Strategic Defense Initiative, 496

on War Powers Act (1973), 518

Powell, Jody, 413

Powell Doctrine, 484

Power, Thomas S., 249, 270n23

Powers, Francis Gary, 183, 205n52

precision-guided munitions (PGMs), 323–324

Presidential directive (PD–59), 397

President’s Military Representative (MILREP), 213. 

See also Taylor, Maxwell D.

President’s Special Committee on Indochina, 148

Primakov, Yevgeny, 506

prisoners of war (POWs), 138, 325

program packages, McNamara’s use of systems analysis 

and, 246

Project Defender, 265, 437

Project SILVERPLATE, 48

Project SOLARIUM, 141

public opinion. See also antiwar movement

on defense spending, 480

Pueblo incident (1968), 383

Pustay, John S., 412

Qaddafi, Muammar, 429, 430, 462–464

Qingdao, China, U.S. military base at, 97–98

Quebec Conference (OCTAGON, Sept. 1944), xiv, 

42

Quebec Conference (QUADRANT, Aug. 1943), 16, 

32–33, 36–37, 38

Quemoy Islands, Taiwan Strait, 135, 150, 151–152

Quick Reaction Alert Force, SACEUR’s, 233

Quinlan, Michael, 260

Radford, Arthur W.

as CJCS, 132, 135–136, 144, 540, 542

cooling off Taiwan Strait tensions and, 152

defense reorganization (1958) and, 184–185

Dien Bien Phu siege (1954) and, 148–149

French requests for assistance for Dien Bien Phu 

siege and, 148

JCS meeting and, 58

Korea fact-finding tour with Eisenhower and, 139

on military budget reductions (1956), 157, 158

on Nasser, 191

on New Look defense policy, 142

OMEGA plan for Middle East and, 192

on Soviet development of ICBMs, 174

on Taiwan Strait intervention, 150–152

U–2 reconnaissance over Soviet Union and, 162

unification bill and, 67

Radford, Charles E., 316

Rainbow plans, 4

Ramgarh Training Center, India, 36

RAND Corporation, 188, 248

Rapid Deployment Force (RDF), 408–411, 414, 421, 

431

Rapid Deployment Joint Task Force (RDJTF), 405, 

410, 431

Reagan, Ronald. See also Reagan buildup

arms control plans of, 493–494

Central American showdown under, 464–466

changes in Soviet Union and, 449, 472–473

debating JCS reorganization under, 449–453

Goldwater-Nichols legislation under, 454–457, 

474n20

Gorbachev and, 459–462, 479

JCS role in SDI concept development by, 436–437, 

545–546

Kuwait shipping escort operation and, 469–472

NATO resurgent under, 457–458

Persian Gulf tensions and, 467–469

terrorism and confrontation with Libya, 462–464

Reagan buildup

Armed Forces’ image and, 421–425

arms control and, 438–443

forces and budgets and, 425–429, 545

military power and foreign policy and, 429–432

Strategic Defense Initiative and, 432–438, 545–546

IN DEX
578

Reagan Doctrine, 429

REAPER (mid-range plan), 111–112

Reed, Thomas C., 422

Reorganization Plan Number 6, 134

Republic of China (ROC). See Taiwan

Republic of Korea (ROK), 102–105, 306, 395. See 

also Korean War

Republican Guard, Iraq’s, 509, 526, 527–528

Research and Development Board (RDB), 68, 86

Reserves, U.S., 259–260, 297, 307

retardation bombing, NATO defense plan on, 118, 

130n96

Revolt of the Admirals (1949), 99, 135

revolution in military affairs (RMA), 530–531

Rhee, Syngman, 103, 108, 140

Rice, Donald B., 513, 520

Richardson, James O., 40

Rickover, Hyman G., 369

Ridgway, Matthew B.

on Dien Bien Phu air support, 149

joins the JCS, 135

Korean War and, 114, 116–117

as NATO and U.S. Supreme Allied Commander, 

Europe, 123–124

NATO’s New Approach and, 154, 155

on New Look defense budget, 145

on Taiwan Strait intervention, 151–152

on U.S. in Indochina war, 147–148

Roberts, Samuel B., USS, 470–471

Roberts, William L., 103

Robertson, Walter S., 152

Robinson, John D., 501n25

Rockefeller, Nelson A., 134, 160, 161–162

Rockwell International, 368–369

Rodman, Peter W., 315

Rogers, Bernard W., 458, 460

Rogers, William P., 344

Roosevelt, Franklin D. See also Asia-Pacific War; 

Europe, war in

ARCADIA meetings (1941) and, 1–2

on Axis surrender, 13

on combined unified command, 29–30

Grand Alliance during World War II and, 18–19

JCS and, 2–3, 7, 8–9

loans to China under, 34

MacArthur and Nimitz in Pearl Harbor with, 44

Manhattan Project and, 47

Marshall and, 24n28

North African decision and, 10–12

political-military affairs during World War II and, 41

post-World War II plan for Germany and, 42

at Second Quebec Conference, xiv

Top Advisory Group of, 47, 56n79

Rosenberg, David Alan, 159

Rostow, Walt W., 279, 280, 285, 288

Rowny, Edward L., 376, 377, 399, 422, 441

Royal Lao Government (RLG), 221

Rumsfeld, Donald H., 384–385

Rusk, Dean, 217, 218, 222, 227, 230, 232, 289, 295

Russell, Richard, Jr., 265–266

Russia. See Soviet Union

Ryan, John D., 314, 322

SA–2 surface-to-air missile (SAM), 183, 227, 228

SAC ZEBRA, 119

Sadat, Anwar, 354, 355, 357–358

Saddam Hussein, 467, 505, 506, 507–508, 522, 

525–528, 530

Safeguard (missile defense system), 339

Safwan ceasefire accords, for Gulf War, 528, 530

Sakharov, Andrei, 398

SAMOS (Satellite and Missile Observation System), 

205n53

Samuel B. Roberts, USS, 470–471

Sandinista National Liberation Front (FSLN), 

407–408, 430, 465, 466, 467, 480

SANDSTONE nuclear weapons testing, 78–79

Saudi Arabia

Saddam Hussein’s threats against, 506, 514, 534n65

U.S. on protection of, 508, 509–510, 512, 515

U.S. relations with, 352, 357

Schlesinger, Arthur M., Jr., 213

Schlesinger, James R.

Ford and, 379, 384

Kissinger and, 356, 378, 383

on NATO preparedness, 346

NSDM 242 interpretation by, 373–375, 396

SALT II talks and, 378, 381

as Sec. of Defense, 364

on South Vietnam collapse, 382

Schlesinger doctrine, 373–375, 396

Schmidt, Helmut, 402

Schroeder, Gerhard, 306

Schwarzkopf, H. Norman

conventional firepower for Gulf War under, 

526–527

Desert Shield/Desert Storm coordination and, 519, 

537

Desert Shield/Desert Storm planning, 510–511, 

515–516

on Desert Storm ground campaign, 525

on forces for Desert Storm, 517, 521

on Iraqi army as spent force, 528, 535n88

micromanaging concerns of, 520

on OPLAN 1002-90 plan for Middle East, 508

Coun c il of War
579

Saddam’s attacks on Israel and, 523–524

Scowcroft, Brent

on arms control, 494, 495

on Gorbachev, 480

on Gulf War, 510, 525, 528

Panama operations (1989) and, 492

Peacekeeper program demise and, 438

on Powell Doctrine, 484

on Powell’s briefing to Bush on Desert Storm, 516

Scud missiles, 523–524, 534n65

Security Resources Panel (SRP), 178. See also Gaither 

Committee

Sentinel (ballistic missile defense system), 268, 339. See 

also Nike-X ballistic missile defense system

Service chiefs. See also inter-Service rivalry; unification debate

CJCS on SALT II and, 376–377

Commandant of the Marine Corps and, 394

Eisenhower and, 148, 151–152, 157, 540

on flexible response doctrine, 282–283

Goldwater-Nichols legislation and, 453, 454, 

455–456, 482–483

JCS executive agent system and, 30–31

Johnson on ending Vietnam War and, 311, 312

Kennedy’s ExCom and, 229

on nuclear weapons, 149, 200, 201

Powell on forces for Desert Storm and, 517

Powell on Goldwater-Nichols legislation and, 483, 

486–487

Powell on Panama operations (1989) and, 492

Reagan buildup and, 425

Reagan’s Strategic Defense Initiative and, 436

SALT I and, 235, 236

on Skybolt program, 254

on START I Treaty, 499

on Taylor as CJCS, 225, 283

Truman on NSC meetings and, 113, 539–540

Weinberger and, 423

Service Secretaries, 8

Seventh Fleet, 105, 349

SEXTANT. See Cairo Conference

Shah of Iran, 405–406, 411

Sharp, Grant, 288–289, 290, 292, 297, 307, 310

Shchukin, Aleksandr, 339, 340

Shepherd, Lemuel C., Jr., 135, 151

Sherman, Forrest P., 67, 69, 107, 144–145

Shevardnadze, Eduard, 496, 497

Shultz, George P., 422, 463, 471, 479

Sicily, Operation Husky against, 12

signals intelligence (SIGINT) intercept program, 

106–107, 109, 221, 285

Sihanouk, Norodom, 317, 318

SILKWORM antiship missiles, Chinese, 470, 475n70

Single Integrated Operational Plan (SIOP), 189, 218, 

248–249, 250, 371

Six Day War of June 1967, 308, 352–353

Sixth Fleet, 190, 195, 356

Skybolt air-to-surface missile, 253–255

SLEDGEHAMMER plans for Continental invasion, 

10

Slessor, John, 3

Sloan, Stanley R., 153

Sloss, Leon, 396

smart bombs, for Vietnam War, 323–324

Smith, Walter Bedell, 148

Somalia, Ethiopian war with, 404

Somoza, Anastasio, 407–408, 465

Sonnenfeldt, Helmut, 315

Sorensen, Theodore C., 213, 232

“The Sources of Soviet Conduct” (Kennan, 1947), 

70–71

South Korea, 102–105, 306, 395. See also Korean War

South Vietnam. See also Vietnam War

collapse of (1975), 382–383

South Vietnamese Army (ARVN)

LAM SON 719 operation and, 319–321

setbacks (1963) for, 280, 281

Vietnamization and, 318–319

Southeast Asia. See also specific countries

end of Cold War and JCS outlook on, 505

joint congressional resolution on U.S. in, 285–286

Laos crisis and widening conflict in, 222–223

Southeast Asia Command (SEAC), 36–37

Southeast Asia Treaty Organization (SEATO), 190

Field Force, 222, 223

Southwest Pacific Area command, 30–31

Soviet Union. See also Cuba; Eastern Europe; specific 

leaders and ministers of

Afghanistan invasion by, 335, 395, 400, 409–410

Arab-Israeli conflict and, 354, 355, 356, 357

armed forces reductions in, 479, 480

arms sales to Egypt by, 191

atomic bomb and, JSSC’s concerns on, 51

atomic bomb testing (1949) in, 96, 98, 540

ballistic missile development in 1960s by, 264

Berlin pressured by, 199

Berlin Wall confrontation by, 219–220

British and U.S. planners on World War II role of, 9

British intelligence on malaise of, 428–429

Carter’s view versus JCS’s view of, 394–395

CFE Treaty (1990) and, 494–495

containment strategy for, 70–71

coup against Gorbachev in, 497–498, 499

coup in Czechoslovakia and, 73–74

Cuba’s alignment with, 196

IN DEX
580

Ethiopian war with Somalia and, 404

on Follow-On Forces Attack concept, 458

freeze movement in the UK and, 434–435

Gorbachev’s restructuring of, 459–462

ICBMs of, 144

JSTPS comprehensive target list against, 189

Kuwait shipping escort operation and, 472

Live Oak plans for Berlin and, 200–201

MC 14/3 as message to, 260

Middle East influence by, 190, 352

on MIRV limitation for SALT II, 379

missile buildup by, détente and, 337

Nixon on détente with, 313, 316, 317, 543–544

Nixon’s trip to China and, 350

NSC 68 projecting military threat in 1950s by, 

100–101, 540

nuclear test ban and, 234–236

Order of Battle, McNamara’s analysis of, 252–253

Panama operations (1989) and, 493

post-SALT I testing by, 342, 375

post-World War II unsettled relations with, 61, 75, 

89n39

post-World War II Western powers’ disputes and, 42

SALT I backchannel talks and, 338–339

SALT II talks and, 398

on Schlesinger doctrine, 375–376

South Vietnam’s collapse and, 383

SS–20 missile of (1976), 401

START negotiations and, 496–497

strategic nuclear power of U.S. in early 1970s and, 

251

Suez crisis and, 193–194

TCP on preemptive strike capability by, 161–162

thermonuclear weapons testing (1953) in, 141

U.S. on surprise attack threats by, 161–163

Vietnam War and, 296

on Vladivostok concessions, 382

World War II collaboration with, 18–22, 50–51

Spaatz, Carl, 60, 66–67, 74

Spaatz-Tedder Agreement (1946), 64

special operations, 384, 533n49

Special Operations Review Group (SORG), 413–414

Sprague, Robert C., 178

Sputnik satellites, 173, 180

SR–71 spy plane, 205n47

SS–4 (medium-range ballistic missiles, MRBMs), 

Soviet, 227, 228, 232

SS–5 (intermediate-range ballistic missiles, IRBMs), 

Soviet, 228

SS–20, Soviet land–based triple–warhead mobile missile, 401, 402, 440, 460, 545

Stalin, Josef, 17, 18–19, 22, 98, 103, 138

Standing Group, NATO’s, 120, 154

Standing Liaison Committee, U.S., 41

Standley, William H., 20

Star Wars, 433

Stark, Harold R., 2, 5

Stark, USS, 470

Starry, Donn A., 474n30

START-plus agreement, 498. See also Strategic Arms 

Reduction Talks

State, Secretary of, 170n123

State Department

on Baghdad Pact and Arab-Israeli tensions, 190–191

Batista regime in Cuba and, 197

British on negotiating end to Vietnam War and, 307

under Eisenhower, JCS and, 137

FY 1952 military budget review and, 100–101

JCS under Powell and, 482

JSSC as liaison between JCS and, 41

MacArthur and, 105

Policy Planning Committee’s national security 

policy analysis of, 80

State-War-Navy Coordinating Committee 

(SWNCC), 43

Steadman, Richard C., 393–394

Stennis, John C., 265–266, 309

Stethem, Robert, 463

Stevenson, Adlai E., 230

Stilwell, Joseph W., 34–36, 37, 97

Stimson, Henry L., 8, 30, 42, 48, 49, 51, 56n79

Stinger antiaircraft missiles, for Afghanistan, 461

Stockman, David A., 425, 426

Stoler, Mark A., 15

Strategic Air Command (SAC)

air offensive against Soviet war-making capacity 

(1948) and, 75

atomic attack plan against Chinese Communist 

forces and, 147

atomic-capable aircraft of, 82, 91–92n89

Britain’ Bomber Command and, 78

Bush on USSTRATCOM as replacement for, 

498–499

Cuban missile crisis and, 230

inter-Service rivalry over 1958 reforms and, 

187–188

LeMay’s transformation of, 82

McNamara’s assured destruction strategy and, 250

NATO defense plan and, 117, 118, 119

New Look defense budget and, 143–144

nuclear weapons for, 79

U–2 flights over Cuba and, 228

Unified Command Plan and, 66–67

Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT I)

criticism in U.S. on, 340–341

damage limitation debate and, 262

Coun c il of War
581

détente starting with, 335, 336–342

interim agreement, 359n21

JCS on B–1 bomber and, 544

Limited Test Ban Treaty (1963) and, 235

Nixon administration and, 269

Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT II)

Carter and, 397–400

JCS’s work with OSD on, 378–379

modernizing the strategic deterrent and, 375–378

Reagan on, 441, 447n64

Vladivostok mini-summit and, 380–382

Strategic Arms Reduction Talks (START), 441–442, 

447n64, 460, 461, 488, 495–500

strategic bombing. See also strategic forces; strategic 

stability

appeal of, 81–82

of Germany during World War II, 13

as Soviet deterrent in Europe (1948), 78

Strategic Defense Initiative Organization (SDIO), 437

Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI), 432–438, 456, 496

strategic forces. See also strategic stability

Carter’s PD-59 on, 394–397

McNamara on restructuring of, 247–251

Polaris fleet ballistic missile system and, 187, 

188–189

Reagan buildup and, 427–428

Strategic Rocket Forces (SRF), 181

strategic stability (1970s). See also détente

Ford administration after Vladivostok and, 381–386

modernizing the strategic deterrent, 367–370

peacetime “total force” and, 365–367

SALT II start and, 375–378

targeting doctrine revisions and, 371–375

Vladivostok mini-summit and, 378–381

Strat-X study, 369

Studies, Analysis, and Gaming Agency (SAGA), 

206n73, 377

submarine-launched ballistic missiles (SLBMs), 248, 

262–263, 338, 340–341, 359n21

submarines. See Poseidon; Trident missile submarines

Suez Canal, 191–192, 352

Sultan, David I., 38

Supreme Allied Commander, Europe (SACEUR), 

NATO, 118–119, 120, 123–124, 218

Supreme Allied Commander, North Atlantic 

(SACLANT), 120–121

Supreme Headquarters, Allied Powers Europe 

(SHAPE), 120. See also North Atlantic Treaty 

Organization

surface-to-surface missile complex, in Banes, Cuba, 

227

Symington, W. Stuart, 67, 309

Syria, 352, 383, 519

systems analysis, 211, 246, 252–253, 309

Szilard, Leo, 47

Tachen Islands, Taiwan Strait, 150, 151

Taiwan, 44, 97, 139, 150, 349, 350–351. See also

Chiang Kai-shek

Taiwan Strait, 105, 135, 149, 150, 151–152

Taiwan Strait Patrol, 349

Tallinn Line (Soviet air defense system), 264

target selection, 295, 296, 371–375, 396–397. See also

Joint Strategic Target Planning Staff; Vietnam 

War

Taylor, Maxwell D.

as Ambassador to Vietnam, 286

Berlin crisis and, 200, 217, 219

as CJCS, 224–225, 264

Cuban issues and, 215–216, 229, 230–231

Honolulu conference (1965) and, 292

McNamara’s FYDP and posture statement from, 

247

on New Look defense budget, 145, 195

nuclear test ban and, 235, 236

as President’s Military Representative, 213, 225, 542

on Skybolt, 254

Vietnam War strategy and, 279, 280, 282–283, 291

Teapot Committee (1954), 175

Technological Capabilities Panel (TCP), 161

technology. See military technologies

Tehran Conference (Nov. 1943), 17, 18, 21, 41

terrorists

Libyan, 463–464

Palestinian, 383

Test Ban Treaty, Kennedy administration and, 337

Tet offensive, 305, 310, 543

Thailand, 224, 306

thermonuclear weapons, 99, 141, 144, 267, 348, 374. 

See also hydrogen bomb

Thieu, Nguyen Van, 324

Third World

Carter and Soviet encroachment in, 403–408

nationalism and discontent of 1950s in, 173

Soviet focus on, 225–226

U.S. power erosion in Vietnam and, 383

Thompson, Llewellyn E., 232

Thompson, Wayne, 295

Thor (intermediate-range ballistic missile, IRBMs), 

146, 176, 228–229, 252, 272n46

Thorneycroft, Peter, 254

three near-simultaneous conflicts’ planning, 426–427

313th Bombardment Wing of 509th Composite 

Group, 48

Thurman, Maxwell R., 490

Titan (intercontinental ballistic missile), 176

IN DEX
582

Tomahawk land-attack cruise missiles (TLAMs), 514

Tonkin Gulf incident, 284–292

Top Advisory Group, Roosevelt’s, 47, 56n79

Torrijos, Omar, 489

Towers, John H., 23n6

Treasury Department, 137

Treaty of Friendship and Cooperation, Soviet-Egyptian, 354

Treaty of Paris (1952), 123

triangular infantry divisions, U.S. Army, 146

TRIDENT Conference (May 1943), 14–15

Trident missile submarines

Carter’s support for, 396

development of, 369–370, 385

JCS requests for, 337, 341, 368, 544

Powell’s estimates for, 496

Schlesinger on, 374

trip wire theory, 251, 252

TROJAN (emergency war plan), 84

Truman, Harry S., military challenges for

atomic bomb and, 48–49, 50, 62, 63–64

Chinese intervention in Korean War and, 111–113

on ending the Korean War, 138

European defense and security issues and, 116–125

on H-bomb and NSC 68, 98–102

on JCS organizational structure, 538

Korean War onset and, 102–105

Korea’s Inch’on Operation under, 105–108

MacArthur and, 94

MacArthur and military buildup for Korean War 

under, 108–110

MacArthur’s dismissal and, 113–116

nuclear weapons’ production under, 158–159

pressures to expand military power under, 95–98

Truman, Harry S., peacetime challenges for

as Commander in Chief, 59–60

defense budget for FY 1950, 76–81

defense policy in transition, 61–64

reorganization and reform and, 64–69

Soviet Union and, 22

strategic bombing controversy, 81–87

war plans, budgets, and March crisis of 1948, 69–76, 

89n45

Tsar Bomba (King of Bombs), 234

Tsingtao, China, U.S. military base at, 97–98

Tuesday lunch, Vietnam War and, 295, 312

Turkey, 69, 121–122, 123, 190, 191, 308

Turner Joy, USS, 284, 285

Twentieth Air Force, 30–31, 45

Twining, Nathan F.

on Berlin contingency plans, 200

as CJCS, 172, 540

defense reorganization (1958) and, 184–185, 186, 

187–188

on Dien Bien Phu air support, 149

joins the JCS, 135

on Lebanese intervention, 195

on missile gap, 181, 182–183

NATO’s New Approach and, 154

on Taiwan Strait islands, 151

on U–2 flights, 182

unified command decision (1960) and, 188

two-and-a-half war strategy, 347–348

Tyuratam ICBM test facility, Soviet Union, 182

U–2 photoreconnaissance plane

development of, 161, 170n123

Eisenhower on, 180

Gaither Committee report and, 179

intelligence gathering by, 162–163, 192, 227

Powers shot down in, 183, 201, 205n52

U–boats, German, 11, 13

ULTRA radio intercepts by U.S., 49

undersea long-range missile system (ULMS). See

Trident missile submarines

unification debate, 39, 64–65, 72–73, 135, 538–539. 

See also Combined Chiefs of Staff; inter-Service rivalry; universal military training

Unified Command Plan (UCP), 66–67, 498, 538

United Arab Republic (UAR), 194

United Chiefs of Staff, 26n76

United Kingdom. See also Britain

HALFMOON plan and, 75

United Nations Command (UNC), in Korea, 

107–108, 110, 114–115, 140

United Nations commander (CINCUNC), 105, 138, 

139

United Nations (UN)

Baruch Plan to ban atom bomb debate at, 62–63

disarmament negotiations before, 159–160

Middle East peacekeeping force and, 77

postwar Persian Gulf affairs and, 529

Republic of China expulsion by General Assembly, 

349

Roosevelt on postwar planning and creation of, 41

Security Council resolution on Gulf War ceasefire, 

530

United States. See also specific administrations

Grand Alliance during World War II and, 18–19

Middle East presence of, 190

NATO commitments, European concerns on 

reductions in, 157

Operation Overlord confirmation and leadership 

by, 17–18

preparation for Casablanca Conference by Britain 

versus, 13–14

Coun c il of War
583

Soviet blockade of Berlin and, 77–78

United States, USS (super carrier), 83

unity of command. See unification debate

universal military training (UMT), 39, 54n41, 61–62

U.S. Air Forces Central Command (CENTAF), 

519–520

U.S. Central Command (USCENTCOM), 405, 

431–432. See also Schwarzkopf, H. Norman

U.S. European Command (USEUCOM), 199–200

U.S. Military Assistance Command, Vietnam 

(COMUSMACV), 280, 284, 288, 294–295, 

297–298, 309

U.S. Readiness Command (USREDCOM), 405, 410

U.S. Strategic Command (USSTRATCOM), 

498–499

U.S. Strike Command (USSTRICOM), 405

U.S.-Soviet Standing Consultative Commission, 340

Valenti, Jack J., 287

Vance, Cyrus R., 397, 398, 413

Vandenberg, Hoyt S., 58, 74, 85, 104, 115, 134–135

Vandenberg Resolution (1948), 75

Vaught, James E., 412

Vesser, Dale A., 516, 533n39

Vessey, John W., Jr., 321, 420, 423–424, 432, 435–437, 

451, 452

Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (VCJCS), 

454, 455

Viet Minh, later Viet Cong. See also Vietnam War

Dien Bien Phu siege (1954) by, 148

France ending war with, 146–147

French conflict with, NATO buildup and, 122–123

history of U.S. combat with, 277–278

objectives and commitment to war by, 296

Operation Rolling Thunder against, 290, 292, 

294–295, 307

Pleiku, South Vietnam, strike by, 287, 289

resilience of, 306

Vietnam War. See also McNamara, Robert S.; Operation Rolling Thunder; target selection

American power and influence within NATO and, 

258, 259

as American war, 281–284

balance sheet for, 326–329

bombing after LAM SON 719 operation, 321–324

Chinese restraint with (1970s), 351, 362n70

Christmas bombing campaign (1972), 324–326

JCS reassessment after, 335, 336

Johnson and advisors consider bombing in, 

287–288, 289

Johnson’s curtailing of bombing in, 311, 312–313

military budget and, 250

Nixon, the JCS, and the policy process, 313–316

as quagmire, 292–298

roots of U.S. involvement in, 277–281

Senate hearings on bombing in, 309, 310

as stalemate, 305–310

support for bombing in, 288–289

Tet and its aftermath, 310–313

Tonkin Gulf incident and aftermath and, 284–292

winding down, under Nixon, 316–321

Vietnamization

Cambodian invasion (1970) and, 318–319

ceasefire and regrouping by NVA and, 327

Johnson on, 313

LAM SON 719 operation and, 319–321

Nixon’s plan for, 316

U.S. withdrawal and, 317–318

VII Corps, 518, 520, 521, 527

Vincennes, USS (Aegis missile cruiser), 471–472

Vinson, Carl, 185, 205n62

Vladivostok mini-summit (1974), 380–382, 388n47

Vogt, John W., 323

Voroshiloff, Klementy, 17

Vulcan bombers, Britain’s, 253

vulnerabilities panel, Rockefeller and, 162

Vulture operation, 148–149

Vuono, Carl E., 490

walk in the woods formula, for arms control, 440, 

447n58

Walker, Walton H., 107–108

Wallace, Henry A., 56n79, 59

Wallop, Malcolm, 434, 445–446n41

War Department, 2, 3, 6, 10–11, 40, 42, 47, 48–49. See 

also Defense Department

war gaming, 188, 206n73, 283, 287

War Plan Orange, 3, 31

War Powers Act (1973), 518

Warden, John A., III, 513, 514, 520–521, 523

Warsaw Pact. See also specific countries of

Berlin Wall confrontation and, 220, 239n43

on conventional forces in Europe, 493, 494

creation of, 158

Czechoslovakia invasion by (1968), 269, 336

disestablishment of, 485

on Follow-On Forces Attack concept, 458

JSTPS comprehensive target list against, 189

Mutual and Balanced Force Reduction Talks and, 

439–440

NATO on, 343–344, 400–401

Washington Special Action Group (WSAG), 355–356, 

357, 363n87

Watergate scandal, 346, 355, 356, 377–378, 379

Watkins, James D., 423, 435, 436, 453

IN DEX
584

weapons effects study (1949), 83, 84–85

weapons of mass destruction (WMD), 147, 509, 528, 

529, 530

Weapons Systems Evaluation Group (WSEG), 83, 

85–86, 181–182, 188, 248, 377

Wedemeyer, Albert C., 13, 37–38, 41, 58

Weinberger, Caspar W.

on arms control, 438–439

on Goldwater-Nichols legislation, 474n20

on JCS organizational structure, 451, 453

JCS’s relationship with, 424–425, 546

Joint Task Force Middle East and, 469

Jones and, 422–423

military budget and, 425–427, 428

Reagan’s Strategic Defense Initiative and, 437

Weinraub, Bernard, 393

Welch, Larry D., 484

Wells, H.G., 313

West Germany. See also Berlin; Berlin Wall

France on rearmament of, 123

French nuclear weapons and, 257

Live Oak (planning body) and, 201

MLF demise and, 257

NATO and, 345, 346

Nixon and Kissinger on East Germany and, 343

rearmament of, 119–120, 156–157

Treaty of Paris (1952) and, 123

U.S. on strengthening ties with, 258

on Washington moving NATO away from nuclear 

deterrence, 401

Western Europe, in World War II, 9, 19–20

cross-Channel operation and, 10–11, 15–16, 21, 46

Western Excursion proposal, on Iraq, 533n39

Westmoreland, William C.

air campaigns under, 294–295, 311

chain of command in Vietnam War and, 297–298

on graduated response, 288

ground war in South Vietnam and, 292, 306, 

307–308, 312

on Ia Drang Valley conflict (1965), 296

joins the JCS, 314

on LAM SON 719 operation, 320

on peacetime total force (1970s), 367

on U.S. bases in Vietnam, 290

Weyand, Fred C., 377, 382

Weyland, Otto P., 67

Wheeler, Earle G.

arms control negotiations and, 337–338

becomes Army Chief of Staff, 224

becomes CJCS, 264, 283–284

JCS reorganization and, 184

on Middle East peace settlement, 353

military budget under McNamara and, 247

Nixon and, 314

as senior Johnson advisor, 311–312, 542

Vietnam War strategy and, 288, 290, 292, 293, 304, 

308, 311

White, Thomas D., 184, 212, 224

whiz kids (McNamara’s advisors), 245, 309

“Why the Joint Chiefs of Staff Must Change” (Jones, 

1982), 450

Wickham, John A., Jr., 423

Willson, Russell, 11

Wilson, Charles E., 136, 139, 157, 162, 176, 177

Wilson, Henry Maitland, 23n3

Win Plan, for Vietnam War, 280

Wizard ballistic missile defense system, 181

Woerner, Frederick F., Jr., 490

Wolfowitz, Paul D., 484, 487, 491–492, 501n25

Wooldridge, E.T., 129n77

World War I, 11

World War II. See also Asia-Pacific War; Europe, war in

JCS authority and influence during, 537–538

planning, JCS on politico-military affairs and, 

40–41

planning Armed Forces organization and composition after, 38–39

planning for Germany after, 42–43

Wright, Jim, 466

X–16 photoreconnaissance plane, 161

XVIII Airborne Corps, 521

XX Bomber Command, 33, 53–54n34

Yalta Summit Conference (Feb. 1945), 21, 43

Yeltsin, Boris, 498

Yemen, Soviet ties with, 383

Yom Kippur War (1973). See October War

York, Herbert F., 189

Z Committee, 99

zero-zero option, in arms control talks, 440

Zhou Enlai, 152, 350, 351

Zumwalt, Elmo R., Jr., 314–315, 356, 377, 378–379

Coun c il of War
585

About the

Author

Dr. Steven L. Rearden holds a Bachelor of Arts degree from the University 

of Nebraska and a Ph.D. in history from Harvard University. His association 

with the Joint History Office dates from 1996. He has written and 

published widely on the history of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Office 

of the Secretary of Defense, and was co-collaborator on Ambassador Paul 

H. Nitze’s From Hiroshima to Glasnost: At the Center of Decision—A Memoir

(Grove Weidenfeld, 1989).

Tara Parekh (NDU Press)