NINETEEN

ASSESSING THE RIGHT people, then selecting and training them, was the key to success for Delta. If the financial and personnel sides of the business can be worked out, other things will normally fall into line.

Because the Army consists of so many people, personnel management is complicated. We were now going to ask the Army to manage Delta differently than in a normal unit. The norm is to put personnel records into a computer: who you are, where you are, where you’ve been, what you’ve done—everything, practically down to your shoe size. This wouldn’t work for Delta. Because of the security that needed to be maintained, it was not a good idea to have Delta’s personnel records so easily retrievable.

I went to see Maj. Gen. Charles K. Heiden at the personnel center (MILPERCEN) in Arlington, Virginia. We asked him how to limit access to Delta’s personnel to only “need to know” people. He had some experience handling Army intelligence personnel under a different system and didn’t see this as any problem. We would be taken care of not by computers but by three or four people who used stubby pencils. “We’ll find a way to keep you out of sight. I understand how important it is. I’ve just finished reading The Man Called Intrepid,” and he gave me a knowing wink.

One of my major fears, one I discussed with General Heiden, was being too far out of sight, especially at promotion time. I felt that if Delta’s people were not in the computer, they might be overlooked! But I was assured that out of sight did not mean lost or ignored. General Heiden’s people really got on board and helped. One important way was by finding a cover name for Delta that could be used when we did want to disappear. When Delta’s people wrote checks, for example, there was no reason to see a Delta endorsement on them; or if one of the troops wanted to build a house and he needed a loan, when the bank did a credit check on him, they shouldn’t come nosing around Delta.

Another way General Heiden helped was in ferreting out good people for us to look at. Everyone in the Army knows commanders who have good soldiers rathole them away. Any good officer will do this and so would I, and did many times. Poaching is never appreciated. General Heiden and his computers could help Delta locate these hidden caches of men.

I’m sure General Rogers, following through on his promise to check into personnel for us, did a lot of good. Still, I’m convinced that General Heiden and his staff, without any nudging from above, would have helped us any way they could.

At this juncture Lt. Col. Dick Potter joined Delta’s staff as my deputy. Like Kingston, Dick had been an exchange officer with the British paras. A man who likes good food, he occasionally had trouble with his weight. Because of a severe leg wound he suffered in ’Nam, on cold damp days Dick would walk with a slight gimp. However, if there was someone important around, no matter how dank the weather, Dick would suck in the pain and walk perfectly. Along with having a fine combat record, he was a good detail man who knew how to wade into issues and come out with a workable solution. Moreover, he wasn’t a “yes” man. Dick concerned himself with getting the job done and not with winning friends or playing politics.

One of the first things he did was attend and referee a meeting which tried to determine how we recruited people. Initially, we were prepared to look over the whole Army. Then someone said. “Why don’t you recruit just out of the infantry?” We almost got pushed into that single area, but I knew the British SAS had found its people in the Guards Regiments, the Parachute Regiment, the Royal Horse Artillery, the Royal Highland Fusiliers, the Royal Engineers—anywhere, as a matter of fact, where good men were. That’s what Delta needed to do. It didn’t make any difference where the volunteer came from or what he did, as long as he was willing, fit, and trainable. He needed, in other words, to be special.

Meanwhile, Bob Mountel had selected forty or so men from the Special Forces community, dubbed his unit Blue Light, and was in business.

Pressure began to build for Delta to get a selection course under way. Rumors flew around Bragg. “Beckwith’s putting together something along the SAS lines.” It wasn’t a long time before a number of volunteers had come over, “Charlie, how do we get here? What should we do?”

A letter was sent to General Mackmull requesting his permission to recruit people from the 5th and 7th Special Forces groups and from the 10th, which was up in Massachusetts at Fort Devens. “If I let you do that,” he replied, “you’ll decimate the groups.”

I was looking for only thirty or thirty-five men to start with. From the people who’d come and volunteered we had collected a list of 150 or so. Many of them we knew from Vietnam. From this list we figured we could burp out thirty. We needed men who were trainable, because they would be the ones who’d run the selection courses and later do part of the assessing. Without an initial cadre to conduct the courses, Delta wouldn’t have anything.

Mackmull finally relented and at first, before he realized the scope and magnitude of the recruitment plans, let us run through the first selection course thirty men from the Special Forces community.

Chuck Odorizzi and Buckshot helped me plan the course. Buckshot was especially helpful. He had returned from going through the SAS selection course, where he’d done well. So well that the SAS commander told me, “If you don’t want this bloke, send him back.”

The thirty volunteers were first required to successfully complete a demanding physical training test. The test consisted of six events that had to be completed within a designated period. A minimum of sixty points for each event had to be scored for the recruit to progress to the next test.

The recruits were required to perform: a forty-yard inverted crawl in twenty-five seconds; thirty-seven sit-ups and thirty-three push-ups, each in a minute; a run-dodge-jump course traversed in twenty-four seconds; a two-mile run completed in not more than sixteen minutes and thirty seconds; and, finally, a 100-meter lake swim in which the recruits were to be fully dressed, including jump boots.

The PT test eliminated several candidates. An eighteen-mile speed march further reduced the group to half its original size. These survivors were then expected to pass a selection course—right out of the SAS Training Manual—which had been set up, near Troy, North Carolina, in the Uwharrie National Forest.

The course, which each man was expected to run alone, carrying a 55-pound rucksack, extended over dense hardwood-covered mountains, crisscrossed by streams and rivers. Using a map and compass, the volunteer was ordered to go from one location to another, fast as he could; the time required to make the marches was never revealed. The terrain the men were made to march over was thickly wooded and sharply contoured.

At each rendezvous (RV) the recruit was told to march to another location, again as rapidly as he was able. This continued both day and night for an extended period of time. If a recruit should not make an RV in a prescribed amount of time, he was removed from the course and eventually shipped back to his old unit.

Survivors of the Uwharrie selection course then underwent careful psychological scrutiny and evaluation. A board was established consisting of Major Odorizzi, Major Buckshot, Sergeant Major Country, and me. An interview ran nearly four hours. I asked the Army for a psychologist and they began a search to find us one. In the meantime, we did the job.

“On a mission, you run across two little girls…” Some of the questions that were asked had no right answers. The men were asked to reason and to think. We wanted to catch their values, find out what cranked their motors. We looked for loners, guys who could operate independently and in the absence of orders, men who had just half an ounce of paranoia.

They read Machiavelli and explained what they thought he was about. We asked them to expand on a story of three people who had fled on foot from Siberia and had eventually escaped into Tibet. “Comment on that adventure: what did the escapees do right, what did they do wrong, what would you have done?”

We drilled holes in these guys and it wasn’t uncommon to have them break out in a sweat. Did we want this one or didn’t we? What about this guy?

We asked him, “You’ve done very, very well. You’re nearly through, most of your peers haven’t made it, you’re good. Now, tell us what you don’t do well. What do you tend to screw up?” If a man answered, “I don’t have any weaknesses,” we didn’t take him.

We asked the finalists what they thought of President Truman firing General MacArthur during the Korean War, “Was it right or wrong? Why? What is your opinion?” Some of these men didn’t know what we were talking about. I was shocked to discover our soldiers weren’t well read.

Finally, we asked about skills. Could they repair an elevator, read a blueprint, rewire a house, survey a city block, memorize the contents of a museum? The Brits knew a lot of people could run up and down mountains and hit RV points, but that isn’t what made them unique.

“Sergeant Jones, why should I take you? You did very well in the selection course. You really burned up those mountains. You looked good and did well. But now, you convince me on why I should take you. What have you got to offer?”

“Sir, I’m a good soldier.”

“Shit, I got a bunch of them. What do you do different? Do you drive an 18-wheeler?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know anything about dogs? Ever work with them?”

“Sir, I had a bird dog once.”

“Aw, shit, I’m talking about real canine dogs.”

“Ah, no, sir, no more than anybody else.”

“See, Sergeant, you really haven’t told me anything. Think a few minutes and tell me some of your unique skills.”

PAUSE

“Sir, I’m pretty good with locks.”

“You are? How good are you?”

“I can pick ’em. I’m pretty good at that.”

“How good?”

“Call so-and-so and ask him.”

“I will. You’re dismissed. We’ll call you back later.”

We’d call his reference and find out if he was telling the truth. The board wasn’t interested if he was not an expert. What we were looking for was flair. If the taxpayer’s money was going to be spent sending some individual to school, he had to have an aptitude for that training. As a result of the first selection course, Delta kept seven people.

Along with this small cadre of potential instructors, we looked around for two civilians who could help us. Stability, knowledge, and institutional continuity was what the unit needed. The first civilian hired lived in Florida. Dick Meadows had recently retired after compiling a fine Special Forces record. He’d participated in the Son Tay raid. Dick had also been in the SAS exchange program and had married the daughter of an SAS sergeant major. When he agreed to come and help Delta, I felt we had plugged a big hole.

During this time Dick Potter continued to work on a recruitment profile. This profile was very complete and it really described the desired measurable characteristics of each recruit. As outlined by Potter, the volunteer had to meet the following prerequisites:

Besides being able to perform at top efficiency his MOS (Military Occupation Specialty), the recruit needed to be at least a Grade 5 on his second enlistment; have no limiting physical profile; be at least twenty-two years old and an American citizen; have a GT score of 110 or higher; be able to pass a background security check; be able to pass a Modified Special Forces Physical Training Test and a physical examination; be airborne-qualified or volunteer for airborne training; have no recurring disciplinary offenses on his record; have two years active service remaining after assignment; and pass a formal selection course.

Our recruiters visited Benning and Knox, Sill and Hood, Leonard Wood and Ord, Carson and Lewis, Pope, Jackson, Belvoir, Meade, Riley, Stewart, and Devens. Back and forth they went, hitting nearly every Army post, camp, and station in this country. They went to the European command twice. It was a tough job. Having identified an individual was just the beginning of the process. We were, after all, looking for good people, and good people in the Army usually have choice jobs. We couldn’t promise them much except a chance to have their lives made a lot harder.

I went up to talk to the 10th Special Forces Group. Its commander, Othar Shalikashvilli, who had earlier recommended me to General DePuy, again couldn’t have been more helpful. On a Saturday morning, he stood in front of his own officers and senior noncoms and said: “The job that Colonel Beckwith has to do is a lot more important than the job we have to do. I would encourage anyone who has the desire to try out for this unit.” On the basis of this presentation and an old affiliation with the 10th that Country had, we got nearly sixty people signed up to run through our next selection course, which was scheduled for January 1978.

Because its terrain was more rugged and resembled more closely the SAS’s Brecon Beacons, Delta eventually moved its selection course to Camp Dawson, tucked into the harsh mountains of West Virginia. Having not yet received permission to make this move, the second selection course was again run through the forested hills and valleys of Uwharrie. Out of the almost sixty volunteers who participated, Delta selected five recruits.

Everyone worked eighteen-hour days, seven-day weeks. The paperwork never ended. Everyone chipped in—Country, Buckshot, Chuck Odorizzi, Curt Hurst, and Dick Potter. Every evening before bedtime I’d write memos and messages. There was a lot of justifying that needed to be done. Lots of letters replying to General Mackmull, and the various support divisions that were doing business with us needed to be written. We wanted 180 people from Special Forces to participate in our second selection process. These were people who’d rung our bell, met our qualifications, and volunteered—180. Mackmull blinked, coughed, and said, “No way!”

I tried to get Rangers to try out. I knew Joe Stringham; he’d previously run classes through the Ranger School. Initially, I wanted him to come to Delta as my deputy. When I learned he was being considered to command the 1st Ranger Battalion—no one wants to be someone’s deputy if he has the opportunity to command—I immediately fell off. I was told that the generals at FORSCOM, particularly Kaplan, appreciated my taking the hook out of Joe, and it eased some of the tension we were having with the Rangers. However, General Meloy continued to monitor very closely both Ranger battalions. Consequently, absolutely no Rangers ran through the second selection course.

Meloy also contacted Mackmull, and some of their message traffic inadvertently found its way to our headquarters. It appeared to me both commanders felt that if they completely cooperated with Delta it would cause chaos in the Ranger and Special Forces communities. It was decided, therefore, that Delta could talk to a handful of potential volunteers, but only those who were on a list prepared by the Rangers and Special Forces. General Mackmull allowed Delta to talk only to people with certain skills—demolition and weapons, for example. Under no circumstances, though, could we talk to medics or noncoms skilled in communications, operations, or intelligence. Experience had taught that the demolition and weapons skills were the easiest to acquire. Conversely, the medical, communications, operations, and intelligence skills were the most difficult and took the most training. It was apparent then that if Delta’s staff recruited only those soldiers who appeared on Mackmull’s list, they would not necessarily be talking to the best men available. General Mackmull was not entirely responsible himself for this policy, as he was receiving advice from his staff and the two group commanders. In civilian business it would be called “restraint of trade.” Delta was being hamstrung and it couldn’t survive that way. We stated our dissatisfaction with the system time and time again. However, the Special Forces list continued to be our only access to potential Green Beret volunteers. On the other hand, no Rangers, whatsoever, showed up.

Mackmull’s small group of men, incorporated into the second selection course, did very badly. Absolutely no one on the list got through. Mackmull could not understand this. “I’m not sure they really wanted to be there,” I told him.

Water temperature at Bragg began getting warmer and warmer. People kept beating down my door. “Colonel, I can’t get over here. My unit won’t let me.” It got to the point that during grievance periods they were going to General Mackmull directly to complain to him. When this didn’t change the situation, some of the men wrote to Department of the Army.

General Mackmull began to get nervous, and I thought rightly so. I became more and more unpopular, not only with my boss, but with the rest of the Special Forces community. “He’s one of us, but now he wants to go his own way.”

General Mackmull earmarked a lieutenant colonel from his personnel section to work with Delta. His name was Whitey Blumfield. He prescreened applicants for us, but when our people went over for interviews they’d find men who didn’t even meet the prerequisites. We wasted a lot of time working with a nonresponsive mechanism. The pressure continued to build: Mackmull got angry with Blumfield; Blumfield got angry with Delta; Delta got angry with Mackmull and Blumfield. Friction and bad blood were the order of the day. Life at the JFK became tough for everyone who had any dealings with Delta.

It was at this point that General Mackmull began to throw some weight Blue Light’s way, began to give them everything he was capable of giving. Mountel had gained momentum. His line was, “Delta really belongs in Special Forces but Beckwith doesn’t want it there. Blue Light is in the community. Come out and look at what we’re doing.” They had been training hard and were motivated. Mountel had one problem, though. Blue Light did not own its money. No funds had been allocated directly to it. Whatever it had, Mountel had to take out of the hide of 5th Special Forces Group; and since he also commanded this unit, he was caught between a rock and a hard place. If Mountel needed more money, he had to go to the JFK Center to see if they would cough it up. This meant, with only one pot to dip into, that in order to strengthen one unit Mackmull had to weaken another. This, as you can imagine, caused problems.

Momentum began slowly to work in Delta’s direction. It was imperceptible at first. But movement was there. It was then a matter of continuing to roll forward and of staying in front.