ANNALS OF WAR - OVERWHELMING FORCE

What Happened In The Final Days Of The Gulf War?

III -- THE INVESTIGATIONS

THE WHITE FLAG

When the 24th Division returned to the United States, not long after the
March 2nd attack, there was a tumultuous rally at Fort Stewart. The Gulf
War generals became instant national heroes. "We had given America a clear
win at low casualties in a noble cause," Colin Powell wrote in "My American
Journey," his 1995 memoir, "and the American people fell in love again with
their armed forces."

At Fort Stewart and at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, however, word began
spreading that some things had gone very wrong in the war. Shortly after
returning from Iraq, Sergeant Steven Larimore gathered five of his
colleagues from the Ground Surveillance Radar teams of the 124th Military
Intelligence Battalion, and walked into the Fort Stewart branch of the
Army's Criminal Investigations Division, or C.I.D., office and met with two
investigators.

The men described what they had seen on March 1st, when Iraqis in civilian
clothes had been shot near a schoolhouse while holding a white flag. "All
six of us went and told what we knew," Larimore said to me. "The basic
tenet was that we didn't see anybody shooting at us" before the 1st Brigade
platoon opened fire. Larimore had the support of his company commander,
Lieutenant Charles Febus. Michael Sangiorge, one of Larimore's crew
members, was anxious about going to the C.I.D. "Are we going to get in
trouble?" he recalled asking.

The C.I.D. is known inside the Army as a "stovepipe" command -- one whose
chain of command leads directly to the chief of staff, in Washington. The
goal is to insulate the reporting and investigation of any wrong-doing from
a local division commander, who has no interest in prosecutions that could
damage his career. Such interference is known as "command influence."

Larimore and his colleagues heard nothing more from the C.I.D., and
continued with their day-to-day assignments. The next step gave everyone
pause. Colonel Le Moyne, the 1st Brigade commander, wanted to meet after
work with the men in the chain of command -- including Larimore, Lieutenant
Febus, and the commander of the 124th Battalion, Lieutenant Colonel Robert
Reuss. "Evidently," Larimore told me, "the C.I.D. stovepipe didn't work."
Once in Le Moyne's office, Larimore said, "We got this big long speech
about how we had never been in combat or in a firefight. We didn't know
what it was like. He ripped us pretty good."

Febus, who is now a legal officer in the Army Reserve, was appalled by Le
Moyne's intervention, which took place before any of the issues were
officially investigated. "It was totally one-sided, totally
confrontational," he told me. "Instead of 'What did you see?' or 'What was
going on?' it was 'You haven't been in a firefight. You don't know what you
saw.' He was accusing my soldiers of not knowing what was going on -- of
not being squared away," he said. "If his beef was the way it got reported,
he should have said that. If his beef was what they saw, I got a problem
with that." Sergeant Larimore did not back off in the meeting, Febus said.

Le Moyne also criticized Lieutenant Colonel Reuss, the battalion commander,
because his subordinates had made a report to the C.I.D. without Reuss's
prior approval -- approval that was unnecessary under Army regulations.
Reuss said little during the meeting, Febus recalled. (Reuss, who is now
retired, told me recently that he had "no recollection whatsoever" of the
meeting.) Le Moyne's intent seemed obvious: to get the men to withdraw
their complaint. "I was biting my lip to keep from getting in trouble,"
Febus said.

When I interviewed Le Moyne recently, he defended his meeting with Larimore
and the other complainants as merely an attempt "to cut down on confusion.
You gather the key people all in one place, so there's no
misunderstanding." His message to the G.S.R. teams, he said, was that their
allegations "would be investigated fully and completely." He continued, "On
issues of morality and integrity, there is no substitute for looking them
dead in the eye and telling them of their rights.... McCaffrey's guidance
to the chain of command was that any report of any irregularity had to be
investigated -- every suspicion, war story, fairy tale, and rumor.

I told Le Moyne that some of the young enlisted men felt that his message
was one not of reaffirming their rights but of intimidation.

"Absolutely untrue," Le Moyne responded. "The only surprise I had is that
they lacked confidence in their chain of command" -- that is, in Lieutenant
Colonel Reuss -- "not to take it to him first. There are no secrets in a
military unit. Soldiers talk. Why, months later, had they not discussed
this with their chain of command?"

Nonetheless, Le Moyne's showdown meeting badly rattled some of the young
radar operators. One battalion officer told me,"The men were terrified --
they said, 'We've got the Big Green Machine going after us.' "

Le Moyne's next step was to authorize a captain in his brigade to conduct
an informal investigation, known as an AR15-6, and file a report. Such a
step was perfectly legal. However, a number of senior Army lawyers, in
interviews for this article, questioned Le Moyne's judgment. "As a general
rule," one military lawyer said, serious allegations should be "thoroughly
examined by an unbiased, neutral party outside of your command. You have a
charge of deaths allegations that rise above the norm. Having a captain?
Why do it that way? Is he" -- the captain -- "trying to come up with
results his boss wants?"

A few weeks after Le Moyne's meeting with Larimore and his teammates, the
officers and men of the 124th Battalion were again summoned to his office,
this time to listen to the results of the brigade's investigation. There
were no surprises. "The captain laid out the course of his investigation,"
Larimore told me. "He said there was a group who observed no weapons" among
the civilians who had been shot and "there were also people who said they
saw weapons and muzzle flashes" from the Iraqi civilians. The captain then
concluded that the allegations of wrongful death were "unsubstantiated. "

In Le Moyne's view, the case was now closed. The investigation, he said,
had produced a series of witnesses who "totally refuted the allegations."
After the captain's report, Le Moyne recalled, "I asked Larimore very
specifically, 'Do you understand what's been said here?' and he said yes.
'Do you agree with what's been found?' He said yes."

Larimore's recollection of the encounter is rueful. "For some reason," he
explained, "I was tagged as the ringleader. Le Moyne asked me if I was
satisfied. I wasn't going to argue with an 0-6" -- a colonel. "I told him
that I was glad my soldiers could see the Army had a system to deal with
things." Larimore, who is still on active duty in Army intelligence,
shrugged and said, "I didn't like Colonel Le Moyne or the way he did
business. I know what I saw."

Charles Febus, speaking of Larimore and the others, said, "They did their
duty and filed their report. And the Army chose to do what it did."

THE HOSPITAL BUS

Specialist 4 Edward Walker was tense, irritable, and quick to take offense
after his experiences with the 2-7 Scouts. He returned to the 5th Engineer
headquarters in Saudi Arabia around March 6th and immediately got into a
dispute with a battalion officer who wanted him to turn in an Iraqi pistol
he'd kept as a war souvenir. "I wasn't even there five minutes and they
told me, 'Give me your pistol,' " Walker related. "I got pissed and I start
screaming and yelling. 'No, you're not going to take this. I been out there
getting shot at. You motherfuckers -- out there shooting unarmed
prisoners,' and stuff like this."

Within a few days, Walker found himself telling his story to a lawyer at a
nearby Air Force base. He remembered little about the meeting, but he did
recall that 1st Sergeant Rex A. Wertz, Sr., approved it. (Wertz, now living
in retirement in Pennsylvania, confirmed Walker's account, telling me that
"All I know is that this guy Walker said he wanted to talk to the I.G. and
we let him go.")

Walker returned to Fort Leonard Wood and soon found himself going three
times to Fort Stewart, because the 1st Brigade had convened a second AR15-6
inquiry, into his allegations. Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Kight was the
brigade's executive officer -- that is, Le Moyne's most senior deputy.
Walker recalled spending hours at one of the sessions going through maps
and documents in an attempt to recount the incident fully. When he was
asked if he had seen anyone actually get shot, Walker said what he always
said: he hadn't seen any prisoners fall, but he saw rounds being fired at them.

Kight's investigation absolved Ware's battalion of any wrongdoing. Le
Moyne, in a conversation with me, depicted the inquiry as sweeping in its
absolution. "It not a hospital bus," he declared. "There were no wounded.
They were armed Iraqi officers and soldiers." Le Moyne added that Edward
Walker "wasn't even there. He was off in the distance." At the end of the
inquiry, Le Moyne said, he brought Walker to Fort Stewart to hear the
investigating officer's report. "You have to look him in the eye," Le Moyne
told me. "It's tough to find Walker as a credible witness. The kid never
connected with the Scout platoon he was attached to. This kid never took."

Walker viewed Le Moyne's inquiry as a coverup. "The Colonel was up there
doing the talking, "Walker told me. "He was the one leading the whole
thing, and he was saying 'The Scouts ' " -- Walker's colleagues on the
battlefield -- " 'say this didn't happen.' " Walker said Le Moyne did
reveal that one lieutenant in the battalion remembered seeing the prisoners
before the Bradleys began shooting, but the lieutenant testified that he
did not recall what happened to them. "He went through the whole thing and
my story," Walker said. "By the time he got done, the Colonel looked at me
and said, 'You haven't got the slightest idea what you're talking about.
You were just upset and overwrought.' "

"That colonel was basically just reaming my tush," Walker told me. He felt
abandoned by his former colleagues. "I had nobody backing me up anymore.
Everybody had changed their story." Sergeant Steven Mulig also felt
helpless. He and a few other Scouts had been summoned to testify, but he
felt that none of the brigade officers wanted to hear what they had to say.
"We were all getting upset," Mulig told me. The investigators tried to
undermine the Scouts' credibility by challenging their ability to read map
coordinates and suggesting that they had no idea where the alleged
shootings took place. "They made it look like we didn't know what was going
on over there," Mulig said. Lieutenant Colonel Kight kept "beating it to
death. He just let it go the way it went. It was just an officer coverup
kind of thing."

Kight's report, as summarized by the Army, concluded that, while the
Americans had fired in the direction of the Iraqis, no prisoners "had been
killed or wounded in the incident.... No bodies, graves, or wounded were
attributed to this incident-Iraqi or friendly." Another finding, the Army
report said, was that the Iraqis who died had contributed to their own
demise: "The Iraqi vehicles carrying surrendering soldiers had not been
marked with white flags."

Former Lieutenant Kirk Allen, the Scout commander, who is now a major
serving in Georgia, told me that all the witnesses from the Bradley
companies denied that their bullets had struck any prisoners. Two important
witnesses, he added, turned out to be Le Moyne and the brigade executive
officer, Major Benjamin Freakley, whose armored vehicles were determined to
have been in a position to see the shooting -- and both men subsequently
testified that they saw no wrongdoing. One Army lawyer who was on active
duty at Fort Stewart in mid-1991 told me that the AR15-6 testimony even
suggested that some of the Iraqis had "feigned" their surrender, and had
turned themselves into prisoners with the intent of taking a shot at the
Americans. "It was essentially a ruse," he said.

Some of the lawyers in the Judge Advocate General's office at Fort Stewart
came to believe that Le Moyne was far from independent in his handling of
the allegations. "Le Moyne is on the firing line," one senior lawyer told
me, "but McCaffrey is pulling the string." Le Moyne, in one of his
conversations with me, was categorical in asserting the independence of his
role: "I appointed one of my brigade officers to investigate . . . and his
report was that it was not true."

McCaffrey had a different recollection of who appointed the investigators,
as he told two questioners from the C.I.D. in 1991. There were, he said,
"three allegations of enemy prisoners being fired on. In each case, I had
appointed an investigating officer, and I said you will get to the truth of
the allegations. You will interview everybody involved.... Which was done."

For reasons not known, John Brasfield and James Manchester were never
called to testify in the 1st Brigade's investigation. David Collatt, their
colleague on the 2-7 Scout team, testified that he didn't actually see any
prisoners get shot. But he scoffed at the brigade's finding that none of
the Iraqi prisoners had been killed or wounded: "Our Bradleys turned and
started firing at the prisoners. And there was no wounded or killed? Rounds
pumping right where they're at, and they tell us nobody got hurt?" Collatt
told me that he had no hard feelings toward Edward Walker for not leaving
the war behind him: "Walker did what he had to do. We were just glad to be
alive."

"I knew I was a marked man as soon as I said something," Walker said. He
was not permitted to reenlist by the authorities at Fort Leonard Wood, and
he left the Army in the fall of 1991.

MITCHELL'S INQUIRY

Sometime late in the spring of 1991, three members of the 5th Engineer
Battalion at Fort Leonard Wood went to the Inspector General's office on
base. They told a story much like Larimore's and Walker's about the
shooting of Iraqi prisoners of war by soldiers from the 1st Brigade of the
24th Division. The complaints became the responsibility of Fort Leonard
Wood's Inspector General, Major Thomas Mitchell. Mitchell, who had little
experience in investigations, Army law, or procedure, had spent his career
in the Army as an engineer and had agreed to become Fort Leonard Wood's
Inspector General only reluctantly. None of his superior officers did
anything to help him out. Of the three enlisted men who made the complaint,
Mitchell said, "The kids who came in were nice, and there seemed to be some
validity to what they saw. But we couldn't confirm anything illegal. Even
if you have a witness, if you can't substantiate it you can't report it as
a finding." He did not recall their names, but he did recall that their
allegations involved "several hundred" prisoners and some Iraqis who got
"ripped up."

Army records show that at least one company of engineers from Fort Leonard
Wood was assigned in the Gulf War to the 2-7 Battalion of the 1st Brigade.
Edward Walker told me that a number of his colleagues worked closely with
the various units in Charles Ware's battalion, and that some of those
engineers -- including, perhaps, those who made the complaint -- had swept
into the area along Highway 8 on the afternoon of February 27th. "Behind us
was the Bradleys, and right behind them were the engineers," Walker said.
"They would have seen it" -- the prisoners' shootings.

It is far from clear that Mitchell, who has since left the Army, made a
serious attempt to substantiate the soldiers' story. In my first
conversation with him, by telephone, he told me that he had made a trip to
Saudi Arabia but was unable to establish that the Iraqi soldiers who were
"ripped up" were victims of wrongdoing by soldiers of the 24th. In a
subsequent interview, in Missouri, where he now lives, Mitchell provided a
different account. He said it was one of the enlisted men in his office who
had travelled to Saudi Arabia to look into an allegation that "hundreds
were involved in a shooting incident where dozens were killed." Mitchell
shared his information with the C.I.D. Office at Fort Leonard Wood, and was
informed that the C.I.D. had previously investigated the allegation and
concluded that the Iraqis had been killed in an exchange of gunfire among
themselves. Mitchell said he was told, "Where they found bodies, the wounds
were from Iraqi rounds. The shell casing on the ground did not match U.S.
casing. We were finding Warsaw Pact ammunition on the ground."

A number of government and academic experts on the war told me that they
knew of no reports during or immediately after the war of Iraqi soldiers
shooting one another to prevent surrender. One analyst, Michael Eisenstadt,
of the Washington Institute for Near East Policy, noted that the
anti-Hussein uprisings -- which were all violently suppressed -- did not
begin in earnest until after the war and involved the selected targeting of
high-level military and party officials. "Among stragglers in the war, it
was every man for himself," Eisenstadt said. I subsequently asked Mitchell
if he or, to his knowledge, any other government investigator had actually
seen the Iraqi victims, and examined their wounds. He said no.

In the report that Mitchell prepared for his superiors at Fort Leonard
Wood, he found that the 5th Engineer allegations were "unsubstantiated." A
draft of those findings, which he gave me, concluded -- with no evidence
cited -- that the Iraqis had shot each other. "In a couple of instances,"
the draft report said, "gunfire was exchanged within refugee groups and
gunshot victims were pointed out as Republican Guard morale officers
keeping tabs on Iraqi reservists. Some incidents were explained as internal
vengeance and retribution among Iraqis."

Sergeant Tony Abernathy, one of the enlisted men assigned to the Inspector
General's office at Fort Leonard Wood, subsequently informed me that no one
from the office "went to the desert" during the investigation. Abernathy
also provided me with a far different account of Mitchell's investigation.
"I don't remember Mitchell doing anything about it," he said. "It was a big
situation that nobody wanted to mess with at the time. We weren't equipped
to handle it. I think it was not an investigation. The U.S. Army just
didn't want the publicity." Abernathy is now retired; before his assignment
to the Fort Leonard Wood Inspector General's office, he had spent much of
his career in the Special Forces.

No one in the chain of command at Fort Leonard Wood seems to have objected
to Mitchell's investigation. He was apparently doing, as Abernathy
suggested, exactly what the system wanted.

THE LETTER

In August, 1991, Colonel Ernest H. Dinkel was a deputy chief of staff for
the Criminal Investigation Division. Dinkel, then forty-six years old, had
spent several years as an Army cop and was working out of the C.I.D.'s
local headquarters in Falls Church, Virginia, near the Pentagon. "I'm
walking down the hall one afternoon," he recounted recently. "And the
General's secretary says, 'Don't go anywhere.' " A few moments later,
Dinkel and some associates were in the office of Major General Peter T.
Barry, the director of the C.I.D. command. Barry had just returned from the
office of General Gordon Sullivan, the Army's Vice-Chief of Staff. The Army
had a problem. A carefully typed, two-page anonymous letter had been mailed
to the Army Inspector General. It appeared to have been written by an
officer serving in one of McCaffrey's 24th Division command posts, for it
was filled with information that only an insider could have known. "That's
what scared everybody," Dinkel recalled. "This was from someone who was there."

The letter contained a number of allegations that were certain to be
explosive if they turned out to be true. Two in particular stood out. The
letter alleged that McCaffrey was guilty of a "war crime" in his March 2nd
assault on the retreating Iraqis, and had urged his brigade commanders "to
find a way for him to go kill all of those bastards. "The letter also
claimed that 24th Division soldiers had "slaughtered" Iraqi prisoners of
war after seizing an airfield on the fourth day of the war.

The letter included a threat that, as its writer obviously understood,
would get the attention of the Army's leadership, which was still relishing
the warm glow of the Gulf War. "If you chose not to investigate, so be it,"
the letter said. "Tapes, documents, and photos exist. Jack Anderson" -- the
columnist -- "would be very interested."

Given the extent and severity of the letter's accusations, an investigation
was inevitable, and Dinkel was put in charge of it. His deputy, Warrant
Officer Willie J. Rowell, was the most experienced and respected C.I.D.
investigator in the Washington area. The inquiry was not merely to be kept
secret, as all such investigations were, but to be kept secret from every
other office in the C.I.D. It was believed that public knowledge of the
allegations -- and they were, of course, nothing more than anonymous
allegations -- would be devastating to McCaffrey's career and to the Army's
postwar reputation.

Colonel Dinkel and his C.I.D. team arrived at Fort Stewart in mid-August,
1991, just three weeks after Le Moyne's 1st Brigade concluded its report on
the Edward Walker allegations, and well after it closed out its case on the
allegations brought by Sergeant Larimore, of the 124th Military
Intelligence Battalion. Both files were immediately made available to the
C.I.D. In each instance, the brigade's findings were taken at face value.
The cases in Le Moyne's brigade, once closed, stayed closed.

Dinkel and his crew spent the next several weeks assiduously conducting
interviews and collecting data on the anonymous letter, at Fort Stewart and
at Army bases across America. They spent weeks looking into the letter's
charge of the slaughter of prisoners at an airfield, and could find no
evidence to support it. They never focussed on the hospital-bus shootings
described by Larimore and Walker.

Dinkel was most concerned with the letter's charges about McCaffrey's
leadership before and after the annihilation of the Iraqis at Rumaila. One
C.I.D. team flew to Fort McCoy, Wisconsin, to interview Colonel Michael
MacLaren (Ret.), who, as the division's G-1, or logistics officer, had been
in charge of its rear command post in Saudi Arabia.

MacLaren was told six weeks after the war that the unit no longer needed
him around. MacLaren's testimony, released under the Freedom of Information
Act, provided support for one of the anonymous letter's most serious
charges -- that a colleague had overheard McCaffrey urge his commanders on
the command radio net "to find a way for him to go kill all of those
bastards." MacLaren said that he had been troubled by the March 2nd
engagement, especially in the months after the war, when the division spun
"numerous versions of how contact was initiated by the enemy-tank fire,
frontal assault, artillery, R.P.G., Sagger missile. I was surprised that
there were so many versions of the truth," especially by late spring. "I
thought we ought to have figured it out," he said. "After all, it was these
enemy actions which prompted us into action."There was another troubling
aspect of the March 2nd engagement, MacLaren said: "Our apparent lack of
'measured response' in light of the ceasefire. I thought we should have met
enemy force with appropriate force -- not necessarily overwhelming force.
Even the use of force on the battlefield has its ethical restrictions." The
term "turkey shoot," he said, had become "common usage within the division
when describing the March 2nd engagement."

MacLaren also told the C.I.D. of a cryptic comment he said that McCaffrey
made at the beginning of an after-action review meeting later in March:
"Remember, the Iraqis started this one." When asked why he had not filed a
formal complaint about McCaffrey's actions, MacLaren said that he had no
hard evidence to back up his information. "I have no firsthand knowledge,"
he told the C.I.D. "I believe it may have been a bad decision on someone's
part."

The C.I.D. also learned about McCaffrey's dispute with Patrick Lamar, and
on August 17th Dinkel and a colleague flew to Fort Stewart to interview
Lamar. Lamar, like all colonels, wanted to become a general, and he
understood that volunteering his views on the events of March 2nd would do
little for that ambition. And, like many Army officers, he had contempt for
the C.I.D.; investigators are known as "two by twos," because they travel
in pairs and conduct interviews jointly. "They're not real cops," Lamar
told me.

Lamar's testimony about McCaffrey alternated between praise and revelation.
"He is smart," Lamar told the C.I.D. "He's a combat commander I would
follow. I think he knows what he's doing -- otherwise he wouldn't be
where's he's at.... He has never treated me wrong." Nonetheless, Lamar told
the C.I.D. that he considered the attack to be a violation of the
ceasefire, and that the Iraqis had taken no action to provoke it. On March
2nd, Lamar testified, he had been contacted by the 1st Brigade and told
that lights, from vehicles, could be seen in the distance. "I asked which
way they were going," Lamar went on, "and they said they were going north"
-- to the causeway. "I said, 'O.K., stay away from it, you don't need to
have any contact with it.' " His caution won him little favor. Hours later,
Lamar said, McCaffrey "took charge" and the attack began. "I'll tell you
the truth," the Colonel said, "I didn't support it because at that point in
time I thought it was a slaughter. But the bottom line was he was doing
what was necessary to protect the force because they had been fired on and
nobody knew what these guys were liable to do." Lamar denied the anonymous
letter's report that he had described McCaffrey's actions on March 2nd as a
war crime, but he added, "What I did tell him was that we better make darn
sure that they were fired on first or otherwise we would violate the
ceasefire rule.... The bottom line is that he wanted to keep pushing."

The C.I.D. interview lasted for hours, Lamar says, and he was not contacted
again by its investigators.

The Lamar interview convinced Dinkel that the C.I.D. was wasting its time.
"Boss, we ain't got shit," he recalls telling General Barry. "This is a
bullshit letter." A day or so later, Dinkel recalls, he was summoned to the
Pentagon along with General Barry, to meet with the Army's top brass in the
offices of General Sullivan, the Vice-Chief of Staff. It was Dinkel's first
visit to the Army's inner sanctum. There were at least six generals at the
meeting, many with two or more stars on their epaulettes. A few civilian
officials were also present. Dinkel says that he and General Barry were
told that it was unacceptable to stop the inquiry. There was worried talk,
to Dinkel's astonishment, of "another My Lai," and the C.I.D. was given a
broad mandate to investigate McCaffrey.

The C.I.D. returned to Fort Stewart and began a series of interviews there,
and at Army bases around the country. Dinkel and his colleagues worked hard
over the next few weeks -- more than a hundred and fifty men and women were
interviewed. Had a soldier volunteered information about a crime, the
C.I.D. most certainly would have taken the complaint seriously, and begun
an inquiry. But few soldiers report crimes, because they don't want to
jeopardize their Army careers.

The interviews went on, the questions were asked, and the answers duly
transcribed. In the C.I.D. interviews, released under the Freedom of
Information Act, soldier after soldier, including those in Ware's 2-7
battalion, reports that he knew nothing about the mistreatment of
prisoners. Several thought that the Iraqi prisoners, far from being abused,
were treated too well. Many testify that the Iraqis engaged in a variety of
hostile acts on March 2nd. The inescapable fact is that Dinkel and his team
were left in the dark by the senior officers of the 24th Division, and its
1st Brigade. Dinkel told me he knew nothing of allegations involving an
Iraqi hospital bus or a large number of Iraqi prisoners of war: "If someone
had said two hundred people, I would have remembered that." He also said he
never heard the name Edward Walker, adding, "I don't know anybody at Fort
Leonard Wood."

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