Delta Force by Charlie A. Beckwith Page B

old friends, sharing my feelings with them. Most of them didn’t really understand where I was coming from. Instead of a year, it felt as if I’d been away from Bragg for a lifetime.
    Late the next afternoon I met with Colonel Russell. I explained what had happened—my year in England, my return to Fort Bragg, and now how I was very disillusioned and upset. He made it clear to me that he’d made four combat jumps with the 82nd Airborne Division in World War II and that he didn’t have much time for the Brits. He further explained that he thought the exchange program with the SAS was a big waste of time inasmuch as only one officer got the benefit of the program and not the entire Special Forces. Dead end! Now, I didn’t know which way to run.
    The next day, back in the 7th Special Forces Group area, I was walking across the street on my way to one of the mess halls to get a cup of coffee, when a lieutenant colonel who I’d never met before walked up to me. “My name is Buzz Miley, and I’m the commander of B Company. I understand you’re just back from England. I’ve got the responsibility of setting up an exercise that’s going to involve some of the Brits, and I need some assistance. Will you help me?” It was like someone had just picked me up out of the gutter. “Come on,” he said, “let’s go have a cup of coffee and talk about it.”
    Over the coffee, Lieutenant Colonel Miley explained, “I have to leave tomorrow to make arrangements for an exercise up in the Pisgah National Forest. There’s a small contingent of four or five people going with me. I’m told you know the Special Forces business and that in England you obviously learned something. I could use you. What do you say, Captain, want to help?” I was so happy I wanted to hug him. I explained my situation, and he told me he’d take care of everything with Colonel Mattice. And he did. I wasn’t assigned to B Company, but I was attached for the duration of the exercise.I suspected Group Headquarters was just going to watch to see what I would do.
    Crossing the Atlantic I’d finished my big report, the one stating what I’d learned from the SAS and how this information could assist our side. The recommendation I made in this report was that the United States Army organize as soon as possible a unit along the lines of the British SAS. But now, in Bragg, I didn’t know what to do with this report. I knew if I gave it to Colonel Mattice it could end up in the trash can. The new Group commander of the 7th Special Forces, Colonel Evans-Smith, who was coming out of the Army War College and had never served a day in Special Ops, had not yet arrived. I nevertheless felt that Evans-Smith was my best bet, so I determined the clever thing to do was to hold the report until he got on post, then get him to read it. I had to hope he was the kind of senior officer who would listen to me.
    Then I outsmarted myself. Johnny Johnson was the 7th Special Forces Group operations officer. He’d served in Korea with a Ranger unit. I trusted him. Johnson’s assistant, Bud Sydnor, was the officer who had preceded me as the SAS exchange officer. Bud had been the first officer to be exchanged, so I felt I had one friend up at Group and no doubt two, because Bud would by now have converted Johnny Johnson. I felt confident. I knew that Johnson, being operations officer, had some clout. So I gave my SAS After Action Report to Major Johnson and asked him to read it. This proved to be a mistake.
    The next day I went up into the Great Smoky Mountains of western North Carolina with Lieutenant Colonel Miley. We were there about a week, and I had a hell of a good time. I never will forget how one night, pretty late, we wheeled into this motel. Everybody was worried about what it was going to cost Uncle Sam to put his officers up. The discussion went on about how many officers could share