“We can’t let anybody know about this. It would destroy him,” I repeated.
“Understood, sir. I will handle it.”
“Thank you, General.” With that I headed to my office to deal with everything else that had piled up over the weekend.
I didn’t give Liberia much thought for the rest of the day, as I was tied up in budget meetings and plans for the next fiscal year. At lunch I was quietly informed that the embassy had been secured. I just nodded and went about my business. Charlie was safe on his boat, the Marines had landed, the embassy was secure. By tonight the evening news would be reporting that Monrovia was safe for Americans or some such bullshit. Ari told me that none of the networks had any offices in Liberia, but that they had access to freelance stringers with camera equipment. We were sure that the Marines would be on the news tonight, either as heroic liberators or jackbooted thugs, depending on the leanings of the network. The Europeans, especially the French, tended to take a very distasteful view of ‘American interventionism’.
Through the afternoon the situation deteriorated. The Liberians were waging a three sided war on each other, and God help anyone caught in the middle. We began to get reports, not from Ambassador Myrick, but from other sources that foreigners were being targeted, and killed. Myrick was getting as many of them to the embassy grounds as he could, and then sending them out on Marine helicopters to the Fort McHenry. The embassy itself was secure, though under intermittent attack, and he had directed the Marine commander to send out patrols to other embassies and bring back any personnel who wanted to evacuate.
I talked to Colin Powell mid-afternoon. I commented to him that I thought Myrick was doing the right thing, but I wondered if he had the legal authority to give the Marines orders. I got an answer back that surprised me. As ‘Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary’ Bismarck Myrick was the President’s personal representative and spoke with the President’s voice. There was actually considerable precedent to taking command of local armed forces, sometimes for good and sometimes not. At least our guy knew which end of the gun the bullets came out.
By the time of the evening news, Liberia had managed to make top billing on most of the networks, and a local stringer for ITN, an English independent network, was reporting about widespread violence, and that American Marines were landing and taking control of most foreign embassies, evacuating noncombatants and family members, as well as any other white faces they could rescue.
By the next morning it was being reported, both in the PDB and on the news, that the Marines had secured most of the foreign embassies and had evacuated hundreds of people to the ships at sea. The video footage was disturbing, especially over breakfast, with a number of shots of dead bodies lying in the street, a few craters, and smoking burned-out vehicles and storefronts. In addition to embassy personnel, there were reports of a convent rescued, as well as several Red Cross groups, and also some French journalists. I commented to Marilyn that the Frogs would undoubtedly find a way to blame this whole mess on us. She stuck her tongue out at me, since I frequently tease her on her family’s heritage.
I made a similar comment to Ari Fleischer at the morning staff meeting. He was undoubtedly going to be getting questions at the morning press conference, and I knew the Pentagon would be having a big press conference as well. That was why I had dragged him into the Monday morning NSC meeting. This was the first heavy use of troops I had ordered since the Afghan/Al Qaeda attacks in 2001.
Ari disagreed with me. “I’ve had Will and a few of the other staff members monitoring some of the European feeds, the BBC, the French networks, German, and so forth. We aren’t coming off badly. Ambassador Myrick’s decision to send rescue parties after everyone paid off. There are several reports that American Marines ended up in firefights with rebel groups while evacuating locations with various noncombatants in tow. A Belgian broadcast team, in fact, was with a clinic operated by some French doctors and nurses, and actually has footage of some Marines rescuing them and getting them to safety. It won’t play badly, Mister President.”
“Really? Good! I am going to want to decorate those men when they get home. Anybody who did well over there should be decorated. It’s important to recognize them, and not just for the sake of good publicity,” I replied. “Get in touch with the State Department, too. That Ambassador of theirs, Myrick, he seems to know what he’s doing. He and his people need to be recognized as well, whether by State or by me.”
“Good publicity doesn’t hurt. I’ll talk to the Pentagon later, State, too, and follow up.”
Things remained relatively quiet for the rest of the day. Mid-afternoon I received a heads-up from Colin Powell, and then took a call from President Chirac of France, thanking me for saving his citizens. I also took calls from a couple of other ambassadors, and was assured that their bosses would be calling in the next day or so.
That evening Monrovia made the top of the news again, and by now there was more video available. Tom Brokaw introduced the show, and then promptly turned it over to a report by a correspondent from ITN. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t already heard, but I suppose it sounded more official in a British accent. Watching with me were Marilyn and the girls, home from college for the summer. They had survived their freshman year, and the University of Maryland had survived them.
The next segment was introduced as ‘disturbing and graphic, and might not be suitable for all viewers, which simply guaranteed that everybody would want to watch it. It was introduced as footage of the American Marines rescuing a team of French nurses from a clinic being overrun by rebels. It had been gathered by a Belgian video team which had been with the French clinic when it was rescued. The video was very jerky, and quickly edited for television, and the voiceover started out in French, before being muted with an English accent translation overlaid on it.
“Holy crap!” exclaimed Holly.
“No shit!” added Molly.
“Language!” chided their mother.
It was riveting footage. There were a few jerky seconds of the camera running along down a street accompanied by women and children of several races and heavily armored Marines, who would occasionally turn and fire backwards behind them. It was explained that they were escaping from a clinic being overrun, and heading towards a central collection point with more Marines. The camera rounded a corner to where a couple of Marines were setting up what I recognized was a temporary local strong point. They were laying down covering fire from behind a small concrete wall and directing people behind the wall. As more of the Marines herded their charges behind the wall, they were adding their fire to the mix. Once the cameraman got behind the wall, the video footage settled down and was able to focus on the scene.
The problem came with the last group of Marines and refugees. Two large Marines were bringing up the rear, laying down fire behind them wildly while herding their charges, a blonde woman and two children. Both Marines, filthy and sweaty, were limping and obviously wounded but they continued performing their duty. Suddenly an explosion in the middle of the street forced this little group to the opposite side of the street from the others, ducking down behind a broken down car. One of the Marines hiding by the car fired downrange, and then handed his rifle to the other Marine, grabbed the two children, and picked them up. He ran wildly across the street towards the strongpoint, and it was obvious that he was hurt and bleeding. He staggered once but kept going, and got to the wall and tossed the kids over. Then he turned back and ran back towards the car.