Meanwhile, Horner could see that Colin Powell was growing nervous that Horner was making “too good” a case for airpower—he had always found Powell easy to read—but the Chairman had such control of the meeting that he never came right out and said it.

At the first break in the questions, Horner took the opportunity to return to his seat against the wall to watch the debate that followed, primarily between State and Defense, the real centers of gravity that morning. Between those two, there was considerable staking-out of positions and ill-concealed hostility:

STATE: “Let’s not rush into overt action that might make matters worse. We need to know more about what is going on over there.”

DEFENSE: “We better get involved and ready to take action before matters get worse.”

All of this discussion was open, freewheeling, and acrimonious in ways that set Horner wondering. Such open conflicts would never occur in a military conference, in which everyone bows to the senior officer and to the position they feel the commander has in mind. Yet he liked it. He liked to see people looking at the problem from a variety of angles. In the military, he thought, it’s too easy for everyone to back what they think the commander wants. So if you guess wrong and the boss is stupid, you strike out on two counts. Horner called such things “school solutions”—like giving an answer in a classroom because you know the teacher endorses it.

During the discussion, the President scarcely spoke. He seemed detached, even lost in deeper contemplation, as the talk whirled around the table. It was clear that he wanted to hear what people had to say and didn’t want to cast his shadow over the examination of the issues.

When he finally began to speak, two overriding concerns emerged: first, how to use military force against the Iraqis while keeping down the loss of life, and second, how to bring in other nations to form a coalition against Iraq (and thus avoid the arrogance of Vietnam). Chuck Horner easily identified with both concerns. It would have been hard for anyone who’d fought in Vietnam not to.

When Bush began raising the loss-of-life issue, Horner could see in his face and body language that it wasn’t perception, or spin, or bad headlines he was worried about. It was about people bleeding and suffering. His personal anguish over the killing was unmistakably visible, and it wasn’t just a question of U.S. lives, but of everybody’s—U.S., Allied, and even Iraqi.