Collision Course: NATO, Russia, and Kosovo

Collision Course

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Collision Course NATO, Russia, and Kosovo JOHN NORRIS FOREWORD BY STROBE TALBOTT

PRAEGER

Westport, Connecticut London

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Norris, John. Collision course : NATO, Russia, and Kosovo / John Norris ; foreword by Strobe Talbott. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-275-98753-1 (alk. paper) 1. North Atlantic Treaty Organization—Armed Forces—Serbia and Montenegro— Kosovo (Serbia) 2. Bombing, Aerial—Serbia and Montenegro—Serbia. 3. Operation Allied Force, 1999. 4. Kosovo (Serbia)—History—Civil War, 1998-1999—Participation, Foreign. I. Talbott, Strobe. II. Title. DR2087.5.N67 2005 949.703—dc22 2005002147 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available. Copyright © 2005 by John Norris All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, by any process or technique, without the express written consent of the publisher. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2005002147 ISBN: 0-275-98753-1 First published in 2005 Praeger Publishers, 88 Post Road West, Westport, CT 06881 An imprint of Greenwood Publishing Group, Inc. www.praeger.com Printed in the United States of America

@r The paper used in this book complies with the Permanent Paper Standard issued by the National Information Standards Organization (Z39.48-1984). 10 9 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To my nieces and nephews: Ben, Caitlin, Joe, Adam, Anna, Joe IV, and James And to my love, Brenda

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Contents

ix

Foreword by Strobe Talbott Preface

XV

xix

Introduction

1

k

Misadventure

2

Picking Up the Pieces

25

a

The Shuttle Begins

57

*^ The Dog Days of Spring

83

5

An Empty Chair, Nothing Off the Table

121

S

On the Mountain

151

i Belgrade

181

H Breaking Through

207

S

Deception and Confrontation

237

20

A Creeping Coup?

269

11

The Aftermath

289

X2

Conclusion: Hard Lessons

303

Bibliography

323

Index

327

Vll

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Foreword by Strobe Talbott

The seventy-eight-day bombing campaign against Serbia in the spring and early summer of 1999 was the last major international conflict in the bloodiest of all centuries. It was also a first in several respects—the first time in fifty years of existence that the North Atlantic Treaty Organization went to war, the first time that a coalition of countries attacked a regime to end its brutalization of a national minority, the first time airpower alone was enough to ensure victory, and the first time that U.S. armed forces conducted a sustained military operation without suffering a single combat fatality. These distinctions of Operation Allied Force gave us a glimpse of a new feature of world politics and a new form of warfare. Slobodan Milosevic may be in the dock at the UN International Criminal Tribunal in The Hague, but his species of predatory tyrant is not extinct. War will continue to be necessary from time to time as part of the larger effort to reverse aggression, stop the depredations of dictators, re-impose order on chaos, and more generally, defend the interests and enforce the norms of an abstraction that is trying to become a reality—the international community. To the extent that there is such a thing as an international community, it owes much to NATO. The alliance was founded for the sole purpose of deterring—and if necessary, defeating—the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact if they ever attacked the West. Yet by 1999, that country and that alliance no longer existed. Many commentators and some political leaders were asking whether NATO, having served its original purpose, should go into honorable retirement. The conflict in the Balkans was a reminder that the end of the cold war IX

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did not mean the end of instability in Europe. Quite the contrary: the collapse of communist states—giant ones like the USSR and smaller ones like Yugoslavia—was accompanied by the increased danger of chaos and violence. The post-Soviet states were fortunate in that the leader of Russia, President Boris Yeltsin, was determined to resist the temptations of irredentism. He insisted on converting inter-republic boundaries into new international ones, even though that meant leaving millions of ethnic Russians in what were now independent states. The post-Yugoslav states were cursed in that their leaders, particularly Milosevic, saw an opportunity to redraw the map in blood, along ethnic and religious lines. NATO was slow in rising to the challenge but did so in 1995 by using diplomacy backed by force to impose peace in Bosnia. The United States and its allies had to bomb the Bosnian Serbs in order to get Milosevic and his henchmen to the negotiating table in Dayton—and they then deployed thousands of NATO troops to enforce the settlement achieved there. In 1998 Milosevic turned his brutality against those citizens of Serbia who happened to be ethnic Albanians living in the southern province of Kosovo. Once again, the West, with some support from Russia, tried diplomacy backed by the threat of force. This time it proved inadequate, so in 1999 the formula was reversed: NATO applied force backed by diplomacy. NATO would have launched the bombing campaign with the blessing of the UN Security Council if the Russian Federation had not threatened a veto. Yet even though the war began over the vigorous objections of the Russians, it ended in large measure because President Yeltsin and his special envoy, Victor Chernomyrdin, threw Russia's weight behind what were essentially American terms, endorsed by NATO, for stopping the bombing. In that respect, the war was both the most severe crisis in the first decade of post-cold war U.S.-Russian relations and the most dramatic instance of U.S.Russian diplomatic collaboration in that period. By going to war against Milosevic, the West was reiterating a principle that had been taking shape for several years: the sovereignty of individual states is not absolute; a national government that systematically and massively abuses its own citizens loses its right to govern; it is subject either to being put out of business altogether or having its authority suspended in that area of the country where it is running amok. The U.S.-led invasion of Haiti in 1994 was an early assertion of this principle and therefore a precedent for what NATO did in Kosovo five years

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later. A military junta that had carried out a coup against Haiti's first democratically elected president, Jean-Bertrand Aristide, was using terror and murder as instruments for controlling an increasingly desperate and restive population. Thousands of Haitians sought asylum in the United States by taking to the seas in rickety boats. In order to end a human-rights outrage and a humanitarian crisis occurring off its shores, the United States sponsored a resolution in the UN Security Council that made the restoration of democracy a goal justifying the use of force. With the support of the UN and the Organization of American States, the United States assembled a broad-based coalition, invaded Haiti, threw out the junta and reinstated Aristide. In the years that followed, Aristide abused his mandate, misruled and alienated his people. When he was driven into exile by a popular uprising in the spring of 2004, American troops and those from other countries returned to patrol the streets of Port-au-Prince and disperse around the country. Their presence, while a sobering epilogue to the U.S.-led invasion a decade earlier, did not negate its validity or change a grim but inescapable fact of international life: since there will continue to be states that are either a menace to their own people or to their neighbors, other states must, in concert, be prepared to step in and change the regime. In Haiti in 1994, that meant throwing out the junta and bringing back Aristide; in Kosovo in 1999, it meant ending Belgrade's rule in the province; in Afghanistan in 2001, it meant driving the Taliban from Kabul into the mountains; in Iraq in 2003, it meant toppling Saddam Hussein and replacing him with an American proconsul. The cases of Afghanistan and Iraq were complicated by the Bush administration's reluctance to cast its own policies in terms of continuity with its predecessors, especially its immediate predecessor, the Clinton administration. President Bush and his principal colleagues do not talk much about the ongoing obligation of the United States in Bosnia and Kosovo, since they campaigned against both in 2000 as examples of what they disparaged as the foolish business of nation-building. However, now that they are engaged in precisely that activity in Afghanistan and Iraq, Kosovo looks more like a model for what they may end up putting in place in those other states that American-led armies liberated from heinous regimes. Afghanistan came into the cross hairs of American military might because it was the base of operations for terrorists who attacked the U.S. homeland

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on September 11, while Iraq became a target because the Bush administration accused Saddam of possessing large, illicit, and usable stores of weapons of mass destruction. As that pretext for the invasion has come under sharp questioning and as the United States seeks more help from the UN and NATO in providing security and reconstruction in Afghanistan and Iraq, President Bush increasingly invokes the same rationale that President Clinton used for regime-change in Haiti and Kosovo: the defense of freedom, democracy, and decent governance. All the more reason, therefore, to study Kosovo for the lessons it offers for future such exertions of force. Among the standards that should be applied are: whether peaceful means of ending violence have been exhausted and therefore politics by other, violent means is justified; whether military action makes maximum use of regional and global institutions and derives maximum legitimacy from treaties and international law; whether it enlists as much participation in the war as possible from allies and ad hoc partners in order to ensure their participation in the reconstruction that will follow; whether it makes the best use of technology, not just for killing enemy leaders and soldiers but for not killing civilians; whether it is conducted in a fashion designed to reduce the danger of conflict spreading; whether the prosecution of the war is synchronized with diplomatic efforts to end the fighting; whether the terms of the surrender imposed on the defeated power are conducive to a stable and sustainable peace; and finally, whether the war makers-turned-peacekeepers are prepared to remain on the ground, in the region, and on the case for what will, almost always, be a very long time. By that checklist, the Kosovo war was far from perfect, but overall, it gets a passing grade (although by the last criterion—staying power—it gets an incomplete, since five years does not qualify as a long time). Kosovo, today, is a virtual trusteeship, a ward of the UN and NATO. It's a mess, but a manageable one, and nothing like the cauldron of ethnic cleansing and blood-feuding that it became in the nineties. Serbia, too, is far from a mature modern state, but it is staggering and lurching in the right direction—toward a functioning democracy and toward Europe. For all these reasons, the war in Kosovo deserves careful and continuing scrutiny, not just by military historians but by students of current events and anyone thinking about the future of war and peace. They will wonder how events looked and felt at the time to those of us who were involved. Thanks

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to John Norris, they will know. The account he offers has an immediacy that can be provided only by someone who was an eyewitness to much of the action, who interviewed at length and in depth many of the participants while their memories were still fresh, and who has had access to much of the diplomatic record. All of us who had some role in the story told here have some reason for satisfaction as we look back, hope as we look forward, and gratitude to John for being part of the team and for writing this book.

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Preface

The man from the CIA was a thin, edgy fellow, desperate for a cigarette after more than nine hours on the plane. His prognosis was grim; he conspiratorially declared that NATO's damage estimates were grossly inflated and that the guerrilla Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA) was being decimated. European political support for the air campaign was diminishing, Yugoslav President Slobodan Milosevic was hanging tough, and the war in Kosovo would end badly. It was a brilliantly sunny day at 29,000 feet in May 1999 as the pale blue and white U.S. Air Force jet shuttled us toward Moscow for another round of talks with the Russians on day sixty-three of NATO's war. My boss, U.S. Deputy Secretary of State Strobe Talbott, was the lead American negotiator in the three-way talks attempting to strike a peace deal to end the war, and he headed a small team made up from the National Security Council, the Pentagon, and the State Department. I served as Talbott's director of communications, fielding a steady stream of requests from reporters eager for insight into the high-stakes diplomacy. Although one of the most junior members of the traveling team, I enjoyed a front-row seat for what would prove to be a climactic military and diplomatic showdown. The CIA analyst had plenty of reasons for pessimism. The better part of a million refugees had already been driven out of Kosovo, and more streamed toward Macedonia and Albania by the day. Serb forces continued to pillage Kosovo with seeming impunity. NATO had bombed the Chinese embassy in Belgrade, and the Russian government was on the edge of collapse. Waning public support for the war and sharp internal splits threatened to end NATO's first sustained combat operation in embarrassing failure. Running his fingers through thinning hair, the CIA analyst leaned forward, not wanting his comments to be overheard by the rest of the team. With the morosely satisfied expression of someone that had predicted the xv

xvi it PREFACE

worst and was being proven prescient, he insisted that the agency had warned from the beginning that bombing alone would not force President Milosevic back to the bargaining table to resolve the status of the rebellious province of Kosovo. The analyst felt that arming the KLA as part of a proxy war against Belgrade was the only viable option. It had worked in Afghanistan against the Soviets; it could work in Kosovo against the Yugoslavs. I disagreed, but soon we touched down on the tarmac in Moscow. The team grabbed their belongings and a motorcade sped us downtown and back toward another set of marathon negotiations with our Russian and Finnish counterparts. One of my colleagues concisely summed up his opinion of the CIA analyst as we climbed into the motorcade: "Jackass." This book tells the inside story of the 1999 war in Kosovo, offering a behind-the-scenes portrait of the tumultuous events that took place from the first day of NATO bombing to the insertion of peacekeepers into the province less than three months later. These seventy-eight days were filled with Byzantine political, military, and diplomatic maneuvering between NATO, Yugoslavia, and Russia, much of which has yet to be made public. For example, this account details Washington's shadowy plans to open a direct negotiating channel to Belgrade and Milosevic at the height of the conflict and the conversations held between senior U.S. policy-makers and Yugoslav officials in that regard. During the bombing campaign, intensive talks among Russian, American, and Finnish negotiators repeatedly threatened to break down as deeply controversial planning within NATO to launch a ground war against Yugoslavia steadily gained momentum. Against this dramatic landscape, a secret Russian plan to push its forces into Kosovo took Western leaders by surprise and triggered a furious debate among NATO military officials about potentially intercepting these forces. Speculation that President Yeltsin had lost control of Russia's large and dangerous military machine was rampant, and the United States and Russia came closer to exchanging fire than any other time since the fall of the Iron Curtain. Ultimately, the events chronicled here nearly led to a ground war and culminated in an uneasy peace agreement, the deployment of some 50,000 NATOled peacekeepers, and international stewardship of a fiercely contested piece of Balkan landscape. With nations fighting a war while hamstrung by the awkward confines of alliance politics, the crisis quickly snowballed from a persistent diplomatic nuisance into a test of will for the world's most powerful military alliance. Similarly, as both the United States and Russia have sought to redefine

PREFACE ir xv ii

their relationship in the wake of the Cold War, the harrowing events of Kosovo demonstrate that the two nations remain in uncharted waters. As the two countries try to reconcile uneasy partnership and periodic opposition, Kosovo well illuminates both the importance and difficulty of this struggle. The account offered in these pages is built, first and foremost, on my personal recollections as I traveled with Deputy Secretary of State Strobe Talbott during his negotiations with Finnish President Martti Ahtisaari and former Russian Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin. These unusual three-way talks were held amid a grueling pace of shuttle diplomacy in Helsinki, Moscow, Bonn, and Washington in an effort to forge the terms that Milosevic would have to accept to end the conflict/The opinions and characterizations in this book are those of the author and do not necessarily represent official positions of the U.S. government. I have augmented my personal insights with extensive interviews of senior White House, NATO, State Department, Pentagon, and other international officials central to decision-making during the conflict, as well as the considerable written record detailing the conflict. It would be impossible to fully credit all those who have offered assistance and welcome moral support in writing this book. A number of individuals deserve special recognition. Both John Bass and Phil Goldberg offered excellent insight and were wonderful coworkers during my tenure at the Department of State. Similarly, Toria Nuland was great help in piecing together the initial timeline of the hectic negotiations. John, Phil, and Toria represent the highest ideals of the U.S. Foreign Service. Mark Ramee of the State Department was of tremendous assistance in helping, with good humor, shepherd the book through the laborious interagency clearance process, and I could not have done it without him. My agents, Leona and Jerry Schecter, offered great guidance and steady encouragement when I needed it the most. I am eternally indebted to Strobe Talbott on fronts too numerous too count. He has been a terrific mentor and friend. Strobe has brought an abiding sense of graciousness, intellect, and compassion to all his endeavors. I also owe deep gratitude to Derek Chollet and his wife, Heather Hostetter. Derek waded through the roughest of drafts, offered a wealth of strikingly good advice, and consistently helped improve the text. I am lucky to have both him and Heather as such good friends. I would also like to thank Jason Forrester, John Raho, James Lares, and others who have always been such good editors, friends, and active members of the peanut gallery. Lastly, I would like to thank my family for all of their support over the years, and to thank Brenda Bradberry who has become such a special part of my life.

Introduction

Kosovo offers important lessons in how limited wars can burn out of control. Having decided to launch military action, NATO quickly found that faulty intelligence, personality conflicts, competing national interests, accidents, and the fog of war could quickly push events to a breaking point. Ideas that made sense on paper and in foreign ministries quickly dissolved into a harsher reality. Slobodan Milosevic, like any modern tyrant facing the collective might of Western power, felt no obligation to be constrained by the traditional rules of war. NATO soon found itself frustrated. Despite having the ability to crush all of Yugoslavia militarily, total war was not an option. The Alliance would have to survive a more treacherous landscape with a combination of force and diplomacy. NATO would not only have to carry the conflict on the ground; it would also need to win the broader court of public opinion.

Origins of War While many of the disputes in the Balkans have been mislabeled as "ancient ethnic hatreds," Kosovo probably comes closest to living up to the title. Disputes between Serbs and Albanians over control of the territory stretch back centuries. The region has deep symbolic importance to both ethnic communities, and the twentieth century was marked by a disturbing series of violent ethnic expulsions and counterexpulsions by both Serbs and Albanians in an effort to demographically dominate the region. These tensions also often took on religious overtones, with the majority of Serbs being Orthodox Christian and the majority of Kosovar Albanians being Muslim. xix

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Under Yugoslavia's 1974 constitution, Kosovo had been made an autonomous province within Serbia and was given broad political authority nearly on a par with Yugoslavia's six republics. However, ethnic Albanians continued to push for more extensive political rights, and Belgrade brutally put down student demonstrations in 1981. Relations between Serbs and Albanians in Kosovo continued to erode with the rise of Slobodan Milosevic on the Yugoslav political scene. Indeed, Milosevic's extreme nationalist rhetoric, often directly targeted at Kosovar Albanians, propelled him to tremendous popularity in Serbia. Between 1989 and 1990, the Serb government further curtailed ethnic Albanian rights in the province, culminating with revoking Kosovo's autonomous status in July 1990. Despite such pressures, Kosovar Albanians largely practiced nonviolent resistance amid growing calls for independence, despite making up 90 percent of the province's population. With Yugoslavia splintering into smaller and smaller pieces at the end of the Cold War, Kosovo became destabilized. After watching the horrors in Bosnia, many Kosovar Albanians were convinced that nonviolence would not loosen Belgrade's tight grip. By the mid-1990s, a poorly organized militant guerrilla movement began to spring up in the Kosovar Albanian community. The most important of these groups, the KLA, was small and led by a motley collection of nationalists, clans, and criminals. The collapse of the government of neighboring Albania in 1997 then flooded Kosovo with cheap weapons and triggered harsh crackdowns by Serb police and paramilitary forces. Both sides continued to radicalize throughout 1998 with a steady stream of hit-and-run attacks by the KLA and Serb security forces. Against a backdrop of escalating violence, the United Nations (UN) reimposed an international arms embargo on Yugoslavia, and Kosovo became the subject of intense diplomatic discussions by the United Nations and a Contact Group consisting of Britain, France, Germany, Italy, Russia, and the United States. In September of 1998, a UN Security Council resolution called for a cease-fire and a drawdown in the number of Yugoslav forces in Kosovo. This plea fell on deaf ears, and fighting between Yugoslav forces and the KLA intensified. In October 1998, NATO authorized air strikes if Yugoslav security forces were not pulled back from Kosovo, and U.S. Ambassador Richard C. Holbrooke launched a diplomatic mission to Belgrade in an effort to end the crisis. After a flurry of negotiations with Yugoslav President Milosevic, Belgrade agreed to have international civilian monitors deployed in Kosovo and

INTRODUCTION * xxi to pull back about one-third of its troops. NATO declared that air strikes would be launched if Milosevic broke the agreement, and the KLA was expected to cease its attacks as well. While Belgrade initially lived up to the terms of the October accords, the KLA quickly exploited the agreement and took control of military positions abandoned by the Serbs. In December 1998 and January 1999, a series of high-profile killings—by both Serbs and Kosovar Albanians—made clear that peace was not at hand. During February 6-17, 1999, the Contact Group convened peace negotiations at Rambouillet, France, hoping to bring both Milosevic and the disparate Kosovar Albanian factions to terms. The Contact Group pushed to restore Kosovo's autonomous status, deploy an armed international peacekeeping presence under NATO's direction, and eventually hold a nonbinding referendum on Kosovo's political status. Unfortunately, the Rambouillet talks—billed by some as a European version of the U.S.-led Dayton peace accords that ended the war in Bosnia—were doomed to failure. There was plenty of blame to go around. President Milosevic did not participate directly in the negotiations, and the delegation he sent to Rambouillet had little authority. Milosevic balked at serious talks as long as the Contact Group continued to demand that NATO peacekeepers be put on the ground. Despite the absence of Milosevic—Yugoslavia's key decisionmaker—the Contact Group made the questionable decision to forge ahead with the peace conference. Cohosted by the British and French governments in an opulent chateau in the French countryside, the Rambouillet talks verged on farce. The Kosovar Albanian delegation was sharply divided, mutually distrustful, and reluctant to accept the demands which the Western powers assumed the delegation would wholeheartedly embrace. The low-powered Yugoslav delegation drank heavily. The French spent a great deal of time and energy trying to keep NATO's own military brass out of the talks. The Clinton administration, facing a skeptical Congress, remained reluctant to commit U.S. ground troops to support a peace agreement—even though policy-makers knew American forces would have to be the backbone of an effective peacekeeping operation. NATO itself was divided on a range of issues (including potential UN control of peacekeeping) that were not resolved until well into the talks. Added to this, Russian negotiators hoped the talks would simply collapse, freeing them from worries that NATO would march into a country they considered in their sphere of influence.

xxii * INTRODUCTION In short, Rambouillet was a disaster. The talks were conducted appallingly poorly. While much of the difficulties stemmed from a decade's worth of mismanaged Balkans policy by the Bush and Clinton administrations working with their European allies, the dynamics at Rambouillet contributed directly to the failure of the talks. Western negotiators should have either kept the parties at the table until a deal was struck or backed their threats with a far more robust commitment to use force. The situation on the ground in Kosovo was out of control, and the major NATO powers should not have staged a high-profile peace conference without a better plan if the parties did not reach agreement. If Kosovo was as central to the security and stability of Europe as NATO would subsequently claim, the Alliance had done an abysmal job managing its last best hope for peace. Despite efforts to directly engage with Milosevic toward the end of the talks, Yugoslavia refused to sign the Rambouillet accords. It took heavy armtwisting before Kosovar Albanian representatives signed on March 18. Ultimately, Rambouillet could only be considered a success in one respect: There was now agreement among the Allies that they should launch air strikes against Yugoslavia.

The Players and Their Perspectives For Western powers, the Kosovo crisis was fueled by frustration with Milosevic and the legitimate fear that instability and conflict might spread further in the region. The evolving political aims of the Alliance and the changing nature of the transatlantic community also played a role. In that vein, it is useful to more broadly consider how NATO and Yugoslavia came to be locked in conflict over a scrap of strategically insignificant territory. In years past, Europe probably would have largely ignored the retrograde civil war that periodically flared in the small province. Yet, the very nature of Europe is rapidly changing, and the impact of that evolution is far reaching. NATO's large membership and consensus style may cause endless headaches for military planners, but it is also why joining NATO is appealing to nations across Central and Eastern Europe. Nations from Albania to Ukraine want in the Western club. The gravitational pull of the community of Western democracies highlights why Milosevic's Yugoslavia had become such an anachronism. As nations throughout the region strove to reform their econo-

INTRODUCTION * xxi ii mies, mitigate ethnic tensions, and broaden civil society, Belgrade seemed to delight in continually moving in the opposite direction. It is small wonder NATO and Yugoslavia ended up on a collision course. It was Yugoslavia's resistance to the broader trends of political and economic reform—not the plight of Kosovar Albanians—that best explains NATO's war. Milosevic had been a burr in the side of the transatlantic community for so long that the United States felt that he would only respond to military pressure. Slobodan Milosevic's repeated transgressions ran directly counter to the vision of a Europe "whole and free," and challenged the very value of NATO's continued existence. Many outsiders accuse Western countries of selective intervention in Kosovo—fighting on a hair-trigger in the Balkans while ignoring the Sudans and Rwandas of the world. This was hardly the case. Only a decade of death, destruction, and Milosevic brinkmanship pushed NATO to act when the Rambouillet talks collapsed. Most of the leaders of NATO's major powers were proponents of "third way" politics and headed socially progressive, economically centrist governments. None of these men were particularly hawkish, and Milosevic did not allow them the political breathing room to look past his abuses. Through predatory opportunism, Milosevic had repeatedly exploited the weakest instincts of European and North American powers alike. Time and again, he had preserved his political power because nations mightier than his own lacked the political resolve to bring him to heel. His record was ultimately one of ruin, particularly for the Serbs, as Yugoslavia dwindled into a smaller and smaller state verging on collapse. It was precisely because Milosevic had been so adroit at outmaneuvering the West that NATO came to view the ever-escalating use of force as its only option. No one should be surprised that Milosevic eventually goaded the sleeping giant out of repose. NATO went to war in Kosovo because its political and diplomatic leaders had enough of Milosevic and saw his actions disrupting plans to bring a wider stable of nations into the transatlantic community. Kosovo would only offer Western leaders more humiliation and frustration if they did not forcefully respond. U.S. Secretary of State Madeleine Albright's view of Milosevic was probably best revealed when she said that, at a certain stage at Rambouillet, it was evident that Milosevic "was jerking us around." In early June of 1999, German Foreign Minister Joschka Fischer rather angrily responded to those who questioned NATO's motives. Fisher observed that he had initially

xxiv * INTRODUCTION resisted military action, but that his views had changed, "step by step, from mass murder to mass murder." Russia's perspective on Kosovo was drastically different, and tensions over Balkans policy well illustrate the often-manic nature of the Russian Federation during its struggle to redefine its place in the world. Torn between the demands of being a modern state and past habits, Russia continued to maintain an awkward posture between leftover Soviet practices and genuine reform. Deeply humbled by the painful dislocations of the post-Soviet period, Russia wanted to be respected but often resorted to simple, stubborn opposition to the West's agenda out of frustration and resentment. The Kosovo crisis came at a time of profound weariness in relations between the Russia and the United States. Russia had found the process of reform from the Soviet state far more demanding, painful, and sporadic than it could have imagined when the Berlin Wall fell. The economic crash of August 1998 had seemed yet another dismal sign of the corruption and weak institutions that had turned Russia into a second-rate power that seemed to be rotting from within. President Yeltsin's star was incredibly tarnished, and relations between Moscow and Washington had frayed like that of a couple thinking out loud about divorce. Much of Russia's anger during Kosovo stemmed from the fact that Russia enjoys religious and historical ties to the people of Serbia and from the ability of hard-line opponents of President Yeltsin to effectively exploit those links. However, Russia did little during the 1990s to help the people of Serbia shrug off the burdens of the repressive, kleptocratic leadership that drove the rump Yugoslavia further and further into despair. In reality, what Russia wanted most during the Kosovo crisis was to make itself heard. Long accustomed to being a great power, Moscow expected to still be treated as one. When NATO made clear that it would use force no matter what Russia thought, it cut national pride to the quick and fuelled intense public resentment. Given Russia's many internal troubles and the often-fragile nature of its newly redefined state, it is understandable why Moscow was deeply concerned by the precedent of Kosovo. Indeed, one need only to look at Chechnya to understand that there are "many Kosovos in Russia," as Russian Foreign Minister Igor Ivanov argued. If NATO could bomb Kosovo, it might signal a future willingness by the Alliance to involve itself in Russia's internal affairs without a UN mandate. Yet, even given that understanding,

INTRODUCTION * xx v Russia did not take the necessary steps that would have allowed NATO to avoid having to use force. In many ways, the Russian decision to not put more pressure on Milosevic to take a deal at Rambouillet was a blunder. Russia should have either stayed away from Rambouillet completely or put more pressure on Milosevic to take a deal. Ultimately the breakdown in talks led NATO to use force and came to undermine the influence of the UN Security Council—one of Russia's few major trump cards in today's world. Through their fear of setting precedent for outside intervention in sovereign matters, the Russians actually created a situation where Kosovo became something of a model for such intervention. However, the Russian dimension was not handled well in the months running up to the war. Too often, NATO became fixated on disputes within the Alliance and expected the Russians to sign on the bottom line when its members emerged from a smoke-filled room. If NATO had gotten the Russians more engaged in designing the contours of Rambouillet, it might have avoided the split at the end of that process. Instead, NATO was fed up with Milosevic, Milosevic saw the West as a paper tiger, and Moscow was determined to make its presence felt. The table was set.

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1

CHAPTER

Misadventure

The Green Light On March 23, 1999, the wheels were in motion for NATO to begin bombing Yugoslavia. Alliance military and diplomatic officials worked feverishly behind the scenes to finalize plans for a limited series of aerial attacks designed to bring Yugoslav President Slobodan Milosevic back to the negotiating table. Few realized that this course of action would propel the world's most powerful military alliance down a dangerously treacherous path. Over the next turbulent three months, more than 800,000 refugees would be scattered across southeastern Europe, planning for a NATO ground war would reach a crescendo, and Russia and the United States would drift perilously toward a direct military clash. Ambassador Richard C. Holbrooke, the outspoken and hard-charging engineer of the Dayton peace accords, traveled to Belgrade on March 22 in an effort to broker an eleventh-hour peace deal with Yugoslav President Milosevic. Talks continued on the morning of March 23, and in an unfortunate bit of diplomatic timing, Russian Prime Minister Yevgeny Primakov was simultaneously jetting toward Washington for a long-planned meeting with U.S. Vice President Albert Gore. Primakov was increasing in both power and popularity in Moscow, and it was widely assumed that he would succeed the ailing Boris Yeltsin in the Russian presidency. Primakov already exerted 1

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considerable influence, and Moscow's worldview appeared to be hewing steadily to the right under the guidance of the flinty former Soviet intelligence chief. Around nine-thirty in the morning of March 23 in Washington, Vice President Gore called Primakov as his plane made a refueling stop in Shannon, Ireland. Gore was pessimistic that Holbrooke could secure a breakthrough, and suggested that it might be better for Primakov to remain in Ireland, since the situation "did not look good." Despite Gore's entreaties, the plane refueled and Primakov continued toward Washington. In Belgrade, Ambassador Holbrooke—his considerable diplomatic skills aside—was deeply frustrated. Milosevic was unwilling to engage in serious discussion. Holbrooke, as he has often repeated since, informed the Yugoslav president that NATO's bombing campaign would be "swift, severe, and sustained." Unfortunately, it was not a threat either man fully believed, and Milosevic had every reason to assume that attacks would be neither sustained nor severe. Three months earlier, U.S. and British air strikes against Iraq in December of 1998—Operation Desert Fox—had amounted to little more than two days of bombing with little impact. Milosevic had studied Desert Fox, had met with Iraqi officials, and was convinced that attacks against Yugoslavia would be similar. Milosevic had also been leaked plans from a French military operative at NATO headquarters that made clear Operation Allied Force would be of limited scope. Even before the first U.S. cruise missile had been launched, Milosevic was sure that he could ride out any military campaign that the often-divided allies could mount. "I was disturbed by my briefings on targeting," Holbrooke observed, "As I said at the time, very loudly and clearly, the targets were not commensurate with the situation and the stake." In Holbrooke's words, "The initial targeting list was disgracefully weak." Around midday in Washington on March 23, the White House learned that Holbrooke's six hours of talks with Milosevic had not produced an agreement. While Holbrooke maintained his prospects for success as slim from the start, "10 percent or less," he pleaded to be allowed to continue the talks, but the White House directed him to pull out of Belgrade. In a discussion with National Security Advisor Samuel "Sandy" Berger after he left Belgrade, Holbrooke grimly observed, "I told you it wouldn't happen."

MISADVENTURE * 3 "Dick, we thought you were just low-balling the estimate because you always pulled out these miracles," Berger said. Holbrooke took Berger's response to represent "a very high degree of misunderstanding in Washington as to what we had done. Ten percent turned out to be high. There was no chance that Milosevic could have accepted our ultimatum at that point because of the way the negotiations had unfolded in France." With Holbrooke's ill-fated mission complete, Vice President Gore called Russian Prime Minister Primakov as his jet neared the Canadian coast. In even tones, Gore informed Primakov that NATO bombing of Belgrade would in all likelihood commence during his visit to Washington. The vice president emphasized that the Alliance had no choice but to act because Milosevic was slaughtering innocent men, women, and children with blood "dripping from his hands." Primakov responded calmly and with a distinct air of resignation, insisting that ultimately it would be NATO with blood on its hands, not the Yugoslavs. He claimed air strikes would cause needless death and destruction while devastating relations between Moscow and Washington. While Gore was supportive of Russian diplomatic efforts, he also made clear that he wanted Primakov to postpone his visit rather than break the trip off after arriving in Washington. "Well, I understand that is what you are going to do, and I think it is best that I not come," declared Primakov. The Russian plane promptly executed a U-turn a few hundred miles northeast of Newfoundland, and journalists everywhere had a convenient metaphor for the growing rift between Russia and the United States. According to Vice President Gore's national security advisor, Leon Fuerth, "Primakov understood that Vice President Gore was giving him a head's up at the earliest feasible time for us. The discussion did preserve a sense that we were aware of the Russians' circumstances and mindful of them—even though we were going to go ahead and do what we had to." The White House received a letter from President Yeltsin the same day, stating, "It is not a secret that if Kosovo explodes in flames, it could spread to the entire region." In writing to his old friend "Bill," the Russian president seemed equally angry and bewildered, "On what basis does NATO take it upon itself to decide the fates of peoples in sovereign states? Who gave it the right to act in the role of the guardian of order?" Saying that the situation

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could lead "to the edge of a large-scale war," Yeltsin implored Clinton "to weigh all the consequences" before making a "fateful decision." Around eleven in the evening in Brussels, NATO's secretary-general, the lean and affable Spaniard Javier Solana, woke four-star U.S. Gen. Wesley Clark, NATO's supreme allied commander in Europe, to give him the green light to initiate air operations against Yugoslavia under the cover of darkness the next evening, March 24. Crucially, the mandate given to General Clark by the NATO ambassadors was open-ended; there would not have to be formal votes to subsequently intensify the air campaign. On the morning of March 24, President William Jefferson Clinton spoke with President Boris Yeltsin on the telephone. The two had developed a genuine bond over their seven years of working together, and that personal link had seen the United States and Russia through some difficult moments. However, the last time the two had spoken about Kosovo, during a phone conversation on October 5, 1998, Yeltsin had repeatedly and strongly insisted that any use of force against Yugoslavia would be "forbidden." Yeltsin had grown so frustrated that he eventually hung up on Clinton. With NATO poised to begin its air assault against Yugoslavia only hours later, their conversation was again rocky. The aging and hard-drinking Russian president had a notoriously volcanic temper and was recovering from a bleeding ulcer. Communists in the Russian Duma were mounting an impeachment effort against him on a variety of largely political charges only six weeks after Clinton had emerged from his own impeachment drama. NATO bombing would only offer Russian hard-liners more weakness to exploit. "Remember, winters are bad for Yeltsin," a senior NATO official recalled, "and he starts to pay attention and always get better in March and April. So Yeltsin wakes up to Kosovo, and he is on the verge of a major split with the West . . . everything that he rooted his presidency on—getting the major benefits of Western cooperation with minimal humiliation—was about to go out the window." Clinton began the conversation by appealing to Yeltsin's personal commitment to closer ties with the West, maintaining that a "communist dictator" like Milosevic should never come between them. Clinton was adamant that Milosevic had been given every opportunity, and that there was simply no alternative to bombing. The U.S. president suggested that once Milosevic came to his senses, the United States and Russia could renew diplomatic efforts. Yeltsin was not impressed, blustering in reply, "We can't let hundreds

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of thousands of people die to control the words and actions of one man." Yeltsin also poured on the guilt, saying that the bombing would undermine efforts to "turn my people toward the West." President Clinton looked pained as Yeltsin's remarks were translated. Clinton was deeply concerned about the situation in Russia and, "taking a lot of crap from a lot of people," as one of his colleagues confided. Yet, while Clinton was sympathetic, he patiently spelled out how NATO had held off from using force for more than twelve months, and there was no longer any alternative. "Well," said President Yeltsin, "I've obviously failed to persuade the president of the United States. Goodbye." With that, Yeltsin hung up on Clinton during a Kosovo conversation for the second time in a row. After his talk with Clinton, Yeltsin released an official statement declaring, "in the event that the military conflict worsens, Russia retains the right to take adequate measures, including military ones, to defend itself and the overall security of Europe." NATO unleashed the first of its air strikes against Serb air defenses and other targets just after eight in the evening on March 24. NATO jets and cruise missiles struck some forty military targets and shot down three Yugoslav planes in the first night of Operation Allied Force. Using precision weaponry, the Alliance concentrated on Yugoslav air defenses while painstakingly limiting the risk to its own pilots. Indeed, the campaign was designed to limit potential NATO casualties to almost zero. In Brussels, General Clark addressed reporters. Clark had long advocated vigorous military steps against Belgrade, and the razor-thin, hyper-intense general declared that NATO would "systematically attack, disrupt, degrade, and devastate" the Yugoslav military. Behind the scenes, Clark, who had graduated first in his class at West Point and received a Silver Star for heroism in Vietnam, expressed little such bravado. He felt limited strikes would not turn Milosevic around and he wanted broader latitude to bomb key strategic targets. NATO's political leadership continued to restrain Clark, and the French government particularly was uncomfortable with high profile targets in Belgrade. While the French opposed going after key pieces of infrastructure, it must also be said that neither Clinton nor British Prime Minister Tony Blair were willing to spend much political capital to loosen the shackles on Clark. General Clark later telephoned Ambassador Holbrooke—who had traveled to Budapest after stopping at NATO headquarters—to complain that

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he had been given "an impossible assignment." Clark was distressed when Holbrooke inquired about the possibility of a quick pause in bombing, leading the NATO commander to counter that there was "no need for a pause for diplomatic purposes" and that he would need at least five to seven more days before he could inflict any lasting damage. Clark railed that the bombing campaign was "pathetic" and would have no effect. Holbrooke insisted that immediately after the conversation he telephoned Washington to ask, "What the hell is going on?" but "they seemed oblivious to how weak the bombing was." While NATO's initial military strategy was modest, Milosevic's was anything but. As early as January 1999, the U.S. government had received indications from various sources in the region that the Yugoslavs were preparing for a major military thrust—codenamed Operation Horseshoe—against the Kosovar Albanians. The most extreme of the reports suggested that the goal of the operation would be to create a veritable tidal wave of refugees by expelling upwards of 800,000 Kosovar Albanians from the province. To their later chagrin, U.S. government analysts had dismissed these warnings as unrealistic. However, by mid-March it was clear that a large-scale Yugoslav troop deployment was underway in Kosovo and that Belgrade was positioned to launch an intensive ethnic cleansing operation if NATO began bombing. With the onset of NATO military operations on March 24, Yugoslav army, police, and paramilitary forces accelerated Operation Horseshoe with a ferocity that would catch the world flat-footed.

Limited Means At 2:15 in the afternoon on March 24, President Clinton spoke from the White House briefing room, announcing that NATO had "commenced air strikes against Serbian military targets in the former Yugoslavia." Having just emerged from the national ordeal of his impeachment controversy, Clinton argued that NATO's military action was necessary to stem a growing conflict and humanitarian tragedy in Kosovo. Clinton said of Milosevic: He has rejected the balanced and fair peace accords that our Allies and partners, including Russia, proposed last month—a peace agreement that Kosovo's ethnic Albanians courageously accepted. Instead, his forces have

MISADVENTURE * 7 intensified their attacks, burning down Kosovar Albanian villages and murdering civilians. As I speak, more Serb forces are moving into Kosovo, and more people are fleeing their homes. . . . Kosovo's crisis now is full blown, and if we do not act, clearly it will get even worse. The U.S. president suggested a series of amorphous objectives for the campaign: demonstrating the seriousness of NATO's opposition to aggression; deterring President Milosevic from continuing his attacks on helpless civilians; and damaging Serbia's capacity to wage war against Kosovo. These highly subjective benchmarks were designed to allow NATO flexibility so that it could presumably cease bombing after Milosevic made a commitment to return to peace talks. In an address to the nation later that evening, President Clinton's speech was made most memorable by a single line, "I do not intend to put our troops in Kosovo to fight a war." The phrase dismissing the potential use of American ground troops was included by National Security Advisor Sandy Berger, who put the line in after consultation with the president—who did not object. However, there was little discussion about the formulation of the language, and the phrase was included primarily to ease congressional concerns about the operation. Sandy Berger explained the strategy: The initial decision to pursue this as an air campaign derives from two factors. One, we would not have gotten a plane off the ground—figuratively and literally—any other way. Two, I always believed that the air campaign stood a very good chance of working. We had a thousand-to-one advantage over Milosevic from the air once we took out his air defenses. It took us a while to ramp up, and NATO was a machine that had not been taken out of the garage for fifty years. But once we took out his air defenses, we could pound him every day. Berger added, "I honestly think that if we had not put that issue of ground troops to the side of the table at the beginning of the conflict, we would have had a divisive and disabling debate here." Secretary of Defense William Cohen added his perspective, "I saw no consensus in NATO for a ground operation. I saw no consensus or support for it in Congress. It was hard enough going up to the Hill even talking about a peacekeeping mission at the time." Conservative Republican Senator Don Nickles (R-OK) reportedly went so far as to tell President Clinton in a

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face-to-face meeting prior to the bombing that it might be better to "wait until after the massacres had started before we do anything." Clinton's national security team was convinced that air power would work. Further, the State Department, the Pentagon, and the Central Intelligence Agency all concurred—despite their later and frequent protestations to the contrary—that a brief campaign would likely compel Milosevic to return to negotiations. As Secretary Albright declared on the first day of the war, "I don't see this as a long-term operation." The Clinton administration's faith in air power reflected the American public's ambivalence toward the war. While most Americans found Milosevic despicable, they were less certain dealing with him should fall to the United States. President Clinton read such public sentiment as tacit approval for a military campaign built around air power and an absolute minimum of casualties. Clinton's approach was measured, incremental, and fundamentally cautious. As a senior State Department official described, "The Clinton administration gets blamed for being untruthful about these things, or not having the courage of their convictions, but the fact of the matter is that this is a president that was coming off an impeachment trial, had very bad relations with Congress, and was still on very thin ice." However, Leon Fuerth later acknowledged, "There was certainly private recognition that in declaring publicly that ground troops were not an option, we had made a misstep." Similarly, Deputy National Security Advisor James Steinberg maintained, "I certainly understand the motivation for Berger's decision, and I don't disagree with his objective: to avoid making day one of the bombing a domestic debate about ground troops. But I think it is clear in retrospect that it was not done as artfully as it could have been." While Clinton administration officials were largely united in claiming that the fallout from the president's impeachment battle was not a distraction, Clinton's political travails did detract from his ability to marshal domestic and international support for putting a firm military threat on the table in the fall of 1998 and the first part of 1999. "It was inconceivable to the folks around the president that he was going to have a ground campaign in the run up to the war," one senior foreign policy official observed, emphasizing that some would have been quick to charge Clinton with using Kosovo to distract the public form his own scandals. This same official noted, "All through 1998, there was no way Clinton could make the case for the strate-

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gic importance of the Balkans. . . . No one cared. AH they wanted to hear about was sex with an intern." While most administration officials realized that they should have created more ambiguity about the ground option, almost no one imagined that it would be needed. General Clark was virtually the lone voice to promote ground planning in March of 1999, and his views were so hawkish that his political superiors dismissed them. Between nervous Allies and a contentious U.S. Congress, most administration officials agreed that the political traffic simply could not bear even the threat of a ground invasion. This produced a dangerous dynamic: the reputation of the world's most important security alliance was now inexorably linked to a cause for which it was not sure it was worth fighting. Politics within NATO played a major role. The European members of NATO were deeply divided about the necessity and scope of military action—not to mention the preferred outcome of an operation. The bulk of the European Allies keenly distrusted the motives of the Kosovar Albanians, or as General Clark put it, "There was a sense among some that NATO was fighting on the wrong side" in a conflict between Muslims and Christians. French officials, in particular, were aggrieved by attacks against their traditional Serb allies. There was little consensus within NATO about how to deal with Milosevic. Divisions on everything from targeting to diplomatic initiatives threatened to unravel Alliance unity on a daily basis. Both the Italian and Greek governments faced intense domestic opposition to military strikes, a situation exacerbated because more than a quarter of the Alliance's sorties were launched from the U.S. air base at Aviano, Italy. The Greeks shared Orthodox heritage with the Serbs, and polls showed more than 95 percent of the population against bombing. While the newly elected German government of Chancellor Gerhard Schroeder expressed its resolve as a point of national pride, it was equally clear that German public opinion was not primed for an extended conflict. British Prime Minister Tony Blair, enjoying a comfortable parliamentary majority, was the most resolute of the Alliance's political leaders, and he repeatedly maintained that thwarting Milosevic was a fundamental test for Europe. This led wags in the Clinton administration to joke that Blair was "willing to fight to the last American soldier." Given such strikingly different positions within NATO, it was evident that the war's outcome would hinge on the Alliance's cohesion. "There was

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only one way that Milosevic could have prevailed," argued Sandy Berger, "and that would have been to break the unity of NATO." Given the way the Alliance stumbled through the first week of the war, it was no surprise that Milosevic saw this as a realistic goal. Much of the anxiety within the Alliance stemmed from the fact that the war, from its very onset, bore the hallmarks of misadventure. NATO members were deeply torn between rapidly escalating the bombing and quickly returning to talks with Milosevic. Cracks in NATO's facade appeared immediately. Greek Foreign Minister George Papandreou called for a moratorium on bombing on March 25—only the second day of air strikes—and Italian Prime Minister Massimo D'Alema declared, "The scenario is opening up for initiatives to return to the political track." Trying to put out the brushfire of political dissent at NATO headquarters, NATO Secretary-General Javier Solana insisted that Alliance solidarity was "total and absolute." No one believed him. Making matters worse, other than downing a number of Yugoslav planes, NATO's military achievements were modest as rain and fog hampered fighters. Yugoslav planners had artfully concealed important military assets, and a collective gasp ran through the U.S. national security team as a sophisticated F-l 17 stealth fighter was downed over Serbia on the night of March 27. Fortunately, an elite U.S. special operations team whisked the pilot to safety before he could be captured. Footage of Serb civilians gleefully dancing on the plane's wreckage only added to the public perception of a halfbaked military campaign and harkened back to the disastrous scenes of soldiers being dragged through the streets of Somalia in 1993. Large rock concerts were held in the streets of Belgrade to demonstrate Yugoslav solidarity in the face of bombing, and doubts about President Clinton's ability to work with the military again rushed to the fore. Even more troubling were the scope of the Yugoslav offensive in Kosovo and reports of massive ethnic cleansing. NATO had badly underestimated the scope of Operation Horseshoe. Within days, tens of thousands of Kosovars were being forced to march to Macedonia and Albania. Before the first week of bombing was over, Kosovar Albanians were fleeing into Albania at an astounding rate of 2,000 an hour. Having tiptoed into a military campaign of carefully circumscribed political and military aims, NATO seemed bewildered by the ruthlessness of Serb operations.

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The diplomatic effort to hold NATO together during these initial missteps was crucial. Sandy Berger noted: During the early part of the bombing, the president made the circuit of his fellow leaders continuously every day—he talked to British Prime Minister Blair, he talked to Italian Prime Minister D'Alema, he talked to Greek Prime Minister [Costas] Simitis, he talked to German Chancellor Schroeder. He spoke with D'Alema and Simitis a great deal, and they were the most courageous in standing up to enormous popular sentiment opposed to the air campaign. It took almost constant pressure from Washington and London to keep some of the smaller allies on board. Both Paris and Bonn were still supportive, and NATO's cohesion, while wobbly, was holding. Maintaining support for the bombing was a full-time job for NATO Secretary-General Javier Solana, Secretary Albright, and British Foreign Secretary Robin Cook. Secretary Albright and her fellow foreign ministers were in almost daily contact. Telephone conversations between the major NATO foreign ministers—Albright, Cook, French Foreign Minister Hubert Vedrine, German Foreign Minister Joschka Fischer, and Italian Foreign Minister Lamberto Dini—took place with such regularity they were simply referred to as "quint" calls. Jim O'Brien, a young, thoughtful, and slightly mop-topped senior Balkans advisor to Albright, argued that while the secretary's efforts with the other foreign ministers were critical, "the number of dogs that didn't bark during the war was the real story." He added that while the other ministers were not that interested initially in daily discussions, "that would have been disastrous in a war like this, because we were trying to shape public opinion. To have a two- or three-day dispute over an issue would have amplified the sense that this was a war without objective." The foreign ministers spent a good deal of their time debating ways in which military decisions, including the selection of specific targets, would affect public support. While Milosevic was confident he could weather the bombing, he made his displeasure with the attacks well known. Still in Budapest, Ambassador Richard Holbrooke received a call from President Milosevic's chief of staff and foreign policy adviser, Bojan Bugarcic. Holbrooke had known Bugarcic for a number of years, and the Yugoslav was shaken and furious as he quickly

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launched into a personalized tirade. He declared that the NATO bombing was "an attempt to wipe our nation from the face of the earth." With Holbrooke barely getting in a word, Bugarcic was adamant that Belgrade would never abandon Kosovo: "You should be ashamed; my children are now in an air raid shelter." Holbrooke countered that since Milosevic continued to deny the ethnic cleansing campaign, there was an "air of unreality to the conversation." He indicated that the bombing would continue until Yugoslavia instituted a cease-fire and accepted the deployment of international peacekeepers, dubbed "KFOR" or Kosovo Force. He added that bombing would "get much worse until you agree," but softened the blow by maintaining, "Kosovo would remain part of Serbia." Bugarcic exploded; NATO's attacks were "genocide, ruthless, cold-blooded murder. While bombs may continue to fall, NATO will have to occupy Yugoslavia to get its way. Serbs will throw bottles and rocks at the invading troops if that is all we have left." Holbrooke insisted that an invasion was not in the picture, but further bombing was. Bugarcic and Holbrooke have not spoken since. Bad news continued to roll in for NATO. On March 31, Yugoslav forces captured three U.S. soldiers along the Kosovo-Macedonia border, giving the Clinton administration a hostage crisis to add to its faltering military campaign. The bruised and beaten soldiers were soon transported to Belgrade and paraded before television cameras. Serb forces continued to drive virtually unopposed through Kosovo, with more than 120,000 Kosovar Albanians pouring into neighboring countries in less than a week. Not only was Slobodan Milosevic trying to rid himself of Kosovo's ethnic Albanian majority, he was effectively dropping a "population bomb" on Macedonia and Albania, fragile states in danger of being swamped by a sea of refugees.

Rage in Moscow During the early stages of the bombing, much of the diplomacy between Russia and the United States was conducted directly between Russian Foreign Minister Igor Ivanov and Secretary of State Albright. Ivanov was a wily survivor of the Russian political scene and had been Moscow's diplomatic representative at the Dayton peace talks. The stout, bald-pated diplomat had risen steadily through the ranks, having served a tour of duty early in his

MISADVENTURE * 13 career in Cuba, and later having been posted as the Russian Ambassador in Madrid in the early 1990s. Capable of delivering an icy glare, Ivanov was a protege of Prime Minister Primakov, so much so that Yeltsin viewed the two as having "an iron alliance." He was known for an approach that was more bureaucratic than political, but like many of the officials in Moscow, Ivanov was tacking steadily to the right to better position himself if Primakov ascended to the presidency. NATO attacks on Kosovo, coming just three months after the U.S. and British bombing of Iraq, enraged Moscow's foreign policy community, which saw the strikes as geopolitical muscle flexing. For Albright, the scrappy, first-woman secretary of state, Milosevic's campaign of ethnic terror was an affront to the very notion of a civilized Europe at the end of the twentieth century and brought back echoes of World War II and her own family's flight as refugees from Czechoslovakia to Yugoslavia. Albright had a visceral antipathy to Milosevic and had been one of the most vocal advocates for using force against him. She described the war in stark terms to her colleagues, calling it a "fight between good and evil," akin to "defending the Holy Grail." Having built her reputation on an image of toughness, backing down before Milosevic would have been both a personal and professional humiliation. She was convinced that Milosevic, like a stereotypical bully, would back off after a sharp punch in the nose. But Albright's diplomacy was not fully thought through, and she had received little help from a Pentagon that viewed Balkan endeavors with extreme wariness. While Albright was fundamentally wrong in her initial assessment of Milosevic, she was willing to prosecute the war fully until he capitulated. On March 25, day two of the bombing, Ivanov and Albright spoke on the telephone, with the Russian foreign minister bemoaning, "Yugoslav forces killed 300 Albanians in Kosovo over the last year, and NATO has killed 50 people in one night of air strikes." Albright took sharp exception, insisting that Milosevic had "killed over 2,000 Kosovar Albanians in the last year, and displaced 250,000 people." As a senior State Department official observed, Ivanov was initially in denial: "There is no Serb offensive. There are no troops. There are no dead Albanians. The Albanians are not moving out. The bombing is driving them out." The Yugoslavs would even go so far later as to maintain that many of the ethnic Albanian refugees were paid "actors" who repeatedly departed and reentered Kosovo. Ivanov complained, "Milosevic will never say yes to negotiations under the current conditions. How can Russia stand by and watch NATO destroy

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a sovereign nation? The only option is for strikes to end and talks to begin." The Russian foreign minister felt that Milosevic could never agree to a peace deal with "airplanes flying over his residence." Albright was firm: Bombing would not stop until Milosevic halted his offensive. After meeting with his top ministers at the Kremlin that same day, President Yeltsin declared, "Russia has a number of extreme measures in store, but we decided not to use them so far." Claiming to be morally "above America," the Russian president called for an urgent UN Security Council vote to stop NATO air strikes. UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan—under heavy pressure from the members of NATO to stay out of the fray—quickly distanced the United Nations, and his organization would have no immediate role in bringing the war to an end. Annan declared that the six-nation Contact Group—consisting of the United States, France, Italy, Britain, Germany, and Russia—would be in the lead with regard to any talks. The Russian effort to introduce a UN resolution condemning the bombing was quickly turned back by a twelve to three vote, with only China and Namibia supporting Moscow. Russia moved quickly to curtail its official cooperation with NATO, recalling its ranking military liaison at NATO headquarters in Brussels, Gen. Viktor Zavarzin. Russian Defense Minister Igor Sergeyev, while making clear that Russia had no immediate plans to become embroiled in the conflict, placed Russian forces on higher alert and told reporters that Yugoslavia would be a "Second Vietnam." Senior Russian officials also hinted they might provide arms to the Serbs, saying that the NATO attacks potentially voided the existing UN arms embargo against Yugoslavia. In an uncharacteristically emotional outburst at a March 26 news conference, Foreign Minister Ivanov savaged the air strikes as "unconcealed genocide." Relations between Moscow and Washington were deteriorating rapidly. Much diplomacy in the preceding months had been focused not on the Balkans but on Iraq. Because the Clinton administration had expected bombing to be over quickly, decision-makers reasoned that disagreements with Moscow could be quickly patched up. More could have been done before the talks at Rambouillet to bring the Russians on board with a solution, but the United States had become bogged down with internal NATO debates. As one senior official complained, NATO expected "the Russians to sign up when we came out of the smoke-filled room." The Russians also made their share of mistakes, failing to anticipate that

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the collapse of the Rambouillet talks would lead to a protracted military confrontation. The Russians had approached the Rambouillet talks with a Cold War mind-set, hoping to pit the Allies against each other to produce a stalemate. Prime Minister Primakov had whipped up the military, intelligence, and foreign policy elites in Moscow for a showdown between Milosevic and the West rather than brokering a reasonable deal. A White House official bemoaned Moscow's approach, "The Russian foreign ministry was chronically nonconstructive. . . . They were just incredibly hostile toward whatever we were for." All of Russia's worst strategic fears converged in Kosovo. NATO, their old and recently expanded nemesis, was bombing orthodox Serbs in the Balkans, an area that Russia had once firmly dominated. NATO had gone forward with its air strikes without a UN Security Council resolution. NATO military superiority was vast and it was using sophisticated high-tech weapons while incurring zero casualties. Russia was already weak and dependent on Western financial aid. Russia's political system was in disarray, the army and intelligence services were shells of their former feared selves, and the Russian people were filled with searing bitterness from painful years of transition. From the Kremlin, the air war looked like American expansionism plain and simple. The view from Russia—and many other quarters—was that the United States and its allies were now committed to an ambitious new program of humanitarian intervention with NATO serving as the world's policeman. There were fears that the Pentagon would intercede everywhere from Chechnya to Tibet. In a poll shortly after the war began, about 90 percent of Russians felt that NATO had no right to launch attacks without UN authorization. A subsequent survey also spoke volumes: Close to 80 percent of respondents believed that it was only a matter of time before NATO attacked Russia. As Prime Minister Primakov had bluntly told Western diplomats, if they "accepted the Kosovo model, sooner or later we'll have this in Russia." Neither a seat on the UN Security Council nor its nascent links to NATO gave Moscow a veto over Western military operations. Few Russians believed that NATO would become militarily entangled in a place as strategically unimportant as Kosovo unless it was part of some grand scheme. In Moscow, that scheme was invariably directed against Russia, and the local press was rife with conspiracy theories: NATO was fighting the war to test new weapons systems; Washington was bombing to prop up

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the strength of the U.S. dollar; NATO was using depleted uranium to poison Slavic genes. There was certain unintended humor in the conspiracy theories. As the rest of the world watched Kosovo for precedent, NATO leaders were gripped by a single thought: How the hell do we get out of this? In Moscow, one of the quiet champions of United States-Russian diplomacy—Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Georgy Mamedov—called upon U.S. Ambassador James Collins for a "private moment" on March 27. Mamedov was a fifty-two-year-old diplomat noted for his intelligence, tough negotiating skills, and shrewd understanding of America, having served several tours of duty in the Russian embassy in Washington. Indeed, Mamedov was probably the foremost Americanist in the Russian foreign ministry. Mamedov had often served as a one-man political early-warning system for both Moscow and Washington, working diligently as a behind-the-scenes conduit to find win-win solutions. Mamedov's slightly doughy physique, disheveled appearance, and thick glasses belied a sharp mind well suited to navigate the treacherous waters of Russian bureaucracy. Mamedov warned Ambassador Collins, a burly, personable, and gravel-throated career diplomat near the end of a distinguished career, that the attacks against Yugoslavia were creating a dangerous political backlash in Russia. Pressure from the Russian Duma was growing intense to pull Russian forces out of the peacekeeping operation in Bosnia and initiate substantial military assistance to Yugoslavia at a time when Yeltsin's impeachment proceedings continued to grind forward. Mamedov stressed that even President Yeltsin might react in "unpredictable ways" given such burdens. Russian officials had also suggested that a neutral figure like Pope John Paul II could be brought into talks to end the conflict. The call for involving Rome never gained traction, but the idea of involving a third party would. Underscoring the volatility of the situation in Moscow, unidentified attackers botched an attempt to fire a rocket-propelled grenade at the U.S. embassy before engaging in a brief gun battle with guards on March 28. Several thousand people had gathered outside the embassy when bombing had started, throwing rocks, eggs, and beer bottles at the compound. In a surreal moment, a man in armor mounted on horseback fired arrows at the embassy. Albright and Ivanov spoke on the telephone on March 28. Albright was incensed by Ivanov's comments that those responsible for the NATO bombing campaign should be "tried for war crimes," grumbling that she hoped

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the remarks were for "domestic consumption." Ivanov insisted that Moscow and Washington had to find a way to immediately stop the bombing, or else the United States would likely face a "worldwide terrorist problem." The two quickly fell into a familiar patter, debating with some irritation about who was responsible for the violence in Kosovo. "The Milosevics of the world come and go," Ivanov declared; "they should not get in the way of the relationship between Russia and the United States." Albright countered that as long as Milosevic thought Russia would protect him, he had no reason to halt ethnic cleansing, "The way to get the bombing stopped is simple, Igor. Milosevic has to stop his military offensive, pull back military and security forces to preoffensive positions, and agree to negotiations based on the Rambouillet text." Ivanov did not think such a proposal was simple at all and again insisted that time was running out. He also made clear that he could potentially lose his job because of his inability to stop the bombing. "You won't like my successor," he intoned. The two spoke again the next day, March 29. President Yeltsin had announced that he was dispatching an unusually high-level team to visit Belgrade: Prime Minister Primakov, Defense Minister Sergeyev, Foreign Minister Ivanov, and the head of Russia's Foreign Intelligence Service, Vyacheslav Trubnikov. The group would spend several hours in Belgrade, and then Primakov would travel to Bonn to meet with German Chancellor Schroeder. Ivanov said his meeting with Milosevic was built around two goals: "to stop the air strikes and to get the peace process started." The U.S. secretary of state underscored that it would be "very regrettable if the Russian trip to Belgrade was handled in a way that gave the impression Moscow was taking Milosevic's side." "Russia is not taking sides, we are pursuing our interests. Do you want us to just watch the NATO bombing continue without doing anything?" complained an exasperated Ivanov. Albright reiterated that there would be no talks or bombing pauses while the killing continued in Kosovo. Ivanov claimed that the reports of tens of thousands of people fleeing Kosovo were overdramatized and stressed that he would push for the return of international monitors to Kosovo, a reduction in the Serb military presence, and a return to negotiations. Albright questioned the timing of the trip, leading Ivanov to protest that Washington was "only interested in continuing the bombing." Albright countered that

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Russia should spend more time getting "Milosevic to stop his aggression" and less "pressuring NATO to stop the air strikes." The dynamic between the two foreign ministers was difficult. Albright was engulfed in a political and diplomatic firestorm in Washington, as her handling of the Kosovo crisis was being greeted by a withering crossfire of criticism from fellow administration officials, the military, the Allies, and the press. If anything, this made Albright dig her heels in further. She made little effort to cast her arguments in a way that would help the Russians get out of the political corner into which they had painted themselves. For his part, Foreign Minister Ivanov had limited authority to make decisions and was determined to look tough. The result: Their discussions quickly became like "an old comedy routine," as a senior State Department official observed, with Ivanov playing "the hen-pecked husband saying, 'Madeleine, Madeleine, but Madeleine,' as she kept hitting him over the head."

Primakov Visits Belgrade On March 30, Primakov, Sergeyev, Trubnikov, and Ivanov traveled to Belgrade to meet with President Milosevic. Russia was trying to seize the diplomatic initiative, a move that set off a frenzy of discussion within the Alliance and triggered great concern that the Russians would emerge from Belgrade with minor concessions and quickly call for a bombing pause. Primakov was trying to exploit growing international appeals for NATO to initiate an Easter break in air strikes, either the Western holiday falling on April 4 or the Orthodox Christian Easter on April 11. The fact that the Russian defense minister and the head of the intelligence services were included in the delegation raised the troubling possibility that Moscow was also contemplating direct intelligence and military assistance to Belgrade if peace overtures fell through. Albright and her fellow foreign ministers dedicated a great deal of time to handling the Easter issue, and in the process it became obvious that NATO needed to better define its political objectives. The Italians and Greeks both wanted to halt air strikes for one of the Easter holidays. Italy's chief of defense had warned General Clark that the Italian government might only be able to sustain bombing for several more days. Adding further pressure, Pope John Paul II, American evangelist Pat Robertson, and the heads of the Or-

MISADVENTURE * 19

thodox Church called for a break in air attacks around the holiday. The French had also raised the matter, but French Foreign Minister Vedrine had been forthright in acknowledging the downsides of such an approach. Both the United States and Great Britain were adamantly opposed to any let up, and National Security Advisor Sandy Berger explained why: "We were afraid of a pause. Based on the Bosnia experience we knew that once there was a pause, even if there was an automatic snap back, it would be very difficult to get planes back up in the air." His deputy, Jim Steinberg, echoed those sentiments. "A lot of the strategy during the early part of the war revolved around shoring people up and trying to figure out how not to make Easter an artificial brake on the campaign's momentum." The issue of a pause came up again and again in the conversations between the core NATO foreign ministers. Italian Foreign Minister Lamberto Dini, stressing the religious significance of the holiday, repeatedly championed an Easter respite. Finally, according to Western diplomatic officials, German Foreign Minister Joschka Fischer said pointedly, "You know, Lamberto, it would be an odd kind of Christianity that would pause bombing for several days so that other Christians could kill Muslims." With that trenchant analysis, the issue of a bombing pause was temporarily pushed to a back burner. During six hours of talks with the Russians in Belgrade, Milosevic expressed confidence the NATO offensive would soon crumble under its own weight. Primakov emerged from the session with a modest token from Milosevic. The Yugoslav president had agreed to pull back "some" of his forces and would guarantee the rights of Kosovar Albanians if bombing was stopped. Upon meeting with German Chancellor Schroeder in Bonn, Primakov declared that Milosevic was "ready, after the cessation of attacks, to find a political solution to all problems." Primakov added that Milosevic was willing to enter a dialogue with Kosovar Albanians and "create the conditions for the return of all peaceful refugees." Chancellor Schroeder held firm, saying that the proposals from Milosevic provided "no basis" for progress and calling the Serbian offensive in Kosovo genocide. Ivanov, speaking again with Albright after returning to Moscow, said he was "disillusioned" by the response from the Western powers. "Does NATO want to continue fighting and occupy Kosovo and separate it from Yugoslavia? You tell us to find a solution, and then you make harsher demands." Albright claimed that NATO did not want Kosovo's independence but also

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said, "NATO cannot stop the bombing until Milosevic stops ethnic cleansing, withdraws his forces, and agrees to international monitoring forces." "Milosevic claimed to be unsure who was killing the Albanians while the bombs fall," suggested Ivanov. "Do you think the Albanians are killing themselves?" fired back Albright. Since the Russians had announced the day before that they would be dispatching at least one, and perhaps several, military reconnaissance ships to the Aegean to monitor the conflict, Albright warned that there would be grave fallout if the Russians shared intelligence information with the Yugoslavs. Ivanov maintained that the ships would only be gathering information, not sharing it with the Serbs. However, Izvestiya reported that the Russian government was studying the possibility of sending air defense experts and military advisors to Yugoslavia in "the near future." In an April 1 letter to Clinton, Yeltsin suggested that NATO's actions threatened "to grow into a great calamity, and not only for the Europeans." Yeltsin instructed Foreign Minister Ivanov to seek to convene an emergency meeting of the G-8 foreign ministers. The Clinton administration was nervous about the prospect of such a meeting, and Albright told Ivanov that any such session would have to "deliver a meaningful and productive outcome." The United States did not want to convene a meeting to debate the merits of the air campaign. Albright also took pains to point out that Russia had supported many of the elements of NATO's current demands during the run-up to the conflict, such as full access for humanitarian organizations, free movement of refugees, and a progressive withdrawal of Serb forces from Kosovo. Ivanov observed that total withdrawal of Serb forces was "the most difficult of those questions. If all the military units from one side are removed, only the KLA will remain. This amounts to saying goodbye to Kosovo." The Russian foreign minister wanted the KLA disarmed and said progress would be difficult while Belgrade feared a NATO ground invasion. Albright argued that an international peacekeeping force could ensure that neither Milosevic's forces nor the KLA took advantage of the situation on the ground. She assured Ivanov, "The president has no intention of introducing ground forces into Kosovo." "While there might not be any intention at present, there is no telling what the mood will be in the future about ground troops, so it is difficult to persuade Milosevic to withdraw," replied Ivanov.

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At NATO headquarters, the United States and Great Britain were having difficulty getting France and Germany to agree to streamlined targeting procedures for General Clark, much less planning for a ground war. German Foreign Minister Fischer lamented to his colleagues that many Germans felt "NATO was bombing without any political initiative," while the Russians were trying to find peace. Fischer also noted that most Germans wanted a clarification of the Alliance's political goals. With the refugee situation growing increasingly severe—there were 200,000 people on the border by April 2 and between 100,000 and 200,000 more headed in that direction—the Germans made it clear that they would have a hard time saying no to the Russian proposal for a G-8 meeting. Fischer wanted the Alliance to forge a coordinated strategy for talks with the Russians and firmly establish NATO's bottom line. It was not until April 2—ten days into the bombing campaign—that NATO attacked its first targets in the heart of Belgrade, destroying the largely deserted ministry of interior headquarters. The decision to "go downtown" came only after intensive deliberations in Washington among that national security team and discussions between President Clinton, Prime Minister Blair, and French President Jacques Chirac. The uneasy consensus: Bombing had to be ramped up in an effort to get Milosevic to sue for peace. Yugoslavia's oil refineries, bridges, and trains were now fair game as NATO dispatched more ships, planes, and weapons. General Clark was realizing how difficult getting target approval would become. As he put it, "Every target—headquarters buildings, communications towers, ammunition storage sites, and military maintenance facilities—was, in one way or the other, likely to become controversial." General Clark complained that the first week of NATO bombing was marked by twenty-four-hour days, constant arguments, and repeated calls by officials at NATO and in Washington eager to stop the bombing. Clark's frustration was stark as he decried trying to manage a war with "no guidance, no leadership, and no direction to speak of." Clark was told by a senior officer at the Pentagon, "I don't know where this is going, to tell you the truth, Wes. They're looking for a way out back here." Clark added, "I was asking for Apache helicopters, I was asking for ATACMs missiles, I was asking for more aircraft, I was asking for approval to strike targets. I wasn't getting anything." Clark was being asked to meet four separate, and sometimes contradictory, objectives: slowing Serb forces in the field, minimizing collateral

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damage, maintaining alliance cohesion, and incurring almost no casualties. Three of his four benchmarks were defensive, not offensive, in nature. The European and U.S. military officers charged with carrying out the air campaign were acutely discomfited. The deliberative and risk-averse approach foisted on them by civilian authorities was counter to their best instincts of how to wage war. Although NATO had overwhelming military superiority, its officers found they could bring little of this advantage to bear. Milosevic's police and army were adept at dispersing their forces and using civilians as shields. Although NATO controlled the skies, it remained reluctant to unleash the sorts of wholesale bombing that commanders thought would force Milosevic to yield. The Pentagon had again been propelled into a nether-war, where neither all-out combat nor total victory was on the table. With the Russian push for a G-8 meeting, as well as continuing calls for a bombing pause, NATO was vulnerable in one important respect: the conditions for ending the bombing were still up in the air. Indeed, the Alliance's objectives were remarkably ill defined. "There had been a lot of work but the demands had never been crystallized," Jim O'Brien observed. Milosevic seemed unlikely to accept the Rambouillet agreement as a whole, and the agreement itself was no longer relevant given the scale of violence and expulsions in Kosovo. In addition, a simple cease-fire would not effectively address the situation on the ground and would leave Milosevic in a better position than when the war began. During the first ten days of bombing, NATO issued a series of conflicting and poorly coordinated statements regarding its demands. There was talk of returning civilian monitors to the province, calling for a cease-fire, and putting a no-fly zone into place. However, as the immensity of the refugee crisis became clear, it was obvious that the nature of any international peacekeeping force in Kosovo would have to be far more robust than previously planned. It would no longer be a matter of deploying lightly armed monitors to keep an eye on two feuding groups. International peacekeepers would have to create sufficient security that refugees would actually feel safe returning. If refugees did not return, Milosevic would have won the battle of Kosovo. This hard reality dictated an approach quite different than embodied in the failed Rambouillet accords. The daily conversations between Paris, Bonn, London, Rome, and Washington were instrumental in helping forge NATO's central demands. Again, the Germans played a key role. Jim O'Brien explained, "It was through these

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conversations that German Foreign Minister Fischer first proposed the formula—Serbs out, NATO in, the refugees allowed to return—that became the core of the objectives." On April 3, the five foreign ministers finally released a statement spelling out NATO's demands. Saying they wanted to ensure a "peaceful, multi-ethnic Kosovo in which all its people live in security," the ministers stressed that this could only be achieved by the "return of all refugees and therefore the deployment of an international security force, the withdrawal of Serb military, police, and paramilitary forces, and putting in place a political framework for Kosovo on the basis of the Rambouillet accords." NATO was now committed to securing these goals and had accepted that there should not be a let up in bombing until they were achieved, a crucial step in maintaining Alliance solidarity. While lacking nuance, the demands were blessedly straightforward. Though this was a welcome and overdue step to clarify NATO's aims, many quickly accused the Alliance of going soft, mainly because the statement did not demand that NATO lead the peacekeeping effort—even though the ministers themselves widely recognized that only a NATO-led force would be effective. Further, many were concerned that NATO was no longer insisting that Milosevic sign on to the full text of the Rambouillet accords. However, the complex administrative arrangements of the Rambouillet accords were irrelevant as tens of thousands of Kosovar Albanians were forced from their homes every day. A maelstrom of rape, arson, and murder raged across Kosovo, and NATO was finally circling the wagons.

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2

CHAPTER

Picking Up the Pieces

Blame to Go Around During the first several weeks of the war, there was a general sense that the State Department had blown it and that nobody should trust its judgment. With military operations off to a shaky start, the Clinton administration wisely avoided public finger-pointing, but the situation behind the scenes was bruising. "I am getting killed in these meetings," confided Secretary Albright to an associate. Fellow administration officials were telling the hawkish secretary of state, "You misjudged this. You said Milosevic would take the deal; he won't take the deal. You thought he would bow down; he won't bow down. Now we have this humanitarian crisis." The mood among the national security team was grim, and nobody wanted to take the fall for a war that was threatening to end in disaster. In a steady stream of competing newspaper leaks, the Pentagon and the Central Intelligence Agency sought to pin the blame firmly on the State Department, leading one official to complain, "Basically every colonel and GS13 analyst claimed to have known exactly what was going to happen with the diplomatic end game and the expulsion of the Albanians. So I went back and read everything and there was nothing to suggest that it was true." The State Department was slow to defend itself and soon found itself being 25

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squeezed out of the policy process. There were steady grumblings among U.S. military officers: It was easy for Albright to be tough when they had to take the risks. The State Department had not been alone in blowing it. The Joint Chiefs of Staff, despite whatever reservations they may have later professed, had unanimously agreed to initiate air strikes. The intelligence community, while noting that Milosevic would likely step up counterinsurgency efforts against the KLA, had not predicted that Milosevic would stand firm against an escalating air campaign. One agency assessment from January 1999, made public in April of that year, concluded of Milosevic, "After enough of a defense to sustain his honor and assuage his backers, he will quickly sue for peace." Most of the national security team assumed that since Milosevic had been willing to bargain after military pressure in October of 1998, he would do so again. In a brilliant piece of press backgrounding, some of the other agencies had even begun to refer to the bombing as "Albright's war." It was a tag that stuck. The intense internal jockeying was mild compared to the savage condemnation that was quickly unleashed by the press and other critics. Richard Perle, a fiercely conservative former Reagan administration official, argued that President Clinton had assembled "the worst foreign policy team since the Second World War." Lewis MacKenzie, the Canadian general who had been in charge of UN troops in Bosnia in 1992, argued that NATO's strategy in Kosovo would "be used for generations as an example of how not to wage a war." Former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger groused, "The formative experiences of the Clinton administration's key personnel were either in the trenches of the Vietnam protest movement, or in presidential campaigns—or both." He continued, "Suspicious of the role of power in foreign policy, they use it ineffectively and without conviction." Kissinger insisted there was no clear national interest in Kosovo but maintained that since NATO had placed its credibility on the line, it had to prevail. As TIME Magazine described it, critics saw Albright's war "as the latest example of an incoherent foreign policy driven by moral impulses and mushy sentiments, one that hectors and scolds other nations to obey our sanctimonious dictates and ineffectively bombs or sanctions them if they don't." Others wondered why the United States was damaging relations with great powers such as Russia and China at the expense of events in an inconsequential corner of the Balkans. British author Hugo Young was almost lyric

PICKING UP THE PIECES * 27

when he suggested that Kosovo represented a "slow disintegration of American purpose." Some directly blamed NATO for the growing refugee crisis. As Deputy Secretary of State Strobe Talbott professed: We felt a little bit as though not only had we underestimated Milosevic's tenacity, but his smarts as well. The way in which he launched Operation Horseshoe was quite clever. He made it appear as if the ethnic cleansing of Kosovo was a consequence of NATO bombing rather than the cause of NATO bombing. This was outrageous and wrong of course, but it had a superficial plausibility that made it very good tactics. For an administration savvy in public relations, the Clinton team was caught off-balance by the refugee crisis. Yet, the intense public criticism had an important unanticipated benefit for NATO in that it created recognition that any outcome short of clear victory would inflict a heavy political toll, and few understood raw politics better than Bill Clinton. By driving such large numbers of refugees out of Kosovo, Milosevic had made it far easier to justify the escalating use of force—even for those Allies uncomfortable with coercion. Numerous Alliance officials cite exactly the same image—that of refugees being loaded aboard railcars and its stark similarity to the atrocities of World War II—as the moment when they realized there was no turning back. On April 6, the voluble and occasionally fiery-tempered national security advisor, Sandy Berger, outlined some of the choices President Clinton would face in the weeks ahead. Perhaps more so than any other member of the Clinton foreign policy team, Berger was finely attuned to his president's approach to the world: pragmatic more than ideological, deeply political, and shaded by a lawyer's careful sense of logic and restraint. Good or bad, Berger was Clinton's foreign policy alter ego. Berger was concerned that Milosevic would mount a "peace offensive" by using a partial withdrawal of his forces or the declaration of a cease-fire in an attempt to secure a bombing pause on Orthodox Easter. While Berger was pleased that the foreign ministers had reached agreement on a basic formula—Serb military out, international security presence in, refugees allowed to return home—he argued that NATO had to establish a more formal set of demands to protect against pressures to accept a half-baked deal. The national security advisor also outlined some of

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the steps that would sweeten the pot for Belgrade, including demanding less than a total withdrawal of its forces from Kosovo, putting off final discussions of Kosovo's political status to a later date, establishing ethnic cantons, or tinkering with the composition of the peacekeeping force while ensuring that NATO remained "at its core." Having seen the bitter inadequacies of a UN peacekeeping force during the worst days of the Bosnia war, Berger was adamant that the command and control structure for any peacekeeping effort in Kosovo had to be dominated by NATO—not the United Nations. The Clinton administration began looking at its options if the air strategy did not succeed. They considered a range of alternatives: arming the KLA, creating a de facto partition of the province, or carving out safe havens in southern Kosovo. They also considered a long-term containment strategy where NATO would ratchet down air strikes, impose economic sanctions, and create a no-fly zone similar to the one in place in Iraq. In addition, they also considered a ground invasion. The National Security Council staff churned out innumerable papers that were discussed and presented to the president. President Clinton's usual response: "We need to hold firm. We need to stay the current route and see if that succeeds." However, it was also clear that even seven years into his presidency, Clinton was still uncomfortable exercising U.S. military force. The only group that had remained immune to Clinton's charms was the Pentagon. In the end, Berger argued that the military campaign would only be judged a victory if it met two central goals: providing a secure environment in Kosovo while allowing the people of the province substantial self-governance. He insisted that intensifying the air campaign was the only sound course of action and, by doing so, rejected the other alternatives. It did not take long for fears of a peace offensive by Belgrade to crystallize. On April 6, Kosovar Albanian leader Ibrahim Rugova, who had been placed under house arrest by Yugoslav forces in Kosovo, was strong-armed into releasing an "agreement" with Milosevic. The "joint cease-fire declaration" announced Belgrade's intentions to unilaterally cease operations against the KLA in keeping with the "greatest Christian holiday, Easter." Belgrade also declared that Rugova and the Yugoslav government would begin discussions on political agreement and Rugova would work with the Red Cross to establish a program for refugee returns. Many speculated that Milosevic, having

PICKING UP THE PIECES * 29

drained Kosovo of hundreds of thousands of ethnic Albanians, was now eager to declare victory and return to the negotiating table. The day before, on April 5, the U.S. defense attache in Dublin had received a similar proposal from Yugoslav authorities. The Yugoslavs would agree to resume negotiations between Milosevic and Rugova with representatives from three neutral countries designated by the UN Security Council. The Yugoslavs would then commence a cease-fire, allow access for relief workers, and release the three captured U.S. servicemen to the Vatican. The Clinton administration quickly rejected both the public and private overtures from Belgrade, with NATO calling the offer "absurd" propaganda. The Alliance's swift response to Milosevic's proposal underscored how important it was that NATO had reached at least a basic agreement regarding the demands on Belgrade. Bombing would not stop without a troop withdrawal, the deployment of peacekeepers, and all refugees allowed to return home. While Berger and many others remained convinced that the air war remained the best way to secure NATO's goals, a small but vocal minority was emerging in favor of reopening the debate on ground troops. Behind closed doors, General Clark and British Prime Minister Tony Blair aggressively advocated that ground troops planning move forward, despite the vociferous opposition of the Pentagon and any number of European Allies. By April 8, the senior leadership of the State Department also unanimously weighed in for going ahead with ground troop planning. Deputy Secretary of State Strobe Talbott, a former journalist and longtime Russia hand, argued to both Berger and Albright, "I know how hard it is, including with our allies, who are praying that we can avoid ground troops . . . but if the choice were between ground troops and accepting a weaker, more ambiguous, half-a-loaf outcome, I believe our first principle would argue for ground troops. And by the way, given a choice between taking over Kosovo and going all the way to Belgrade, I'm for the latter: get it over with, and get the son of a bitch." It was an opinion that Secretary Albright shared. Two of Secretary Albright's other senior advisors—Tom Pickering, the undersecretary for political affairs, and James Dobbins, the department's special advisor on Balkan affairs—also advocated moving forward with planning for a ground war. Pickering, the State Department's highest-ranking career officer and a seasoned veteran of some of the world's toughest diplomatic posts, came to the decision reluctantly, while Dobbins did so with enthusiasm. Pickering's unease was, in part, a product of his discomfort with the

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possibility that U.S. forces would have to drive all the way to Belgrade. Such a reality would "alienate many Serbs for a long period, prove costly, and be divisive among our Allies and others, including the Russians." However, Pickering ultimately felt that there was "no other certain or near-certain alternative at hand." Dobbins counseled, "Until we take the plunge on ground troops, any efforts at a negotiated settlement can be no more than delaying or diversionary tactics, intended to occupy the Allies and placate the Russians. Only once the threat of a ground force is real can we expect our diplomatic efforts to produce real movement in Belgrade, Moscow, and New York." Dobbins saw ground troops as the only strategy under consideration that had a good probability of achieving NATO's "minimum objectives quickly and cleanly," and he pushed to have a decision on ground troops made within ten days, so that the matter could be resolved before a NATO Summit convened later that month. At a White House Principals Committee meeting on April 8, Berger suggested that unless NATO was willing to commit to a full-scale ground war it needed to actively pursue a diplomatic solution to the crisis, and he made clear that this was his preferred option. The war had driven the gruff Berger to a terrible pace: eighteen-hour days, a bad diet, and a constant stream of telephone calls from early in the morning until late at night. Close to 400,000 refugees had now been pushed out of Kosovo, and both Macedonia and Albania were teetering badly. Secretary Albright noted that it would be difficult, both in terms of diplomacy and public opinion, to engage with Milosevic directly, and the core NATO ministers had agreed two days before to try to secure greater Russian engagement in the diplomatic efforts. There was a general sense that giving Moscow a greater diplomatic role would help minimize Russian domestic outrage and pave the way for the eventual passage of a UN resolution that imposed a settlement upon Milosevic. Jim Dobbins argued that while Moscow might not be able to deliver Belgrade, it could deliver the Security Council, and a council resolution embodying NATO's principles for a settlement, even somewhat watered down, could be a deal worth making.

Engaging Russia Trying to get Moscow to support NATO's demands would be no easy task. With the military campaign struggling, public dissent rising, and many Alii-

PICKING UP THE PIECES * 3 1

ance members expressing discomfort with the course of the war, Moscow was in no mood to compromise. Russian hardliners were convinced that the Alliance had stumbled into a trap. On April 4, Easter Sunday for Christians in the West, Ivanov sent Albright a letter asking that a meeting of the G-8 foreign ministers be convened without delay. He argued that without the consent of the Yugoslav leadership, peacekeepers in Kosovo were "out of the question." In reaction to the Russian call for the emergency G-8 meeting, it was agreed to convene representatives from the Contact Group—Russia, the United States, Germany, Great Britain, France, and Italy—in Brussels on April 7. The Russians refused to call it an official Contact Group meeting, saying that such a gathering was impossible while NATO's "aggression" was ongoing. Instead, the session would only be "a meeting of a group of states." On April 6, Vice President Gore and Prime Minister Primakov spoke for some forty minutes in advance of the meeting, with Gore reiterating NATO's bottom lines and noting that while he did not want bombing to go on any longer than necessary, Milosevic had to give in. Primakov argued that NATO was pushing Milosevic in the wrong direction. Gore raised a more pressing matter: The United States had received indications through a number of channels that Russia was prepared to send military equipment and share intelligence with Belgrade. A Russian intelligencegathering ship was already headed for the region, and Moscow had announced on April 5 that that it would be shipping 120 trucks carrying nine hundred tons of "humanitarian assistance" overland, through Hungary, to Yugoslavia. While Russia's rhetoric had been hot, its national response to the bombing had been quite restrained. Direct military assistance to Belgrade would sharply escalate the conflict and drive a fundamental wedge between Russia and NATO. Vice President Gore repeatedly asked for assurances that Moscow would not provide aid to Belgrade, making clear such a move would devastate the U.S.-Russian relationship. This was basically a threat: the spigot of Western financial assistance propping up the Russian economy could easily be cut off. Primakov, never the most communicative, was disturbingly noncommittal on the matter. His resounding silence deeply perturbed the U.S. national security team, particularly given that Primakov was seen as a cold warrior willing to use whatever Machiavellian means he viewed necessary to blunt U.S. influence in Europe. On April 7, the Russian Duma adopted a resolution urging President Yeltsin to supply Belgrade with weapons. The measure passed 279-34—a

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powerful demonstration of the general sentiment toward NATO in Moscow. Yeltsin's presidential spokesman Dimitri Yakushkin responded by insisting President Yeltsin felt the conflict in Yugoslavia could not be resolved militarily and that arms shipments would mean "a slow introduction of Russia into the war," leading to an "inevitable escalation of the conflict." However, two days later, Yeltsin himself warned that NATO should not push Russia toward a military response; "Otherwise, there will be a minimum of a European war or maybe even a world war." The same day, former Russian Deputy Prime Minister Anatoly Chubais told U.S. Ambassador Jim Collins in Moscow that if the bombing continued it could result in "irreversible structural changes in the domestic Russian political scene," clearly suggesting that the Communists and other reactionary forces could exploit swelling anti-Americanism. Chubais warned that the introduction of ground troops would have "catastrophic consequences," with Russia being left no choice but to offer Yugoslavia both "volunteers and arms." Chubais had repeatedly told Western diplomats, "You're not just bombing Milosevic, but Russian liberals as well." Also on April 7, senior foreign ministry officials from the Contact Group countries met in Brussels for three hours. It was the first real gathering of Western and Russian diplomats since the collapse of the Rambouillet talks on March 19. The respective representatives at the Contact Group meeting were largely the political directors from the countries, but the United States had sent Deputy Secretary of State Strobe Talbott to Brussels, largely so he could meet with his Russian counterpart, Deputy Foreign Minister Aleksandr Avdeyev, on the margins of the meeting. (Russia has more than one deputy foreign minister, and Avdeyev was the highest ranking.) The lean, intellectual, and slightly patrician Talbott had served as the administration's leading Russia hand since 1993, and he spoke Russian well. He had arrived at his post in large part because of a close friendship with President Clinton dating back to their time as housemates and fellow Rhodes scholars at Oxford in the late 1960s. Talbott had served as the Washington Bureau Cheif and foreign affairs columnist at TIME Magazine for more than twenty years and written a number of books on U.S.-Soviet arms control before entering government service. He and Avdeyev, joined by a number of colleagues, sat down for a breakfast meeting at the Hotel Royal Windsor in Brussels. Avdeyev was an interesting character study. He strived to dress and act like a Western

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diplomat—often sporting a double-breasted Pierre Cardin blazer and Gucci loafers and usually speaking in soft tones. Yet under his carefully appointed, almost effete, appearance, lay an unreconstructed Soviet worldview. Avdeyev was not one to go beyond the talking points issued by Moscow, and he was not known as a problem-solver. Avdeyev was one of Talbott's least favorite interlocutors in the Russian government, and the deputy secretary viewed the Russian as little more than a snake oil salesman. Talbott had on more than one occasion joked that Avdeyev disproved the theory that "he had never met a Russian he did not like." The small breakfast meeting got off to a rough start as one of the Russian delegates spilled orange juice all over the table as he reached for a croissant. After some quick clean-up, Talbott began the session by starkly observing, "Part of the challenge is to see, at the end of this, whether the map of Europe still contains Yugoslavia." Talbott insisted that any solution had to "protect the fundamental rights of the Kosovar Albanians" by deploying international peacekeepers while seeking to preserve the borders of the current Yugoslav state. From the outset, Talbott was clear that the United States would "not be party to some sort of cynical partition plan that carves up Kosovo." Avdeyev was in a doctrinaire mood as he compared Kosovo to Afghanistan, saying that NATO should understand "the logic of entering war that you cannot get out of. Not everything will go as you predicted." In condescending tones Avdeyev suggested that the situation had become "a matter of face saving," adding, "We know what that's about; we used to be in the same situation." Avdeyev also claimed that Washington was "giving the Communists this big gift." In his soft voice and smarmy manner, Avdeyev tried to tell the Americans that he was going to save them. Talbott and Avdeyev also laid some more of the groundwork for their bosses—Secretary Albright and Foreign Minister Ivanov—who planned to meet in Oslo, Norway, to discuss the crisis less than a week later. Avdeyev pushed for an Orthodox Easter bombing pause as a gesture of goodwill, and the two discussed some of the mechanics involved in passing an eventual UN resolution as the means to resolve the conflict. Ignoring some of Avdeyev's more provocative statements, Talbott reiterated the broad strokes NATO would demand to end the bombing: withdrawal of Serb forces, deployment of peacekeepers, refugees allowed to return, and further talks on Kosovo's political status based on the Rambouillet accords. The teams then broke off the breakfast to begin the official Contact

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Group session at the German embassy, agreeing to meet again later in the afternoon. However, Avdeyev did not attend the Contact Group session, choosing to send a subordinate, Russian Ambassador-at-Large Boris Mayorsky. Tensions immediately surfaced. The French delegation was angered both that Avdeyev was not attending the meeting and that Talbott had met with him separately. The French were concerned that the United States and Russia would move discussion on Kosovo to a bilateral basis. Russian Ambassador Mayorsky presented the Russian position with a combination of cynicism, biting humor, and periodic flashes of anger. Mayorsky urged NATO to accept a Milosevic cease-fire proposal and suggested that any international presence in Kosovo would have to be largely humanitarian. The tensions at the gathering were only heightened when it became clear that Talbott was going to slip away from the meeting for an afternoon discussion with Avdeyev, leaving the French delegation apoplectic. Avdeyev and Talbott then met in the Russian embassy in Brussels. Avdeyev led off the session by telling Talbott bluntly, "I have the impression that the package you outlined earlier will not be accepted by Belgrade. It's not simply an impression; I'm convinced that your proposal won't be accepted. What will you do then? You're already building up forces. Are you going to bomb infrastructure, power plants, refineries for one week, two weeks?" "The core problem remains," Talbott replied. Russia's position is dictated by what Milosevic will and will not accept, but Milosevic has long since disqualified himself from being the arbiter of the solution. In fact, it is an open question to us whether we can reach a negotiated solution with Milosevic, but we are prepared to try. But we must do so on the basis of the conditions laid out by NATO. If Moscow insists that NATO bombing stop as a precondition for Milosevic meeting the demands, the process will go nowhere. As the meeting concluded, Talbott also delivered a clear warning regarding Russian military assistance to the Yugoslavs: "Alexander, this is an issue of life and death, especially for the United States and Allied personnel flying over Yugoslavia. As I've said before, this issue has the potential to ruin irreversibly the relations between us, as well as whatever chance we have to turn this situation to the benefit of the U.S.-Russian partnership." Avdeyev insisted that there was "no basis for suspecting cooperation," despite the direct evidence to the contrary.

PICKING UP THE PI ECES * 35 After the sessions, Talbott characterized Avdeyev's and Mayorsky's position to Washington in colorful terms: You crazy, short-sighted Americans have done it again. This is a new Vietnam. It's your Afghanistan. You don't have an exit strategy. We told you this was going to happen. You've created exactly what you said you wanted to deter. You've also acted in shameless disregard to Russia. You didn't take seriously our warnings that that your bombing the Serbs would stir up the ugliest and most dangerous passions inside Russia. Now in addition to having to worry about your military rampaging in the skies over Belgrade, we have to worry about our military going crazy and Zhirinovsky recruiting volunteers to go fight for our brother Slavs. U.S.-Russian relations, to say nothing of N A T O Russian relations, will never be the same. But we are as wise and forbearing and foresighted as you are foolish and impetuous and shortsighted; we are prepared to help you save face, to show you a way out of the dead-end where you've gotten yourselves stuck. While the N A T O and Russian positions remained far apart, there were growing efforts to forge a consensus between Russia and the West. T h e Germans had drafted potential language for a U N Security Council resolution, and Talbott felt that if the Russians could be persuaded to sign on to such a text and military pressure was maintained, Belgrade might accept an outcome that left Kosovo constitutionally inside Yugoslavia "while taking it administratively out from under Belgrade's control and puts it under the protection of the U N or some other mechanism." T h e April 7 Contact G r o u p meetings were followed by additional sessions of the G-8 political directors in Dresden on April 9 and 10 with Undersecretary of State T o m Pickering representing the United States and D e p u t y Foreign Minister Georgy M a m e d o v representing Russia. T h e political directors were trying to lay the groundwork for an eventual meeting of the G-8 foreign ministers. In a sidebar discussion with Pickering, Mamedov told Pickering that Russia understood that some form of international presence would need to be deployed in Kosovo, but Moscow was concerned about the nature of this force and the conditions under which it would operate. For example, Moscow preferred peacekeepers only be drawn from nations with which Belgrade still had formal diplomatic relations—meaning the major N A T O powers would not be on the ground. Russia still wanted a strong role for the United Nations and wanted Milo-

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sevic to approve any deal. Mamedov made clear that both Ivanov and Primakov were trying to limit Kosovo's "collateral damage" to the bilateral relationship but that NATO had unleashed dangerous reactions in Russia. Mamedov felt that Yeltsin had been personally and politically hurt by the bombing, and viewed it as undercutting his close bond with Clinton. The Russian domestic fallout from the campaign continued to be intense because "the Czar is powerless to stop the war," as Mamedov put it. Yeltsin and Primakov saw the parallels to Chechnya as acute and wanted more to be done to disarm the KLA "terrorists." The deputy foreign minister added, "There are many enemies of better U.S.-Russian relations in Moscow, and Yeltsin needs our help to keep them from wrecking our mutual efforts. We can manage this with your help, but we may not be able to manage it without your help." Unfortunately, Mamedov would be effectively cut out of much of the decision-making on Kosovo. Ivanov himself directed Kosovo policy within the foreign ministry, and it would have been difficult for Mamedov to interject himself in the process since it was not an area of his expertise. Further, because Mamedov was Azeri by birth (Azerbaijan was a largely Muslim republic of the former Soviet Union), he was inclined to give issues dealing with Muslim separatists a wide birth. While Mamedov would keep his ear to the ground and periodically meet with U.S. officials, he had no line authority for policy and no political leverage and would not be able to be a major player in striking any accommodation between Moscow and Washington. Events in Russia highlighted the considerable tensions within its political system. Despite the situation in Kosovo—and in part because of it— Communists and nationalists in the Duma refused to delay the impeachment proceedings against President Yeltsin that were scheduled to begin later in April. Prime Minister Primakov also sent signs to the Communists that he might be willing to continue serving in his post even if Yeltsin were impeached—an overture that outraged the Russian president. On April 9, President Yeltsin signaled that he would not leave office without a fight as he told reporters, "Today Primakov is useful; tomorrow we'll see." President Yeltsin's behavior was becoming increasingly erratic. On April 9, after Yeltsin met with Gennadi Seleznyov, the Communist speaker of the Russian parliament's lower house, Seleznyov emerged to tell reporters that the Russian president had indicated that he would be retargeting Russian nuclear weapons at NATO capitals. Despite repeated calls from Western cap-

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itals for clarification, the Kremlin was slow to respond. Belatedly, Foreign Minister Ivanov was left to disavow the whole matter, saying, "No orders concerning missiles have been issued." In a sign of growing regional tensions, the Russian shipment of "humanitarian aid" was blocked at the Hungarian border on April 10, amid suspicions that Moscow was attempting to provide military aid. Russian officials insisted that President Yeltsin was "extremely disturbed" by the Hungarian decision. After emergency talks between Russian and Hungarian officials, Hungary allowed part of the convoy to pass through its territory while denying transit to five armored trucks and a large amount of fuel. The ability of the Hungarians—NATO's newest member—to interdict the Russian convoy glaringly underscored the reality of NATO expansion for Moscow.

Enter Chernomyrdin On April 10 at the White House, a Principals Committee meeting was convened. The issue of ground troops was front and center, although its champions were limited. Sandy Berger acknowledged that the president's statement at the onset of the war about having "no intention" to send in ground troops had put them in something of a rhetorical box. However, he also defended the inclusion of the language in the speech, noting that even the threat of a ground war would have set off a firestorm of protest and division within NATO. Secretary of Defense Cohen, the lone Republican in Clinton's cabinet, was of the same mind as Berger. There were serious divisions within the Joint Chiefs about pursuing a ground war and he later remarked, "There could have been substantial casualties. And if we had started to suffer substantial casualties, I am convinced it would have turned into quite a contentious issue up on the Hill." The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Gen. Hugh Shelton, suggested that the talk of a ground war was misguided. He argued that if the Alliance ramped up the bombing and went after more important targets—including more sites in downtown Belgrade—air power would prevail. Shelton spoke in colorful language of "wanting to put a lot of hurting on Milosevic's ass," saying that it was time to "take the gloves off." NATO's timid approach during the initial phase of the war had created substantial tension between

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Chairman Shelton, Secretary of Defense Cohen, General Clark, and their European military counterparts. Clark was requesting hundreds of more planes, and had reached the conclusion that the war could drag on for months and "might have to transform into a more conventional full-scale ground attack into Kosovo"—a view not shared by his superiors at the Pentagon. Clark was pushing to have a decision on ground troops made during April, so that a ground campaign could be launched by July. Berger suggested that there were three environments in which U.S. forces could enter Kosovo: first, a "permissive" setting resulting from a peace deal; second, the "nonpermissive" environment of a ground war; and, third, a submissive or "semipermissive" environment where some ground troops were simply needed to mop up the remnants of a Yugoslav army largely decimated by air attacks. Deputy National Security Advisor James Steinberg observed, "If we invade Yugoslavia, we're liberating Kosovo and can't give it back to Yugoslavia. If we do that, we own Kosovo, and sooner or later it's independent." This led the lanky, slightly shaggy-haired Steinberg, one of the younger members of the national security team, to make a pitch for arming the Kosovo Liberation Army, a prospect that made most of those in the room deeply uneasy—in large part because of the U.S. experience in arming Afghan resistance fighters during the 1980s. While the resistance fighters had proved a remarkably potent fighting force, Afghanistan remained destabilized and increasingly radicalized for years after the Soviet withdrawal, hardly a scenario NATO wanted to see in southeast Europe. Steinberg concedes, "I was the leading advocate of arming the KLA, because I thought a lot of the things that the ground option was designed to accomplish could be achieved a lot more quickly and effectively—and make Milosevic even more nervous—by moving in that direction and reserving the ground option. I recognized the downsides." Ambassador Richard Holbrooke expounded on the importance of opening up a better channel of communication with Belgrade and getting Milosevic some kind of message. He stressed the importance of finding a way to tie up Milosevic's considerable, and well-dispersed, financial assets. Holbrooke was of the mind that the Kosovar Albanians would continue fighting for independence for as long as it took and that they ran the risk of becoming a permanent guerilla resistance movement. "I strongly advocated planning ground-troop use, but opposed the actual deployment," Holbrooke claimed.

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"I repeatedly told both President Clinton and Vice President Gore that I never thought we would have to invade and that we should just keep bombing. I strongly supported escalation of the bombing and I was quite vocal about that." The group struggled over whether NATO should simply dictate terms to Milosevic or whether they should open negotiations with him. The administration was convinced that getting any kind of "yes" from Milosevic would be daunting. Albright discussed her efforts to lay the groundwork with the Allies for a UN Security Council resolution authorizing "all necessary means" to bring Milosevic to terms, thus giving UN sanction to a NATO ground war. However, many of the Allies were reluctant to even discuss ground troops, and the possibility of getting the Russians and Chinese to endorse such a proposal was remote. The choices were unpalatable. If the United States negotiated directly with Milosevic, many would see it as a sign of NATO's weakness. If the United States sought to dictate terms to Belgrade, it might have to back the threat up with a ground war. In the end, the national security team once again agreed that air attacks should be intensified. Sunday, April 11—Orthodox Easter—came and went without a bombing pause. NATO bombing was light during the day however, with Belgrade largely spared attacks, a fact the Alliance attributed both to the weather and to "relative restraint, mindful of the Orthodox Easter celebration." The Alliance would immediately resume attacks on downtown Belgrade the next day. The number of refugees that had been driven from Kosovo now swelled to over half a million people. With diplomatic efforts to end the war showing little progress, more and more people sought to interject themselves directly in the peace process—a phenomenon quickly dubbed "envoy envy" within the halls of the State Department. UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan informed the United States that he intended to appoint two special envoys for Kosovo who would be in frequent touch with Moscow, Washington, Brussels, and, eventually, Belgrade. Yugoslav foreign ministry officials had requested that Annan himself visit Belgrade and become more involved in diplomatic efforts. The last thing the Clinton administration wanted was the United Nations directly involved in negotiations, not trusting Annan to broker a deal that preserved NATO's bottom line. Indeed, senior Clinton administration officials had been deeply angered by a statement Annan had released on April 9 in which

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he had expressed distress with "the humanitarian tragedy taking place in Kosovo and in the region, which must be brought to an end." Administration officials viewed the secretary-general's statement as disturbingly equivocal on who was to blame for the refugee crisis. While Washington publicly welcomed Annan's call for Yugoslav authorities to stop expulsions, withdraw its military forces, and comply with the terms of earlier agreements, Annan had also suggested, "Upon acceptance by the Yugoslav authorities of the above conditions, I urge the leaders of NATO to suspend immediately the air bombardments." Washington did not appreciate Annan dictating terms for ending the conflict, and this further heightened U.S. hostility toward an active UN diplomatic role. However, several of the Allies, particularly the French, continued to insist that any settlement needed to be wrapped in the broad authority of the United Nations. The trick would then become how best to secure an eventual UN Security Council resolution without giving the United Nations a meaningful role in the diplomacy. On April 11, President Clinton wrote to Yeltsin, insisting that none of the actions in the Balkans were aimed against Russia, and welcoming assurances that Russia would not allow itself to be drawn into military conflict. The missive called for both the United States and Russia to work diplomatically to end the war and suggested that Annan's statement placed the onus on Milosevic to take concrete steps to end the war. Ambassador Jim Collins delivered Clinton's letter to Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Georgy Mamedov on April 12, and Secretary Albright was scheduled to meet with Russian Foreign Minister Ivanov the next day in Oslo, Norway. Mamedov, quickly reading the note, said that it was an "important letter" that would help pave the way for the meeting between the ministers, which Mamedov hoped would be a "watershed." Mamedov was pleased that Secretary-General Annan had released his statement, after what he said was much "plodding and prompting" from the Russians. Mamedov said that Russia did not want "to be gravediggers for the UN," and suggested that "personal chemistry" and "trust" would be paramount in Oslo. The Russian deputy foreign minister claimed that Russia was not clear on Washington's bottom line for getting the bombing stopped, and he wanted to see the two sides get down to specifics. He also made clear that Moscow would not "spit on itself" and simply reverse its positions at the United Nations to make things easier for the United States. No one

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should expect "miracles" with regard to Moscow's ability to deliver Milosevic. That same day, April 12, Secretary Albright visited NATO headquarters in Brussels and met her fellow NATO foreign ministers and a number of representatives from the frontline states surrounding Yugoslavia. Albright reassured her fellow ministers that they would be kept in close consultation regarding U.S.-Russian talks. Albright also met with General Clark. Albright was plain-spoken: "Well, Wes, it's up to you. I've done my best and they've called it my war, and they've turned on me. Now they'll turn on you." While Clark and Albright were both embattled, it was Albright's meeting with the frontline states that made the most lasting impression on the secretary of state and her team. Both Macedonia and Albania continued to be overwhelmed with refugees; their very survival as nations was in question. Macedonia was concerned about the refugees shattering their own delicate ethnic political balance, while Albanians welcomed the refugees with open arms but empty pockets. The frontline states expressed a number of concerns but remained resolute. A senior diplomat characterized their position as "Look, we need Milosevic gone. We need to enter Europe and we can't do it with this guy running his little Mordor on the Danube. We can't say it to the western Europeans and we can't say it to our own publics." Yugoslavia's neighbors were every bit as hawkish as Clark and Albright. The attitude of the frontline states would galvanize a number of officials in the State Department to more aggressively push for overthrowing the Milosevic government; a position on which Albright needed little encouragement. In an effort to jump-start diplomatic efforts, Albright and Foreign Minister Ivanov met on April 13 in Norway for over three hours of talks at a hotel near the Oslo airport. Ivanov continued to push for a bombing pause, a return to talks with Milosevic, and UN control over any peacekeeping presence. Albright held firm that the Alliance would not suspend bombing until Milosevic had agreed to all its demands, withdrawn his forces, and allowed a substantial NATO peacekeeping force to enter Kosovo—all positions that Ivanov insisted that Milosevic would never accept. In comments to the press after the session, both Ivanov and Albright put their best faces forward, insisting they had "narrowed their differences," with the secretary of state telling reporters the two had reached agreement on many of the basic principles for ending the conflict. However, the Russian foreign minister made clear

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that without "the agreement of the leadership of Yugoslavia," Moscow would not sign off on any peacekeeping operation. On April 14, in the wake of the Oslo meeting, some seventy-three Kosovar Albanian civilians were killed in an accidental NATO air strike on a refugee convoy within Kosovo. Serb officials rushed international film crews to the scene, and gruesome images of burning tractors and bloody body parts strewn across a rural road dominated the news. Was NATO only making it worse for the people it was trying to help? The NATO media operation sputtered as General Clark put out a series of contradictory statements, initially blaming the incident on the Yugoslavs and then later changing his story and admitting the incident was likely pilot error. The attack on the refugee convoy came hard on the heels of a NATO strike on a passenger train on April 12—captured in stark black-and-white gun camera footage—that had killed at least ten civilians. The Alliance faced increasingly hostile questions about its targeting procedures, and the daily Alliance military briefings were being dominated by calls for explanations of civilian deaths. Concerns were mounting about the humanitarian costs of an air campaign that seemed neither to be changing Milosevic's mind nor slowing his forces in the field. In Moscow on April 14, President Yeltsin launched an initiative to end the war with his unique personal stamp by appointing Viktor Chernomyrdin—Russia's bluff, beefy prime minister from 1992 to 1998—as his special envoy for the Balkans. It would prove to be an important breakthrough, although at the time it simply looked like one more person joining the parade of self-styled envoys trying to end the war. Chernomyrdin was an interesting choice, and Yeltsin selected him both because of his extensive experience in dealing with the United States and his close personal ties with Vice President Gore that had been cultivated through the GoreChernomyrdin Binational Commission, a body established in 1993 to foster long-term cooperation between Moscow and Washington. Chernomyrdin had enjoyed the longest tenure of any of the prime ministers to serve under Yeltsin, was the former head of Russia's natural gas monopoly, Gazprom, and was known for his street smarts and aggressive ability to bull things through Russia's unwieldy political system. Yeltsin explained that Chernomyrdin had "rescued me and helped me out many a time," and while Chernomyrdin's Western-leaning policies had often earned the antipathy of Communists in the Duma, Yeltsin believed that he was capable of delivering a peace deal.

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Yeltsin discussed his choice of Chernomyrdin: "I suppose I couldn't have trusted any other politician at that moment. Chernomyrdin had enormous weight and authority in Yugoslavia, in the West, and in the eyes of the American political elite. This unique combination allowed him to establish a negotiating line oriented toward a single goal: the rapid halt of military action." While his personal skills may indeed have been ideal, Chernomyrdin was by no means a Balkans expert. Chernomyrdin's selection was also driven by Russian domestic politics and Yeltsin's struggle to stave off the Communistled impeachment effort. A key part of this plan was to deflate the presidential prospects of Prime Minister Primakov, who was hostile to Yeltsin's reform agenda and leading in polls for the presidential election that was slated to take place early in 2000. The Russian newspaper Kommersant Daily argued that Yeltsin "effectively appointed a parallel premier" to rival Primakov by bringing Chernomyrdin back into government. It was no surprise that Communist Party leader Gennady Zyuganov complained, "This person made a mess of everything in the country, but today he is assigned to the worst hot spot." The Chernomyrdin appointment starkly highlighted the depth of estrangement between Yeltsin and Primakov as the Russian president tried to rally his political allies around him for the impeachment showdown. Many of the oligarchs loyal to Yeltsin were concerned by Russia's eroding internal and international situation and fearful that a lasting schism with the West would damage their considerable financial interests. Despite his many weaknesses, Yeltsin was again taking audacious steps to project an image of strength as he desperately tried to salvage his ties to the West. Chernomyrdin began reaching out almost immediately. He quickly sent word to NATO Secretary-General Javier Solana that he was interested in meeting. Chernomyrdin suggested that Russia was willing to push Belgrade to accept a military presence in Kosovo that involved NATO—although not under a NATO flag—and was confident that he could get Milosevic to accept such an arrangement. Solana informed U.S. officials of the contact, and they responded that had no problem with a possible Chernomyrdin meeting, since he was an official Russian envoy. Chernomyrdin and Boris Ivanovsky of the Russian foreign ministry then met in Moscow with the U.S. ambassador to Russia, James Collins, on April 16. Ivanovsky had worked in Kosovo with U.S. Ambassador William Walker as part of the Kosovo Verification Mission in the period before the war had

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erupted, and he was widely viewed by the Americans as having been assigned by Foreign Minister Ivanov to keep tabs on Chernomyrdin. Ivanov was anxious that Chernomyrdin would act independently of the foreign ministry and be too accommodating with the West. Chernomyrdin stressed that he wanted to find a constructive way forward and that he might visit Belgrade as soon as the following week. The eightyminute meeting was largely friendly, and Chernomyrdin emphasized that he was part of the larger Russian "team" working on Kosovo, although Prime Minister Primakov's name was mentioned only in passing. Chernomyrdin appeared surprised to learn the scope of the refugee problem in Kosovo and was taken aback to learn that close to a million people had been driven from their homes. He also indicated that he had spoken with the Yugoslav ambassador to Russia, Boris Milosevic (Slobodan's brother), who had taken a very hard line, particularly on the role of NATO in peacekeeping, and insisted that Belgrade could go no further than allowing "international observers" in Kosovo. In agreeing to continue consultations, Chernomyrdin stressed the importance of compromise and of finding solutions that created neither winners nor losers. Ambassador Collins was struck by the fact that Chernomyrdin did not call for an immediate end to the bombing. On April 17, Ivanov and Secretary Albright spoke on the telephone. Ivanov confirmed that they were considering sending Chernomyrdin to Belgrade, and he reassured the secretary that he and Chernomyrdin would "speak with one voice." Albright affirmed that Clinton would be placing a call to Yeltsin two days later, and noted that while talks had been constructive, they still had a way to go. Albright urged Russia and NATO to develop a unified position on the type of international security force that would have to be deployed in Kosovo, maintaining that as long as Russia did not agree to such a formula, "it was in effect prolonging the conflict." Ivanov, not surprisingly, pointed out that there were a number of factors prolonging the war, but cautioned that he could not speak to the composition of the peacekeeping force until some matters in Moscow had been resolved. In Macedonia, a very different and clandestine diplomatic initiative was unfolding. Ibrahim Rugova, the pacifist Kosovar Albanian political leader, still remained under house arrest by Serb forces in Pristina, Kosovo. Rugova, his wife, and their three children had been held since the end of March, with Serb police occupying their house. However, Milosevic had allowed Rugova's trusted aide and bodyguard Adnan Merovci to travel to Macedonia for

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a sort of weekend leave. On April 17, Merovci came to see the U.S. ambassador to Macedonia, Chris Hill, in Skopje. According to Merovci, more than fifty police had initially swept down on the residence, herding the family into the basement, giving the impression that Rugova and the others would be executed. After a tense four-hour wait, one of the Serb officers had told Merovci that they were there to "protect" Rugova. Milosevic had then used Rugova for propaganda purposes in a subsequent visit by the Kosovar Albanian to Belgrade for a photo opportunity and the announcement of a potential cease-fire. Milosevic had jokingly told Merovci that he would be the prime minister under President Rugova in a Serb-dominated Kosovo government. Rugova had remained passive in the face of such intimidation. Merovci felt that Milosevic had no grand plan for resolving the conflict and had allowed him to come to Macedonia simply to demonstrate to Yugoslavs that their president was pursuing peace. Yugoslav officials had asked Merovci to convince other Kosovar Albanian leaders in Macedonia to return to the province to discuss potential peace efforts—a prospect that Merovci knew had "zero percent" chance of success. From what Merovci had seen, it appeared Milosevic alone was guiding decisions on the war, and from his conversations with Yugoslav Deputy Prime Minister Nikola Sainovic and Serbian President Milan Milutinovic, they had seemed far less enthusiastic about continuing the war. Merovci had spoken with Sainovic on several occasions, although never privately, and Merovci had asked him if he had any message that he wanted to convey to Ambassador Hill. Sainovic quickly inquired if there was any indication from U.S. officials that they would like him to send such a missive. Merovci said that there was not, so Sainovic suggested that if Ambassador Hill had any message to relay, he should send a note via Merovci. Merovci was scheduled to return to Pristina several days later, and he stressed that his highest priority was to get Rugova out of Kosovo. The next day, April 18, Ambassador Hill called Deputy Secretary of State Strobe Talbott to discuss the Merovci meeting. Hill was an old Balkans hand and had worked closely in forging administration policy both at Rambouillet and Dayton. Hill had an extensive network of contacts in the region, and probably had the best feel for Serb politics and personalities of any State Department official. The slightly owlish-looking Hill had an exceedingly dry

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wit and was respected for his candid assessments and creative solutions to the region's problems. Hill asked if he should send a message back with Merovci. This was not the first time the Clinton administration was offered a back channel of communication with Belgrade, and it would not be the last. In early April, a deputy in the Russian State Duma approached U.S. Ambassador Collins in Moscow, maintaining that the Yugoslav embassy in Moscow, where Boris Milosevic was ambassador, had asked him to act as a secret intermediary with NATO to end the war. While that particular channel never materialized, it was the first of several signs that Belgrade was intent on reaching out and establishing direct links with Washington. Belgrade had also sent out a number of other feelers, and these lower-level signals were generally viewed in Washington as red herrings. The administration felt that if Milosevic were serious about entering direct negotiations, he would reach out to officials he knew well. Hill and Talbott, in consultation with Secretary Albright and National Security Advisor Berger, worked out the following formulation. Hill would send back a handwritten note to Yugoslav Deputy Prime Minister Sainovic, who had served as Milosevic's liaison with the earlier international Kosovo Verification Mission, suggesting that they keep the channel of communication open for future use and that Merovci could serve as a conduit. Hill's note stressed that the Yugoslavs should capitulate and that there was no chance they would prevail. While the interlude raised hopes in Washington that Milosevic's inner circle was starting to buckle, there would be no response from Sainovic.

Setting the Summit Stage As the war dragged on, a long-scheduled event suddenly took on new importance. On April 23-25 in downtown Washington the leaders of scores of countries were scheduled to gather for NATO's Fiftieth Anniversary Summit. Once planned as a grand gala with fighter jet overflights and black-tie dinners for forty heads of state, the war in Kosovo demanded a more somber tone. The potential for a major public rift among the Allies, particularly on the issue of ground troops, was of foremost concern. NATO would be in the global spotlight, and it could not afford to stumble. U.S. ambassador to NATO, Alexander Vershbow, remarked, "I think all the Allies recognized the need to use the summit to show unity, not disarray,

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and try to galvanize strategy. After the initial hopes of a rapid capitulation by Milosevic had faded, people realized we were in for the long haul and NATO could not accept anything less than victory. So everyone was receptive to the notion, which we had recommended, of changing the summit program." A war council was added on the first day of the meeting and blacktie dinners were canceled as the gathering took on a much more serious tone. It was far easier to trade business suits than to resolve the issue of ground troops. "The British were starting to put out that they wanted ground troops and the White House was apoplectic," a senior Clinton administration official explained. "They thought it undercut confidence in the air war's chances for success and forced them into a domestic discussion they didn't want to have." The White House had not even attempted to begin building public support for a ground campaign. British Prime Minister Blair was appalled by the lack of seriousness in the Alliance's approach to the conflict. The prime minister wanted NATO to attack higher-profile "regime targets" that would bring pain to Milosevic and his inner circle. Blair also wanted a smaller group of decision-makers to control Alliance targeting and planning, and most importantly, he wanted to see the plans for a ground invasion put back on the table. Blair's approach hit a nerve in Washington where officials remained deeply concerned about managing the downsides of the summit. Just when the debate on ground troops was gaining steam, the Clinton administration turned the discussion with the British into a strategy for how to best manage press relations for the two weeks running up to the summit—effectively slowing the decision on ground troops. Eventually, the deal worked out between Blair and Clinton was straightforward: Blair would tone down his rhetoric on ground troops, and the United States would have NATO Secretary-General Solana move forward with updating planning assessments for a potential ground campaign. A White House official admitted, "We spent a lot of time making sure ground troops were off the agenda at the NATO summit," adding, "This was also about perceptions in Belgrade and Moscow. We didn't want any hint that there was any division within the alliance." Prime Minister Blair was not the only one pushing hard for ground troops. General Clark remained convinced that the Alliance needed to win the war in Kosovo at all costs. The wiry, intense, former Rhodes scholar wanted to inflict maximum damage on Yugoslav forces using almost all means. He consistently argued that NATO needed to strengthen its forces,

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attack from more directions, and take greater risks to strike Yugoslav forces. Virtually from the onset of the conflict, Clark had supported moving Apache attack helicopters into the theater to hunt and destroy tanks and troop concentrations, but the plan became bogged down in an embarrassing series of logistical difficulties and concerns about possible U.S. casualties. The relationship between Clark and Secretary of Defense William Cohen had badly deteriorated as a result of their split on ground troops. The tensions between the Pentagon and NATO's military chief are always an issue. While General Clark's post has always been held by an American since General Eisenhower first held the command, it is a unique position in that the general is also the commander of the troops from other respective nations under his authority. As Vice President Gore's National Security Advisor Leon Fuerth pointed out, "One of the things the government had to get used to was that though supreme allied commander Europe (SACEUR) is an American officer, wearing an American uniform, he wears two hats. He could not function effectively as SACEUR if the Europeans thought he was immediately owned and directed out of Washington. This is perhaps the single most delicate element of the relationship." These natural institutional tensions were only exacerbated by the fundamental disagreements between Clark and his Pentagon colleagues over the conduct of the war. While Clark is an extremely intelligent man, he had become so singleminded that it threatened to undermine his sense of political judgment. As a result, the Pentagon, viewing Clark as a bull in the china shop, increasingly kept the general at arm's length—a dangerous reality in a time of war. Clark opined of President Clinton and Secretary Cohen, "Wouldn't they have been able to make better decisions, and have them better implemented, I thought, if they brought the commander into the high-level discussions occasionally?" Clark added that in the early days of the conflict, he did not discuss overall strategy with Secretary Cohen or President Clinton "at all." President Clinton's trying relationship with the military made it even more difficult for the White House to effectively adjudicate between a reluctant Pentagon and an overzealous Clark. The situation reached a point where British military officials felt compelled to slip notes to General Clark regarding conversations between President Clinton and Prime Minister Blair regarding the use of ground troops, fearing that the NATO commander would get a diluted account of the discussions through his normal chain of command. Clark made his frustration

PICKING UP THE PIECES * 49 with the Pentagon clear to several senior officials at N A T O . T h e general felt that the Pentagon was blocking him at every turn, and Clark had been involved in a series of frustrating late-night calls with his superiors in Washington. Some at N A T O even joked that Clark was being forced to wage a threefront war, simultaneously fighting the Serbs, the Allies, and the Pentagon. Losing any one of those fronts had the potential to cost Clark the war. General Clark repeatedly told congressional leaders visiting N A T O headquarters that he felt a ground invasion of Kosovo would go relatively swiftly and that planning for such an effort was the only sure way to secure N A T O ' s goals. Clark was convinced that N A T O ' s choices lay starkly between ground forces and defeat. His insistent appeals were a clear irritation to his superiors. Both General Shelton and Secretary C o h e n felt that a ground invasion would require a massive effort, whose very scale might make its implementation better postponed until the next spring. C o h e n had also pointed out, with some merit, that moving forward with ground troops could potentially split the Alliance. T h e frosty relationship between Clark and his superiors put the W h i t e H o u s e in an awkward position. A senior W h i t e H o u s e official acknowledged: We didn't seek to adjudicate, because I think it would have been a serious breach with General Shelton and Secretary Cohen, not too mention the chain of command. We accepted that. But on the other hand, to be quite candid, we also believed that there were a lot of things that General Clark was saying that needed to be heard, and we were not sure Cohen and Shelton were allowing them to be heard. So we didn't purely back-channel with Clark in the sense of talking to him directly. We had ways, particularly through General Ralston's [the Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff] connection with Clark, to get a somewhat less contentious view of what was going on out there. N A T O Secretary-General Solana spoke with U.S. officials in the run-up to the summit. T h e good-natured former Spanish foreign minister was widely regarded as pragmatic and effective, and his strong interpersonal skills, political savvy, and center-left credentials made him an ideal candidate to hold together N A T O ' s frequently divided membership. Ironically, as a young Socialist politician in the 1980s, Solana had opposed Spain's entry into N A T O . Solana was deeply concerned that General Clark would try to

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force the issue of ground troops to a head at the summit, opening a veritable Pandora's box that could sunder Alliance unity when it was most needed. U.S. officials assured Solana they would do their best to have Berger and Secretary Cohen restrain Clark. On April 17, just six days before the NATO Summit was set to convene, a small group of U.S. National Security officials gathered in the White House situation room. Secretary Albright, National Security Advisor Sandy Berger, his deputy, James Steinberg, the vice president's national security advisor, Leon Fuerth, Strobe Talbott, Jim Dobbins, and several others convened to review the Alliance's objectives. Working from a paper drafted by Dobbins the day before, the group agreed that there were four objectives on which NATO "could not compromise": Yugoslav police and military forces had to leave Kosovo; the Kosovar Albanian refugees had to be allowed to return; international peacekeepers had to be deployed; and the province should enjoy self-government, but not independence. While the objectives seemed clear, how to achieve them was not. Berger remained pessimistic about a ground invasion, fearing a long guerilla conflict with the potential to be a military and political debacle. But to those who knew him well there seemed to be a slight softening in his position. Indeed, on April 13, President Clinton had met with congressional leaders at the White House, and during the discussion he pointedly had not ruled out the possibility of a ground attack. Leon Fuerth, whose boss, Al Gore, was gearing up for a presidential run, was hostile to any decisions that would tilt the United States toward the use of ground troops. As Fuerth commented, "I advised the vice president that I thought the air campaign would prevail, and that we should stick it out. He agreed. Of course the longer it went on, the more vocal some people were becoming about the need to go to a ground campaign, so we began to at least think through what a ground campaign would look like without taking a decision to go forward with it." Fuerth insisted that a more robust bombing campaign, including attacks on key infrastructure targets, would bring Milosevic to the negotiating table, and avoid the need for a ground war. He remained convinced that Milosevic's willingness to get out of the war would be linked to growing Yugoslav public dissatisfaction and pressure from his own inner circle. Others at the meeting, while acknowledging the risks of a ground war, asked a simple question: What if air strikes didn't work? Albright was a known hawk on the subject, and she had repeatedly weighed in favor of plan-

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ning for ground troops. Jim Steinberg, the deputy national security advisor, also suggested that moving ahead with planning was a reasonable first step. Deputy Secretary of State Talbott argued that if their objectives truly could not be compromised, they had to be willing to use all the means necessary to secure those goals. This led to a discussion of putting forces into a "semipermissive" environment, where Milosevic's forces were largely defeated but ground forces were needed for mop-up operations. Once again the only consensus was that intensified air attacks should be given time to work. Despite the splits within the national security team, the ground troop option was inexorably gathering steam, primarily because every other alternative seemed so unattractive. The imminent NATO Summit triggered a flurry of diplomatic activity. On April 19, Foreign Minister Ivanov again lashed into NATO, calling the air campaign a "total fiasco" and referring to a refugee problem that "did not exist before March 24"—the day the air campaign began. Later that day, Presidents Clinton and Yeltsin spoke on the telephone for some forty-five minutes, their first conversation since the bombing started. Clinton, in the Oval Office, led off by noting that Kosovo was one of the greatest tests for the Europe they had worked together to achieve. Clinton welcomed Chernomyrdin's appointment as special envoy and suggested that Deputy Secretary of State Strobe Talbott engage as a counterpart to the Russian envoy. Yeltsin was calm, but in a foul mood, claiming that the developments of the previous weeks confirmed that the United States and NATO had "made a big mistake," that Milosevic would never capitulate, and that "instead of resolving the humanitarian problem, what has been achieved is a giant humanitarian catastrophe." Yeltsin also argued that the anti-American and antiNATO sentiment in Russia was growing "like an avalanche," and that great pressure was exerted on him to help Yugoslavia—particularly since NATO was seen as helping the Albanian fighters. Yeltsin insisted that Yugoslavia would not accept a military mission, especially a NATO-led mission, and suggested that "UN blue helmets" lead any peacekeeping effort. Clinton, while trying not to anger Yeltsin, emphasized how difficult it was for the Kosovar Albanians: "The Serb forces have burned all their villages, buried them alive, raped children, and there is no way they will come back without military protection." The U.S. president argued that NATO was the only force capable of effectively disarming the KLA, and he tried to reassure

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Yeltsin that he would not approve going into Kosovo unless the mandate included protecting the Serbs as well as the Albanians. The Russian president suggested that Milosevic and a leader from the Albanian community needed to enter direct negotiations to end the war and suggested that a bombing pause would demonstrate Clinton's statesmanship, setting off some eye-rolling among the advisers listening to the call in the Oval Office. Both men agreed to have Talbott fly to Europe to quickly meet with Chernomyrdin, and Yeltsin closed the conversation by noting that the Communists who wanted to send armaments and troops to Yugoslavia were assailing him: "The Communists are calling for an unleashing of a European and wo rid-wide war, and I am absolutely opposed to that." In a cabinet meeting after the call, Clinton expressed his frustration on the issue of ground troops. He felt painted into a political corner by his initial statement that he did "not intend to put our troops in Kosovo to fight a war." Clinton testily noted to Sandy Berger that if he went ahead with ground troops he would be seen as a liar, and if he did not, NATO might lose the war. Clinton had berated Berger a number of times over the initial disavowal of ground troops, although he had not questioned the wisdom of such an approach at the time. Berger accepted the browbeating with weary resignation. Both General Shelton and Secretary of Defense Cohen made a pitch for intensified air strikes and debated the merits of hitting the "rock and roll bridge" in Belgrade where crowds frequently gathered to protest the air campaign. Cohen argued that unless NATO was willing to strike such targets with greater vigor—and create greater psychological and military pressure on the Yugoslavs—it might well find that ground troops were the only option left. In Brussels, General Clark acknowledged a fundamental split between the United States and its European Allies: "The United States was increasingly committed to the idea of strategic strikes, going after the heart of Milosevic's power. The Europeans, or at least the French and a few others, were more interested in limiting the strikes to Kosovo, trying to hit the ground forces and avoiding actions that might antagonize or damage Serbia further." At the end of the meeting, Clinton's temper had abated and he turned surprisingly upbeat. "I happen to believe the air campaign will work. I may be Pollyannaish, but I think it'll come out all right." The president also insisted, "I don't want our successors to deal with this part of the world only when there are problems there."

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Despite the fact that the Pentagon now agreed some limited planning for ground troops should take place within NATO, the split between the Pentagon and Clark on the issue of ground troops was growing worse. On April 19, Clark pushed General Shelton on ground troops, expressing his hope that it would be an important behind-the-scenes topic of discussion at the summit. Clark felt that the troops needed to start deploying by June 15, and he emphasized that the issue would come up when he met at NATO headquarters with Prime Minister Blair the next day. Clark also inquired as to how he might contribute to discussions at the summit. According to Clark, this led a seemingly shocked Shelton to ask, "You're not coming to the summit are you?" Clark had long been scheduled to attend the event and it was certainly no secret. "Of course," replied Clark. "The SACEUR always comes to the summit, and besides if we are working the ground option behind the scenes, and there's some selling to do." "If that option is going to be sold, it will be sold by the president, not you," responded Shelton. A short time later, Solana called Clark, saying that he had heard from Sandy Berger that Secretary Cohen was uncomfortable with him attending the summit and felt that Clark was too busy to spare. Clark noted the split over ground troops, but since Clark was a NATO official as well as a U.S. military official, he had some latitude to go to the summit if Solana supported his attendance. Clark told the NATO secretarygeneral, "I feel I need to go." Solana replied, "Then I will support your decision, and I will inform Secretary Cohen." Clark would later admit, "Because I was coming in my NATO capacity, Washington did not feel it could simply order me not to attend. Had they done so, I would have had no choice but to remain in Belgium." Although Clark would indeed attend the summit, his chilly reception by the Pentagon, and Shelton's alleged lack of awareness about Clark's plans, were a clear indication of the depth of the estrangement. The Pentagon was doing its best to isolate Clark and his calls for ground troops. Increasingly, the two sides were simply talking and planning past each other, in what Clark called the "continuation of almost two years of tension" with the secretary of defense. Foreign Minister Ivanov spoke with Secretary Albright shortly afterwards,

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and confusion over official travel schedules was also a problem in Moscow. The Russian foreign minister was unsure about Chernomyrdin's travel plans or even his exact diplomatic mandate. Ivanov expressed concern that Chernomyrdin would be a loose cannon, answering only to Yeltsin and effectively cutting the foreign ministry out of negotiations. Ivanov insisted that any negotiated settlement be worked out between him and Albright, leading some State Department officials to joke afterwards that the Russian foreign minister was concerned that "Chernomyrdin would become his Holbrooke"—a reference to the strained relationship between Secretary Albright and the independent-minded Richard Holbrooke. Holbrooke, still awaiting Senate confirmation as U.S. ambassador to the United Nations, continued to work the phones from his home in New York and weigh in on policy. He repeatedly argued the merits of sending a message directly to President Milosevic through Greek intermediaries. Holbrooke recalled, "I wouldn't have been opposed to direct discussions with Belgrade, but if talks weren't with Milosevic, they wouldn't have led anywhere." However, Secretary Albright saw no utility in such talks and was concerned that Milosevic would view a direct overture as a sign of weakness. There still had been no response to the letter U.S. Ambassador to Macedonia Chris Hill had sent to Yugoslav Deputy Prime Minister Nikola Sainovic, and the Department had discouraged other communications with lowerlevel Yugoslav intermediaries whose credentials were weak. Given their deepseated personal rivalry, Albright was eager to keep Holbrooke out of the process. The last thing she wanted was "Albright's war" to end in "Holbrooke's peace." On April 20, Holbrooke informed Berger and Albright that he felt that Milosevic had badly miscalculated: "His dreams for rejoining Europe as a full-fledged and accepted member are now gone." As Holbrooke put it, Milosevic now understood that he would never again be the man of Dayton "or even be able to leave his country without fear of arrest. Milosevic must realize that he has crossed an invisible line and cannot get back again." Fated to spend the rest of his days isolated in Yugoslavia, "Milosevic," Holbrooke maintained, "has pursued a policy in Kosovo that will cause the Albanians the maximum pain in the short run, but doom him in the long-term." Holbrooke maintained that if the administration wished "to avoid being pushed by events into either defeat or invasion, the bombing must intensify—and continue until the Serbs change their position, preferably by

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changing their leader." While supporting preparations for a ground invasion, Holbrooke expressed concern that it was "a step from which there may be no exit." He insisted, "Our real goal, whether stated or not, must be a change in the leadership in Yugoslavia. While there is no hard information that suggests such an outcome, we should not preclude it." Holbrooke was also a realist: "while Milosevic's departure from power is the optimum outcome, policy must be based on the likelihood that he cannot be dislodged, at least not in the timeframe we seek, and it therefore may become necessary to negotiate with his regime once again. Thus the current administration position of remaining vague on the issue in public is correct." Holbrooke made it known that he was no fan of talks with Russia. "While we need to work closely with Moscow, it is a dream to think they will bail us out. In fact, giving them a central role in a negotiation would probably backfire, because they would support compromises that would be unacceptable. Our public rejection of these proposals could then increase the strain between us. In short, we should keep in constant and close communication with Moscow, but not let them become deeply involved in a serious negotiation—for the sake of the U.S.-Russian relationship." The agreement between Washington and London to update the assessment planning for ground troops also encountered some difficulties in the run up to the NATO Summit. The French had blocked an official effort to bring the matter to a formal vote, and, in the words of a senior U.S. official, "The French were strongly opposed to it, because they were scared to death of their public reaction to talk of a ground invasion." U.S. National Security Advisor Sandy Berger urged NATO Secretary-General Solana to move forward with updating the assessment under his own authority, which he did. This would allow both Clinton and Blair to point to the updating of ground assessments, as well as intensification of the air campaign, as examples of the Alliance's determination to prevail. Blair would secure an important step toward ground troops; Clinton would buy more time for air power. General Clark grudgingly admitted that the updated assessment was not "what I had hoped for," but he did see it as a positive development. On April 21 Secretary-General Solana told reporters that he had authorized NATO commanders to revise and update operational plans for a possible ground invasion of Kosovo. While Solana continued to insist that air strikes would work, and that NATO was still far from reaching a political decision to approve ground forces, updating the assessment was only "common sense."

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3

CHAPTER

The Shuttle Begins

Fifty Candles for NATO On April 21, President Clinton hosted a late dinner for Prime Minister Blair at the White House. Blair and Clinton were meeting at a critical juncture, because there were already starting to be substantial doubts about the campaign. There were voices in the United States, including Senator John McCain and others, pushing for a ground option, and a number of the European countries were getting quite shaky. Blair had just spent several full days at NATO headquarters, and had approached his visit to Belgium with rolled up sleeves. A White House official, comparing his attitude to that of a managerial expert, said Blair arrived ready to get to the root of the problems "like a McKinsie consultant." In his discussion with General Clark at NATO headquarters, Blair had asked for assurances that the Alliance would prevail in the conflict, and Clark had pushed for an accelerated planning and deployment timetable for ground troops. Blair shared that conviction as he arrived at the White House to discuss the issue with President Clinton. Blair protested that NATO was not functioning as an effective military force, expressed his frustration with the Alliance's committee approach to waging war, and made the point "that this was clunky machinery that was not operating on all cylinders." He was also irritated by the Alliance's public 57

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relations efforts, which he viewed as a disaster. Clinton agreed it was vital to deliver the right message to the public—something not happening as NATO's briefings continued to be dominated by discussions of collateral damage. The meeting occasionally turned testy as Blair tried to convince Clinton. Blair's frustration aside, the British were convinced that if they could work on the United States bilaterally, they could bring Washington along on the issue of ground troops. A White House official observed, "Most of us thought the ground troops issue would have been counterproductive at the summit, although Blair clearly disagreed, but most of us agreed that we needed a greater sense of conveying that we would do whatever it took to win." Clinton did his best to placate Blair without signing off on a ground war. Despite Blair's pleas, Clinton would not be pinned down. The U.S. president agreed that losing was not an option for the Alliance, but continued to assert that potential planning for ground troops should be kept in NATO channels and that more active air attacks could prevail. However, administration officials such as Secretary Albright and, increasingly, Sandy Berger, realized that if the air campaign did not achieve NATO's goals, the use of a ground force might be unavoidable. The meeting, while not resolving the ground troops issue, was key in narrowing the gap in the rhetoric being used by both the United States and Great Britain. Clinton and Blair agreed to put more operational resources into headquarters and to have the Pentagon detail a more robust planning staff to Brussels. It was agreed that the public affairs operation at NATO would be bulked up with additional staff from the White House and elsewhere. The two leaders developed a clear agenda for the summit, essentially dividing up the list of other NATO leaders that they would meet with individually, Blair half, Clinton half. The core strategy Clinton and Blair would sell to their fellow leaders would consist of updating the ground troops assessment, further stepping up air strikes, intensifying diplomacy, and more aggressively dealing with the media. Sandy Berger explained, "At that meeting both of them said to each other in effect, 'we cannot lose, no matter what this takes. We have invested NATO's credibility. We have invested U.S. credibility. We have invested British credibility, and we will do whatever it takes.' It was an important collective judgment. Obviously you make that judgment when you start, but it was clear that it was going to be a long haul, and they took that posture into the summit meetings."

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Later that evening, Vice President Gore's national security advisor, Leon Fuerth, called Deputy Secretary of State Talbott. Apparently, Gore was eager to engage directly with Russian envoy Viktor Chernomyrdin. Fuerth, Talbott, and Albright were all somewhat perplexed by the vice president's willingness to take on high visibility negotiations with the potential to become a major political liability. Not only could Gore find himself caught up in the twists and turns of trying to work out a deal with Milosevic, the vice president could also get caught in the middle of the increasingly unstable Russian political situation. The next day, April 22, Prime Minister Blair spoke with President Yeltsin on the telephone. The Russian president argued, "Instead of pressuring Milosevic you are strengthening his position. Instead of resolving the humanitarian problem, we are now dealing with a real humanitarian catastrophe." Claiming that the two sides were "backsliding into a military confrontation," Yeltsin declared a ground operation against Yugoslavia to be the "path to abyss." Blair continued to publicly insist that there would be no bombing pause and expressed his hope that Chernomyrdin could begin to turn Milosevic around. That same day, Viktor Chernomyrdin made his first visit to Belgrade as Russia's special envoy, meeting with Milosevic and his advisors for more than nine hours. Chernomyrdin felt the Yugoslav president was "calm and purposeful. He was confident that he was right, he would win, NATO would lose. His nation was supporting him, which was true at the time. There was no opposition. Everybody was in harmony." Chernomyrdin must have had few illusions that he could reach a quick peace agreement. Exploring the broad parameters of a potential deal, he suggested that a peace agreement would need to include the safe return of refugees, reconstruction and humanitarian aid for Yugoslavia, resuming negotiations on Kosovo's political status, the withdrawal of some Yugoslav forces, a pullback of NATO troops from the Yugoslav border, and the insertion of a UN-authorized peacekeeping force that included Russia. Milosevic said that he could accept some watered-down and lightly armed peacekeeping force if it were under a UN banner. In Washington, President Clinton and key members of his national security team met with NATO Secretary-General Javier Solana the day before the summit. Solana agreed that the gathering was perhaps the most important meeting in NATO's history and that unity was paramount. Solana felt that

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reaching a final deal to end the war, particularly if it hinged on a UN Security Council resolution, would be difficult. As the conflict continued, the NATO ambassadors were vesting greater and greater responsibility directly in Solana, allowing him to act without formal votes. The allies consented to such an approach because it helped them avoid making politically awkward and controversial public choices about the war's conduct. Confronted with the high cost of losing, NATO members realized that enhancing Solana's authority was a convenient way to avoid the perils of micromanagement. Consequently, Solana carefully avoided putting matters up for a formal vote before the NATO ambassadors unless he was confident he had the necessary backing. The fact that NATO's nineteen member states were largely comfortable handing the keys to Solana—including working directly on targeting with General Clark—spoke volumes about the trust that Solana had engendered within the Alliance. Clinton stressed that by increasing the tempo and intensity of the air campaign, stepping up the diplomatic efforts, and tightening economic sanctions, NATO would prevail, and Solana was certain the other Allies would endorse such an approach because their political survival hung in balance. Solana also agreed that General Clark should be given more latitude in pursuing key targets. Clinton and Berger made clear that they wanted Clark to be fairly assertive in pushing the envelope for ground troop planning under Solana's effort to update the assessments. Despite his intense frustration, General Clark was gaining more authority to fight the war he wanted. Toward the end of the meeting with Solana, Sandy Berger's pager sounded: The news wires were reporting that Chernomyrdin had announced that Milosevic was willing to accept a "UN-led" force in Kosovo. The information set off a frenzy of activity and hand-wringing that Chernomyrdin, in collusion with Belgrade, was trying to sell NATO a bad deal. In Rose Garden comments to the press with Solana, President Clinton quickly rejected Milosevic's offer of a UN-led contingent. He also edged a careful rhetorical shade closer to the possible use of ground troops. When asked if peacekeepers could be deployed without Milosevic's consent, Clinton replied that it remained a hypothetical question, "but of course there are scenarios under which that could occur." Clinton called the decision to update the assessment "wise and prudent" and noted that Russia would be welcome to contribute peacekeeping troops. Further signaling the Alliance's willingness to escalate the conflict, NATO fighters attacked Serb State televi-

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sion transmission towers that same day in a step that had been long and heatedly debated within the Alliance. On Friday, April 23, 1999, in a nearly deserted downtown Washington, D.C., forty-two heads of state gathered to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. Thousands of police cordoned off the eerily quiet streets on a day when the federal government and several Metro stops had been closed for the event. Although Russia and Belarus had canceled their participation, twenty-three different partner countries attended the summit, including all of the other thirteen former Soviet Republics. That morning, Secretary of Defense Cohen had breakfast with General Clark, and he came with a clear message: Tone down the talk of ground troops. Clark continued to press for beginning ground troop preparations by May 1—less than ten days away. Cohen was cool to the notion and, according to Clark, expressed, "his conviction that we would eventually get a diplomatic settlement, though not without more intense air strikes." The NATO commander assured the secretary of defense that he would not be a "skunk at the picnic," but Cohen was hardly convinced. Clark continued to chafe on the brakes being placed on his operation, and he felt that the resistance he encountered from Washington "was like running on the loose sand of the beach." At the summit, Alliance leaders were eager to project a unified public front to dispel the many reports of widening fissures within NATO. Gathering at the same location, the Mellon Auditorium in downtown Washington, where the NATO alliance was signed into existence fifty years before, President Clinton told the assembled heads of state that NATO would "not have meaning in the twenty-first century if it permits the slaughter of innocents on its doorstep." As leader after leader spoke, each was more robust than the one who had gone before. NATO's three newest members, Hungary, Poland, and the Czech Republic, all took notably hawkish stances. As National Security Advisor Berger recalled: I think it was very important that the nineteen leaders of the Alliance sat around a table and said to each other as leaders, "We will prevail. We will succeed. We cannot fail." I think Alliance solidarity was almost unbreakable after that. Because even those leaders under heavy domestic pressure had made a face-to-face commitment to their fellow leaders—and they were going to have to ride it out.

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However, another White House official was more concerned by the rhetoric: "Propelled by Prime Minister Blair and his own speechwriters, President Clinton began saying, 'We have to prevail,' and as soon as you say that, and look at the instruments that are available, you had to look at a ground campaign." President Clinton also engaged in a series of side conversations with other NATO leaders during the summit. Greek Prime Minister Simitis told Clinton that Greece was willing to serve as an intermediary for possible negotiations with Milosevic, and he expressed concern that both Macedonia and Albania were in danger of economic collapse. Clinton suggested that there was no harm in the Greeks opening channels to Milosevic as long as they did not dilute NATO's demands, but the fear was that the Greeks were under such intense domestic pressure to end the war that they would endorse any deal. Simitis stressed that a ground campaign would be very difficult and that Greek public opinion was unified against any such operation, but he admitted that he would, "Never say 'never.' " Clinton also spoke with French President Chirac, who spelled out his reservations about a ground offensive, nervous about the impact it would have in Russia and concerned that Russian public opinion and radical elements within the Duma might force the Russians to intervene on the side of the Serbs, creating an uncontrollable situation. While Clinton shared Chirac's apprehensions about the situation in Russia, he argued that by supporting the effort to update planning assessments for ground troops they could create "healthy ambiguity" in Milosevic's mind and give a more intensive air campaign time to succeed. Clinton agreed the Alliance needed to work with Russia, but not to the point of softening its demands. Clinton also pushed to have the air campaign "go after what's important to Milosevic and his cronies, as well as taking risks. If Milosevic believes he is losing resources and military and financial support, he will turn." Clinton was splitting the poles between the French and British positions on ground troops, and trying to keep the irritation between the NATO capitals to a manageable level. A number of important agreements emerged from the NATO Summit. The Alliance consented to further intensify air attacks in the hope they would make the use of ground forces unnecessary. Hungary announced that it would allow its air bases to be used for strikes against Yugoslavia—giving General Clark one more angle from which to bring pressure to bear. NATO also announced an oil embargo against Yugoslavia, but the effort would

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never gain traction in practice. There was also general agreement among the leaders at the summit to step up diplomatic efforts; including involving Russia in what Secretary Albright called a "double magnet" strategy. The first magnet would draw the Russians to NATO's position; the second magnet would use Russian influence to attract the Yugoslavs to a deal. It was cloudy how, and under whose aegis, such talks would move forward. The Washington summit will also be enduringly remembered for the Alliance's approval of a new strategic concept. The new approach emphasized an important shift: NATO would expand its mission from one largely defined by collective defense to embrace a much more sweeping mandate that included dealing with global security challenges such as terrorism and the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction. Ironically, it was the ongoing war in the skies over Yugoslavia that would be the first and sternest test of this more expansive vision of NATO's place in the world. The NATO leaders also spelled out their demands upon Belgrade with the greatest level of specificity to that date, and the terms were a clear outgrowth of the earlier agreements between the foreign ministers: A verifiable stop to all military action and the cessation of violence and repression in Kosovo; Withdrawal of military, police, and paramilitary forces; Agreement to station an "international military presence" in Kosovo; Unconditional return for all refugees; and, Provision of "credible assurance" that a political framework agreement would be established based on the Rambouillet accords. While the communique was designed to demonstrate NATO's unity and resolve, many perceived weakness where the Alliance had hoped to project strength. Foremost, the word "all" did not appear next to the demand for the withdrawal of Serb troops. Yugoslavia had some 40,000 troops stationed in Kosovo between army, special police, and other security forces—roughly twice prewar levels. Most reasoned that if a peace agreement allowed substantial Yugoslav forces to remain in Kosovo, refugees simply would not return. Further, if Yugoslav armed forces stayed in Kosovo, and the KLA continued resistance, peacekeepers would be inserted in the middle of an ongoing civil war. The other piece of language in the summit declaration that drew consider-

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able negative attention was the call for an "international security presence" that did not demand that NATO lead such a force. Instead, NATO had declared that it was "ready to form the core of such an international military force" with contributions from non-NATO countries. To some, the language sounded more like an offer than a demand. Lastly, the final provision that Milosevic provide "credible assurance" that he was willing to work toward a settlement of Kosovo political status led many to wonder what assurance Milosevic could provide that would be credible. Concerns over communique language aside, NATO had passed the summit test. In a stark public spotlight, the Alliance had provided a united front, agreed to more aggressive steps to prosecute the war, and redefined its strategic aims. The summit also underscored the difficulties ahead. Milosevic showed no signs of capitulating and many of those who had attended the summit feared that the Alliance's resolve—driven by public dissatisfaction with the air campaign—could still crack.

The Shuttle Shuffle On Sunday, April 25, the last day of the NATO Summit, Strobe Talbott, the deputy secretary of state and a notoriously early riser, dashed off a predawn note to Secretary Albright and National Security Advisor Sandy Berger. "Chernomyrdin got virtually nothing in Belgrade. We haven't heard anything out of either the Russians or the Yugoslavs that suggests Milosevic's position has changed one whit." Talbott contended that Moscow's position was "one of absolute desperation and utter simplicity; they'll say 'yes' to anything as long as it has two results: an end to the bombing and their own return to center-stage as peacemakers." While warning of the dangers of being drawn into negotiations with the Russians over what they thought Milosevic would be willing to accept, he felt that it was "barely imaginable that we might actually be able to get the Russians on board with all, or almost all, of our own objectives and definitions of success." Talbott argued that talks with the Russians on Kosovo "could actually be worthwhile." President Clinton spoke to President Yeltsin during a long telephone conversation later in the day. Clinton took the call in a holding room just off the Mellon Auditorium. The timing of the Russian overture was no accident.

THE SHUTTLE BEGINS * 65 Moscow had clearly hoped that N A T O ' s unity would falter at the summit, and when that had not happened Yeltsin lurched back into the fray. "Yeltsin called C l i n t o n in a state of great agitation," Sandy Berger recalled. Yeltsin often had one point that he wanted to make and he would make it over and over and over again. He wanted Chernomyrdin to come over the next day to figure out how to stop the bombing. The president said he was certainly willing to have Chernomyrdin come over and meet with himself and Gore, but he reiterated that only Milosevic could stop the bombing and that the best way for Yeltsin to get that accomplished was for him to exert whatever influence he had on Milosevic. . . . The president was always concerned during this period that Yeltsin was vulnerable. He tried to convince Yeltsin that the sooner Russia came to the posture of putting pressure on Milosevic, the sooner this would end. A very energized Yeltsin took the lead. "I am calling on a Sunday, and this is a traditional day off for us. But it is not a day off for you and m e . " T h e Russian president insisted that Chernomyrdin had gotten Milosevic to accept four of N A T O ' s five demands while he was in Belgrade, but he then ticked off several points, including international reconstruction of Kosovo's economy and an international peacekeeping force under U N auspices, that did not match N A T O ' s terms. Yeltsin plunged on undeterred, and much of the conversation took on the form of a monologue by the Russian president. Yeltsin supported getting Deputy Secretary Talbott directly involved in some of the technical aspects of talks but argued, " T h i s will not be enough," and urged that the larger political issues be dealt with in direct negotiations between Vice President Gore and Chernomyrdin. Yeltsin suggested that the effort would give Vice President Gore a chance to shine in the diplomatic field, and produce a "good result" because both Gore and Chernomyrdin knew each other well. Yeltsin also claimed that once N A T O suspended bombing, there would be rapid progress on any outstanding issues, allowing for a face-saving and equitable resolution of the "tragic situation." Clinton was generally supportive but claimed that he could not make a c o m m i t m e n t before discussing the issue with his national security team: "I think that we should have Gore and C h e r n o m y r d i n talk on the p h o n e tomorrow, and what I would like to do is to have Strobe Talbott fly to see Viktor Stepanov-

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ich [Chernomyrdin] Tuesday or tomorrow or whenever you want him to " goYeltsin interrupted. "I thought that after today's conversation we can tell the media that myself and President Clinton have found a common point of view on how we can solve this problem together." Clinton demurred and again suggested having Talbott fly to Moscow to meet with Chernomyrdin. Talbott was an intriguing choice to take a lead role in the negotiations. As a longtime Clinton friend who had served as the U.S. note taker for the majority of one-on-one meetings between Clinton and Yeltsin, Talbott was clearly a man who enjoyed the president's close confidence. But his longstanding role in shaping the administration's Russia policy had made him a polarizing figure in both Washington and Moscow. Many conservative critics claimed that the Clinton administration—and Talbott in particular—had taken an overly "romantic" approach to dealing with Russia in the wake of the Cold War, and his name had appeared prominently in a number of commentaries asking who had "lost Russia." The themes of these polemics were consistent: Clinton and his team were too soft to deal with Russia, overly dependent on a personal relationship with Yeltsin, and eager to turn a blind eye toward Moscow's official abuses, such as corruption. Talbott was an unabashed and consistent advocate of U.S. engagement with Russia and insisted, "I never lost sleep over the name-calling." He had played a personal role in working with the Russians during the successful effort to negotiate the nuclear disarmament of Belarus, Ukraine, and Kazakhstan, discussions over NATO expansion, and earlier peace negotiations in Bosnia. While the war in Kosovo was threatening to unravel Talbott's strategy of patient interaction with Russia, he remained committed to the escalating use of force against Belgrade. Yeltsin was angered the talks were not being kicked to a higher level and reminded Clinton of his government's restraint in not providing weapons to the Yugoslavs. Clinton then addressed some of the specifics, suggesting that the peacekeeping presence in Kosovo could be structured the same as the existing force in Bosnia, where a strong NATO contingent incorporated Russian and other international troops. He maintained that the only force capable of effectively disarming the KLA was the United States, and that a NATO presence would be instrumental in protecting Serb civilians. Clinton stressed that refugees would never return if the Yugoslav military was still in the province. The U.S. president also pushed back against the idea of a

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bombing pause, saying that air strikes would only be suspended after Milosevic had met the demands of the international community. Yeltsin suggested that they would need to keep working on Milosevic as if they "were converting him to another faith," but again emphasized that there were elements within his military eager to offer aid to Belgrade. "You know that I am hearing concerns by our military who are talking about getting military servicemen to go and help Milosevic. You know I have condemned this in the strictest terms and convened my Security Council and said there should be no talk about that. Any general that speaks of sending troops to help Milosevic will be summarily dismissed." Yeltsin added that he had been forced to sack a commander of a military district in the Russian Far East who had been raising volunteers to help the Yugoslav forces; "All our law enforcement agencies and ministries are strictly under my command and report only to me. So there will be no surprises." Clinton tried a number of times to break in, without much luck. Yeltsin continued to stress the difficulty of the situation and how he was doing his best to cooperate. Clinton, finally interjecting, complimented Yeltsin on his energy and personal commitment to the diplomacy, but maintained that he could not dispatch Gore until he had spoken with him. Yeltsin reacted angrily. "Do not push Russia into this war. You know what Russia is. You know how it is equipped. Don't push Russia into this." "Wait a minute, Boris," Clinton cautioned, stressing that the European Allies could not just "wake up in the morning" and read about a peace deal in the newspaper. Yeltsin bemoaned the intensity of the anti-American sentiment in Moscow, and urged that Gore and Chernomyrdin meet quickly. Clinton stated that he would dispatch Talbott to Moscow immediately and also discuss the situation with Gore. In an oddly contemplative aside as they concluded their conversation, Yeltsin observed, "I was more talkative than you." "Yes," Clinton replied, "but we are going to do this." Strobe Talbott and Leon Fuerth spoke with Clinton immediately after the call. Clinton insisted that he was doing his best to protect the vice president, and Fuerth replied that he was not sure how much protection Gore wanted. Fuerth then phoned the vice president who was in Colorado for the funeral of the students killed at the Columbine High School shooting, and Gore was eager to engage the Russians. Clinton also seemed keen to put the process into motion, hoping that it might provide a quick fix to mounting political

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problems. When Talbott and Fuerth briefed Secretary Albright and Secretary of Defense Cohen on the conversation, Albright and Cohen were nervous. The potential political liability for Gore was tremendous and both Cohen and Albright were reluctant to see one of their superiors engage in direct negotiations over which they would have limited control. Despite Yeltsin's repeated push to have Gore take a lead, Clinton and his senior advisors ultimately resisted; having Gore take on such a role at the onset of a presidential campaign was too risky. A senior diplomat commented on Yeltsin's reasoning: "Gore is your heir apparent; Chernomyrdin is my heir apparent. They'll get together; they'll make a peace deal. They'll both win a Nobel Prize, they'll both become president and we'll all live happily ever after. That was Yeltsin's proposition. But we don't do things that way." Instead, President Clinton and Secretary of State Albright decided to dispatch Talbott and a number of senior U.S. military advisors to Moscow that same evening. Two of Talbott's aides had been standing outside the office where Clinton had been on the telephone with Yeltsin when suddenly Talbott emerged "like he had been shot out of a cannon." Without a word, Talbott hurried off in what appeared to be the wrong direction. "Strobe, where are you going?" his chief of staff, Phil Goldberg, called out. "Moscow," came the only reply. Before his hurried departure, Talbott stopped by the Finnish ambassador's residence in Washington to meet briefly with Finnish President Martti Ahtisaari who was in town for the NATO Summit. Talbott knew that UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan had been considering appointing Ahtisaari as a UN envoy for the Balkans, but Ahtisaari was cool to the overture. The Finnish president shared American concerns that Milosevic would "nickel and dime" any UN mediator, and he showed little interest in the post. While the meeting between the two men was largely uneventful, Talbott could not help but be struck by Ahtisaari's resolve, and their brief encounter would soon prove critical. Talbott and a small delegation left for Moscow on a military plane from Andrews Air Force base at ten o'clock that evening. As one of his staff recalled, "It was quite a moment. Here the president of the United States and the president of Russia just had a long conversation about a war in Europe and Strobe was leaving that night on a presidential mission on the chairman

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of the Joint Chief's designated airplane to go to Moscow." As it turned out, the small delegation did not get the chairman's plane and took a C-20 instead, and the plane ended up needing repairs during a refueling stop in Iceland. Stuck with a long layover and scrambling to rearrange plans from the tarmac, the diplomats were not off to an auspicious start. After a delay of several hours, the team resumed its flight. On Monday, April 26, Chernomyrdin and Gore spoke on the telephone for over an hour. Much of the conversation was dominated by Gore reiterating the conditions that were spelled out by the NATO leaders at the summit, with Chernomyrdin enthusiastic to engage in serious negotiations. Chernomyrdin wanted to sit down directly with Gore and indicated that he could travel almost immediately to do so. The Russian envoy also emphasized that one element would be key to any deal with Milosevic: Some Yugoslav troops would need to stay behind in Kosovo. The two agreed to a face-to-face meeting in Washington early in May after Talbott returned from Moscow. A slightly bedraggled Talbott and his team arrived in Moscow that same day. On April 27, Talbott met with Foreign Minister Ivanov, Deputy Foreign Minister Mamedov, Special Envoy Boris Mayorsky, and several others at the Russian foreign ministry. The quiet consensus within the U.S. delegation was that the negotiations were largely for show, designed simply to buy more time for bombing. Washington hoped to try and talk some reason with the Russians, lower the rhetoric, and show the Europeans that they were pursuing a diplomatic solution. Chernomyrdin continued to be the only direct channel to Milosevic, and the Europeans continued to be concerned that with day after day of bombing, there was no endgame in sight. One team member put the matter of coalition management bluntly, "The Allies would not hold firm on the bombing if the Americans did not take care of the Russians." Talbott spelled out the conditions established at the summit, and explained that his mission was to explore if the Russian and American positions could be brought closer together. Foreign Minister Ivanov claimed that as a result of Chernomyrdin's visit to Belgrade, Milosevic was willing to allow refugees to return to Kosovo, but he felt that the province's political status and the withdrawal of Serb forces were still sticking points. Ivanov was concerned that NATO peacekeepers would be a Trojan Horse for establishing long-term influence over the region, and noting what NATO had originally sold as "interim" security arrangements in Bosnia appeared "destined to

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continue in perpetuity." Talbott countered that the West had little interest in an independent Kosovo, a position that Ivanov hailed as "serious progress." Not surprisingly, Ivanov also pushed for a bombing pause. Talbott said that a pause would be impossible until Belgrade had agreed to NATO's demands, adding, "Moscow needs to move beyond simply negotiating what it thinks Belgrade is willing to accept." Ivanov claimed NATO's bombing had shown no result, while Russia's diplomatic efforts were making progress, and that no war ever ended itself. In comments to reporters after the meeting, Ivanov took a hard line. "Put yourself in the place of the Yugoslav leaders," he said, "Would you allow the same people who destroyed your country to carry out the peacekeeping operation?" Talbott also spoke with Prime Minister Primakov on the telephone. Primakov insisted that the United States had made a "grandiose and tragic error. . . . The U.S. and NATO are mistaken if you think Milosevic will capitulate. Each day of bombing raises the potential for negative results which will render a peaceful resolution increasingly more elusive." A short time later, Talbott met with Chernomyrdin in a session that stretched for more than two hours. (Talbott, a good Russian speaker, usually dispensed with the translation of Chernomyrdin's comments from Russian to English, but would often have his own remarks translated back into Russian to ensure that no nuance of what he was saying was lost in what could sometimes be very technical comments.) Chernomyrdin opened the meeting by referring to his telephone call with Gore the day before. He felt there were substantial areas of agreement between the United States and Russia but that Milosevic's views also had to be taken into account. The special envoy's tone was nonpolemical, and he said that earlier in the day he had told President Yeltsin that he felt "a colossal amount of work" could produce an agreement. He cited the issue of troop withdrawals as an example of the challenges before them. NATO wanted all the Serb forces out; Milosevic wanted substantial number of troops to remain. A compromise was needed. He also cited the composition of the peacekeeping force as another area where the sides would have to meet halfway and sought to confirm that NATO was not pushing to topple Milosevic. Talbott pointed out that given Milosevic's long record of broken promises, continued military pressure was essential, but that NATO was neither demanding Milosevic's ouster nor Kosovo's independence. However, the Alliance would cooperate with the UN International War Crimes Tribunal,

THE SHUTTLE BEGINS * 71 and that body might eventually indict Milosevic. Chernomyrdin wryly replied that during his visit to Belgrade, he had heard that the Yugoslavs intended to bring similar charges against NATO. The Russian envoy made his pitch in folksy tones, as he argued that the "most important question" was whether the Yugoslav government would be able "to do anything" in Kosovo. "If the administration, police, border guards, law enforcement, and government are all off-limits, what will remain of Yugoslav control of Kosovo—when we agree that Kosovo should remain part of Yugoslav territory?" Talbott responded, "One of the tragedies and disgraces of the situation is that Yugoslavia under Milosevic has demonstrated that even when the international community wants to preserve national boundaries, states can still fall apart with cruel and stupid leadership. At Rambouillet, it might have been possible to leave some Serb border guards and some police and troops in Kosovo—but three quarters of all Kosovars have been driven from their homes, and they will not go back if they have to fear a nocturnal knock on the door by the Yugoslav army, police, or the guys with ski masks." Talbott suggested that perhaps a small number of unarmed Yugoslav guards might be allowed to remain at some historic sites. Chernomyrdin argued that Kosovo risked becoming a permanent ward of the international community. He took out a map, pointed to Kosovo's mountainous terrain, and insisted the Serbs would wage a relentless guerilla conflict against NATO, just as they had against the Nazis. He said that Russia had learned the same lesson in Chechnya and that it was wise to "never trust the generals, even in a time of war." In a one-on-one session with Talbott, Chernomyrdin confided: I'll tell you frankly that I'm truly worried about Al's [Gore] participation in Kosovo problem-solving, because it could either lift him to unprecedented heights, or bring him down—if not forever, then for a long time to come. For this reason, I want him to make the choice for himself; I've not insisted on Gore's participation as a condition for my own involvement. However, if it worked, it would be a plus for Gore as a statesman. Since Russia is not participating in the conflict, I see no benefit for myself personally. The Russian envoy argued that the real question facing them was, "Do Russia and the U.S. drive Milosevic deeper and deeper into the corner, or

72 * COLLISION COURSE do we give him a way out?" H e added, "It's precisely our sense of urgency that led to the telephone call from President Yeltsin to Clinton, and it was made at m y suggestion. I believe Al Gore and all other members of the U.S. administration need to participate in the negotiating process because the world c o m m u n i t y is awaiting results. I need to be equipped with the best possible arguments on possible compromises. Specifically, Strobe, I need to understand better the conditions for an end to bombing." " T h e y are very simple, Viktor Stepanovich," Talbott replied, using the Russian familiar form of Chernomyrdin's name. "Let me lay them out." First, Belgrade must agree to an end to the repression and deportations and expulsions it's carrying out in Kosovo; second, it must agree to withdraw all its forces from Kosovo—and that means police, army, and paramilitaries; third, it must agree to the deployment of an international security presence with NATO at its core; fourth, it must agree that the humanitarian organizations can come back; and, fifth, it must agree to a political process that will establish autonomy. If Belgrade agreed to all this, unambiguously, and if we saw, with our own eyes, that withdrawals had begun, then bombing could stop. Chernomyrdin jotted the conditions down and was eager for details. H o w long would the Serbs be allotted for withdrawal? H o w would the process be verified? W h a t form would Kosovo's new administrative and civil authority take? H o w would events be sequenced? T h e Russians, reflecting Yugoslav concerns, were very focused on disarming the KLA and discussing mechanisms for protecting ethnic Serbs. Talbott agreed that these were vital questions and vowed to quickly get answers. Stressing the difficulty of the issue for Belgrade, Chernomyrdin made a pitch for having N A T O forces stationed in Albania and Macedonia—but not in Kosovo. As Chernomyrdin put it, " T h e y would not have to be U.S. forces, but rather perhaps Swedish, Russian, Ukrainian, and other nations. Perhaps those N A T O countries that have been bombing could sort of hold back—you know, in Albania and Macedonia—and others, Greece, Turkey, perhaps, could be in the first wave that goes in." " T h a t doesn't sound workable," said Talbott. " T h e initial stage—the first wave, as you call it—is going to be especially important, especially dangerous, and especially requiring of a robust, serious force. We can't have Bel-

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grade's vetoing who takes part, especially because they'll be interested precisely in weakening the force." "Well Strobe, we have to be flexible. You have to help us here. We need to find a compromise—not a compromise in the sense of a concession by you—but in something that works with all parties." "Viktor Stepanovich, let me be honest. We're beyond compromising with Belgrade. We did give-and-take diplomacy for fourteen months, and he not only didn't give—he used the diplomacy as a cover for killing people and shelling villages and driving people out of their homes. We'll have an open, back-and-forth conversation with you so that you'll understand where we can be flexible and where we can't. But when it comes to Belgrade, we're going to have to be very, very firm." Chernomyrdin pointed out that Milosevic could also be stubborn, and that it would be a disaster if NATO staggered into a ground war. Chernomyrdin agreed that he should put off seeing NATO Secretary-General Solana, and added that he wanted to give U.S. and Russian military experts some time to hammer out some details of a potential agreement before again traveling to Belgrade. He stressed that Milosevic was in total control, and warned that the Serbs would welcome a ground war because it would result in a "bloodbath." As the meeting with Chernomyrdin concluded, Talbott was left with a distinct impression that Chernomyrdin viewed him as something of a "delivery boy," and was eager to open direct talks with Gore. In communicating back to Washington to both Albright and Berger, Talbott saw both positives and negatives from his round of talks in Moscow. On the upside, neither Ivanov nor Chernomyrdin demanded a bombing pause as a precondition for further talks, and both seemed more willing to accept the logic of total Serb withdrawal. The deputy secretary felt that Chernomyrdin and Ivanov had begun to seriously explore what exactly "NATO at the core" would mean in practice. Talbott's list of negatives stretched as long as the positives. He found the Russians "cautious, modest, even pessimistic about being able to deliver Milosevic," while being "apocalyptic about the consequences if the bombing continues indefinitely—and cosmically so if NATO invades Yugoslavia." There was also disorder within the ranks of the Russian government. As Talbott described it, "The internal—shall we say 'interagency'—dynamics in Moscow are nothing short of bizarre. Ivanov, whom I saw first, treated my forthcoming meeting with Chernomyrdin as though it were a courtesy call

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on a distinguished former personage; Chernomyrdin barely referred to the foreign minister or his ministry." These divisions would not soon disappear. On April 27, General Clark conducted a news conference in Brussels. Toward the end of the session, he fielded a question from John Dugberg of the los Angeles Times about personnel and equipment losses being inflicted upon the Yugoslav military. Clark replied that because Milosevic "is bringing in reinforcements continually from the Second Army" the actual troop level in Kosovo might actually be higher than at the beginning of the conflict "so if you actually added up what's there . . . you might actually find out that he has strengthened his forces." Clark's statements led to a spate of negative stories in the U.S. press on April 28 regarding the limited progress of the campaign and further infuriated Secretary of Defense Cohen, who was already angered by Clark's willingness to go directly to the national security staff to advance his policy positions. At a White House meeting that day, Cohen went so far as to discuss potentially relieving Clark of his command in the middle of the air campaign. The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Hugh Shelton, came to Clark's defense and noted that such a move would widely be seen as a public relations disaster. While Shelton's position won the day, he was told by Cohen to read Clark the riot act regarding his media appearances. According to Clark, Shelton called later in the day and told him, "Wes, at the White House meeting today there was a lot of discussion about your press conference. The secretary of defense asked me to give you some verbatim guidance, so here it is: 'Get your fucking face off the TV. No more briefings, period. That's it.'"

The Peace Offensive On April 28, Talbott traveled to Geneva, where he met with Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Georgy Mamedov during two long sessions, including a dinner at the Intercontinental Hotel. The two men had a strong working relationship and a genuine friendship. However, Mamedov again made clear that he would not be a central player in the Kosovo diplomacy and would only be available to do preview and wrap-up meetings on the margins of negotiating sessions to informally cover "political issues." Mamedov saw himself as providing a safety net for the discussions and professed with dark

THE SHUTTLE BEGINS * 75 humor that on certain issues the two sides were ultimately "doomed to agree." He also complained, "NATO is a small, petty organization which keeps Russia from having good relations with the other powers in Europe." One of Talbott's delegation, Toria Nuland, inquired if Russia would support a UN Security Council resolution that authorized the use of force if Milosevic ultimately refused to accept reasonable demands. Mamedov observed that Russia might be willing to do so, but wanted to make sure that any UN resolution "would include a specific commitment to suspend NATO air strikes if Milosevic meets the conditions." Talbott expressed concern that the Russians continued to feel there should be "no winners and no losers" in the conflict, claiming such an approach placed Russia on the wrong side of history. There was some speculation within the U.S. team that a UN resolution might help the Russians whether Milosevic accepted it or not. If Milosevic signed on, Russia would be heralded as a peacemaker. If Milosevic resisted and NATO kept bombing, it would make clear that Milosevic had no one to blame but himself for turning down a fair peace. Mamedov pointed out that political tensions in Moscow over Kosovo were running high and that many factions did not want to see an accommodation. He argued that Russians felt increasingly isolated, with almost a siege mentality, as NATO moved into the Balkans. The political climate that had made U.S.-Russian cooperation possible in the past had shifted, with many new players now in positions of power. Although the mood at the table grew edgy several times, Talbott concluded the meeting by stressing that NATO could handle the Kosovar Albanians if Russia could take care of Milosevic. Talbott later said of Mamedov's efforts, "He gave me plenty of cautions that there's no guarantee." Talbott saw the possibility of getting the Russians on board with a UN resolution as a long shot. However, he also understood that a UN resolution would have some benefits for Yeltsin's team in that it would "trump their domestic opponents who are accusing them of impotence" and arrest the dangerous decline in Russia's relations with West. Talbott would describe Moscow's diplomatic efforts as "the Russian equivalent of a Hail-Mary pass. I say: let's go for it, since the downside— while real—is no greater than that of bulling ahead without at least one attempt to play with the Russians." Talbott also saw intensive, high-visibility diplomacy with the Russians useful for the United States in at least three respects: It demonstrated NATO's interest in pursuing peace; it bought more

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time for bombing; and "it could create openings that will actually, at some point, induce Belgrade to do the necessary." However, the deputy secretary of state also understood that "the Russians will devote the coming days and weeks to trying to lawyer us into interpreting our mantra on conditions so leniently that we'll end up lowering the bar and letting Milosevic off with a plea bargain." Flying quickly from Geneva to Berlin, Talbott met with UN SecretaryGeneral Kofi Annan. Annan was preparing to head to Moscow and wanted to compare notes with Talbott before his trip. Talbott suggested that while Moscow was beginning to acknowledge the logic of NATO's demands, there was no evidence that Milosevic was any closer to capitulating. The United States wanted to make perfectly clear to Annan that NATO had to form the core of any military force in Kosovo and that the United Nations would not run the peacekeeping effort. Annan agreed, emphasizing that the United Nations did not want to repeat the debacle of the UN Protection Force (UNPROFOR) peacekeeping mission in Bosnia, where lightly armed international peacekeepers had been taken hostage by the Serbs. While Annan said many of the things the United States wanted to hear, he concluded the meeting by laying out what he called his "nightmare" scenario, with Milosevic concluding that he was trapped and refusing to yield. The conflict would then drag on through the summer and public support for the war would begin to ebb. Would NATO then soften its conditions? The secretary-general seemed to believe that Milosevic's resolve, or "ruthlessness quotient," was greater than that of the Alliance. Talbott insisted that the only way to make sure Milosevic came to heel was by remaining firm. As Annan arrived in Moscow on April 29, President Yeltsin reportedly complained to a closed-door meeting of his national security advisors that NATO no longer feared Russia. At the gathering, Yeltsin approved a new security doctrine that emphasized beefing up thousands of tactical nuclear weapons that had been unilaterally taken out of service earlier in the decade. The Russians claimed that the move had nothing to do with Kosovo, but it reflected growing anxiety over their declining international position. Annan held a long series of meetings in Moscow with Ivanov, Yeltsin, Primakov, and Chernomyrdin. Annan was pleased to find Yeltsin generally alert and engaged; as the Russian president told him, "You and I together can be invincible; we can end this thing." The secretary-general felt the Russians "all sang from the same hymnal" and underscored that despite Cherno-

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myrdin's new role, Ivanov and the foreign ministry would have to sign off on any deal. The Russians repeatedly hammered home to Annan that the crisis could only be resolved by a "political solution" and that military disaster was looming. They pitched hard for UN control of peacekeeping. Ivanov noted that NATO troops would have to be involved and again floated the notion of stationing Alliance troops in Macedonia and Albania with "nonaggressors" deployed within Kosovo. Chernomyrdin announced that he would be making his second visit to Belgrade the next day—April 30—and stressed that the military presence would be among the key issues he would discuss with Milosevic. Russian Prime Minister Primakov told the UN secretary-general that the situation was defined by four "impossibilities": that Milosevic would capitulate; that the peacekeeping force be led by NATO; that negotiations could succeed while bombing continued; and that Kosovo could be turned into an international protectorate. Later that evening, Secretary-General Annan flew to London, where he again met with Deputy Secretary Talbott. The two men met in Annan's hotel room; it was crowded with staff members, several sitting perched on his bed. The Russians had made some progress with Annan, and he was troubled by the repeated assertions that Milosevic would not capitulate. The UN secretary-general floated the idea of a potential bombing pause, relaying Ivanov's proposal for a gesture of goodwill with a two-day break to pave the way for intensive negotiations. Talbott summarized Annan's view: "NATO will have to yield on some key points and make substantive concessions to Milosevic. Why? Because Milosevic is meaner and tougher than NATO; he's more stubborn; he's more willing to inflict death and destruction on his own citizens and soldiers—not to mention on his enemies, on the Kosovo Albanians and on his neighbors—than we are." Talbott pointed out that the Russians had not raised the issue of a bombing pause with him and expressed his hoped that the Russians were not trying to play the United Nations against NATO—which they were. The two men then decided they should have a more private conversation, and the staffers dutifully trundled out of the hotel room. Annan insisted that while the Russians were good negotiators, they were poorly positioned to serve as intermediaries in dealing with Kosovo. The UN secretary-general wanted to strengthen the role for potential UN special envoys in resolving the crisis, an appeal that was anathema to the United States

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and Great Britain because both knew that Annan was eager to compromise. After kicking around the names of several possible envoys, Talbott expressed his displeasure that the secretary-general had made a number of statements that commentators were interpreting as an equal condemnation of both Milosevic and NATO. Annan insisted that his remarks had been misconstrued but warned that NATO bombing could create a "humanitarian crisis on a vast scale whose victims will be the Serbs." Annan pleaded with the United States to leave the United Nations some room to maintain its institutional integrity and independence. On April 29, Gore and Chernomyrdin spoke briefly the telephone. Chernomyrdin would visit the United States to meet with Gore on the heels of his next trip to Belgrade. Ivanov and Albright spoke shortly after. In yet another troubling sign of the communication gaps within the Russian government, Ivanov maintained that he could not comment on Chernomyrdin's discussion with Gore because he had not been briefed. He did acknowledge that Chernomyrdin would attempt to get clarification from Milosevic on three issues: the withdrawal of Serb forces, the creation of conditions that would allow refugees to return, and the establishment of an international military and civilian presence in Kosovo. Albright feared that Chernomyrdin would again announce some type of sham agreement with Milosevic while in Belgrade and then insist that NATO stop bombing. She told Ivanov that while she supported a political settlement, any agreement that did not meet NATO's bottom lines would be a dead letter, "We will not stop bombing just on the basis of promises from Milosevic." Ivanov decried, "Serbia is being destroyed by this one-way bombing," which led Albright to point to the terror Milosevic was inflicting on the Kosovars. April 30 brought a curious carnival of diplomatic activity to Belgrade, and signaled a renewed effort by Milosevic to launch a "peace offensive" to rattle Alliance unity. The Reverend Jesse Jackson and an entourage that included a U.S. Congressman of Serbian descent from Chicago, Rod Blagojevich (DIL), Landrum Boiling of the Conflict Management Group, and numerous religious leaders arrived in the Yugoslav capital to plead with President Slobodan Milosevic to release three American servicemen who had been taken prisoner by Serb forces on the Kosovo-Macedonia border on March 31. The Clinton administration had actively discouraged Jackson from making the pilgrimage, nervous that Milosevic would manipulate the visit for propaganda purposes. These concerns were reinforced as Jackson told reporters that he was eager to "break the cycle of violence," and that "in the end we

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may be able to talk it out and not fight it out." Despite entreaties from National Security Advisor Sandy Berger to call off the trip, Jackson went ahead, leaving Berger furious. The first meeting between Jackson's entourage and Milosevic stretched for more than three hours, with Milosevic complaining that the United States had forgotten that the Serbs had stood with the Allies against Hitler in World War II. Milosevic also outlined a proposal for bombing to stop concurrently with other steps to end the war. Milosevic was widely known in diplomatic circles for his ability to charm Westerners, speaking fluent, albeit ungrammatical, English and saying exactly what his visitors usually wanted to hear. Jackson and Milosevic also took a private walk in the Yugoslav president's garden. At the end of the meeting, in a moment verging on the surreal, Jackson grasped Milosevic's hand and led the group in prayer, as he urged the Yugoslav president to release the three soldiers as "a bold diplomatic move." Jackson's visit was emblematic of the larger challenge facing NATO, as growing numbers of envoys, both official and self-appointed, trekked to Belgrade. Just as the airspace over Moscow was growing crowded with diplomats, the same was true for the Yugoslav capital. Belarusian President Alexander Lukashenko, Chernomyrdin, Orthodox churchmen, members of the U.S. Congress, representatives from the United Nations, Jesse Jackson, and other religious leaders were all rushing to Belgrade to offer their own solution to the war. "Envoy envy" reached a fever pitch. Milosevic was being presented with new negotiators and new peace plans almost every day, giving him more opportunities to exploit. As Jackson visited Belgrade on April 30, so did Chernomyrdin. Milosevic presented the Russian envoy with his own peace proposal that would allow Kosovo "autonomy," while insisting that NATO forces had to pull back from Yugoslav borders. Chernomyrdin, frustrated, asked Milosevic sharply, "Do you really think you can win this war?" "No," Milosevic replied. He also made clear that he did not intend to lose; a stalemate would serve him fine. He argued that no one had vanquished the Yugoslavs in 400 years. "Let them just try now; let them just try to stick their noses in here. A ground operation will definitely fail." Russian officials would later claim that in these early discussions Milosevic seemed eager for NATO to initiate ground operations because it would allow his forces an opportunity to inflict casualties and shake Western confidence. A

80 * COLLISION COURSE senior W h i t e House official asserted that while many critics felt that N A T O ' s initial decision to take ground troops off the table created a certain "sanctuary" for Milosevic: There was an equally credible argument, and the intelligence supported it, that there was nothing that Milosevic wanted more than to get us in a ground war, because they could start killing Americans when he couldn't in the air campaign. While there was a clear recognition of the value of the psychology of the threat of ground troops, we put much more emphasis on the notion that Milosevic wanted to drag us in, fight us on his own terms and nothing would please him more. T h e meetings between Milosevic and C h e r n o m y r d i n again stretched some nine hours, and upon returning to Moscow the next day the Russian envoy observed, "Belgrade shows constructive intentions, which can become a basis for further progress." However, noting the considerable gulf between the positions of Russia and N A T O , Chernomyrdin acknowledged, " W e consider the situation to be far from simple." In yet another sign of increasing regional tensions, a Russian plane carrying "humanitarian assistance" from Moscow to Belgrade was turned away as neighbor states refused to grant the Russian flight an air corridor. In an interview with United Press International on April 30, Milosevic made clear that he was in no hurry to accept demands. T h e Yugoslav president sounded like of some of the Western critics of the N A T O operation when he said, "America is a great country and Americans are great people. But your leaders are not strategic thinkers . . . They said let's b o m b Yugoslavia and then figure out what to do next." Milosevic, admitting, " W e are not angels," claimed that the N A T O effort was part of a larger plot to, "reestablish U.S. leadership in N A T O in the p o s t - C o l d War era." Milosevic maintained, "Rambouillet was not a negotiation. It was a Clinton administration diktat. It wasn't take it or leave it. Just take it or else." Asked if he would accept a U N peacekeeping force, he replied, "Yes, but no army," and stressed that peacekeepers should have " n o offensive weapons. We cannot accept anything that looks like an occupation." Asked his version of a reasonable compromise he replied, "First of all, cessation of all military activities. Second, simultaneity between the withdrawal of N A T O troops now concentrated on our borders in Albania and Macedonia, on the one hand, and the decrease

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of our own troops in Kosovo from their present level of 100,000 to the normal garrison strength of between 11,000 and 12,000." Milosevic suggested that European countries that were not members of NATO, such as Ireland, would be acceptable peacekeepers, as would be Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus. Milosevic was convinced he could get a better deal than NATO had put on the table at the summit, and he was direct: "You are not willing to sacrifice lives to achieve our surrender. But we are willing to die to defend our rights as a sovereign independent nation." In a surprise move on May 1, President Milosevic announced the release of the three captured American servicemen to Jesse Jackson's delegation. This led Jackson to plead for Yugoslavia to receive "a night of peace from the bombs." Jackson also urged that talks to end the war commence immediately. President Clinton spoke with Jackson after he had secured the release of the prisoners, and Jackson urged Clinton to speak on the telephone with Milosevic. However, the U.S. national security team pushed back hard against the idea, arguing that it was more important than ever that the Alliance hold firm in the face of Milosevic's public relations effort. Ultimately Clinton and Milosevic only exchanged rather formulaic letters, while Jackson was able to bask in the publicity of his unlikely diplomatic success. NATO officials quickly made clear that the release of the three soldiers would not influence the air campaign. Shortly after Jackson left Belgrade, the Alliance launched one of its heaviest days of attack on Yugoslavia since the conflict had begun. Strikes on power facilities and other infrastructure targets cast large swaths of the country into darkness. This was part of a strategy to widen the bombing and bring the costs of the war home both to Milosevic's inner circle and the people of Serbia. With a touch of swagger NATO officials proclaimed to now have a "finger on the light switch in Yugoslavia." The strategy was not without risk. As Yugoslavia's citizens struggled to cope with a lack of water, power, and other basic amenities, concerns were mounting in Western capitals that NATO's bombing strategy was in violation of international law. Lacking UN authority for the bombing campaign, many commentators argued that any NATO bombing—much less high altitude attacks against urban areas—was a violation of international norms. To counter these claims, NATO officials continued to insist that they were acting as a collective of nations, guided by the NATO charter, to help stem egregious and widespread human rights abuses by the Yugoslav government.

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The contest between the rights of sovereign states to be protected against unilateral interventions and the rights of individuals to be protected by the international community against the abuses of their own governments remains a contentious and ambiguous area within international law, and one in which Kosovo shed more heat than light. In a welcome sign of Alliance unity, French President Chirac declared in a nationally televised address to the people of France, "One can have no faith today in the Belgrade authorities; with all conscience, as far as I'm concerned, I see no reason to change strategy." The Alliance was scraping through yet another peace offensive by Milosevic. On May 2, Secretary Albright and Foreign Minister Ivanov spoke on the telephone. Chernomyrdin was slated to arrive in Washington for talks with Gore the next day. Ivanov claimed Chernomyrdin would arrive with a proposal from President Yeltsin that "could lead to substantial progress." The two also discussed a draft UN Security Council resolution that would be considered by the G-8, although Albright insisted there was no point in convening the G-8 foreign ministers to discuss the matter unless they had a credible document from which to work. Vice President Gore also made clear to Chernomyrdin before the latter came to Washington that the continuation of the hostilities would make it increasingly difficult for the international community to maintain Yugoslavia's unity. In raw terms, if Milosevic continued to resist, a ground war and an independent Kosovo might inevitably follow.

4

CHAPTER

The Dog Days of Spring

Hammer and Anvil Viktor Chernomyrdin arrived in Washington on May 3 with succinct orders from Yeltsin: Find a way to end the bombing. Talbott and the Russian Ambassador to the United States, Yuri Ushakov, greeted the Russian envoy at Andrews Air Force Base. Upon touching down, Chernomyrdin told reporters that it was time "to take the step to dramatic diplomacy from bloody, protracted war." During the drive to the White House, the conversation between Chernomyrdin and Talbott was dominated by the Russian envoy's impressions of his visit to Belgrade. Milosevic seemed willing to accept some form of military force in Kosovo but did not want the operation dominated by NATO. Chernomyrdin brought Moscow's latest peace proposal: On an agreedupon day, Belgrade would announce the start of a withdrawal of its forces from Kosovo and NATO would suspend air strikes and provide guarantees that it would not commence ground operations. Kofi Annan would then promptly fly to Belgrade to work out the text of a UN Security Council resolution, and then the Yugoslavs, Annan, and Chernomyrdin would hold negotiations. After a UN Security Council resolution was adopted, NATO's military operation would officially terminate and a UN peacekeeping force would be deployed. There was little appeal in Yeltsin's plan, but the Russians were notorious for starting negotiations with a low bid. 83

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At the White House, Chernomyrdin held a one-on-one meeting with Vice President Gore and then went into an Oval Office meeting with President Clinton, Gore, and other members of the national security team. Chernomyrdin was invited to continue discussions with Gore at the vice president's residence that evening, along with Sandy Berger and Leon Fuerth. Secretary Albright was unable to attend because the president was hosting a state dinner for Japanese Prime Minister Keizo Obuchi, so Talbott was sent from the dinner to the meeting as Albright's proxy; he arrived incongruously attired in his black tuxedo and purple bow tie. Gore and Chernomyrdin had known each other for more than five years, and there was a genuine sense of friendship between the two. Gore's National Security Advisor Leon Fuerth commented on the relationship: "It was always first rate, and this is the point. Gore and Chernomyrdin never B.S.'ed each other and they each knew it. Chernomyrdin, to the extent that anyone can be, especially in his circumstances, was faithful to his commitments once he made them." Although sharing a certain bond, the style of the two men starkly contrasted. "Al is not the big bear hug kind of a guy," a senior U.S. official observed, "He is not the kind of guy you throw back shots of vodka with." Where Gore could be almost didactic, the Russian envoy was an earthy man, sometimes coarse, and not shy about using profanity or drinking during the talks. Chernomyrdin was gregarious, but his bouts of temper could come suddenly, and his ruddy face was that of a man of considerable appetites. Chernomyrdin had a Ph.D. in engineering and had worked as an operator and unit chief at the Orsk oil refinery before later going on to head the minister of the gas industry for the USSR and later Russia. In his manner, he had never fully shed the roughneck feel of the oil and gas business. There were growing tensions within Gore's staff about how best to deal with the Russians. Gore himself had fundamentally soured on Russia at some point, and recognized that the frequent corruption charges leveled at Moscow were a political liability. While still favoring general cooperation with Russia, Gore had a real wariness because the situation in the Balkans was uncertain and the political season was heating up. Sitting at a broad table, Leon Fuerth, Sandy Berger, and Strobe Talbott flanked Gore. Russian Ambassador Ushakov and Boris Ivanovsky, an advisor to Chernomyrdin from the Russian foreign ministry, sat on either side of Chernomyrdin. As he drew diverging lines on a piece of paper, the vice presi-

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dent argued, "We're at a fork in the road. This first way lies bombing, continued and accelerated. However, if the Yugoslav president took the other fork, he might maintain some sovereignty over Kosovo and benefit from long-term assistance to the region." Gore's National Security Advisor Leon Fuerth emphasized, "Chernomyrdin laid out the case for terminating the war on conditions less strenuous than the ones NATO had laid down, and he hit these points hard. I think it was his intention to see if he could shake the United States in its support for the NATO demands. Gore's response was detailed point for point, analyzing how the Russian proposal would create a situation less secure than the NATO proposals. I believe that Gore's response convinced Chernomyrdin that there was not very much room for bargaining about the terms. I also believe that the prior relationship between Gore and Chernomyrdin accelerated that conclusion, because they knew each other well enough that Chernomyrdin understood when he was in the presence of an absolute bottom line being presented by the vice president, as indeed he was." Chernomyrdin made a pitch for bringing a neutral international figure into the diplomatic efforts who could accompany him on his next trip to Belgrade. He asserted that Moscow, because of the intense domestic outrage over NATO's offensive, did not want to be seen "accepting Milosevic's sword." Introducing a third party would provide President Yeltsin with much-needed political cover, and having someone who could represent NATO's views would speed a possible settlement. Chernomyrdin suggested that Kofi Annan might play such a role. Under his scenario, Chernomyrdin would push Milosevic as far as Russia realistically could, with the neutral international figure more decisively making NATO's case. This would help Yeltsin avoid any appearance that he was betraying Yugoslavia while helping move the process toward a peaceful conclusion. Annan had been attempting to get a foot in the door of the diplomatic process for some time, and he would likely be receptive to the proposal. The lack of enthusiasm for Annan among the U.S. negotiators was immediately apparent, and Gore explained in no uncertain terms why NATO did not want Annan in such a role. Gore flatly stated that Annan would not be given a hand in negotiating the terms under which NATO's air campaign would be terminated. The fear was that UN involvement would dilute NATO's demands upon Belgrade—the exact reason the strategy appealed to the Russians. As the group snacked on finger food, much of the discussion

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continued to center on how to move peace talks forward, and under whose auspices such negotiations would take place. The session wore on for over two hours, and the group agreed to reconvene the next morning. As the Clinton administration officials made their way out to their waiting cars, Deputy Secretary of State Talbott suggested to Sandy Berger that Finnish President Martti Ahtisaari might make an ideal candidate for the type of "neutral" figure that Chernomyrdin wanted to bring in to the negotiations. Talbott was convinced that the Finn would be as tough as any NATO representative in dealing with Milosevic. Berger agreed that the Finnish president might fit the bill. On May 4, Secretary Albright, who later joined the breakfast meeting with Chernomyrdin, spoke with the UN secretary-general. She told Annan that Chernomyrdin continued to push for direct negotiations between Milosevic and Annan during a NATO bombing pause, but made clear her preference that the UN's involvement in the diplomacy be limited to the passage of a Security Council resolution. Annan agreed that he should not travel to Belgrade. Albright also expressed her concern with some of the names being considered by the secretary-general as UN envoys, and the relationship between the two continued to erode under the strains of the air campaign. Annan felt that Albright's approach was irrational in light of the situation on the ground, while Albright was concerned that Annan favored peace at any cost. A short time later, Chernomyrdin joined Vice President Gore, Berger, Albright, and Fuerth at Gore's residence at the Naval Observatory for an hour-long breakfast meeting over muffins and juice. Chernomyrdin again suggested that it would be helpful to bring a third party into the diplomacy. Gore and the others were cautiously receptive to the idea because it would give the diplomatic dialogue a broader patina of impartiality at a time when NATO was eager to gain international support—as long as the third party was not the UN. Secretary Albright suggested Finland's president, Martti Ahtisaari, as a third party to the talks between Russia and the United States to end the war in Kosovo, just as Berger and Talbott had discussed the night before. The reaction from Chernomyrdin was sharp and immediate. He loudly slapped his hand upon the table and exclaimed "Vot!—That's it." For the first time during their meetings, Chernomyrdin's beefy face was animated by the hope of a breakthrough.

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Chernomyrdin approved of Ahtisaari, as did his superiors in Moscow. A new, unusual, and untested process of trilateral diplomacy had been born. For one of the few times during the more than eight weeks of bombing to that point, the United States and Russia had found common ground. As Talbott accompanied Chernomyrdin on his ride back out to Andrews Air Force Base, the Russian envoy was fixated on Ahtisaari's potential role, and he wanted the Finnish president to accompany him on a mission to Belgrade as soon as possible. Ahtisaari was well qualified for the unique role. The sixty-one-year-old president had long been an advocate of engagement with Russia, and because Finland was a neutral non-NATO country, it lent Ahtisaari an important voice of independence. The Russians were comfortable with Ahtisaari, and the Finns in general, because they were geographic neighbors and longtime political familiars. Indeed, the small town in Finland where Ahtisaari had been born became part of the Soviet Union at the conclusion of World War II. Chernomyrdin effused that he was "delighted" by the choice. "Ahtisaari was very convenient to me. We are neighbors, he is a charming person, a good politician, and it was a pleasure to work with him." Ahtisaari had met Chernomyrdin several times when he was prime minister, but he did not know him well. Ahtisaari also had a growing reputation as a peacemaker. He had been a career diplomat before ascending to the Finnish presidency and had a proven record of accomplishment in dealing with difficult negotiations in earlier jobs with the United Nations. The former schoolteacher had spent thirteen years heading the UN effort that led to peaceful independence for Namibia. His experience as the chief of the UN's Bosnia task force in 1992 and 1993 deeply shaped his views toward the Balkans, and the Serb hostage-taking of peacekeepers and the slaughter at Srebrenica powerfully formed his perception that the international community needed to act with resolve in dealing with Milosevic. Ahtisaari did not make his first foray into politics until 1994—when he returned from a peacemaking mission in Yugoslavia and won the presidency despite having never held elective office. Ahtisaari also enjoyed the benefit of having strong ties to the European Union, with the Finns scheduled to come into the rotating presidency of that body in July. His inclusion in the negotiations would allow the EU to feel like it had a seat at the table—while keeping the negotiating process free of extraneous players.

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From the U.S. perspective, Ahtisaari was also ideal. Albright, Berger, and Talbott had confidence that the Finnish president would present NATO's conditions to Milosevic with clarity and resolve. President Ahtisaari would become an integral part of the diplomatic effort to end the war in a strategy Sandy Berger dubbed the "hammer and anvil." Ahtisaari would serve as the anvil, setting out NATO's demands of Yugoslavia. Chernomyrdin would be the hammer—driving home that Russia would no longer be able to protect Milosevic. It was envisaged that if they ever traveled jointly to Belgrade, Chernomyrdin and Ahtisaari would not necessarily deliver identical messages in identical tones. Instead, the Clinton administration hoped that it would be able to get the Russians to take positions that were not contradictory to NATO's, with Ahtisaari filling in the details. Chernomyrdin's mere presence at the table would show Milosevic that he could no longer play Russia off against the Alliance. Ideally, in the end, Ahtisaari would be the one to take Milosevic's sword, the Russians would be granted a role in KFOR, and the horrors of a ground war would be avoided. However, the expectations of success for the trilateral talks were low. Talbott immediately contacted President Ahtisaari to see if he was interested in taking on the mission. Talbott said that their conversation needed to take place in "invisible ink" and that if the Finnish president declined, the "phone call never took place." Ahtisaari was enthusiastic in his own deliberate way. As he put it, the task was "difficult enough to interest me," but he and Talbott both agreed, "they would not bet any of their own money" on its prospects for success. The Finnish president felt that the diplomacy was designed to demonstrate Washington's seriousness about peace before being forced to move ahead with a ground war. "The failure of my effort would show to the world that Milosevic was a hopeless case. If I were to fail, the only remaining option would be a military one." In this sense, Ahtisaari viewed himself as something of a "sacrificial lamb" charged with determining if Milosevic would accept a peace, but he added, "I had made the decision not to run for reelection, so it was fairly easy for me to be of assistance." Ahtisaari welcomed the involvement of the Russians in the diplomatic effort, since they were the only ones who had maintained a close dialogue with Belgrade. He was also pleased that Chernomyrdin was a direct representative of Yeltsin and felt that because the Russian envoy was a man of inde-

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pendent financial means, he would be far less vulnerable to political pressure from the Duma or the public. Acknowledging that Chernomyrdin would largely mirror Milosevic's interests, Ahtisaari used an old Finnish saying in justifying his diplomatic effort: "Trying to catch a salmon is always worthwhile—whether you catch it or not." Secretary Albright soon spoke with the UN secretary-general about Ahtisaari's role, and Annan's reaction was lukewarm, understanding that the proposal was, in part, a deliberate effort to freeze him out of the diplomacy. Despite Annan and Albright's mutual mistrust, the secretary-general eventually offered his reluctant support. Albright also approached the German government—which held the rotating presidency of the European Union until the end of June—to bless Ahtisaari's involvement from a EU perspective. The Germans were cautiously supportive but also wanted to make sure that a meeting of the G-8 foreign ministers would still be held in Bonn several days later to keep the Russians engaged. The Germans felt that otherwise frustration on the diplomatic front would continue to grow and spur a continuing pilgrimage of diplomats to Moscow. Talbott spoke with Chernomyrdin on the telephone during the morning of May 6. The Russian was excited, thinking in grand strokes, and he wanted to get the trilateral diplomacy moving. He suggested that Milosevic would accept a peace deal as long as he could maintain his hold on the Yugoslav presidency. However, a dispute about how best to structure Ahtisaari's involvement quickly bubbled up, with Chernomyrdin wanting the Finnish president to immediately join him on a trip to Belgrade, but Talbott preferring that Ahtisaari accompany Chernomyrdin only on a "climactic and breakthrough visit" to Belgrade. Talbott urged Chernomyrdin to speak directly with Ahtisaari. The United States did not want Ahtisaari to engage in a long series of shuttle missions, and felt that some of the differences with Moscow on the military elements of a peace agreement needed to be resolved before a joint trip to Belgrade. Immediately after that call, Talbott phoned Ahtisaari and stressed that it would only make sense for Ahtisaari to travel with Chernomyrdin to Belgrade once the United States and Russia had come closer to agreement. In what turned out to be a major communication lapse, the Finnish president expressed surprise that anyone had expected him to accompany Chernomyrdin to the Yugoslav capital as part of the process. Talbott explained Chernomyrdin's theory that the Russians wanted Milosevic to turn his sword over

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to a neutral figure. Ahtisaari wanted more time to think about a potential trip to Belgrade and stressed that he did not want to end up playing "Sancho Panza to Chernomyrdin's Don Quixote." In Finland, President Ahtisaari called the U.S. ambassador to Finland, Eric Edelman, to the presidential palace to further discuss the situation. Edelman had formerly served as Deputy Secretary Talbott's chief of staff, and the two enjoyed a close working relationship. Ahtisaari was concerned with several operational considerations. "If we fly together into Belgrade would there be a bombing pause for a day?" He also noted that he did not want to fly to Belgrade on the same plane with Chernomyrdin, and told Ambassador Edelman that he had begun to make practical arrangements "to fly with my own team of experts." Ahtisaari felt that the agenda for negotiations needed to be "carefully agreed beforehand. Otherwise there is too much opportunity for mischief making." He also sensed that timing would be critical. "I think two weeks from today would be about the earliest one could contemplate travel, certainly not before the end of next week. The timing should be determined by real opportunity. We should not force the pace." Ahtisaari saw two possibilities: "One is that the Russians pave the way and then I go in and accept his pistol, as it were. The other possibility is that I go somehow to verify that what the Russians have gotten Milosevic to agree to is consistent with the terms agreed to by the Russians, the EU, the UN, and NATO. Either way, it seems to make more sense to go after Chernomyrdin has been to Belgrade." Ahtisaari then stepped out to take a call from Chernomyrdin, who declared, "your quiet life as president of Finland is now over, you will be taking on an important new task for all humanity." Chernomyrdin said that he was prepared to travel to Helsinki as soon as the next day to hold talks with the Finnish president, but Ahtisaari wanted to push the visit off until May 13— after Talbott had a chance for another round of talks with the Russians. Ahtisaari then suggested that perhaps the best thing would be to hold a threeway meeting—Talbott, Ahtisaari, and Chernomyrdin—"to make sure we all see eye-to-eye." Chernomyrdin was not pleased by the schedule: "Time is running out. We must get NATO to stop the bombing. It is not important to argue about how the war started, but rather it is important to end it." Eventually, Chernomyrdin agreed to travel to Helsinki six days later on May 12. Ahtisaari's decision to travel to Belgrade only when Russia and NATO had closed some of their outstanding differences was pivotal, and it would shape the course of the diplomacy for weeks to follow. Talbott, Ahtisaari, and Chernomyrdin

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would need to engage in intensive talks before any joint mission to Belgrade could be launched.

A Bad Day for NATO In Moscow, President Yeltsin's erratic behavior was again the focus of attention after he offered rambling and barely coherent remarks on the war at a Kremlin awards ceremony on May 6: "No one—just let Clinton, a little bit, accidentally, send a missile. We'll answer immediately." Yeltsin continued, "We don't want . . . such impudence! To unleash a war on a sovereign state. Without Security Council. Without United Nations. It could only be possible in a time of barbarism." The next day at a wreath-laying ceremony, Yeltsin would stumble and nearly fall before being steadied by Defense Minister Sergeyev. On May 6, while the private lines of diplomacy were buzzing between Washington, Moscow, and Helsinki, the public focus was on Bonn as the G-8 foreign ministers—representing the seven leading industrialized nations and Russia—attempted to forge a statement of conditions for ending the crisis to which they could collectively agree, just as NATO had done at its summit. German foreign ministry officials had been particularly keen on the gathering, wanting to keep the Russians engaged while limiting their growing domestic political fallout from the war. However, Secretary Albright had warned her foreign counterparts, "While putting an end to this, we need to be very careful about how we do so." It was her view that "there are some who want to end this no matter what." The Clinton administration was hopeful that the negotiations between Chernomyrdin, Ahtisaari, and Talbott would ultimately be the mechanism that allowed NATO to move from the generalities expressed by the G-8 to the specifics that would allow Chernomyrdin and Ahtisaari to make their joint trip to Belgrade. The G-8 ministers issued a statement detailing their "general principles on the political solution to the Kosovo crisis," but the communique was the lowest common denominator between Russia and the West. There was still considerable work to be done in bridging the gulf between their positions. The statement called for: An immediate end to violence and repression in Kosovo; The safe return of refugees;

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Withdrawal of military, police, and paramilitary forces from Kosovo; The deployment of an "effective international civil and security presences, endorsed and adopted by the United Nations, capable of guaranteeing the achievement of the common objectives"; The establishment of an interim UN administration for Kosovo; and, A "political process towards the establishment of an interim political framework agreement providing for a substantial self-government for Kosovo; taking full account of the Rambouillet accords and the principles of sovereignty and territorial integrity of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia and the other countries of the region, and the demilitarization of the KLA." The joint statement led many observers to question whether NATO was softening its demands. The word "all" was still not attached to the call for Yugoslav troop withdrawals and NATO was not designated as the leader of the peacekeeping force, largely because Foreign Minister Ivanov refused to sign any document granting NATO a primary role without agreement from Milosevic. Worse still for those who feared the Alliance was going wobbly, the statement called for the international civil and security presence in Kosovo to be "endorsed and adopted" by the UN. Similarly, the language on the process to be pursued in determining Kosovo's final political status was so open-ended that it could mean almost anything. While there was obvious utility in having the G-8 ministers express agreement, no matter how vague, the communique fueled disquiet that NATO was looking for an easy way out. The G-8 statement reflected its reality: a document drafted by committee to meet the political and tactical needs of both the respective G-7 members and Russia. NATO wanted to pull Russia more closely to its demands as part of its double magnet strategy; Russia wanted to be seen as a major diplomatic player on the world stage. After the agreement was announced, Foreign Minister Ivanov declared, "The situation is, at long last, back in the UN framework." As Deputy National Security Advisor Jim Steinberg noted, "The Russian people don't have an abiding affection for the Serbs. The one thing that the Russians cared about, and it was a constant during the administration, was being involved. They want a role; they want to be a partner." The G-8 ministers' meeting played out against the larger backdrop of a visit by President Clinton to meet with German Chancellor Schroeder on

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that same day. Clinton had been making a short swing through Germany and Belgium to shore up the allies, bring attention the plight of refugees, and show support for U.S. troops. After a great deal of discussion on the importance of shoring up Macedonia and Albania with both financial and rhetorical support, Schroeder got to the bottom line: "Where are we going on Kosovo?" He wanted to know what would happen if Russian support for a UN Security Council resolution and a NATO peacekeeping force did not materialize: "Then what?" Clinton struck an optimistic note, "We have had nineteen countries moving in the same direction. Considering that everyone has their own constraints . . . it has worked very well." Clinton cited Alliance unity as one reason he was "much more cautious than Tony Blair in talking ground troops, even though I think it is a good way to keep Milosevic off balance." The U.S. president also stressed that NATO needed to get ready for winter, both in terms of potentially caring for refugees and by preparing "to introduce ground troops, if we determine that the risks are acceptable—the risks to Alliance solidarity, to our relationship with Russia, and, of course, to the troops themselves." As Clinton observed, "We will have to make some very hard decisions for October within the next four to five weeks. If this is not resolved in the next month, we will have some very tough choices to make." The day before, General Clark had briefed President Clinton on the military situation, and the NATO commander continued to push hard for robust military measures ranging from putting Apache attack helicopters in action to pushing forward with ground troop planning. Schroeder offered no illusions about the German view of ground troops, "This will be difficult for us, even impossible for us." While sympathetic to Schroeder's political difficulties with the ground option, Clinton felt that winter would inflict a devastating toll on both Kosovar Albanians and on NATO itself. "If we fail to plan for this, and then people starve and freeze, that is one thing that would break support for what we are doing." In almost desperate tones, Michael Steiner, a diplomatic advisor to Schroeder, noted that winter was long off, but the "problem of Alliance unity will be upon us well before that." As if to highlight Steiner's words, the NATO Alliance was dealt a profound setback to its military and diplomatic goals only a day later. Late in the evening on May 7—just one day after the G-8 ministers had stood in unity to issue a joint statement—NATO launched an attack on what it

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thought was the Yugoslav federal arms procurement headquarters. Instead, missiles slammed into the Chinese embassy in Belgrade. Three Chinese citizens were killed instantly and another twenty wounded in what the government in Beijing quickly assailed as a "barbaric action" and a "war crime." Coverage of the incident dominated media around the globe. President Clinton offered his "profound condolences," while Pentagon spokesman Ken Bacon was left to comment, "There is no such thing as clean combat." For a variety of reasons, the Chinese refused to believe the attack was accidental. The British newspaper the Guardian subsequently alleged that the NATO attack was deliberate and that the Chinese embassy had been used to transmit Yugoslav military communications; both NATO and the Chinese strongly denied the respective claims. Chinese outrage at the bombing quickly manifested itself in organized demonstrations at the American embassy in Beijing that briefly turned the U.S. ambassador and his staff into virtual hostages among a sea of angry Chinese protestors. The embassy incident sent shock waves through NATO foreign ministries and resulted in a temporary ban on air strikes against downtown Belgrade. It also came only two days after NATO had suffered its first fatalities of the conflict when a U.S. Apache helicopter crashed in Albania during a training mission. For a dangerous moment it looked like the will of the Alliance to prosecute the war against Milosevic might be unraveled by a deadly mistake allegedly caused by a CIA planner using an outdated map. Secretary-General Annan spoke with National Security Advisor Berger and claimed that he was not backing away from supporting NATO's demands, but that he would have to be very hard-nosed and tough in his public statements about the air strike. Berger understood and the conversation went as well as could be expected. Pundits and commentators blistered the conduct of NATO's campaign with renewed vigor. NATO's decision to revisit targeting procedures—including temporarily taking Belgrade off the target grid—and widespread concerns within the Alliance about the drift of the campaign led both the Yugoslavs and Russians to believe that the West's unity was near the breaking point. That perception, combined with intense Russian anger over the incident, further chilled diplomatic efforts. Talbott admitted of the talks with Russia at that point, "I was expecting the whole thing to fall in on itself." Both Foreign Minister Igor Ivanov and special envoy Chernomyrdin knew that, for the moment, they could not be seen as engaging in diplomacy with the West. Tactically, they

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also hoped that the campaign might crumble under the increasingly critical weight of Western public opinion. Moscow quickly dispatched Chernomyrdin to Beijing for emergency consultations with the Chinese, and his comments on the embassy bombing were unusually understated: "I don't think it will lead to anything good." The response to the embassy incident within NATO, other than some obvious hand-wringing, was stalwart. While wanting to avoid such costly and embarrassing mistakes in the future, sentiment for abandoning the air campaign did not gather steam at NATO. President Clinton and French President Chirac spoke in the immediate aftermath of the embassy bombing, and American officials were enormously relieved that Chirac had been "tough as nails." Although still opposed to a ground invasion, the French president said that NATO needed to show "moral backbone" and that "the air strikes must continue" until Milosevic capitulated. The Alliance had painfully come to understand the necessity of fortitude. Milosevic, hoping to capitalize on the fallout from the embassy strike, announced a "partial withdrawal" of his forces from Kosovo on May 10. However, the pullout amounted to little more than several busloads of Yugoslav soldiers being dropped off at the border with Serbia in a photo opportunity. Milosevic also met with a former UN special envoy for the Balkans, Yasushi Akashi, in Belgrade and discussed a willingness to accept a lightly armed peacekeeping force in the province. NATO made clear the bombing would continue. On May 11, General Clark briefed the NATO ambassadors in Brussels on the status of the military campaign. All the ambassadors were concerned about the embassy incident, but Clark assured them that he had put in place new checks to avoid another such mishap. Clark was undeterred, and he explained that his highest priority remained attacking Yugoslav forces in Kosovo while pursuing the Milosevic regime at the strategic level. He wanted NATO to intensify its attacks with more planes, targets, and resourcefulness. While all the ambassadors expressed support for the air campaign, and even its intensification, there was a steady undercurrent of unease in the room about both collateral damage and what some perceived as unwillingness by Clark to take political direction. As German Ambassador Joachim Bitterlich argued, "The longer the air war lasts the more our political leaders need to know where we are." The urge by political leaders to micromanage the air war was persistent,

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but Clark stated flatly that he took his direction from the ambassadors and that he would rely on them to tell him if he was "over the top." Clark continued to bristle at the many restraints he faced, as he grumbled to the assembly, "I can make the campaign as ineffective as you want it to be, as long as it does not endanger the lives of airmen." Clark also emphatically argued that NATO "should not sanctuarize Belgrade." Despite the embassy incident, the Pentagon made clear to Clark that he "should hit Milosevic very hard" for the next several weeks in an effort to break his will. As Clark explained, "We kept up the tempo, striking air defense, air fields, bridges, military facilities, radio relay sites, and petroleum facilities throughout Serbia. We just needed a fallback, a guarantee. That was the ground plan." Behind the scenes, Clark and his staff continued to debate the best plans for ground operations. Clark had explored a number of options for the use of ground troops, ranging from utilizing invasion routes through the plains of Hungary with some 200,000 troops to seize Belgrade and topple Milosevic to a far more modest effort using a much smaller force that would carve out safe havens for refugees within Kosovo. The central question facing Clark and his staff as they updated the NATO ground assessment was whether to direct forces solely against Kosovo or to march all the way to Belgrade. Moving against Belgrade would allow ground troops to cross far better terrain in Serbia and strike directly at Milosevic's "center of gravity"—an approach grounded in traditional military doctrine and the use of decisive force. However, the political fallout from such a major operation would be far more severe and the potential for the Serbs to wage a lengthy insurgency operation in the streets of Belgrade was a serious concern. Clark knew that whatever choice he made had to be well thought out or it would be "ripped apart by various factions in Washington." Even from his initial effort, Clark began to lean toward the middle, wanting to "seize and secure Kosovo" but not Belgrade, in a plan that came to be called "Option B-." Using 175,000 NATO troops largely staged from Albania and Macedonia, B- would drive all of Milosevic's forces from Kosovo in what was anticipated to be a month-long heavy offensive. This challenging military task would be hard to sell politically. With the aftershocks of the Chinese embassy bombing still reverberating, the State Department continued to wrestle with the possibility of opening diplomatic back channels to Belgrade. On May 11, Landrum Boiling—the head of a humanitarian organization who had traveled with Jesse Jackson to

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Belgrade as part of the effort to get the three U.S. servicemen released—met with Secretary Albright in Washington. Boiling was the senior European representative for Mercy Corps International, a relief group headquartered in Oregon. Boiling had been stationed in Belgrade as a war correspondent in the last year of World War II and had long been involved in humanitarian efforts in the region. Boiling made clear that he had no desire to meddle in Albright's work and that he only sought to be helpful. Boiling had held a number of discussions during the previous three months, and particularly during his three days in Belgrade, with a Yugoslav official by the name of Bogljub Karic, who wanted to serve as a diplomatic intermediary with the West. Karic was a longtime Milosevic ally and close to his politically powerful wife, Mirjana (Mira) Markovic. Karic was the chief money manager for the Yugoslav regime, the deputy prime minister for privatization, and came from one of that country's richest families. Karic had approached Boiling several times, both before and after the bombing started, and said he wanted to pursue direct, but informal, talks between United States and Yugoslav officials. "Why do we need the Russians and Germans? It is the U.S. that counts." Karic insisted that Milosevic was ready to strike a peace deal largely along the lines of the terms spelled out by NATO. However, Karic stressed that Milosevic felt very strongly about several points. First, he would not surrender Yugoslav claims of sovereignty over Kosovo. Second, he would insist that there was some uniformed, armed Yugoslav presence in Kosovo after a settlement. Lastly, he would not withdraw all of, or even a majority of, the Yugoslav forces from the province before the bombing stopped, but he would agree to some mutually acceptable agreement for ending the violence. Karic suggested that Milosevic would push hard for minimizing NATO participation in peacekeeping, but in the end he would accept a substantial peacekeeping force that included contingents from Russia, a few neutral countries, and a minority NATO presence. Karic said that Milosevic wanted him to head a small team that would visit the United States to meet with "highlyplaced" officials to as a precursor to direct official talks. Karic, while insisting that he was no fan of Milosevic, pronounced, "There is now no alternative. He's the one you have to make peace with, and he's ready." Boiling made clear that he had no way of evaluating the seriousness of Karic's offer. Karic had frequently put out feelers to public and private figures in the West. To some, Karic suggested that he was willing to lead the

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opposition to unseat Milosevic. To others, such as Boiling, he claimed he wanted to open a negotiating track for Milosevic. Clinton administration officials assumed Karic was simply hedging his bets to position himself no matter what happened to Milosevic. Karic did not carry much credibility with Washington, but as a member of Milosevic's inner circle, his entreaties were treated seriously. If nothing else, Washington reasoned that Karic might provide insight into the state of thinking in Belgrade. Ultimately, Albright decided that Bob Gelbard, a senior Balkans advisor at the State Department, should explore Karic's offer.

Primakov Felled On May 11, Strobe Talbott and a small delegation of officials arrived in Moscow. That evening, Talbott dined at the American ambassador's residence with the Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Georgy Mamedov. The atmosphere for diplomacy in Moscow was difficult, said Mamedov. "The environment has gotten a lot worse over the last four days, and the United States has to turn things around." Mamedov noted that the "substance alone was hard enough" and that the G-8 meeting in Bonn had made clear that significant differences remained between Russia and the West. The preimpeachment environment in Moscow was getting hot, at the same time Yeltsin-Primakov relations were deteriorating. Chernomyrdin had been concerned that he was being labeled as "too close to NATO" after his meeting with Gore in Washington, and he had turned the tables on Ivanov by claiming the foreign minister had caved in to NATO at the G-8 meeting. The bombing of the Chinese embassy had also provoked the Chinese to more aggressively insert themselves into the situation, leading some in Moscow to propose that Russia and China jointly give NATO an ultimatum to end the bombing. French Foreign Minister Hubert Vedrine had been in Moscow to lay the groundwork for a visit from French President Chirac, and Mamedov said he had been tough and uncompromising, essentially telling the Russians that they could either be part of the solution or "get out of the way." The Russians had hoped for a more accommodating line from both Paris and Bonn and were taken aback that the embassy bombing had not opened more meaningful divisions within the Alliance.

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There were concerns that President Yeltsin was on the verge of pulling the plug on the Chernomyrdin track and distancing Russia from the Kosovo diplomacy entirely. Suddenly it seemed that securing a breakthrough was less important than keeping the process, and Chernomyrdin's involvement in it, alive. Mamedov felt that the United States needed to demonstrate that it was making a credible diplomatic effort and not just throwing up a "smokescreen for more bombing." Mamedov also left Talbott with a rather ominous impression that further Russian political upheaval was afoot. The next day, May 12, Talbott met with both Chernomyrdin and Ivanov in separate meetings. At the same time, U.S. military officials traveling with the deputy secretary began negotiations with their Russian counterparts on the military aspects of any peace agreement. Three-star Air Force Gen. Robert "Doc" Foglesong, an assistant to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was the lead military official accompanying Talbott, and he huddled with a Russian delegation headed by Russian Gen. Leonid Ivashov that morning. Generals Foglesong and Ivashov were a study in contrasts. Foglesong was tall, angular, and athletic, a marathoner who kept himself in trim physical shape. Laconic in a western way, his laid-back demeanor masked a sharp intellect. Thoughtful, hardworking, and with the slight swagger of a lifelong fighter jock, Foglesong was a practical man. He had logged more than thirtyfour hundred hours flying F-15s, F-I6s, A-10s, and other aircraft, and he had even made several bombing runs over Yugoslavia during the war. Having worked closely with both Secretary Albright and other State Department officials, the general was comfortable with the interworkings of U.S. diplomacy. General Ivashov, on the other hand, was a throwback. A political general, his temperament was often that of an old-time Soviet military commissar. A heavy smoker, Ivashov's uniform often seemed a poor fit for his bulky frame. He was an unrepentant Communist Party hard-liner, with deep ties into the Russian intelligence hierarchy. Ivashov viewed the demise of the Soviet Union with anger and frustration that often burned uncomfortably bright, and he was the Russian intelligence community's senior operative directly involved in the Kosovo negotiations. As chief of the main directorate of the Ministry of Defense's Directorate for International Cooperation, Ivashov oversaw much of the ministry's involvement in key foreign policy issues such as arms control negotiations

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and foreign weapons sales. Heavy-set, with receding dark hair, the heavybrowed and articulate Ivashov was nationalistic and deeply suspicious of the West. He had been one of the people pushing hardest to suspend all military ties to the West in the days following the onset of the bombing. Diplomats and military officials posted in Moscow frequently referred to Ivashov, only half joking, as "Evil-shov" and "Darth Vader." His anti-Western rhetoric was florid and his preferred style of negotiating was brinkmanship. Ivashov had grown hard-line as his career progressed, in large part because of the decline of the Russian military. Ivashov was a popular figure in Moscow and adroit at maneuvering within the Russian bureaucracy. Three issues were at the heart of the military talks between Generals Foglesong and Ivashov: what would it take to get the bombing stopped, the scope of Serb military and police withdrawal, and the composition and command structure of the potential peacekeeping force. The U.S. team was adamant that air strikes would only be suspended when Milosevic met all of NATO's conditions. The Russian officers stressed that the peacekeeping operation had to be led by the United Nations and that the core NATO powers not be given a prominent role on the ground. U.S. Brig. Gen. George Casey, who had been assigned to Talbott's team from the policy staff of the Pentagon, had also worked closely with General Clark's staff and his superiors back at the Pentagon to make sure that there was a clear understanding within the U.S. military as to its "redlines" with regard to the negotiations with the Russians. General Clark weighed in on the negotiation via e-mail saying he wanted "a genuine Serb withdrawal, total and fast, with no holding on to northern Kosovo. No compromise on NATO command and control of the force (the Russians could send in forces with the United States, as they had done in Bosnia.) No border controls by Serbs over refugee return." A participant in the first meeting between Foglesong and Ivashov observed of the session, "It was professional, correct, and largely pro forma. Ivashov was trying to do as little as possible with what he had been ordered to do. General Foglesong was very good. He was nonconfrontational and he did not take the bait. As we tried to work through the conceptual ideas, it became very clear that there was little agreement about what should happen and what should be included. So Foglesong flipped it around, and we began to mutually define things that we did not want the operation to be. It was more of a reductive process; that was the only way we could get started."

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As their sessions progressed, General Ivashov made clear to Foglesong that he would need further direction from his political superiors before they could move forward. In more than ten hours of talks over two days, the U.S. team also saw some warning signs. There were fifteen to twenty Russian officials aligned on one side of the table for the discussions, about an even mix between Russian military and civilian representatives. "At the end of the second day, we get up and everybody shakes hands and we are about to walk out," recalled a U.S. negotiator, "and the Russian foreign ministry guys start introducing themselves to their counterparts from the Russian department of international cooperation at the defense ministry. As screwed up as our own interagency process can be, at least we have one." As Talbott met with Chernomyrdin, the Russian envoy remained in a difficult spot, eager to be the man to deliver a peace deal but acutely aware of the political risks of being seen as selling out to NATO. Chernomyrdin had dined with German Chancellor Schroeder several days before, and the Russian envoy was clearly taken aback by Schroeder's uncompromising posture and continuing commitment to the air war. Chernomyrdin once again suggested that NATO pause bombing and commence intensive negotiations with Belgrade. The Russian envoy acknowledged that such a plan was not ideal, and would leave Milosevic with considerable leverage, but he saw it as the best of a series of bad options. Chernomyrdin was also eager to travel with Ahtisaari to Belgrade. The Russian envoy objected to the demand for full withdrawal of Serb forces, and Chernomyrdin's advisor from the foreign ministry, Boris Ivanovsky, produced a laminated version of the communique from the NATO Summit with a flourish "worthy of a trial lawyer" as he pointed out that the word "all" did not appear next to the calls for Yugoslav troop withdrawals. Talbott countered, "There's no way to achieve the goal of returning refugees to safety if there are still armed Serbs running around intimidating peaceful Kosovars and drawing fire from militant ones." U.S. negotiators suspected that for the Russians the real problem with total withdrawal was that they could not get Milosevic to accept such a demand. Moscow did not want to be left in a position where its support for the total withdrawal of Serb forces could be used by NATO to strengthen the case for continued bombing or even a ground campaign. Talbott was scheduled to travel to Helsinki later in the day, with Chernomyrdin follow-

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ing the next morning, and both men would meet separately with Finnish President Ahtisaari. Talbott then met with Foreign Minister Ivanov, who he found "markedly subdued and quite frank on being at his wit's end about what to do next." Ivanov plaintively asked, "Just tell me what we've got to do to end this war," feeling that Russia was increasingly trapped between Milosevic's bloodymindedness and NATO's "insanity." The Russian foreign minister stressed that the bombing was giving impetus to reactionary elements in Russia looking to push the United States and Russia into a confrontation "dangerous beyond all imagining." Ivanov felt that Milosevic would not give up and NATO would have no choice but to push forward with a ground war, compelling Russian extremists into ever more provocative actions. The foreign minister claimed NATO's generals were acting on autopilot: "Your military are digging themselves deeper and deeper into a hole, and there will be no way of getting out of it . . . Your intransigence is making our work more difficult. . . . You haven't given Milosevic a way out, and as a result you've left yourselves no way out. . . . There is no logic to continuing the bombing unless you really are bent on destroying the country—not just Milosevic, but the whole country." Ivanov went on at some length about the precedent of making Kosovo a "protectorate" removed from the control of the central government asking, "How can you call that Yugoslav sovereignty?" Like Chernomyrdin, Ivanov also urged a bombing pause followed by negotiations with Belgrade. Talbott objected and noted that such an approach "would simply mean that the Yugoslavs left their troops in place," with no commitment to withdraw or to allow a peacekeeping force to enter. Ivanov shrugged, looked as though he was chewing on an "especially bitter fruit" and said, "I know, I know—but anything is better than more bombing." At the end of the two meetings, Talbott had reached a simple conclusion, "Yeltsin is furious and desperate about the ongoing war. . . . So the boss has sent down word to the troops: stop this goddamn war—I don't care how, but stop it!" Talbott felt that Chernomyrdin might ultimately be the one to come around because "Yeltsin has told him to do whatever it takes to get this problem solved—and because Yeltsin has absorbed the cold reality of NATO's resolve." As Talbott concluded the session with Ivanov, the Russian foreign minister went out of his way to tell the deputy secretary that he was simply a

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bureaucrat "with no political aspirations." The comment seemed odd, but it was only a matter of minutes before Talbott understood its significance. Reporters mobbed Talbott as he emerged from the dim interior of the Russian foreign ministry into the bright light of day. President Yeltsin had just fired Prime Minister Primakov, and would shortly nominate Interior Minister Sergei Stepashin as his replacement. The Russian Communist Party quickly called for street rallies to protest Primakov's dismissal, and there was press speculation that Foreign Minister Ivanov would be given a remote foreign posting because of his close ties with Primakov. Sergei Stepashin was in line to become the fourth Russian prime minister in only fourteen months—further fueling anxiety that an incapacitated Yeltsin was losing control of the political process. Stepashin, a boyish-looking bureaucrat, was a Yeltsin loyalist and viewed by many as "weak enough to be managed" by the president's inner circle. Although generally pro-Western, he had also been one of the leading advocates of prosecuting the first war against Chechnya in 1994 to disastrous results. He was known to work well with Chernomyrdin. Adding to the sense of political crisis, Primakov's dismissal came the day before the Russian Duma was to start deliberations on Yeltsin's impeachment. Primakov's firing signaled a no-holds-barred effort by Yeltsin to fight the Communists in the Duma for political supremacy, and he felt that "a sharp, aggressive move," such as dismissing Primakov, would unbalance his opponents even if it was seen as "unpredictable" and "absolutely illogical." Yeltsin argued, "Primakov was quite capable of uniting the politicians who dreamed of a new isolationist Russia and a new cold war." Primakov had been steadily gaining popularity in opinion polls as a possible presidential successor to Yeltsin, and his dismissal was designed to deflate both Primakov's presidential aspirations and the impeachment effort. Yeltsin explained his decision, "If I let this process go on, the slow slide toward the former Soviet methods of rule could turn Primakov's ultimate dismissal into a real civil conflict. It became clear that waiting until the fall, much less 2000, was simply impossible." In simultaneous confrontation with both NATO and reactionary elements within Russia, Yeltsin was besieged from both within and without. Primakov's firing angered many Russian officials in the defense and intelligence ministries, such as General Ivashov, who had once declared himself "Primakov's man in the ministry of defense." As Talbott noted at the time,

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"Yeltsin is sending a powerful though immensely controversial and risky signal that he is not willing to let his legacy be shaped by the Communist agenda; for better or for worse, he judges a showdown with the Communists now as more propitious than waiting for one closer to the parliamentary elections in December." Later that same day, Talbott and his team left Moscow's political intrigue behind and made the short flight to Helsinki for his first official round of discussions with President Ahtisaari, with some of the delegation remaining behind to continue military-to-military talks. Over a dinner of moose steaks, the Finnish president gave assurances that he fully supported NATO's conditions for ending the war and was willing to make repeated trips to Belgrade if push came to shove. A large, stocky man, with limpid but penetrating blue eyes, Ahtisaari had an imposing physical presence, but increasing trouble with his knees gave him an awkward gait. His silver mane of hair was usually combed straight back, and his quiet, deliberate oratorical style would have been dour if not periodically leavened by flashes of sly humor. Talbott and Ahtisaari discussed the political situation in Russia, and Talbott briefed the Finnish president on his discussions with both Chernomyrdin and Ivanov. Periodically Ahtisaari's aides entered from another room and slipped him notes; the Finnish national hockey team was playing against Sweden in the world hockey championships, and Ahtisaari wanted to be kept abreast of the score. Much to Ahtisaari's pleasure, Finland went on to win the game. He hoped that it might be a positive omen. Chernomyrdin arrived in Helsinki the next day, May 13, after Talbott had briefly returned to Moscow to meet with the Russian envoy. Chernomyrdin began his meeting with Ahtisaari in a foul mood, noting that "many things had changed" since they had last spoken. The Russian envoy offered harsh comments about the Yugoslav president, saying that he never wanted "to go back and see Milosevic again," but also huffed, "No matter what I say, the Americans do not do anything differently." He expressed amazement at the "indifferent" U.S. attitude toward the United Nations, and appealed for a bombing pause. Ahtisaari, after letting Chernomyrdin vent at length, highlighted his own difficult experiences with President Milosevic during the Bosnia crisis. The Finnish president stressed that the world would not quickly forget the massacre of civilians by Serb forces in the UN safe haven of Srebrenica. Ahtisaari felt that the only sensible peacekeeping model was the NATO-dominated

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arrangement already in place in Bosnia, and added, "I would not put one damn Finnish soldier into an operation that did not have a core of NATO forces with a heavy American presence." He also told Chernomyrdin, "Very many things remain unresolved. Not even the Americans have a very clear picture of how to proceed. Our effort is possibly the last opportunity to keep Kosovo a part of Serbia. That is something Milosevic had better understand." The two men also discussed Chernomyrdin's proposal to have significant numbers of Serb forces remain in Kosovo to defend historic sites. Chernomyrdin argued that there were some 8,000 sites in the province that would need protection, and that each would require three Serb soldiers for its defense, a formulation that produced a force of some 24,000 Yugoslavs— roughly the prewar deployment in Kosovo. Ahtisaari later joked to the U.S. Ambassador in Helsinki, "I think the Russians are counting every Serb hamburger stand" in drawing up the list of historic sites. Ahtisaari stressed that the longer the conflict wore on, the greater the damage would be both to Yugoslavia and to Russia's relations with the rest of the world. The Finnish president asserted that it was too early for him to travel to Belgrade and that he, Chernomyrdin, and Talbott should meet jointly the following week in Helsinki. Chernomyrdin again pushed for a bombing pause, and Ahtisaari countered that the matter was largely up to the United States and NATO and that it might not even be possible to get a bombing pause if they traveled together to Belgrade. Chernomyrdin asked Ahtisaari if he thought Talbott was of sufficiently senior rank to represent the United States in talks, and expressed a desire to see the deputy secretary replaced by Vice President Gore. The Finnish president dismissed the suggestion and argued that Talbott was a suitable envoy because of his close personal ties to Clinton. In Moscow, President Yeltsin met with President Chirac, who took a hard line, insisting that Milosevic would have to fully meet all of NATO's demands before the bombs would stop falling. Yeltsin complained to the French president, "You're continuing the ruthless bombing of Yugoslavia, and you're handing Russia a role as NATO's special courier to Belgrade to impose your ultimatums." The Russian president added, "We can't play these games, and we aren't going to play them. We demand that if you can't stop the bombing, you at least halt it for a time." Chirac then launched into a long discussion of France and Russia's com-

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mon interest in preventing a "unipolar" world dominated by the United States. However, Chirac also insisted that Russia had to decide if it was for or against Milosevic, and that based on that decision Russia would either remain on the sidelines of international affairs or enter the modern world under Yeltsin's democratic leadership. Yeltsin countered that it was NATO's bombing of Yugoslavia that posed the greatest risk to democracy in Russia, but Chirac remained unconvinced. Russian hopes for cultivating the French as the "leading dissident" within NATO were again disappointed. Vladimir Putin, the national security advisor, commented that Russia was "not satisfied with its role as a technical courier." Chirac told reporters he felt that "nothing would be worse than if Russia left the negotiating process," although he maintained that Yeltsin had given no indication Moscow would do so. After a brief meeting with Chernomyrdin in Helsinki, Talbott flew to Geneva where he again met with UN Secretary-General Annan. Even before Talbott could raise the subject, the secretary-general said that he agreed that any peacekeeping presence would need to have a NATO command structure: "The last thing I want is a UN command. Don't worry: you won't find me trying to put blue berets on your troops." Annan also reasserted his willingness to support Ahtisaari and Chernomyrdin's role in the diplomacy. "It's the only game in town," he said, "so of course I want to do everything to see that it works." He also indicated that he would not launch a UN special envoy to Belgrade in the middle of the trilateral talks. However, Annan was also increasingly pessimistic about the conflict's outcome, and about the efficacy of the trilateral diplomacy. The secretary-general had met with a number of the heads of humanitarian organizations who had passed through Belgrade in the previous weeks, and most felt that Milosevic continued to be "full of optimism and buoyancy," believing that he had fought the international community to a draw. As Annan asked Talbott, "Can the Alliance hold over the summer? Will public opinion hold that long? Worst case, NATO will be accused—including by its own member parliaments and publics—of destroying Yugoslavia and creating a humanitarian disaster. Milosevic feels that he has the Alliance on the ropes and becomes all the more intractable." Incidents of collateral damage were now generating more publicity than the refugee situation, and the conflict's endgame did not seem apparent, leading Annan to suggest that NATO had "a tough sell."

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Underscoring Annan's point, the NATO Alliance again was hit with a high-profile incident of collateral damage that same day, as at least sixty Kosovar Albanian refugees were killed in a nighttime air strike as they camped alongside the road in Kosovo. While the Alliance had done an excellent job presenting a unified front to the Russians and the world, concerns and tensions over everything from targeting to planning for a ground war continued to threaten to unravel NATO solidarity. On May 15, Russian President Boris Yeltsin yet again survived a political near-death experience as the Duma deputies failed to impeach Yeltsin on any of the five charges against him. The closest vote, linked to the conduct of the war in Chechnya, fell only 17 votes shy of the 300 needed for passage amid widespread accusations that some parliamentarians had been bribed to abstain from voting. With Primakov ousted and the Communists again bickering among themselves, Chernomyrdin would have a brief window to reach out to the West. But while Yeltsin had successfully thwarted the impeachment effort, concerns were escalating that Russia was slipping toward chaos. That day, Deputy Secretary of State Talbott floated a controversial proposal to Berger and Albright. He proposed considering a forty-eight-hour pause in bombing if—and only if—the Russians would offer up-front commitment for a UN Chapter VII resolution authorizing the continued use of force against Yugoslavia if a peace agreement was not reached with Belgrade during the pause. Talbott noted some of the obvious pitfalls of his own proposal: Milosevic might see the move as a sign of weakness; the Russians might think it was a trick; and it could trigger wider pressure in NATO to extend the pause. Milosevic would also have time to reorganize and reequip his forces in the field. "In the face of all those dangers and downsides, the only conceivable justification for a pause would be if we could lock the Russians into a Chapter VII UN Security Council resolution that would help us not only in managing them but that would help with others, including our Allies, as the bombing presumably goes forward," noted Talbott. Such a UN resolution would allow NATO to use "all necessary means" to secure its aims and permit the deployment of a multinational peacekeeping force under a unified command and control. Talbott recognized that the Russians would likely reject the proposal; "The only way that the Russians would ever consider such a thing is if they reach the point where they realize they face a fork in the road: They

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either stay with Milosevic and are increasingly marginalized and humiliated, or they give him one last chance, then wash their hands of him." However, even if Moscow rejected the proposal, it could have some utility for NATO in that Russia would be forced to decline an opportunity for a pause. To test Russian and Alliance reaction to the initiative, Talbott suggested that Ahtisaari make the proposal to Chernomyrdin but pitch it as his own. Berger was intrigued by the approach but was not sure Secretary of Defense Cohen and Ambassador Holbrooke would be supportive. Berger and Talbott got along well, and throughout the crisis, Talbott jointly addressed most of his memos on the diplomacy to both Berger and Albright. After some changes by the deputy secretary, Berger shipped a bootleg copy of the proposal to the president in California. American Ambassador to Moscow Jim Collins sat down with Chernomyrdin on May 17. The burly Collins could be seemingly reserved, but he was deeply knowledgeable about Russia's political situation, and his outward appearance masked a warm personality. Behind closed doors, Collins was not shy about delivering blunt assessments of the often-chaotic scene in Moscow. Chernomyrdin began by arguing, "It does not make sense to expect Milosevic to surrender. He is not that kind of person. He knows NATO's plans and your determination, but we haven't gotten any signs he is getting nervous. Milosevic is preparing for a ground invasion. We have no signs that he will surrender, but he might be willing to begin negotiations." The Russian envoy was deeply frustrated by the lack of progress: "Russia is close to giving up. The peace process now goes only in circles, with no new ideas or approaches." Chernomyrdin noted that he would likely travel to Belgrade no matter what the outcome of his next round of meetings with Ahtisaari and Talbott in Helsinki. Chernomyrdin concluded by noting, "Russia has not changed its position. I will remain engaged and do all I can, but further steps are needed. We have been working on finding common ground between us, but we need to find some common ground with Milosevic as well. Russia has made much more progress with Milosevic than in dealing with the NATO countries." The same day, Talbott and Richard Holbrooke spoke to each other during a several-hour-long telephone conversation. The two had long been friends, and Talbott's low-key style stood in sharp relief to Holbrooke's public flair. Talbott often served as a peacemaker between Holbrooke and Albright during their running battles. Holbrooke bluntly expressed his reservations about

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the trilateral diplomacy and a potential bombing pause. Holbrooke questioned the wisdom of engaging the Russians, feeling that they could not deliver Milosevic. "My concern was that the Russians were fronting for Milosevic, and that certain things they were demanding were unacceptable and that was the nature of my dialogue with Strobe. In particular, the phrase 'NATO at the core,' which Strobe hung on to, and which was extremely important, was one that we talked about a great deal. The Russians fought like crazy to get that phrase out, but my position was that that issue was nonnegotiable." Holbrooke added, "I thought we should keep bombing, and intensify bombing, and not yield anything to the Russians." Instead, he wanted the administration to deal directly with Belgrade. Talbott, who also wanted to see the bombing continued, could not get Holbrooke to fully support the trilateral process, but eventually the ambassador agreed to tone down his criticism. Holbrooke was in an awkward position. Because he was awaiting Senate confirmation for the post of U.S. ambassador to the United Nations, he was somewhat limited in his official role in the crisis. Given his natural intensity, he was not comfortable sitting on the sidelines. Holbrooke and Albright had a famously prickly relationship, and Holbrooke's periodic second-guessing on the conduct of the military and diplomatic operations did little to improve the atmosphere. Albright was convinced that Holbrooke continued to question her leadership in background discussions with reporters and sensed that Holbrooke was trying to distance himself from the Balkans policy that he had helped to shape. Indeed, Albright had directly challenged Holbrooke about some comments from "administration officials" to the press, and the ambassador's disdain for the handling of the Rambouillet talks was well known. Holbrooke had made his view plain: Rambouillet would not have ended in disaster if he had been running the show. However, both Holbrooke and Albright shared concerns about Talbott's bombing pause proposal. Some of her aides directly opposed the notion, and Albright suggested to Talbott that his paper be presented to the national security team as a concept rather than a formal proposal. Talbott quickly sensed that his plan was being hung out to dry.

The Ground Option Gains Steam At 6:30 on the evening of May 17, President Clinton and his national security team assembled in the cabinet room. Albright briefed the group on the

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status of the respective diplomatic initiatives and stressed that the Alliance might need to maintain military pressure on Belgrade for months to come. Albright and her staff continued to push the issue of ground troops, and they were concerned that General Clark's updated planning assessment for ground troops was only a starting point. Unless the United States quickly deployed forces, the conflict would not be resolved before winter. Given the considerable logistical and diplomatic work that would need to precede a ground operation, Albright, like Clark, wanted to move in that direction as soon as possible. The secretary of state expressed concern about the growing number of self-anointed envoys enjoining the diplomatic efforts and pointed to calls by the Greek and German governments for an unconditional bombing pause as an example of the challenges they would continue to face. Albright then turned the discussion over to Talbott, who laid out the proposal for a bombing pause linked Russian support for a UN resolution granting Chapter VII authority. Not surprisingly, the plan sparked a vigorous debate, with Secretary Cohen leading the charge against it. He argued it would be impossible to keep the pause from being extended by the more diffident Allies, and it was a point of view that resonated with many at the table. Berger and his deputy, James Steinberg, supported the proposal. Albright, although commenting several times, never explicitly endorsed or rejected the plan. President Clinton appeared interested in the concept, but somewhat deterred by Cohen's opposition. Clinton indicated that he would make a final decision on the issue after the second half of the meeting. Talbott had to leave for Andrews Air Force Base for his flight to Helsinki, and he asked that the eventual decision be relayed to him upon his arrival in Finland. Much of the second half of the meeting was dominated by consideration of ground troops. General Clark had weighed in from Brussels that same day, having further scrubbed his preferred military option. Clark had told Chairman Shelton, "I have a feasible ground option that can be executed this campaign season. We will get all the refugees home. It's about 175,000 troops, with around 100,000 actually going into Kosovo to fight." Pushing the force through Albania and Macedonia, Clark would need seventy-five days to deploy troops and initiate major road and logistics upgrades. Informally petitioning the NATO defense ministers, Clark felt that the British could provide 35,000 to 50,000 troops, the French 10,000 to 20,000, and

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the Italians some 3,500 men. The United States would provide the balance. Clark recognized that "we'd be struggling with the difficult terrain as well as with the enemy," but he felt that the approach would "enable us to win on the ground, deploy in time to finish the fight before winter and limited the U.S. contribution to roughly half the total force." B- was now officially Clark's preferred option. Upon his arrival in Helsinki on May 18, Talbott had still not received word of the decision from the White House on his plan. After speaking with Deputy National Security Advisor Jim Steinberg on the telephone, he was told that it was fine to discuss the matter with Ahtisaari but to hold back from raising it with Chernomyrdin. However, with the secretary of defense adamantly opposed to the plan, and with the secretary of state less than enthusiastic, the proposal would ultimately wither on the vine. In Helsinki, Chernomyrdin, Ahtisaari, and Talbott held more than seven hours of talks in their first trilateral sessions. Ahtisaari began the negotiations with a long presentation that set three goals for the negotiators: keeping a democratic and multiethnic Kosovo part of Yugoslavia; reintegrating Yugoslavia politically and economically with the rest of Europe; and economically reconstructing the entire western Balkans. Ahtisaari declared Yugoslavia a "failed country" that had "treated its own citizens so brutally and violated international norms so grossly" that Belgrade would enjoy only "partial sovereignty" over Kosovo. Ahtisaari's approach was no-nonsense, and he displayed a keen understanding of his interlocutors. An experienced diplomat, Ahtisaari knew that Chernomyrdin was determined, blunt, and more interested in sweeping concepts than fine details. The Finnish president also appreciated that Talbott's approach was quite different; detail-oriented and equally dogged, the deputy secretary approached the negotiations through the same patient perspective of the U.S.-Soviet arms talks he had so frequently written about during the Cold War. Chernomyrdin objected that Ahtisaari was "starting the talks from scratch." He preferred to "end the air campaign and continue talks." Chernomyrdin contended, "Now we simply need to decide whether or not to go to Belgrade." In what both Ahtisaari and Talbott hoped was a major breakthrough as the hours wore on, Chernomyrdin appeared to agree to two important concepts—NATO could form the core of the peacekeeping effort, and the withdrawal of Serb military and police forces would have to be total.

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Despite the apparent progress, Ahtisaari remained unwilling to travel to Belgrade with Chernomyrdin until the three negotiators could reach agreement on a several-page document spelling out the exact terms Milosevic would have to meet to end the bombing. The abbreviated document would add specifics to the general principles expressed earlier both at the NATO Summit and in the joint communique issued by the G-8 foreign ministers. Ahtisaari jokingly referred to this at different times as both the "Reader's Digest" version of demands and "the ten commandments." After checking in with Moscow, Chernomyrdin indicated he still had some reservations about signing off on any such joint paper and ultimately he decided to launch his third solo trip to Belgrade on May 19. While in Belgrade, Chernomyrdin went into another set of marathon talks, lasting more than seven hours, with Milosevic and his senior advisors. Chernomyrdin would claim to have told Milosevic that the West would accept no less than NATO troops on the ground as peacekeepers, though it might be possible to have them operate under UN control. Chernomyrdin suggested that some broad coordinating council—one that would include Russia, the United States, and others—might be a suitable command structure. Milosevic welcomed Ahtisaari's involvement in the diplomacy and even suggested that the United States send a representative to any talks in Belgrade. While Chernomyrdin did not rule out the idea, the Russians were anxious that they would quickly be cut out of the diplomatic process if the United States and Yugoslavs moved to direct negotiations. Both Milosevic and the president of Serbia, Milan Milutinovic, feared that the West would pull a "bait and switch"—agreeing to one set of conditions and then imposing quite a different reality once troops were on the ground. President Milosevic insisted that NATO troops operating under a NATO flag would be an occupying army and was not assuaged by Chernomyrdin's assurances that Russia would also contribute troops. Milosevic understood that NATO would be in a stronger position than any contingent of Russian forces, and the Yugoslav president's conviction that he would not lose the war seemed to be increasingly in doubt. Chernomyrdin left the Yugoslav capital later in the day, and NATO air strikes sharply intensified in the wake of his departure. Upon returning to Moscow, Chernomyrdin claimed that Milosevic had taken "a step forward," but noted that the Yugoslav president continued to resist the notion of complete withdrawal of his forces. Yugoslav foreign min-

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istry spokesman Nebojsa Vujovic announced, "The Yugoslav government accepts the G-8 principles as a basis for negotiations on adopting [a UN] resolution." Few saw this as a significant concession. Within the Alliance, frustration with both the diplomatic efforts and the debate over ground troops was mounting. On May 19, Deputy Secretary Talbott met with German Foreign Minister Fischer in Bonn, who suggested that diplomacy activity was akin to chewing gum: "at some point it loses its flavor." Fischer said that Russian Foreign Minister Ivanov was pessimistic about the trilateral talks, and suggested that eventually the West would have to confront the problem of whether it wanted to deal with Milosevic directly. Fischer felt that Milosevic had a "love-hate" relationship with the United States and because of his worldview would only finalize a settlement with Washington, "not with the Italian foreign minister, not with the French, not with the Germans, not with the Russians, and not with Ahtisaari." Fischer also pointed to the upcoming G-8 Summit in Cologne, scheduled for June 18, with trepidation. The G-8 Summit, like the NATO one that preceded it, was a long-planned event that Kosovo threatened to turn into a public-relations disaster. Chancellor Schroeder was horrified by the prospect that he would be hosting a summit—once pictured as a coming-out party for Germany's place in a new Europe—that would disintegrate into a political fiasco under the cloud of a looming ground war. The G-8 Summit, and the stakes involved in its relative success or failure, became a steady undercurrent in the negotiations. Everyone knew that in a month, the presidents of seven of the most powerful nations on earth would assemble—with or without Boris Yeltsin—and that Kosovo would be the central topic. Beyond that, the agenda was deeply uncertain. Fischer noted that 100,000 German war protestors had already registered with the Cologne police to demonstrate at the mid-June gathering, and the event was shaping up to be "a real adventure." German officials also bluntly told Talbott, "The public and the parliament will kill us" if they supported ground troops. The same day, another Principals Committee was convened at the White House. Secretary Albright had spoken with the French, German, and Italian foreign ministers the day before, and there had been little in the way of consensus. Fischer made clear there was no support in Germany for an invasion, suggesting that even debating the issue might undercut domestic support for air strikes. Despite the European concerns, Albright remained hawkish; she

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wanted a ground force to strike all the way to Belgrade to topple Milosevic, even toying with the possibility of involving the KLA to augment a ground attack. Secretary of Defense Cohen suggested that the French were divided on the issue of ground troops, the Germans opposed, and the British obviously in favor. If the United States were to take the ground war out of NATO and mount a "coalition of the willing," the British and Turks would be the only obvious major partners. In contrast, General Clark (who was not at the meeting), felt that with U.S. leadership the other Allies would follow on ground troops; "we would have support from Great Britain, Italy, and eventually France. Germany was officially silent, but I was not worried about its likely support. If the United States and these countries went in, we could count on most of the smaller allies too." The British continued to express interest in planning for a ground campaign on a bilateral basis with the Pentagon, and argued—as had General Clark—that a go/no-go decision on ground troops might have to be made as soon as the end of May if an invasion was to be staged before the winter. The State Department was also eager to see planning move forward on a bilateral basis with London, contending that operational planning within the guise of the KFOR peacekeeping force was not realistic. The Pentagon was also willing to mount bilateral planning with the British but for a very different reason; by taking the planning away from General Clark they would be far better positioned to take a go-slow approach. Sandy Berger carefully reviewed the alternatives to a ground war: arming the KLA, lowering the demands upon Belgrade, or simply staying the course and further amplifying air strikes. It was obvious that Berger was still deeply uncomfortable with a ground war, but increasingly aware of the limitations of the other options. While the notion of a ground war was unappetizing for all those around the table, delaying an invasion until spring might be even worse. Few thought that the Alliance could maintain its cohesion through another nine months of aerial attacks. Caring for the hundreds of thousands of Kosovar refugees who had been driven from their homes through a long hard winter had the potential to be a humanitarian catastrophe, and air power alone would do nothing to reduce the suffering. A White House official acknowledged, "There were beginning to be questions about whether we were determined to prevail, and the ability to prepare for a ground war—even at the risk of casualties—became a credible barome-

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ter of whether we were going to win and win on our terms." In a conflict that the United Nations had predicted would produce no more than 100,000 refugees, more than eight times that number had been driven out of Kosovo by rampaging Serb forces. Hundreds of thousands more Kosovars were adrift and desperate within Kosovo, low on food, and vulnerable to the cruelty of Yugoslav army and police forces prowling the countryside. Winter could prove harsh. The timing of a ground operation was crucial, and there was a great deal of discussion on the constraints that the onset of winter would impose upon such an operation. NATO was facing a "winter wall" and would need to launch a ground war by November if it hoped to avoid problems with snow in the mountains of Albania. There were also some doubts as to whether Clark could hold to the already tight schedule he had spelled out for moving forces into theater. As one White House official attested: I questioned if it was realistic because I thought it would take time for the political decision-making to begin the planning process, and then once in the planning process, you would have to have troop commitments and a force generation process. Countries would have to agree to make these forces available, and in some countries that requires a legislative process. Getting the logistics and command structure in place could also have been problematic. So, as we got closer, the schedule got packed and packed and you wondered at what point did you pass what was truly reasonable. The vice president and his staff also had serious reservations about a ground war, and Gore's national security adviser, Leon Fuerth, wanted to see air attacks against major infrastructure targets given time to generate more political pressure on Milosevic. The vice president and his staff were still leaning toward waiting until spring to launch any offensive. NATO now had more than 1,000 planes operating in its air campaign— almost triple the total deployed at the war's onset, and the air armada was growing by the day. In its determination to break Yugoslavia's will, NATO had steadily widened its target list, and Alliance bombs dropped with increasing frequency and destructiveness. Soon, 60 percent of Belgrade would be without water service, and Yugoslavia's three largest cities—Belgrade, Nis, and Novi Sad—would be without power. The citizens of Serbia were paying a spiraling cost for Milosevic's continued resistance, and Belgrade's early and

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euphoric defiance of NATO, expressed in street-rally rock concerts and target symbols worn like badges of honor, had sharply faded. However, there were still complaints from a number of NATO officers that they were unduly restrained from pursuing high-profile infrastructure targets, particularly in Belgrade, and General Clark feared that "we had gone about as far as possible with the air strikes." Berger challenged Ambassador Richard Holbrooke for his read of the situation. Holbrooke, with his natural bravura, reiterated the three American redlines: all refugees allowed to return; all Serb forces out (although he was convinced Milosevic would do some cheating); and NATO at the core of the peacekeeping force. He thought that Milosevic would offer Chernomyrdin a UN force and attempt to drag UN Secretary-General Annan into the talks. The ambassador argued that ambiguity about the ground war had some diplomatic utility and supported Cohen's pleas to have the air campaign intensified. Holbrooke wanted to see NATO buy time before it came to a decision on the ground war, and seemed apprehensive about crossing that bridge with any finality. He firmly rejected the proposal to arm the KLA, arguing it would result in long-term disaster. Holbrooke also wanted to place more public emphasis on the need to overthrow Milosevic, but Berger felt that such an approach would raise unrealistically high expectations. This led to a brief debate on whether ground troops should march all the way to Belgrade or simply focus on Kosovo. General Shelton noted that taking Belgrade would obviously require a larger military force. National Security Advisor Sandy Berger then set the path forward. He asked the Pentagon to avoid formally raising the issue of ground troops at NATO headquarters in Belgium. Instead, he wanted the Department of Defense to find ways to buy time and give the administration several more weeks before being forced to make a decision on ground troops. "As we started to get into late May we were facing the prospect of winter and the fact that if Milosevic did not capitulate, 200,000 Kosovars would be up in the mountains freezing to death," Berger recalled, "And when you built back in the lead-time—which the military shrunk by a month in late May—we suddenly had an early June decision to make." After repeated conversations between Clark and Berger about the window for ground troop planning, Berger affirmed, "General Clark told us that thirty days had been added on to our lead-time. It was very bracing. Our decision was suddenly three weeks out."

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Berger also wanted all decisions on ground troops, if they eventually went to NATO, to be made under the guise of beefing up the potential peacekeeping operation. By doing so, he again rejected the notion of moving ground troop planning into a direct bilateral channel between London and Washington. He also wanted the Pentagon to better explore the constraints that the Yugoslav winter would place on ground operations. Could the offensive begin in December for example, or would conditions simply be too bad? The tense relations between General Clark and the Pentagon were of serious concern to the White House, and Clinton administration officials worked to ensure that the lines of communication with Clark remained open while taking great care not to violate the Pentagon's line of authority. There was continuing apprehension that the Pentagon might simply stonewall on a ground force. As a senior administration official underscored, "In a war it is very dangerous to create two chains of command." This same official added, "There was no question that relationship deteriorated and trust was frayed on both sides. . . . For us to have developed a direct, separate chain to Clark would have been riskier." However, White House officials did speak with Clark and tell him that he should be doing as much planning as possible within the rubric of NATO because the United States needed to be ready for the ground option. General Clark, as the NATO commander, retained the authority to speak directly with President Clinton. "This was a trump card that I knew I could use to get the ground force briefing to the president at the appropriate moment. But I also understood that this would carry a very high price. It might not be playable more than once." The national security team agreed that air strikes should be ramped up even further, as time grew tight for making the hard decision on launching a ground war in Europe. The discussion on ground troops continued the next day, May 20, as Clinton met with several of his military advisors, including Secretary of Defense Cohen, the Joint Chiefs, and others from the national security team, including Secretary Albright. General Clark had flown in from Brussels to brief the Pentagon on ground planning as well. Elements within the Pentagon continued to express skepticism toward Clark's preferred option. Clark acknowledged that he had not "resolved the military's innate hankering to go deep into Serbia from the north, with a larger force, seeking a decisive military solution even at the expense of greater strategic and diplomatic difficulties. Many in the army disliked the idea of going through Albania en route to Kosovo. As one of the senior officers told me, only half joking, 'We

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don't do mountains.' " The chief of staff of the Army was very nervous from a practical standpoint about going in entirely through Albania and had real concerns about the road structure and a range of other logistics issues. As Deputy National Security Advisor Jim Steinberg maintained, "It was not a question of whether, but how, that was most contentious" with regard to ground troops. Clark, in turn, raised valid questions about attacking Serbia proper. "What were we going to do with Belgrade when we got there? If the Serbs decided to resist, were we going to fight through the city block by block, using artillery and mortars?" Those sentiments were echoed by another senior administration official: "If you went for the whole enchilada, and went in through the north, you were actually taking on a much more difficult problem." The vision of guerillas firing rocket-propelled grenades out their apartment windows in Belgrade at NATO forces was not appealing. There was also discussion of entering Kosovo in a "semipermissive" environment. Under such a scenario, Yugoslavia's armed forces would be largely devastated by the continuing air attacks, and a ground force would only be needed for a mop-up. The Pentagon took a dim view of such semantics, and General Shelton dismissed the notion of sending ground forces into a semipermissive environment as akin to "being a little bit pregnant," and he added, "You do not get semi-shot." It was an opinion General Clark shared. "If we built our plan on this, entered, and found ourselves bogged down with organized resistance, we would lose time and take unnecessary casualties. I believed it was important to stand firm on the full military commitments." Secretary Albright was strongly in favor of a ground war, but felt dutybound to highlight some of the diplomatic fallout that would occur. Russia's reaction to ground troops would be intense, with a heavy domestic political backlash against Yeltsin. Some of the NATO foreign ministers continued to speculate that a ground war might result in Yeltsin's overthrow. Consensus within the Alliance on ground troops was elusive, and a ground war would further set back relations with China. The secretary of state also observed that if the military operation went all the way to Belgrade, as she preferred, the regional repercussions would be even more severe. European support for the Belgrade option was almost nonexistent. President Clinton did not tip his hand as to his own preference during the briefing, but he did not have long to make a choice. If operations were to be completed before winter snows made an assault more difficult, a deci-

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sion on whether to begin preparations for a ground war—even by the most liberal estimates—would have to be made in June. As a result of this reality, Clinton and his team began to carefully adjust their public stance on the use of ground forces. The initial and categorical dismissal of using ground forces was supplanted as Clinton told reporters that he would, "not take any option off the table." While advisors at the White House insisted the president's statement did not represent a change in U.S. policy, it was clear that Clinton's carefully calibrated shift in posture was meant to send a message. As Jim Steinberg noted, the change in rhetoric also had some political utility. "In terms of domestic politics, it was a silly position to have people we needed on our side, like Senator John McCain, who supported the objectives of the war, criticizing us on ground troops. We needed all the support we could get, and since they were basically right, instead of fighting with them, it was easier to say, 'You're right.'" That same evening, General Clark received a call from Sandy Berger. "How long can we defer a decision, Wes?" "We need to start preparations on June 1," Clark replied. "That's when we need the decision. Now we don't need a decision to do a ground operation. That can come much later. We just need to decide to prepare for it, alert any reserves, begin the logistics movements and start everything in motion." Berger explored whether that date could be pushed back any further, perhaps buying two more weeks of time. Clark insisted, "Sandy, we can't. It's a seventy-five-day deployment, best case. That's no allowance for bad weather or screw-ups." Clark held firm to his June 1 deadline as the White House continued to string out a hard decision until the last possible moment. NATO's diplomatic and military offensive against Yugoslavia was entering a decisive phase.

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5

CHAPTER

An Empty Chair, Nothing Off the Table

Stalin's Dacha President Ahtisaari and Deputy Secretary Talbott arrived in Moscow on May 20 to meet with Chernomyrdin, fresh from his visit to Belgrade. Ahtisaari was eager to sit down with Yeltsin, but was told by officials that he "was in the hospital" and could not meet face to face. Instead, the two presidents spoke on the telephone, with Yeltsin beginning by reading a long prepared statement. "Russia does not want to be NATO's courier. It must be clear that if Russia's efforts continue to be ignored, we will leave the reconciliation process with all of its consequences. We can hardly continue our own peace effort with the number of victims constantly growing as a result of NATO's barbaric bombings." Ahtisaari made a pitch for a prominent NATO role in peacekeeping. "The Kosovo Albanians will not be pacified by bringing in Finnish or Russian troops. NATO troops are necessary for them to dare to return. I know, Boris, from my own experience—because I have headed a similar large operation myself—that such troops cannot be brought together on political grounds." The two men did not reach agreement, but Yeltsin concluded by adding, "If we resolve the last problems, we will put Milosevic in his place." 121

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The U.S. and Finnish teams then sped in motorcades to the outskirts of Moscow to meet Chernomyrdin and his team at a remote, wooded, Russian government compound surrounding Josef Stalin's former dacha. It was uncomfortably hot, and the Russian capital had been suffering through a rare heat wave. Adding a touch of the surreal, the air was filled with fluffy white pukh—Russia's version of milkweed—that had drifted on the hoods of cars and windowsills like a light snowfall. There was some irony that Talbott, whose first professional career breakthrough had been translating the memoirs of Nikita Khrushchev in the 1970s, should wind up conducting negotiations in the same building where many of that narrative's own scenes had taken place. While the dacha was a grand structure, it was garishly appointed. The staff room used by the U.S. delegation was decorated with a bright, overstuffed, orange, wraparound couch, a pink floor lamp with glass shades in the shape of flower petals, and an oversized but nearly empty cabinet. In the building's hallways, large, abstract, fabric floral paintings commissioned by Raisa Gorbachev hung on the walls, and long teardrop chandeliers loomed over the staircase. While Chernomyrdin offered Talbott and Ahtisaari little detail from his discussions with Milosevic, the Russian envoy claimed that he had strenuously advocated the necessity of a NATO-led peacekeeping force and that the Yugoslav president had accepted that the Alliance would have to be "on the ground" in Kosovo. Chernomyrdin even speculated that Milosevic might be "using him" in an effort to enter direct negotiations with the United States—a point not lost on Talbott, given the continuing debate within the administration about opening a back channel to Belgrade. As the talks continued at the dacha, Deputy Secretary Talbott employed a bit of theater to make a point. The American negotiator jumped up from his seat and dragged an empty chair to the side of the table as both Ahtisaari and Chernomyrdin looked on quizzically. Talbott then explained. The empty chair represented the missing player in the talks: Slobodan Milosevic. What was he willing to accept? Where was he seeking compromise? How would he react to the proposals on the table? For all the energy and hours invested in the trilateral negotiations, Milosevic's intentions were shrouded. Chernomyrdin argued that the man in the empty chair demanded that some Serb personnel, particularly special police forces, remain in Kosovo. Talbott and General Foglesong were equally adamant that with regard to troop with-

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drawals "all" meant "all," particularly because the Serb special police had been involved in some of the worst atrocities. They maintained that only after a total withdrawal could some small number of Serb officials under the supervision of the KFOR commander return to the province. As Talbott argued, "If Milosevic maintains any control or influence in the province, it will repel refugees from returning, further radicalize Kosovo Albanians everywhere, and provoke the most recalcitrant elements of the KLA." Chernomyrdin also continued to push for broad UN control of the peacekeeping operation. To Talbott and Ahtisaari, an "umbrella" of UN authority sounded dangerously close to UN political control, a position they found unacceptable. Despite the anguished looks and whispered asides of his foreign ministry advisor, Boris Ivanovsky, Chernomyrdin continued to maintain that he was willing to accept a prominent NATO role in KFOR and near total Serb military withdrawal. Talbott and Ahtisaari felt they were making substantial progress. "Having the Finns involved made it much easier to knock down the Russian arguments," one U.S. team member asserted. "You had this great foil of a neutral, noncombatant, relatively objective player in the talks interested in a peaceful settlement and regional stability. You started to get the feeling that rhetorically we could turn it around on the Russians." Jim Swigert of the delegation expanded on the same point: "When we got into the questions of trying to put down on paper the points of commonality, Ahtisaari played an important role in helping the Russians see areas where there were common positions—having a third party in the room made it much more palatable for the Russians." That said, it was not clear that the Russian military and intelligence services—much less Milosevic—would agree to such terms. The three men agreed to meet again in Moscow the following week for another round of talks, hoping that they could find enough common ground to allow Ahtisaari and Chernomyrdin to launch a joint mission to Belgrade. General Foglesong also held separate military-to-military talks with the Russians and Finns in Moscow. Finland was represented by Adm. Juhani Kaskeala, with General Ivashov again serving as the senior Russian military representative. The discussions generally followed the same lines as the discussion with Chernomyrdin, although General Ivashov took a much harder position on Serb withdrawals and NATO's role. Talbott and Foglesong

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agreed to return with a specific set of details regarding NATO's operational requirements for KFOR. Deep fractures within the Russian government over Kosovo were obvious the next morning as Talbott and Ambassador Collins stopped by Russian Foreign Minister Ivanov's office before leaving Moscow. Ivanov wanted to be updated on the status of the talks with Chernomyrdin, and Talbott briefed him on the contours of the discussions, including Chernomyrdin's agreement that NATO would make up KFOR's core. Ivanov claimed to be "astonished," and protested that if Belgrade was prepared to "accept NATO, then that's up to Belgrade. But we can't." Ivanov carried himself with a certain prickly wounded pride, eager to show that he could step out of Primakov's shadow and be his own man. Having been trained in the Soviet system, and proud of his half-Georgian heritage, he was a determined negotiator. Talbott replied that if what he "thought was an understanding was in fact a misunderstanding" he should return immediately to the embassy and cancel the preparations for the meeting scheduled for the next week. "Hold on, hold on, Strobe," said Ivanov. "Let's call Viktor Stepanovich [Chernomyrdin]." So Talbott and Collins went into Ivanov's inner office, where the Russian foreign minister got Chernomyrdin on the telephone, apparently waking him. Ivanov relayed Talbott's account of the talks, and then listened to Chernomyrdin's answer. "Well, you see, Viktor Stepanovich, there's a difference between NATO countries and NATO as an organization." As Talbott and Ambassador Collins listened, Ivanov methodically walked Chernomyrdin back from his position. Ivanov then suggested that Talbott return to Chernomyrdin's office for another meeting. Talbott told Ivanov that there was no need to see the Russian envoy. "We can't do business with a government on this basis. I'm going back to the embassy to shut down preparations for next week." "Hold on, hold on, Strobe," said Ivanov again. "Why don't you go see Chernomyrdin and ask him directly if what you heard from him last night still stands and is the position of the Russian government. If he says yes, then that's the way it is." The deputy secretary resisted, saying that it was impossible to do business with a government in such disarray. Underscoring the unsettled nature of Yeltsin's government, Ivanov then received a call from Prime Minister Sergei Stepashin's office letting him know that he was not being fired. After brief congratulations from Collins and Talbott, Ivanov insisted that because he

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had not been involved in the previous evening's discussions, he could not "accept responsibility" for such a fundamental shift. After much back-andforth, Talbott reluctantly agreed to another meeting with Chernomyrdin. As Talbott left the foreign ministry, Boris Ivanovsky, the foreign ministry advisor who had been at Chernomyrdin's side during the previous day's talks, lingered in the hallways. The Russian foreign ministry had successfully reined in Chernomyrdin. Talbott began his subsequent discussion with Chernomyrdin by inquiring, "I only want to ask one question: namely, whether in the course of the six hours of talks yesterday, were you speaking with the full authority of the Russian president and leadership?" "Yes, of course. I understand the matter at hand. I am not a boy to be toying with such matters. At least from the Russian president, I have complete authority," replied Chernomyrdin. Talbott noted that he had "made a report to Washington on yesterday's discussions, but Foreign Minister Ivanov's remarks cast doubts over that report." He insisted that Chernomyrdin had to convey the notion of NATO at the core to Milosevic more forcefully and that there could be no ambiguity in that regard, leading Chernomyrdin to counter, "Milosevic believes that if this is a NATO operation only under a NATO flag, it would be an occupatron. The U.S. view was that NATO at the core meant a unified system of command and control and all forces under a NATO commander. Talbott, General Foglesong, and Brig. Gen. George Casey discussed the issue with Chernomyrdin and Ivanovsky for some three hours, with Ivanovsky passing the Russian envoy a steady stream of notes. Chernomyrdin wanted Russian peacekeeping forces to be exclusively under a Russian commander and stressed that if the War Crimes Tribunal indicted Milosevic, it could well bring an end to the negotiations. Eventually Talbott and Chernomyrdin agreed to resume talks again the following week as planned. In a private aside before Talbott departed, Chernomyrdin pleaded, "You've got to find a way out of this for us. We can't let all our efforts come to a crashing halt over this." In Washington, there was growing skepticism that Yeltsin was politically and physically strong enough to deliver a deal. The chaotic state of affairs within Russia made it impossible for Western negotiators to discern who held real authority in Moscow, further clouding the usual smoke and mirrors

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of wartime diplomacy. Talbott and the others were reduced to negotiating with factions within the Russian political system and hoping that a deal might stick. Chernomyrdin's mandate continued to be fuzzy, and no one on the Russian side seemed sure exactly what authority Yeltsin had given to his special envoy. Because of Yeltsin's continuing health and drinking problems, access to the Russian president was limited, and it was unclear where he stood. The Russian military was only willing to support Chernomyrdin if he could get the West to accept a bad deal and would abandon him if he could not. Chernomyrdin seemed to speak only for Chernomyrdin, and he had a mandate that came from Yeltsin that he would renew from time to time. The foreign ministry was not an integrated part of his operation; the defense ministry even less so. It was clear to the U.S. team that Chernomyrdin and the foreign ministry were working on very different tracks, and there were constant questions about who actually represented the views of the Russian government. A member of the U.S. team observed, "Yeltsin did not like what we were doing—but he wanted to be done with it in a practical way, as did Chernomyrdin." Consequently, U.S. negotiators were desperate to show some progress and keep Chernomyrdin's role alive, knowing full well that any replacement would be far worse. As Talbott departed Moscow on May 21, NATO attacks killed nineteen civilians at a penitentiary in Kosovo. Serb guards then slaughtered another eighty Kosovar Albanian prisoners and blamed their deaths on NATO in a crude fabrication. The seemingly star-crossed series of collateral damage incidents continued the next day as NATO pilots hit a barracks in Kosovo, unaware that the KLA had occupied the building. On May 22, Talbott sat in the verdant backyard of his home in the Woodley Park section of Washington on a muggy weekend afternoon and wrote to Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Georgy Mamedov: It is my hope that when Viktor Stepanovich [Chernomyrdin], President Ahtisaari and I meet on Wednesday, we'll all agree that it makes sense for the two of them to travel to Belgrade the next day. After consulting back here in Washington with Madeleine, Sandy and others, I'm reinforced in my conviction that the Chernomyrdin—Ahtisaari initiative may indeed help hasten a political settlement and a suspension of bombing. But that will only happen if there is total clarity between us—and with Milosevic—on what Belgrade must do.

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Talbott felt that while Ivanov and others on the Russian team "kept saying we [were] adding conditions," clear operational details were necessary to ensure that a deal didn't "turn into potentially catastrophic misunderstandings amidst the blood-stained mud and ruins of Kosovo." That same day, the Clinton administration's efforts to engage with Belgrade directly took a step back as Robert Gelbard—the outgoing State Department special advisor for the Balkans—was scheduled to meet with the Yugoslav Minister without a Portfolio, Bogoljub Karic, the wealthy and shadowy Milosevic confidant who had been eager to engage in direct talks to end the war. However, Karic pulled out of the meeting at the last moment, claiming that he wanted to meet with the president, the vice president, or the secretary of state. Given Karic's lack of credibility, Gelbard informed the Yugoslav that such a meeting was not in the cards, but also indicated that the door remained open for direct talks between Washington and Belgrade. Landrum Boiling, the relief organization head who had first raised Karic as a possible interlocutor, then weighed in with the name of another potential Yugoslav intermediary—Bojan Bugarcic. Bugarcic was Milosevic's chief of staff and a foreign policy adviser and was the same man who had held the long angry telephone call with Ambassador Holbrooke right after the bombing had started. While Bugarcic had insisted in March, "You might destroy us, but we won't capitulate," he was now being considered as a secret negotiator to help end the war. Expectations remained muted for this new diplomatic track as Jim O'Brien, an advisor to Secretary Albright, explained, "I did not think those channels were serious. They could not take the weight of doing these talks. They were worthwhile for communicating, but that was it, and I think they demonstrated evidence of floundering and panic in Belgrade." O'Brien added, "If one of the channels looked credible enough, sure, but none of them did." The possibility of talking directly to the Yugoslavs was still being given serious consideration in Washington, and despite efforts to play down this contingency after the war, policy-makers understood it remained one of the three most likely end games to the war: a Russian-brokered peace deal, a direct negotiated settlement with Belgrade, or a ground war that would make further discussions irrelevant. As diplomats were aware, air power could do massive damage, but it did not provide, in and of itself, a mechanism for setting terms to conclude the conflict. The Clinton team wanted to keep an

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open mind with regard to all possibilities, and the White House mulled its options for sending a senior U.S. representative to bilateral talks with Belgrade. Not surprisingly, Ambassador Holbrooke was prominent on that short list, as was Talbott.

The Hague Weighs In On May 25, an official plane with "United States of America" emblazoned across its side returned American negotiators to a sunny and warm Moscow. Deputy Secretary of State Strobe Talbott again headed the U.S. team, with General Foglesong as the group's senior military representative. Jim Swigert of the U.S. delegation, an expert on the Balkans and European affairs from the State Department, shared his initial impressions from several weeks of dealing with the Russians: I was struck by the initial huge gap between the U.S. positions and the Russian position—which began very, very close to that of the Serbs. But the Russians kept asking us back, and they wanted to talk to us, even though the message wasn't changing in terms of what we expected Belgrade to do for the bombing campaign to stop. That told me several things. One, the Russians were keenly interested for their own reasons in seeing a stop to the bombing. Two, they were eager to maintain a relationship with the United States despite the differences. Talbott had dinner that evening with Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Georgy Mamedov at the residence of Ambassador Collins. Mamedov drove home several points, urging the West not to humiliate Russia at a time when it was willing to be part of the diplomatic solution: "Russia does not want to see the Cologne G-8 Summit turned into a disaster." Mamedov also wanted Talbott to reconsider his position on total withdrawal of Serb forces, feeling that even a token presence in the province would make Milosevic's agreement much more likely. Unbeknown to Mamedov, the Clinton administration was weighing just that option, but had been unable to reach a consensus. Mamedov also made a pitch for an ironclad and verifiable roadmap for stopping the bombing and deploying peacekeepers, asking that Russian peacekeepers be stationed in the northern part of Kosovo. Talbott was then pulled away from the dinner to take an urgent call on a

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secure line from Sandy Berger in Washington. The national security advisor had explosive, but not entirely unexpected, news: the UN International War Crimes Tribunal would indict Yugoslav President Slobodan Milosevic and some of his key aides within forty-eight hours. Berger was concerned with the potential fallout from the announcement, but both men agreed there was little choice other than to let the work of the Tribunal run its course. Talbott knew that the next day's trilateral negotiations had just become even more difficult. In Brussels, NATO ambassadors gathered to consider the number of troops its member states were willing to commit to a peacekeeping force. In a move that had been carefully orchestrated, the group approved expanding KFOR by 20,000 troops—to a total of 48,000. NATO officials cited the large number of refugees and the serious security concerns within Kosovo in justifying the larger force. Others read more deeply into NATO's actions and interpreted the swelling troop levels as a clear sign that NATO was building its forces for a ground war. Indeed, the additional troops would make it easier for NATO to assemble an invasion if that was its goal. NATO officials used carefully ambivalent language. NATO SecretaryGeneral Javier Solana insisted that the Alliance was simply "planning for success," and keeping all its options open. The decision to boost the forces predeployed in the region was shrewd, allowing the Clinton administration to placate both the hawks and doves within the Alliance. For the Greeks, Germans, and Italians, the rhetoric of "planning for success" made clear that the administration was still committed to finding a diplomatic solution. For Tony Blair and General Clark, the additional troops meant that planning for a ground war would continue. However, there were limits as to how much planning could take place under the guise of KFOR, and Clark could only go so far in his planning without specific troop commitments from the allies. Clark himself noted, "Some nations would need to call up reserves. This couldn't be fuzzed much longer." While beefing up the forces in Macedonia was seen by some as the tip of the spear, these troops would have had to wait three more months for the rest of the force to be assembled. The Russians, being worst-case planners, were alarmed by the growing number of NATO troops. As the trilateral negotiators prepared to resume on May 26 in Moscow, Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Aleksandr Avdeyev told reporters that he was concerned talks only seemed to be "providing a nice screen for concealing the continuing aggression." Russian officials had forwarded a long and

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polemic paper to the U.S. and Finnish teams over the weekend that had accused NATO of trying "to liquidate Russia as a global factor." Deputy Secretary of State Talbott started his day by meeting with Ivanov in a oneon-one session at the foreign ministry, as U.S., Russian, and Finnish military officials resumed their discussion on the military aspects of a peace agreement down the hall. Ivanov drew a map of Kosovo and the adjoining parts of Albania and Macedonia. He said he understood that NATO intended to put 50,000 troops inside Kosovo and that there would be an additional 20,000 NATO troops in Albania and Macedonia; "Is this correct?" he asked. Talbott demurred from engaging in a counting exercise, but did not contradict Ivanov. Talbott also noted that the peacekeeping force would not be solely composed of NATO troops and that nations such as Russia were welcome to participate. "Mr. Foreign Minister, let me now be equally candid. I received authoritative and definitive information overnight that we will have an interesting and complicating development soon. Louise Arbour [Chief Prosecutor for the UN International War Crimes Tribunal] is almost certain to announce indictments against the Yugoslav leadership tomorrow." Ivanov, wanting to know if the indictments would be sealed, asked simply, "Open or closed?" The indictment would be open, ensuring the charges were front-page news around the globe. "Whom are we going to be able to work with?" lamented Ivanov, shaking his head. The foreign minister questioned the motive and timing of the indictment, suspicious that the West had dictated the charges only to justify its military campaign. The Russians feared that the United States was trying to make Milosevic radioactive, leaving the United Nations and moderates in the NATO Alliance with little option but to stay the course with continued air, and perhaps even ground, operations. The question facing Ivanov and Talbott was operational: Should the United States and Russia continue to push Ahtisaari and Chernomyrdin to launch a joint mission to Belgrade in light of the indictments? Ivanov, taking the news as well as could be hoped, felt it was imperative that the indictments not bring diplomacy to a halt. He felt the charges were a "complicating" factor, not a fatal setback. Talbott was more hesitant, sensing there would be a variety of views on the topic back in Washington, but he also remained generally supportive of the proposed Belgrade mission. Both men agreed the final decision on whether to travel to Yugoslavia would be up to Ahtisaari and Chernomyrdin.

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The pending indictment presented a challenge for both the Russians and, to a lesser extent, the Chinese. Both nations had consistently maintained that NATO's air attacks against Yugoslavia were illegal because they lacked UN authorization. The Western response to the charge had largely amounted to fast footwork. Western leaders pointed to the humanitarian catastrophe and gross human rights abuses as justification for their efforts and cited a hodgepodge of legal precedents and existing agreements in making the case that its actions were in keeping with international law. The Yugoslavs, Russians, and Chinese reasoned that if NATO could brand Yugoslavia a rogue state, they were free to brand General Clark and NATO Secretary-General Solana as "war criminals." One Russian diplomat in the trilateral talks had even joked that he thought Solana "would need a good lawyer" when all was said and done. But Milosevic's indictment quickly changed the calculus of tit-for-tat charges and countercharges. The body that the Russians insisted NATO answer to—the United Nations—was accusing Slobodan Milosevic and a cadre of his senior advisors of crimes against humanity. Neither the Russians nor Chinese could find succor in denouncing the actions of a tribunal they had created with their own Security Council votes. Talbott asked if Ivanov thought Milosevic was moving closer to accepting NATO's conditions, leading Ivanov to reply that, "Yugoslavia being Yugoslavia," it was hard to say. The foreign minister again pointed to the total withdrawal of Yugoslav troops and the nature of the peacekeeping force as the most sensitive issues for Belgrade. The Russians had considerably adjusted their earlier demand that tens of thousands of Yugoslav troops be allowed to remain in Kosovo, now suggesting that some 500 to 1,500 Yugoslav forces should stay behind to ensure that the KLA did not exploit a security vacuum in the province. Ivanov stressed that he did not think the withdrawal issue would be a "killer" that would derail an agreement. "We'll see," replied Talbott. Ivanov argued that NATO at the core was unacceptable to Belgrade because "if NATO occupies Kosovo, Milosevic has only two choices: to kill himself or to disappear." Talbott countered that NATO was not looking to provide Milosevic with options and certainly did not want to allow him to keep fighting in Kosovo. The deputy secretary claimed there were ways to give the peacekeeping operation, and particularly the Russian participation in such a force, an appearance of not being entirely dominated by NATO. The United States was willing to be creative in packaging KFOR—as long

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as a NATO force was at its heart. If the peacekeepers could be wrapped in a cloak of UN authority that did not interfere with its military capabilities, there was little harm. However, both Talbott and Ivanov knew that the measures being offered to Moscow were largely cosmetic. It was hard to mistake 50,000 NATO troops under NATO command with robust rules of engagement as broad power sharing. After his meeting with Ivanov, Talbott and his team moved on to the Finnish ambassador's home to meet with President Ahtisaari. The residence had a pleasant Scandinavian sensibility and was filled with contemporary furnishings in a bright open space that felt out of place in Moscow. Talbott and Ahtisaari wanted to discuss the impact of the indictment in a secure location away from any potential electronic eavesdropping and headed into the communications room of the adjoining Finnish embassy, where they promptly managed to lock themselves in. While Talbott was concerned, Ahtisaari nonchalantly suggested they carry on, saying, "One of the good things about being president is that they never let me go missing for very long." The news of the indictment did not come as a surprise to Ahtisaari, who had spoken with UN Secretary-General Annan earlier in the day and been warned, "The lady in the Hague has resorted to a truly tough line." Privately, although Annan and Ahtisaari had known each other for years, the two were said to have an uneasy relationship. Ahtisaari continued to be annoyed by Annan's rather tepid support for his role in the trilateral talks, suspecting that the secretary-general was positioning the United Nations to take the lead in diplomacy if the trilateral talks collapsed. However, Ahtisaari also struck a somewhat sympathetic tone: "Secretary-General Annan genuinely thought that we could not do without the United Nations, and he wanted to secure his role in case the trilateral process failed." Ahtisaari weighed the impact of the indictment, knowing that he was faced with the unpleasant prospect of traveling to Belgrade and being seen shaking hands with Milosevic the same day the Yugoslav president was indicted. Ahtisaari was understandably nervous about how a trip would play out with his European Union colleagues, and although still tentatively open to the idea, he knew a great deal depended on Chernomyrdin. The two also discussed the possibility that a quick mission to Belgrade could be completed before news of the indictment became public. However, Ahtisaari still wanted to reach further agreement with the Russians on the "Reader's Di-

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gest" version of NATO's demands before he committed to a trip, and it was unclear whether the three delegations could do so quickly. The two also discussed the notion of a solo Ahtisaari mission to Belgrade. As Ahtisaari reflected, "At this point it did not seem to me that the trilateral effort would be successful. If that [was] the case, [I felt that] I had better go to Belgrade alone and find out what that could produce." Talbott told Ahtisaari that if he traveled to Belgrade, he should be on the lookout for Bojan Bugarcic, the Yugoslav foreign policy adviser that Washington was considering for direct negotiations. The U.S. deputy secretary of state also informed Ahtisaari that he would likely soon be able to support something slightly less than total withdrawal of Yugoslav forces. The United States would not let a token presence of several hundred Yugoslav forces in Kosovo stand in the way of a peace agreement. However, the deputy secretary emphatically stressed that the Finnish president should avoid hinting at such a concession during the talks. The Department of Defense continued to have reservations about any Yugoslav stay-behinds, while the National Security Council was leaning toward supporting such an offer as long as the presence was truly minimal. As one U.S. negotiator emphasized, "It was all for show, it all got to the issue of sovereignty," but, "Whoever was left behind would be more difficult to protect than any demonstration of sovereignty would warrant." Any Serb forces left in the province would literally be under NATO's protective custody. After lunch, the U.S. and Finnish teams again sped in a motorcade to the outskirts of Moscow to meet Chernomyrdin and his team at Stalin's dacha. Talbott and Chernomyrdin went into a one-on-one meeting, and the Russian envoy appeared relatively ambivalent about the indictment, but feared that the charges would again make him a target for criticism in Moscow and Belgrade. He speculated that many Russians would view him as complicit if he were in Belgrade when the charges were announced, but he also did not want to see the diplomatic process collapse, because it would leave Yeltsin right where he started: furious about the bombing but unable to do anything about it. Neither Chernomyrdin nor Ivanov broached the subject of possible immunity for Milosevic as part of a peace deal, and neither man viewed Milosevic with any warmth. Russia and Yugoslavia, despite some common interests, were members of a mutual disdain society. Secretary Albright seemed to both sympathize and poke fun at the quandary of the Russians by telling reporters during the war, "I think it is not easy for anyone to be Milosevic's defense lawyer." But for the Communists and others who opposed

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Yeltsin, NATO bombing presented a golden opportunity to turn things against the West. For Russians hoping to preserve their ties to the West, Slobodan Milosevic was a titanic inconvenience, and Yeltsin himself had called Milosevic "one of the most cynical politicians I have ever dealt with." Milosevic held Yeltsin in equally low regard, and Goran Matic, a Yugoslav cabinet member had complained, "Russia is following its own interests, trying to get back in good graces with the West. Every NATO bomb that drops on Yugoslavia has a Russian stamp on it." The Yugoslavs were also angry at Russian support for the Rambouillet talks that they viewed as a pretext for NATO bombing, and upset that Russia had largely withheld military and intelligence assistance. After a short break, the full trilateral meeting started around a large table at the dacha. As they sat down and exchanged pleasantries, Talbott asked Chernomyrdin why there was no "empty chair" at the table. The Russian envoy, equally well versed in theater, instructed that an unoccupied seat be placed exactly halfway between the Russian and Finnish delegations. The afternoon's meetings were significant in one important respect: Chernomyrdin and his colleagues from the Russian military would be negotiating jointly for the first time. Interagency coordination was never a Russian strength, and during the earlier talks, Russian military and diplomatic representatives had worked largely on separate tracks, only exacerbating the confusion. The Russian military delegation was again headed by Gen. Leonid Ivashov, the former Communist Party commissar in the old Soviet Army and head of the defense ministry's department of international cooperation. Ivashov was an unabashed hard-liner who proudly admitted that he had agitated for a military coup against Mikhail Gorbachev in 1990. Gen. Viktor Zavarzin—Russia's liaison to NATO who had been called back to Moscow at the onset of bombing—also joined the discussions. The tensions between Chernomyrdin and Ivashov were obvious from the outset, and Chernomyrdin disparagingly called General Ivashov "Comrade Commissar" several times during the discussions. Chernomyrdin again stressed that bombing was strengthening anti-Western elements in Moscow and noted that some in Russia were eager for a strategic or military confrontation with NATO that would result in a "a sea of blood." His comments seemed directed equally at the U.S. and Russian military officials sitting around the table. It was clear the Russian military

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was riding the brake, and the body language was such that the Russian officers looked physically uncomfortable whenever Chernomyrdin displayed any flexibility. The Russian envoy also grumbled that he did not appreciate making repeated and dangerous visits to Belgrade with little to show for his efforts. The Russian negotiators continued to resist the total withdrawal of Yugoslav troops, and expressed skepticism that Milosevic would accept such a deal. Talbott countered that if Milosevic could convert a small number of military stay-behinds into a genuine military power base in the province, NATO peacekeepers would have a potential disaster on their hands. KLA attacks on the Yugoslav soldiers would be a certainty and NATO would find itself in the middle of a civil war. Chernomyrdin again raised the proposal for a bombing pause that would be followed by intense negotiations with Belgrade, and his suggestion was quickly rejected. Talbott's plan for exchanging a brief break in air strikes for Russian support of a UN Security Council resolution authorizing the use of "all means necessary" against Yugoslavia was not raised. The Russians also advanced a plan to have peacekeepers from neutral countries under UN command deployed in the traditionally Serb areas of Northern Kosovo, while NATO countries that had not been involved in the bombing campaign patrolled the rest of the province. Troops from the mainstay NATO countries such as the United States and Great Britain would remain in Macedonia and Albania to secure the border. Milosevic would reduce his forces to peacetime levels, but not totally vacate Kosovo. The proposal was quickly given the cold shoulder by the U.S. team, and Talbott was adamant: NATO at the core was one of the "family jewels." While NATO had clear preferences for the peacekeeping operation, its vision of Kosovo's ultimate status was carefully hedged. NATO wanted to keep Yugoslavia intact, and many of the Allies were firmly opposed to independence for Kosovo. NATO feared an independent Kosovo would trigger instability in Greece, Macedonia, Albania, and Bulgaria, while encouraging other secessionist movements to drag the Alliance into their violent liberation struggles. However, NATO also maintained that Belgrade was no longer fit to administer the province, or as Talbott put it, "We are firing Mr. Milosevic from managing Kosovo." Nobody in NATO liked the idea that Kosovo would become a quasi-protectorate for years or decades to come, but no one had a better option. In the middle of the talks, Phil Goldberg, Talbott's chief of staff, received

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a call from Sandy Berger, who rather agitatedly asked why Talbott was continuing with the effort to get Chernomyrdin and Ahtisaari to go to Belgrade in light of Milosevic's indictment. Berger, who was known to get hot under the collar, complained, "I thought there were going to be consultations," and then hung up. Both Berger and Albright wanted to scrub any visit to Belgrade until after the dust from the indictment had settled, fearing that they would appear too eager for compromise with a war criminal. Talbott, having devoted considerable time and energy in trying to get Ahtisaari and Chernomyrdin to launch a joint mission, was less categorical. He feared that abandoning the trip would effectively cripple the trilateral talks and open the door for the United Nations to take a more prominent role. Talbott then emerged from the meeting and spoke with Berger, Albright, and Deputy National Security Advisor James Steinberg in a tense twentyminute conference call. The deputy secretary did not want to pull the plug on a possible trip and argued that it was not a decision that was entirely Washington's to make. He noted that the two men could travel to Belgrade and back before the news became public and argued that abandoning U.S. support for the mission would jeopardize what progress they had been made with the Russians. Talbott felt that a trip delayed would become a trip that never took place. Despite his recommendations, Berger and Albright still had serious reservations. Steinberg, on the other hand, sided with Talbott. The four ended their conversation having resolved little and, in an awkward compromise, Talbott agreed to leave the U.S. position toward an Ahtisaari and Chernomyrdin trip to Belgrade open. Berger called back a short time later after having spoken with Ambassador Holbrooke. While Holbrooke shared some of Berger's misgivings, he urged Berger to support his negotiator, and the national security advisor said he would do so.

The CNN Effect As the long session at the dacha ground on, it brought out interesting cultural differences between the delegations. The American and Finnish staff rooms looked much the same—people on cell phones, typing into laptop computers, and comparing drafts of different documents. In contrast, the Russian staff office was filled with men reclining, chain-smoking, and watch-

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ing local game shows on a television with bad reception. During a meal served later in the day, the U.S. team almost uniformly declined the vodka that was provided, the Finns drank lightly, and the Russians ate and drank with gusto. Soon the debate between Berger, Albright, and Talbott was outpaced by events: CNN broke the story that Milosevic would be indicted the following day. Some of the U.S. delegation members in Moscow could not resist an obvious irony. The CNN reporter breaking the story was Christiane Amanpour, the wife of State Department spokesman Jamie Rubin. The fact that the indictment was now public did little to improve the already thorny discussions at the dacha. Chernomyrdin stepped out to take a call from Prime Minister Stepashin, who was in President Yeltsin's limousine as it was returning from the Moscow airport. Yeltsin was indignant, and he viewed the indictment as a direct slap designed to further embarrass him in the middle of talks. Both Chernomyrdin and Ahtisaari soon backed away from the plan to quickly visit Belgrade. During the afternoon, Secretary Albright checked in with her fellow quint foreign ministers from France, the United Kingdom, Germany, and Italy. The indictment was of foremost concern, and there was general agreement it would cloud diplomatic efforts. Albright pointed out that the United States had always maintained that the tribunal would follow evidence wherever it led and that there was no choice but to be supportive of its decision. German Foreign Minister Joschka Fischer agreed. The charges were a matter of the rule of law, and the United Nations had created the tribunal—not NATO. The Allies would point to the indictment as a vindication of the assumptions underpinning their air campaign against Milosevic, but the foreign ministers agreed they should not demand Milosevic's ouster as part of a peace agreement. All five wondered how the news would play out in the court of public opinion. There was some hope the indictment would seriously weaken Milosevic and possibly lead to his downfall, but there was concern that since the tribunal was a UN body, the Russians might become more hesitant to support any UN resolution authorizing peacekeepers. On the positive side, the charges might make it more difficult for the UN Secretary-General Annan to dispatch his own special envoy to Belgrade. Later in the day, Albright and British Foreign Secretary Robin Cook compared notes on the climate within the Alliance. Cook had returned from a visit with his French, Italian, and German counterparts and was upbeat after

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his whirlwind tour, feeling that if all else failed, the Italians would consider participating in a ground war. The Germans indicated that their constitution made it impossible to send troops as part of a ground force absent a UN resolution, but they would probably not block NATO from moving forward. The British felt German resolve was growing, despite obvious political discomfort. Cook also felt that the French would support the use of ground forces, but only as a last resort. Albright, while pleased that unity was holding, did her best to temper British enthusiasm for ground troops, stressing the difficult political dynamic in many Alliance capitals. Both Albright and Cook recognized that trying to forge a peace deal as Milosevic was declared a war criminal was going to be difficult. Belgrade continued to keep lines of communication open with the Clinton administration. In Stockholm, the Swedish Deputy Political Director contacted U.S. Ambassador Lyndon Olsen, as yet another prospective secret Yugoslav envoy popped up. The Serb Press spokesman and head of the Yugoslav Policy Planning staff, Nebojsa Vujovic, had approached the Swedish ambassador in Belgrade, said that he had spoken directly with Milosevic, and that the Yugoslav president wanted to have the Swedes pass a message to the Americans. Milosevic wanted to open a direct channel of communication with Washington and noted that during Landrum Boiling's visit, the American had indicated American officials were open to the idea. Vujovic, in a calculated dig at Chernomyrdin, noted that a number of envoys had passed through Belgrade but that talks had led nowhere. Vujovic insisted that Yugoslavia did not want to insult the countries sending such envoys, but felt that direct communications and "exploratory talks" with Washington were necessary. He suggested the new diplomatic channel could rapidly lead to confidential talks between the United States and Yugoslavia in a neutral location such as Sweden. Vujovic claimed that Milosevic had designated him as the Serb representative to such talks and that he envisioned a high-ranking American counterpart for the talks, but not one of the "usual" interlocutors. The Swedish ambassador asked if that meant the Yugoslavs did not want to interact with Ambassador Holbrooke, and Vujovic confirmed that Belgrade preferred another mediator. Vujovic specifically mentioned Jim Swigert, a Deputy Assistant Secretary for European Affairs who was traveling with Talbott, as a possible negotiator. "It might have made sense to move to bilateral discussions if we were sure it was the end game," Swigert would observe, but "as long as it seemed that Milosevic

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was dug in and willing to tough it out, I was worried that Milosevic would interpret any positive responses to such signals as a sign of weakness." In a subsequent meeting several days later, Vujovic told the Swedish ambassador that Milosevic was eager to work out the details of a deal, including the structure of a peacekeeping force, troop withdrawals, and the role of the United States and the United Nations in refugee returns. Vujovic stressed that his mandate came directly from Milosevic and that his back-channel discussions would not come at the expense of other diplomatic efforts already underway. This message was soon passed back through Stockholm and on to Washington. The Swedish contacts came as Landrum Boiling, the N G O leader who had earlier met with Secretary Albright, sent a message back to the Serb leadership on May 28: The United States was potentially interested in opening up a secret channel for talks. According to Boiling, the message was delivered to Bojan Bugarcic the next day and discussed directly with Milosevic shortly thereafter. Milosevic reportedly recognized the offer as serious because of the names and telephone numbers associated, but he did not make a final decision. Within the Clinton administration, there was persistent skepticism that Milosevic would surrender to a neutral party such as Ahtisaari, and most of the national security team felt that Milosevic would try to preserve his own stature by engaging Washington directly. Milosevic would then be able to claim that he had reached a negotiated—not an imposed—settlement with NATO and improve his chances of holding on to power. However, there were political dangers in bilateral talks for Washington. Many in the United States would question peace talks with an indicted war criminal. Such negotiations would also create some tensions within NATO itself, as allies would be torn between eagerness to strike a peace deal and their own desire for a seat at the table. The Allies would likely have stomached such a process if it produced results, but they obviously preferred consultation. Deputy National Security Advisor Jim Steinberg was skeptical of direct talks. "We had nothing to negotiate. It would not have made it any more likely that Milosevic would concede. Once you offered it, Milosevic would assume, correctly, that you were prepared to negotiate. The beauty of the trilateral talks was that it was a structure designed to show that we would not negotiate. You had Ahtisaari there as the guy who could say, 'I talked to the Americans and they are not going to change,' and Chernomyrdin there saying, 'Well, Ahtisaari knows those Americans.'"

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Back in Moscow at the dacha, those self-same trilateral talks continued as Ahtisaari, Talbott, and Chernomyrdin worked their way through a seemingly interminable series of meetings. They shared a late dinner of deep-fried fish and stayed in steady contact with their respective home offices. Small measures of progress appeared and receded as the discussions ran past midnight. At around one-thirty in the morning on May 27—after close to ten hours of talks—the negotiators at Stalin's dacha finally agreed to call it a night. Ahtisaari proposed holding a meeting later that same morning and letting "the dust settle" before deciding about a mission to Belgrade. Both Talbott and Chernomyrdin quickly agreed, since it would keep the diplomatic process alive while steering clear of the political fallout from the war crimes indictment. When they reconvened, the Finnish delegation would present a formal draft of the "Reader's Digest" version of the demands, which the U.S. team would help them prepare. With that, the bleary diplomats departed the wooded and dark compound. Talbott joined Ahtisaari in his limousine for the ride back through the deserted streets of Moscow. Ahtisaari wanted to go to Bonn to meet with German Chancellor Gerhard Schroeder if he did not travel to Belgrade, feeling duty-bound to report the current state of affairs to his colleagues in the European Union. The Finnish president also suggested that a journey to Belgrade would be more practical the following week, and he hoped that some additional time would allow the three sides to resolve their differences. Talbott returned to the Marriott Hotel a little after two in the morning and the hotel lobby and adjacent bar were filled with a fairly sordid collection of Moscow nightlife: expensive prostitutes hoping to land a Western businessman, local mobsters with girlfriends in stiletto heels, and European executives having a few drinks too many. Even at that late hour, the temperature in Moscow remained disturbingly warm, as the city continued to trudge through a record heat wave. The trilateral process, while not dead, seemed to be going nowhere. Despite the late hour, Gen. George Casey and Jim Swigert of the U.S. team joined the Finnish delegation at the Savoy Hotel to work on the paper spelling out the demands, a process Ahtisaari described as, "your words; our music." The U.S. delegation continued to move at a grueling pace, and exhaustion was setting in. Most of the team looked pale and unhealthy, having taken on a glazed and shell-shocked look from constant travel, too much coffee, and steady stress. One member of the team observed that the lengthy

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talks often felt like a farce: "It was about buying time for bombing." This official added, "We thought that it was important to do anything we could to keep the Russians from jumping out the window. If this set of really frustrating, totally fruitless discussions was going to be the tonic—it was perfect, and we were all in love with it." The fear among the U.S. team was simply that the Russians "would never get religion." Despite the fatigue and frustration, the dynamics within the U.S. team remained good. The blizzard of travel and talks had created a sense of camaraderie. Because the talks with the Russians had never been given much of a chance, it seemed to pull the team closer together. The Russians were such difficult diplomatic partners that relations within the team seemed congenial in comparison. Much of the credit for the atmosphere belonged to Deputy Secretary Talbott and General Foglesong, both of whom set a positive tone and treated the group with equanimity. At three in the morning on May 27, U.S. Secretary of Defense William Cohen arrived in Bonn to attend a secret meeting with four of his fellow NATO defense ministers on the sidelines of a security conference. The topic at hand: a potential ground war. Around ten in the morning, the group gathered at the German ministry of defense. The planning and logistics necessary to put a ground force in theater would be considerable, and it would be months before such a force could be deployed and ready for combat. Although the Alliance was enjoying its best bombing weather of the campaign, the specter of a dark and desperate winter was on everyone's mind. If NATO was unable to bring Milosevic to heel, and was left trying to airdrop relief supplies to refugees in the December snows of Kosovo, it would be everyone's worst nightmare. Although the widening air strikes were doing tremendous damage to Yugoslavia's infrastructure, economy, and quality of life, it was an open question whether they would break Milosevic's will. There was every indication that the Yugoslav president could hold on to power despite a ruined economy and a population in despair. The Yugoslav military continued to carefully husband its resources; tanks and troops were hidden in mosques and schools. There were even reports that the Serbs were herding old men in front of armored columns to prevent air strikes. While such tactics were deeply cynical, they were effective. NATO was expected to manage houseby-house precision with bombs dropped from an elevation equivalent to half

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the height of Mount Everest, and there was increasing skepticism that air power alone would prevail. Cohen and the defense ministers of Britain, France, Germany, and Italy—the five most powerful members of NATO—were briefed on roughly the same ground war options that had been presented to President Clinton the week before, although General Clark was conspicuously absent from the meeting. It was made clear that Clark preferred a ground invasion of some 175,000 NATO troops largely entering from Albania. British Defense Minister George Robertson was reported to have committed 50,000 British troops to a potential ground war during the meeting, telling his fellow defense chiefs that his ministry was prepared to send out 30,000 letters calling up reservists in early June. The French and Italian defense ministers indicated that they would participate in a ground invasion if it were absolutely necessary, and some in the Italian government had come to view the conflict like removing a Band-Aid: the more quickly it was ripped off, the better. The Italian government also continued to publicly disavow any role for Italy in ground operations. The sentiments of his fellow defense ministers notwithstanding, Secretary of Defense Cohen still had deep reservations. He was not a fan of the extended NATO peacekeeping operation in Bosnia, and he viewed Kosovo with a jaundiced eye. The Pentagon as a whole saw the Balkans as a dangerous long-term entanglement for U.S. forces, and Cohen was aware of the lack of support for a ground war both on Capitol Hill and in most European capitals. The Clinton White House remained deeply conflicted about the ground option. While increasingly realizing that failure was not an option, there was little enthusiasm for a protracted military commitment and the possibility of significant casualties heading into an election year. The savage political battles over impeachment had left Clinton poorly positioned to rally bipartisan support for a war that was not a pressing matter of national defense. Cohen argued to his fellow defense ministers for intensifying the air war and broadening the target list, and was mum about U.S. willingness to lead a ground war. After more than six hours of discussion, the defense ministers reached consensus on one important issue: They would need a decision on ground troops within a matter of weeks. They also took a series of steps to buy themselves all possible time before making that determination. They committed their forces to intensify the work of engineers upgrading roads in Albania so

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they could handle heavy tanks and transports. The Alliance also initiated discreet discussions with countries in the region that could serve as a staging ground for forces. Hungary indicated a willingness to let NATO to use its territory to launch attacks if the Alliance would assure that it would use all necessary means to protect ethnic Hungarians in Yugoslavia. With the infrastructure improvements in Albania, coupled with the decision to expand the deployment of peacekeepers in the region, NATO officials felt they could push a final decision on ground troops to early or mid-June and still have enough time to launch a ground war before the onset of winter. After the meeting, Cohen immediately flew back to the United States, and news of the meeting soon leaked out. Cohen and NATO officials would remain tight-lipped about the session, saying only that it had produced an agreement to continue and intensify the air campaign. Through back channels, Clark would receive his own read-out of the meeting, and he continued to feel that if the United States led, the other Allies would follow.

The Germans Go Wobbly Back in Moscow after a brief sleep, the U.S. negotiators checked out of the Marriott Hotel by 8:30 in the morning on May 27. The team was scheduled to depart Moscow later in the day, but their onward destination was still uncertain and included five potential stops: Bonn, Geneva, Brussels, Vienna, or London. Because there was still a slim hope for a Chernomyrdin-Ahtisaari mission to Belgrade that afternoon, both Vienna and Geneva would be convenient locales to meet the envoys as they emerged from Yugoslavia. Bonn was a possible stop because Ahtisaari wanted to report to Chancellor Schroeder. London and Brussels were on the list for similar reasons, because both British Foreign Secretary Robin Cook and the NATO ambassadors wanted to be updated on the negotiations. As Ambassador Richard Holbrooke is fond of saying, diplomacy can be like jazz. Returning to Stalin's dacha after a brief meeting with President Ahtisaari at his hotel, U.S. negotiators resumed talks. Meetings could endure for two hours or twelve, and guessing the duration of the negotiating sessions took on the flavor of an office pool for the U.S. staffers. The Finnish delegation distributed the revised paper spelling out to the Russians the demands for ending the war, but unfortunately between the lack of sleep, multiple trans-

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lations, and frequent revisions, they handed out the wrong version of the document. To make matters worse, about twenty minutes elapsed before the drafters noticed the discrepancy, and the confusion did little to improve the mood. The Russian negotiators were already irritated by some of the tough language contained in the draft and were further dismayed to have the Finns quickly request to swap versions. Staffers scrambled back and forth between the Finnish and American staff rooms explaining what had happened and making sure everyone had copies of the correct paper. Talbott was irritated by the delay, and those members of the U.S. delegation not involved in the drafting process took pains to stay out of his way. The deputy secretary very rarely raised his voice in anger, but emitted a telltale heavy sigh when frustrated. Eventually, the session got under way with the proper draft in hand. In an interesting development, Foreign Minister Ivanov joined Chernomyrdin at the talks, and the U.S. team was split on the meaning of his appearance. From a positive perspective, Ivanov's participation could help increase the likelihood that Russian government would speak with one voice. Others attributed more Machiavellian motives to Ivanov's presence, suggesting that he had been sent to ensure that Chernomyrdin was not too accommodating. Even with the broader representation, the talks quickly reverted to their circular nature. The Russians repeatedly objected to the notion that their forces would have to serve under NATO command and pushed for their own peacekeeping sector, "just as is proposed for the big NATO powers." Again, the Russians argued a bombing pause should precede any withdrawal of Yugoslav forces and insisted that KLA "terrorists" would exploit a security vacuum before KFOR could deploy. The Russians also produced their own draft of the demands paper, offering modest compromises on several issues, but hanging tough in opposing total withdrawal and NATO control of peacekeepers. Generals Foglesong and Casey patiently reviewed what they considered operational flaws in the Russian approach. The peacekeeping force needed to have a unified chain of command to be effective, and any withdrawal had to be verified before bombing would stop because Milosevic was fundamentally untrustworthy. NATO troops could move into the province quickly to ensure there was no security vacuum. Both Ivanov and Chernomyrdin were frustrated with the dry and technical approach of the U.S. team, and they insisted that the central issues before

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the negotiators were fundamentally political, not operational. The Russians wanted to engage in higher-level horse-trading, and insisted that NATO's senior civilian leaders should be at the negotiating table. Once again, the trilateral talks had produced little. As Ahtisaari described, "The trip to Belgrade could be forgotten. The meeting made no progress; nobody was willing to make any concessions whatsoever." Chernomyrdin would make yet another solo mission to Belgrade to consult with Milosevic the next day, and Ahtisaari and Talbott would go to Bonn and meet with Chancellor Schroeder. Ahtisaari indicated that he would join Chernomyrdin for a trip to Belgrade, possibly as soon as the Tuesday of the next week. As the meeting concluded, Ahtisaari lamented to Chernomyrdin, "We missed an opportunity this morning, I would have gone today if you would have been willing to join me in a common script." As the U.S. and Finnish delegations hurried out to the front driveway, Talbott lingered for a moment on the third floor of the dacha as a small knot of nonplussed Russian military officers stood smoking cigarettes. Chernomyrdin appeared and asked to have a few private words with Talbott. The two moved off to a small side room near one of the dining halls. Five minutes later, the elevator opened and an agitated Ivanov and an aide hurriedly stepped out, joining Talbott and Chernomyrdin. Both Ivanov and Chernomyrdin expressed their mounting angst to the deputy secretary, arguing that the long series of talks had nothing to show for them. Phil Goldberg offered Talbott a gentle reminder that they needed to leave to avoid keeping Chancellor Schroeder waiting, and the impromptu meeting broke up. As they said their good-byes on the front steps of the dacha, the mood was surprisingly light-hearted, with the negotiators relieved to escape further long hours at the dacha. Chernomyrdin looked like a man running for office as he good-naturedly shook the hands of all those in the U.S. delegation. The Americans, for their part, wished him the best of luck in his journey to Belgrade. Talbott had Goldberg place a quick cell phone call to Secretary Albright—or "Momma Boss" as the Russians sometimes called her—from the steps of the dacha. The call went through and Talbott mischievously held out the telephone halfway between Chernomyrdin and Ivanov, creating a curious little moment. Which Russian should speak to the U.S. secretary of state first? Which of the two men was in charge? Ivanov quickly, and rather gracefully, suggested Chernomyrdin take the line.

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Chernomyrdin held forth with the secretary in Russian for several minutes. Chernomyrdin was a big man, and the cell phone looked diminutive in his large hand. Chernomyrdin appeared to be enjoying his role, and he spoke in a grand voice as he joked with Albright. Chernomyrdin passed the cell phone to Foreign Minister Ivanov, and the contrast was vivid. Ivanov was tight-lipped, and his discussion with Albright lasted less than a minute as he told the secretary of state that he would call her later in the day. At The Hague, Louise Arbour of the UN International War Crimes Tribunal formally announced the indictment of Milosevic, President of Serbia Milan Milutinovic, Federal Yugoslav Prime Minister Nikola Sainovic, Chief of Staff of the Yugoslav Army Dragoljub Ojdanic, and Serb Interior Minister Vlajko Stojiljkovic. The group was charged with masterminding the coordinated campaign of terror and violence that ethnically cleansed hundreds of thousands of ethnic Albanians from Kosovo, and the indictment included reference to specific massacres that had been conducted in the province. Although the indicted were accused of directing murders and persecution, this initial indictment did not charge the Yugoslav leadership with genocide; later charges based on earlier events in Bosnia would do so. Justice Arbour declared that "the world is a much smaller place" for the indictees and noted that all states, including Yugoslavia, were under treaty obligation to hand the men over for trial. Arbour insisted that the indictment effectively precluded any talk of immunity for Milosevic. The official Russian government daily Rossiyskaya Gazeta assailed the charges and decried, "Washington's next step must be a land operation against Yugoslavia." In communications with Washington after the negotiators lifted off from Moscow—headed for Bonn—Talbott informed his superiors back in Washington that "Ahtisaari remains solid as an anvil," but "there continues to be not one iota of evidence that any of this diplomatic to'ing and fro'ing is having any positive effect whatsoever on Milosevic." Talbott also made clear, "If possible, we'd like to keep the Russians involved in the diplomacy, since their disengagement is not likely to be passive or benign; it's likely to bring with it an escalation of the wrong kind of engagement with the Serbs as well as active sabotage of our efforts." During the flight, Talbott turned to General Foglesong, "We may have to go to Belgrade at some point, are you with me?" Pausing for only a moment, Foglesong said, "I'll go."

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With the trilateral talks continuing to bog down, dealing directly with Milosevic seemed increasingly likely. As members of the team telephoned Washington from the plane, they were repeatedly asked if they had seen an op-ed piece authored by Chernomyrdin that had run in that morning's Washington Post. They had not, and Chernomyrdin had not mentioned any such article at the dacha. Administration officials were furious with Chernomyrdin and concerned that his statement amounted to a deliberate attempt to sabotage the talks. They wanted to immediately call in the Russian ambassador in Washington to express their outrage. Talbott, having not read the article, argued for restraint, but when the deputy secretary finally got the op-ed in his hands before touching down in Bonn, Washington's consternation was understandable. "Just as Soviet tanks trampling on the Prague spring of 1968 finally shattered the myth of the socialist regime's merits, so the United States lost its moral right to be regarded as a leader of the free democratic world when its bombs shattered the ideals of liberty and democracy in Yugoslavia," wrote Chernomyrdin. In language eerily reminiscent of the Cold War he argued, "The world has never in this decade been so close as now to the brink of nuclear war." The next day in Washington, Tom Pickering, the Department of State's undersecretary for political affairs, called Russian Ambassador Yuri Ushakov into his office to complain about the article and questioned Russia's willingness to remain engaged in the diplomatic process in light of its rhetoric. Pickering queried whether the Russians were deliberately distancing themselves from the diplomacy, and he took particular issue with Chernomyrdin's parallel between NATO and the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia. Pickering, a seasoned diplomat, completed his exhortations with an appeal to maintain strong U.S.-Russian relations. Ushakov, who could weather diplomatic browbeatings with an almost masochist zeal, did his best to reassure Pickering. He implausibly claimed that the publication of the article had taken him by surprise. Ushakov, avoiding comments on substance, assured Pickering that a full report of U.S. government concerns would be cabled back to Moscow, and that the Russians had no intention of breaking off talks. As the U.S. delegation's plane touched down at the Bonn-Cologne airport, it parked in a far corner of the facility, next to President Ahtisaari's aircraft. Ahtisaari's plane was rented from Finnish Airlines, which had demanded that the government take out a special insurance policy because of

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the potential flight to Belgrade. Ahtisaari and Talbott were each accompanied by a single staffer as they quickly boarded a helicopter and headed for Chancellor Schroeder's office. The other staff members meandered out of the plane, and some took off their shoes and sat on a small strip of grass near the tarmac to soak up the sun. Domestic politics were making the Germans increasingly anxious about the war, and many journalists were suggesting that Chancellor Schroeder was growing desperate to find a way out. In mid-May, Schroeder had told reporters the use of ground troops was "unthinkable," that his government would block any such effort, and that the discussion over ground troops was a "specifically British debate." While German parliamentarians had suggested that Germany could not participate in a ground invasion without UN authorization, General Clark was convinced that he could sell his plan for a ground invasion within NATO, including to the Germans. However, the coalition of Greens and Social Democrats that had brought Schroeder to power was deeply uncomfortable with the war. Many of the party members had cut their teeth as antinuclear, pro-environment activists railing for years against Chancellor Helmut Kohl's conservative government. A May 13 special conference of the Green Party had degenerated into catcalls and egg throwing over Kosovo, and Foreign Minister Fischer had been struck in the head by a red paint bomb that ruptured his eardrum. Kosovo was a conundrum for European Social Democrats and American liberals alike. As much as they abhorred violence and the use of military force, they felt compelled to check Belgrade's gross human rights abuses. To do nothing was to turn a blind eye to terrible cruelty; to act meant harming innocent civilians. Chancellor Schroeder wanted to appear fully engaged in the diplomatic efforts as a means to reassure his restive supporters that he was doing everything possible to end the war. Schroeder's governing coalition was extremely fragile, and unless there was a diplomatic breakthrough by the Cologne Summit, some within the German leadership feared not only would public support for the air campaign collapse, the ruling coalition might as well. Schroeder had earlier told Ahtisaari that he thought the war might bring his government down by midsummer, paralyzing the European Union until the Germans ended their term in its presidency, and possibly forcing Ahtisaari to withdraw from his role. Ahtisaari wanted to make clear that he still had the EU's blessing in light of the indictment, and Schroeder was support-

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ive—a peace deal was more important than the optics of dealing with Milosevic. President Ahtisaari later acknowledged that he could not take his role for granted, "It was not always easy for some of the other EU members to swallow the fact that a person from a small country like Finland, not a NATO member, was suddenly asked to be involved in the diplomatic efforts. I'm sure there were moments in this process where some of my colleagues might have been interested in withdrawing the EU mandate for my role." Talbott claimed that the trilateral talks were making substantial progress, but that there were still important differences that needed to be resolved before Ahtisaari and Chernomyrdin could travel to Belgrade. While Talbott emphasized that the war had to be concluded on NATO's terms, he feared that Schroeder felt that stopping the bombing was more important than the terms on which it was stopped. After the meeting, Ahtisaari and Talbott helicoptered back to the airport, rousing their respective staffers out of their quiet reverie. The two teams then huddled for a meeting on the Finnish presidential plane. Ahtisaari repeatedly stressed the importance of NATO showing some flexibility on the issue of total Yugoslav troop withdrawal, arguing that a token residual presence would make Milosevic far more likely to take a deal. This prompted Talbott to ask for a few private words with the Finnish president. Ahtisaari then instructed his whole team, including the plane's crew, to exit the plane. Talbott gently took Ahtisaari to task, noting that he continued to explore the issue of Serb stay-behinds with Washington, but insisting that Ahtisaari needed to avoid the appearance of attempting to whittle down NATO's bottom line. Indeed, Talbott had argued back to Washington, "my inclination is that there is one pawn we should be prepared to sacrifice at the end of what would still be a checkmate. That would be to convert some of the slots designated for returnees into slots for carefully vetted, disarmed, and reconstituted stay-behinds; i.e., instead of making literally all Serb security types leave, we'd be prepared to identify a few of them that were not, as it were, indictable rapists, murderers, and ethnic cleansers, de-louse them, take away their side arms, g