Guy Snodgrass is former chief speechwriter for Defense Secretary Jim Mattis. He is the author of Holding the Line: Inside Trump's Pentagon With Secretary Mattis, from which this article is adapted.

Long before real planning for it began, and long before the first news stories about it, those of us in the top levels of the Pentagon heard President Donald Trump demand the military parade he would eventually get. The bizarre request was one of the first signs I had of the enormous rift between my boss at the time, Defense Secretary James Mattis, and the president.

The clash came in the middle of Trump’s first Pentagon briefing on America’s military and diplomatic “laydown”—a term of art used to describe all of the locations around the world with U.S. forces and embassies—on July 20, 2017. Mattis, for whom I was working as chief speechwriter, had hoped the briefing would educate Trump on the United States’ longstanding commitment to the rest of the world. That is not at all what happened.


Instead, the president burst out in the middle of the meeting.

“I just returned from France,” he said. “Did you see President Macron’s handshake?” he asked no one in particular. “He wouldn’t let go. He just kept holding on. I spent two hours at Bastille Day. Very impressive.”

A pause.

“I want a ‘Victory Day.’ Just like Veterans Day. The Fourth of July is too hot,” he said, apparently out of nowhere. “I want vehicles and tanks on Main Street. On Pennsylvania Avenue, from the Capitol to the White House. We need spirit! We should blow everybody away with this parade. The French had an amazing parade on Bastille Day with tanks and everything. Why can’t we do that?”

Those of us in the control room linked to the Pentagon conference room shifted uncomfortably, shooting glances at each other. Where was this going? We’d opened the control room door 30 minutes before to improve air flow. A Secret Service agent poked his head in, apparently uncomfortable with the conversation and the light it cast on the president. “Hey,” he asked, “do you guys need to still be in here?”



***

It was far from what Mattis had expected as he prepared meticulously for the meeting just hours before.

As the seconds ticked down, Mattis’ nervous energy had been palpable. Unusually so. Normally stoic and deliberate with his movements, this morning he was electrified. He was pacing in his office in the Pentagon, moving from a standing desk that faced the Potomac to the small circular table and back again. He shuffled his notes, putting them into a nondescript dark blue folder, pausing for a few seconds in hesitation before pulling them out again to rearrange their order. Things needed to be perfect.

I understood why he was nervous. We all did. At any time, this briefing would be a big deal for the department, regardless of the president. But in Trump’s case, the briefing had a heightened importance.

Just a few weeks earlier, Trump had declared America’s unilateral withdrawal from the Paris Agreement. He was also threatening to dismantle the nuclear deal with Iran, withdraw from NATO, pull U.S. forces back from South Korea, Germany and Japan, give Russia a pass on its electoral interference in the 2016 election, and, in his spare time, start a war with North Korea.

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In private, Secretary of State Rex Tillerson and Mattis feared these actions signaled America’s diminished authority as a world leader and emboldened China, Russia and Iran to fill the vacuum. They felt incredible pressure to educate the president, believing that if only Trump could be made to recognize the value of American allies and the stability afforded by the presence of our troops, he’d reconsider and alter course.

If anyone could change the president’s mind, it was Mattis. He had maintained a close relationship with Trump since he was confirmed in early 2017, visiting the White House two or three times a week for meetings, lunch and sometimes dinner. It was obvious to us that Trump valued Mattis’ opinion and simply liked having him around to bounce ideas off.

I suspect Trump also liked that, as far as cabinet members go, Mattis was about as low-key as a senior official could get. He was careful not to seek the spotlight and minimized his interaction with the press, explaining, “If I say six and the president says a half dozen, I guarantee you the article the next day is going to be ‘the secretary of defense and the president disagree on the fundamentals.’”

The plan for the briefing was for Mattis to speak first, walking Trump through details on every U.S. military deployment abroad, demonstrating America’s return on investment. Tillerson would follow with slides on U.S. embassies and missions abroad. National Economic Council Director Gary Cohn would speak last to highlight the importance of global trade flows. I would be in an adjoining control room, watching, listening and running the slide show.

As lead organizer for the briefing, I arrived hours early to ensure everything was ready before setting up shop in the control room. The president, however, was running a few minutes behind, which only added to the tension.

When Trump’s motorcade finally pulled up, Mattis greeted the president at his armored limo, known as “The Beast,” and they posed for a quick photo. Reporters shouted questions, to which the president simply replied, “We’re doing very well against ISIS. ISIS is falling fast,” before Mattis whisked him into the entryway and to the conference room.

Trump stood at the head of the table facing three large television screens. He was joined by Vice President Mike Pence, Tillerson, chief of staff Reince Priebus, and senior adviser Jared Kushner. Seated to his left were Mattis, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff General Joe Dunford and Cohn. Notably absent was National Security Adviser H. R. McMaster. Sitting with the “back benchers,” or senior officials who sit in chairs along the walls of the room, was Steve Bannon.

Trump took his place at the head of the table with a frown fixed on his face. Offering few greetings to anyone, he sat with his arms crossed, refusing to look at Mattis. To me it seemed that his mind was already made up. He appeared to see this entire briefing as pointless—but perhaps I was reading too much into all of this. At least I hoped so.

As planned, Mattis kicked off the meeting with remarks we had rehearsed in his office a number of times. Mattis tends to turn professorial during important meetings, providing the audience with excessive detail rather than tailoring his approach to the group he’s speaking with. This instinct worsens when he is anxious about an event, and he will spend an inordinate amount of time on tactical details that have little bearing on strategic outcomes in order to bolster his confidence level. Unfortunately, to the room his opening sounded too much like a lecture.

Trump scowled.

Mattis worked through his first slide about “chokepoints,” extremely narrow, landlocked corridors between larger bodies of water. He then shared his philosophical view about America’s two fundamental powers of intimidation and inspiration, telling the president a story I’d heard many times.

Years before, a terrorist had attempted to kill then-two-star general Mattis with an improvised explosive device. Marines notified Mattis that they had captured the terrorist as he was trying to place the device on the road Mattis frequently traveled, using two 155-millimeter mortar rounds, a car battery and a detonator. Not the terrorist’s finest day. As Mattis told me during a meeting in his office, “The terrorist realized as he stared down the rifle barrels pointed at him that he was in danger of losing his 401(k).”

Mattis decided to speak with the terrorist after he was apprehended. Once in a holding room, Mattis slid a cup of coffee across the table to help break the ice as he sat down. Ultimately, the terrorist wanted to know: “Do you think if I’m really good at Guantanamo, will they let me move to America after I’m released?” As Mattis told it, the story represents two fundamental powers: We can intimidate others through our military superiority, but America’s power to inspire is every bit as—and perhaps even more—powerful.

Mattis continued with his briefing, walking through in exacting detail the force ratios in each major geographic location. He sought to convince the president that our allies and partners put forward far more troops in support of stability abroad than America does. In short, America gets a good deal from an overseas military presence.

The president frowned, fiddling with the papers in front of him while glancing around the room.

Mattis’ third slide triggered a stronger response from Trump. A visual depiction of our Pacific posture, this slide zoomed in on the U.S. forces located in Japan and South Korea—forces that had kept the peace in both countries for more than six decades. It detailed the numbers of troops in each country, the cost to American taxpayers, and the costs borne by our allies to support forces in their country. Mattis made the point that America had been willing to accept unfair terms following World War II in order to get both countries back on their feet, but that now would be an opportune time to update our trade agreements should Trump desire to do so.

Mattis loved this slide because it outlined the significant contributions both nations were making, with Japan footing part of the bill to shift U.S. Marines from Okinawa to Guam, and South Korea paying to move Army soldiers to a new base. He emphasized to the president the importance of Japan paying to offset the costs for a new base, saying it was the first time in history they’d done so.

“Who is paying the rest of the bill for the move to Guam?” the president demanded. He was upset that Japan was only covering a part of the total costs required to relocate the base.

There was silence. But only briefly.

“Our trade agreements are criminal,” Trump thundered—despite the fact that Mattis was not talking about anything trade-related. “Japan and South Korea are taking advantage of the United States.” This was decidedly not the message Mattis’ slide intended to convey.

Out of nowhere, the president added, “And the USS Ford [the navy’s newest aircraft carrier] is completely out of control with cost overruns!”

Mattis struggled to regain control of the meeting. In one sense he got what he’d wanted. The president was definitely engaged, but not in the way Mattis had hoped.

Twenty-five minutes later, it was Tillerson’s turn to run the gauntlet. Tillerson was by nature a slow talker. I could tell at once that was not an endearing quality to Trump. When Tillerson’s turn was over, Trump looked like a kid who had been told it was time for recess.

Cohn’s brief was easily the best of the three. It consisted of only three slides. Sensing the president’s mood, Cohn was in and out in under five minutes. All eyes shifted to the president.

“A very good study, thank you,” said Trump. “This is one big monster created over a number of years. Japan … Germany … South Korea … our allies are costing more than anyone else at the table!” Again, not the message any of us had intended.

Then the president paused. His eyes seemed animated by a thought.

He followed with his observations about Macron’s handshake and his outburst about Victory Day.





When the Secret Service agent asked if we all needed to be there, we stayed seated. Yes. Yes, we did. Just try to get us to leave.

Mattis and his team’s response to the president’s suggestion made clear that they were adamantly opposed to a military parade down Pennsylvania Avenue. Mattis and others voiced concern that a parade like what Trump wanted would harken back to Soviet Union—like displays of authoritarian power. Mattis stated that precious taxpayer dollars would be better spent elsewhere, and that the optics of such a display of power would boomerang, causing more harm to America’s international prestige than any domestic benefit could outweigh. Mattis was also concerned that a parade would risk eroding the military’s long-standing apolitical reputation.

It didn’t matter—Trump was serious. Mattis deflected and played for more time by saying, “We’ll take a look at some options and get back to you, Mr. President.”

On it went, with Tillerson and Mattis taking turns with the president, each jumping in to try to keep the discussion focused on the importance of America’s alliance structure, of the critical nature of our global footprint and the economic benefit the United States derives from ensuring global stability and order.

Along the way Cohn interjected at times, as did Priebus, trying to find some areas of common agreement that would satisfy the president.

Pence and Kushner sat stone-faced, not uttering a single word throughout the entire meeting. Maybe they were the smart ones. Over time Mattis began to shut down, sitting back in his chair with a distant, defeated look on his face. He had cared so much about this meeting, had poured his heart and soul into it, and had believed firmly in his ability to bring Trump around to his way of thinking. None of his attempts were working. From my vantage point, Mattis was playing a game of chess against a president fixated on “Rock, Paper, Scissors.”

Mattis did not think Trump was a raving lunatic, as some were trying to portray the president. In fact, Mattis had made a point of noting to us that America elected Trump for a reason. That the president had tremendous political skills, a sharp intuition and a formidable business career. Those qualities deserved respect. But still Trump could tax Mattis’ patience, and the president’s view of the world was both simplistic and troublesome. That was clear today.

Across the table from Mattis, Tillerson also became increasingly frustrated, jousting verbally with the president before becoming so exasperated that he stopped talking completely for the last half-hour of the meeting. Tillerson sat back in his chair with his arms crossed, an incredulous scowl on his face as he shot pointed looks over to Mattis.

Many times during Tillerson’s tenure, reporters would claim that he thought his boss was an idiot—and each time Tillerson would deny it publicly. But there was no doubt among most observers in the room that day that Tillerson was thinking exactly that. Both men—Mattis and Tillerson—were despondent. We had just witnessed a meeting with Trump, up close and personal.

Now we knew why access was controlled so tightly.

For the remainder of the meeting, Trump veered from topic to topic—Syria, Mexico, a recent Washington Post story he didn’t like—like a squirrel caught in traffic, dashing one way and then another.

The issues were complicated, yet all of the president’s answers were simplistic and ad hoc. He was shooting from the hip on issues of global importance.

With that, the meeting ended.

I learned an important lesson that would pay off when Trump returned for a briefing the following January: only use slides with pictures … no words.

Despite the challenging environment that existed between the Pentagon and the White House, Mattis was able to score a succession of victories over the next eight months: releasing the nation’s first national defense strategy after going more than 10 years without one; working with coalition and Kurdish forces to bring ISIS to the edge of defeat in Syria; and working with Congress to restore funding to begin rebuilding a badly depleted military.

Still, despite these wins, Trump and power struggles within the administration soon took their toll on Mattis. Those of us on his front office team watched as ally after ally in the administration—Tillerson, McMaster and chief of staff John Kelly—took incoming fire from the White House and the media. By the end of April 2018, Tillerson and McMaster would be gone.



***

On May 11, 2018, I watched as the tide within the administration shifted away from Mattis. That day, Mattis hosted a group of newly appointed senior counterparts in the Pentagon, including Secretary of State Mike Pompeo and National Security Advisor John Bolton, along with other principals and military officials.

After presentations from Mattis, Bolton, Pompeo, Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin and chief economic adviser Larry Kudlow, Mattis opened the floor for discussion. Things quickly got interesting as senior leaders jockeyed for influence.

Bolton jumped right in after Mattis opened the floor, saying that the “problem is that all of the departments have different priorities.” “To serve the president,” he said, “departmental efforts should be integrated.” He wasn’t wrong, but the way he said it gave me pause. His comment seemed to indicate that as national security advisor he should be the integrator and therefore the de facto lead. After a year within the administration, I thought he was probably right. Someone needed to be in charge of coordinating the administration’s efforts.

Bolton looked over at Mnuchin. “Steve, there are differences, and that’s OK. We have to give the president crisper alternatives.” Around the table it went. Bolton was making some compelling points, not the least of which was that “the administration was losing time” by merely bouncing from distraction to distraction. Mnuchin tried to wield the most influence by making sweeping, declarative statements as if he was speaking for the White House. Kudlow was also attempting to assert himself by saying that he and Bolton needed to do a better job with the interagency process, implying that as chief economic adviser he was a key player in how things ran in the administration. For the next five minutes, Mnuchin and Kudlow went back and forth, cutting each other off to get their word in.

It was as if the treasury secretary and chief economic adviser had started their own trade war in the Pentagon.

Mattis finally had enough. He cut Kudlow off mid-sentence. “I think we’re all there, Larry … ” Rejoining the conversation, Mattis employed tired soundbites rather than actually engaging in an in-depth discussion. He seemed weary.

The meeting petered out about an hour and 45 minutes after it started. Sensing things were rapidly coming to a close, Mattis thanked everyone for coming. Gathering his things, he turned and walked out of the room and down the hall, fully expecting the others to flow out of the room behind him.

They didn’t.

Instead, the other principals and uniformed members remained behind and clustered in small groups to continue their conversations. That by itself isn’t too noteworthy—leaders usually congregated afterward to follow up on issues raised during a meeting—but what happened next is.

Mattis came back.

I’d never seen anything like this. Mattis makes a decision and sticks with it, come hell or high water. But this time he didn’t. He must have made it down the hall before realizing that no one else had followed him out, then turned around to come back to the room.

I watched as two minutes after Mattis left the room, he returned, awkwardly standing in the doorway and watching the scene before him. He didn’t say a word to anyone. He just stood there by himself. A few people glanced up and saw him standing there, but they didn’t invite him into their conversation.

After another minute, Mattis slowly turned and walked back out again.

Alone.

From HOLDING THE LINE: Inside Trump’s Pentagon With Secretary Mattis by Guy M. Snodgrass, Commander, US Navy (Ret.), to be published on October 29th by Sentinel, an imprint of The Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2019 by Guy M. Snodgrass