When War Winds Down

By Alessandra Stanley

In Grenada, the troops hunt snipers--and try the beach

Grenadians looked on with benign amusement as their "rescuers" indulged in a quaint American custom last week. Thanksgiving provided a break in the culinary monotony for U.S. troops, who dug into ham, sweet potatoes and 1,670 Ibs. of hot turkey airlifted in from Fort Bragg, N.C. The feast, which some troops washed down with pungent Algerian wine liberated from the Cubans, even had a trickle-down effect for 100 local schoolchildren: they received C rations donated by U.S. soldiers. The spirit of giving heightened the good feeling that in general has held up since the Americans arrived. Petitions with as many as 800 signatures circulated around the island, imploring the troops to stay. Marveled Specialist Four Leonard Wells of Greenville, N.C.: "The civilians here will give you the shirt off their back."

The holiday celebration, coming in the fourth week of the U.S. military presence on Grenada, signaled that the state of war on the island was coming to an end. The throng of American journalists, once 700 strong, had dwindled to about ten, and 900 troops from the 82nd Airborne Division departed in time to eat their turkey at home. That left 1,200 combat and 1,900 support troops in Grenada, about half the total at the height of the invasion. In Washington, Defense Secretary Caspar Weinberger pledged that almost all the soldiers would be home by Christmas. Said he: "I don't anticipate the need for any combat troops at all after mid-December." A few hundred support personnel are expected to remain to help a new, interim government take charge.

The transition toward civilian rule was supposed to begin this week with the first full meeting of the nine-member "advisory council" that will govern until elections can be held. But that session now seems in doubt since Alister Mclntyre, the Grenadian economist appointed by Governor-General Sir Paul Scoon to head the council, has fallen ill. He resigned his new post, and reportedly entered a Geneva hospital for eye surgery.

Though a 396-man Caribbean Peacekeeping Force is now technically in charge of policing the island, the U.S. military is still very active. Army intelligence estimates that there are 20 to 40 armed men, Cuban or Grenadian Marxists, hiding out in the hills. Two of them fired on a five-man U.S. patrol in the central jungle last week, then fled back into the bush. Army helicopters continued to scour the Grenada shoreline, hunting for enemy boats, while nine-man infantry squads staked out trails in the jungle. Roadblocks are still manned after dark. The sight of well-armed American soldiers has become so familiar that one hotelkeeper grumpily noted, "I'm tired of seeing guns."

The most conspicuous members of the occupying force are the more than 100 woman troopers. Since arriving four days after the invasion, they have handled a wide range of chores, from escorting VIPS and guarding the U.S. embassy to flying helicopters and doing intelligence work. Though they theoretically hold "support" positions away from battle areas, the lines can blur on Grenada. "If somebody shoots at me, I think I'm allowed to shoot back," says Lieut. Kathryn Henderson, 24, a helicopter pilot from Winter Springs, Fla.

One of Henderson's first missions was to fly support personnel into a "hot area," landing her OH-58 chopper in the middle of a soccer field held by the G.I.s. Henderson recalls that they were so startled at seeing a woman that one shouted, "This is amazing. Go get my camera." And how do most men handle the proximity of women in battle? Henderson thinks that many resent it. Says she: "We take away some of the glamour."

One of the more unexpected sights of the postinvasion period is that of U.S. soldiers, both men and women, sunbathing on the island's beaches, looking every bit like tourists--except for their M-16 rifles. The G.I.s even found time to play a soccer match with a group of young Grenadians, who graciously held down the score while defeating the invaders 6-2. The postcombat letdown may have spawned one tragedy: at midweek, a G.I. accidentally shot and killed a fellow soldier while cleaning a .45-cal. pistol. Said Major General Jack Farris, commander of the U.S. forces in Grenada: "It's what happens when the war winds down. People get complacent. They get careless."

A sure sign that Grenadians were free again was the reappearance of The Grenadian Voice, a local newspaper. Because there were no functioning presses on the island (one should be operational this week), the Voice was printed in Barbados and brought back by plane. The newspaper was started 2 1/2 years ago but was shut down when the Bishop regime imprisoned its publishers. As the Voice pointed out in a front-page editorial, "Ours was probably the first newspaper ever to go out of existence after publishing only one issue."

While appreciative of their freedom, the islanders were probably more concerned about their economic future. Agriculture, which is the largest source of employment, is relatively intact, but other sectors have been badly disrupted. The Reagan Administration announced that in addition to $3.4 million in disaster relief, the U.S. Government will give Grenada $30 million in long-term economic and military aid. Some of the money is already being spent by the interim government, which has sought to create 1,000 jobs in roadwork, school construction and sanitary maintenance. U.S. Army Engineers have helped with these projects, and are repairing asphalt and rock-crushing machinery used by Grenadian work crews.

The biggest worry is tourism, which once represented 40% of Grenada's economy but which has fallen sharply over the past four years. Businessmen, hotelkeepers and restaurateurs are clamoring for funds to complete the airport that the Cubans were building at Point Salines. Grenadians say the airport is necessary to boost tourism, but so far the U.S. has balked at picking up a tab that could go as high as $90 million. The airport presents an uncomfortable irony. When it was being built by the Cubans, the U.S. condemned it as being essentially for military use and ridiculed the notion that Grenada's motive was to develop tourism. Now the U.S. is being asked to finish what the Cubans started. Says a U.S. official on the island: "Our mission is to get Grenada back on track. But it's not a question of the U.S. coming in here and buying the place."

Hunter S. Thompson as war correspondent? Damn straight. Just as soon as he finds a decent room. He hates dirt, and went through four hotels before finding one with hot water. With his trademark cigarette holder in one hand, gin-and-tonic in the other, Thompson is covering the goings-on in Grenada for Rolling Stone. This time he has no "Great Red Shark," the rented Chevy convertible in his account of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, but a rented fire-red mini Moke, an open-sided vehicle that honeymooners use on Caribbean beach tours. He also has a press pass, plenty of Dunhills and unlimited credit at the Red Crab. Just like the old days, only now his faithful companion is not a 300-lb. Samoan attorney, it is V.S. Naipaul.

Yes, Naipaul. The Trinidad-raised, Oxford-educated novelist who has won just about every major literary prize in Britain and is a perennial contender for the Nobel. Naipaul, the chronicler of the Third World, is on assignment for the London Sunday Times. He and Thompson are unlikely friends. The gonzo journalist is quirky, boisterous, happiest when surrounded by cronies in the hotel bar; the gentleman writer is quiet, refined, more comfortable at afternoon tea. But careering around the island, chasing slender threads of news, they seem a matched pair. "It's like having a third eye," Thompson says. "He's sane and has a crazy sense of humor."

Both saw Literary grist in the Waugh-like war in Grenada. Naipaul, says his London agent, came "to take some mental pictures." Thompson, says his New York editor, was after "a Hunter piece." The anecdotes are as lush as the Grenadian jungle. Staying at a nearby hotel is a CIA man who lives like a bat, eating beans and canned Dinty Moore stew and going out only at night. Then there is Morgan, the inmate at the bombed-out mental hospital, who turned up one evening playing piano at the Red Crab. Because of his light complexion, he was taken for a Cuban and carted off to Point Salines, where he cheerfully told tall tales to the interrogators. "There's like some supernatural thing happening here," Thompson says. "Can you imagine being an aging Negro in the insane asylum, and the U.S. military comes invading your country. They didn't even see guns here until a few years ago."

But nothing impressed Thompson like the arm. It was black and clad in green fatigues. Loren Jenkins of the Washington Post saw it in a garbage can outside his hotel. "My God," he yelled, "look at that." It turned out to be a prosthesis, apparently planted by a prankish MP, who splattered it with ketchup for dramatic effect. "We hung Goebbels for jokes like that," declared Thompson. He demanded an explanation. An Army public affairs officer told him, with a straight face: "Sir, that's our disarmament policy."

Thompson, under orders to file in time for the January issue, expects to sit down at the typewriter this week. This fills him with fear and loathing. What sort of article he will turn out is anybody's guess. But one thing is certain: the military should not expect an Ernie Pyle paean to its bravery in the field. "A bunch of newsmen with baseball bats," Thompson says, "could have taken this island."

--ByAlessandraStanley. Reported by Bernard Diederich and Dick Thompson/St. George's

With reporting by Bernard Diederich, Dick Thompson This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.