Man in A Minefield

By BRUCE VAN VOORST WASHINGTON

For more than 20 years, Congressman and military wonk Les Aspin fantasized about becoming Secretary of Defense. Now, as he sits behind the huge desk in room 3E880, the top office in the Pentagon, Aspin's dream job has become something of a nightmare. His problem is in the timing. Rather than building an empire as his cold-war predecessors did, he has the task of bringing the Pentagon down to size and opening it up to diversity. That means smaller budgets, fewer troops, less new hardware, a streamlined bureaucracy and the possible integration of gays into the service. Making matters worse is the strong culture clash between Aspin's boss and the people in uniform. They don't like Bill Clinton much, and they assume he feels likewise.

If anyone has the knowledge and nerve to pick his way through the minefield, Aspin is the one -- provided his health holds up. The Secretary, 54, suffers from hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, a heart malady causing shortness of breath and dizziness. Nine days after doctors installed a pacemaker in his chest, the irrepressible Pentagon chief was back in form last Saturday. Looking wan but energetic, the Defense Secretary showed his mastery of detail as he briefed reporters on the Administration's proposed 1994 defense budget of $263.4 billion, down $10 billion from the current year. The budget is the first installment in Clinton's proposal to slash a total of $124 billion from defense spending over the next five years.

While the House and Senate have approved Clinton's economic plan in principle, his Defense Secretary will face plenty of flak on the particulars. The newest argument that defense hawks may deploy is that the shaky situation in Russia could lead to a more hostile regime there. Last week the Pentagon chief acknowledged that possibility even while heading off second thoughts about the peace dividend. "Some of the big changes in the former Soviet Union are irreversible," he said. "For now, we can continue bringing down defense spending." So far, the public agrees. In a TIME/CNN poll, 53% of the adults in the survey said Clinton's proposal to reduce the size of the armed forces would not threaten national security.

Even before that issue comes to a head, Aspin will face congressional scrutiny on another highly emotional issue. This week the Senate Armed Services Committee will begin hearings on the practical implications of Clinton's proposal to allow gays in the military. The hearings will provide a prominent stage for committee chairman Sam Nunn, who opposes much of Clinton's defense policy, especially on gays. The President stumbled into a faux pas on the issue during a press conference last week when he said, in response to a reporter's question, that he would consider separating members of the military according to sexual orientation. While the White House tried to portray his remarks as indicative only of his open-mindedness, both sides in the debate promptly condemned the idea.

The Defense Secretary's biggest challenge will be to diminish the hostility and mistrust between the White House and the Pentagon, which came into full bloom when Clinton clashed with Joint Chiefs Chairman Colin Powell on the gay issue. "Not since Carter has a President been so disliked by the military," said a Joint Chiefs staff officer. Uniformed personnel ranging from privates to generals routinely refer to their Commander in Chief as "Slick Willy" and "Draft Dodger." Beyond the financial affronts like Clinton's proposed government pay freeze, which will save $18 billion in military spending, the ranks are rife with bogus stories that Clinton forbids officers to wear their uniforms in the White House and that the First Lady refuses to ride in cars with them.

Aspin, by contrast, is respected for his abiding fascination with defense policy, a strength he will need in the coming budget battles. "He's the only one who can stand toe-to-toe with Nunn and slug it out," said a Pentagon insider. The President relies almost exclusively on Aspin for military advice, though the Secretary's foreign-policy influence has been reduced because of his illness. The Pentagon chief has assembled one of the finest teams of national-security wonks anywhere in government. The problem, however, is the White House has held up his nominations because the roster failed to include enough women and minorities. After two months in office, he has only one confirmed aide, his deputy William Perry.

The Secretary's doctors, who say his operation went "perfectly well," contend that with proper medication and enough rest, he will be fit for the job he has wanted for decades. A Wisconsin native who graduated as a Phi Beta Kappa from Yale, triple-majored at Oxford (economics, politics, history) and earned his doctorate in economics at M.I.T., he first worked in the Pentagon as an aide to then Defense Secretary Robert McNamara. Aspin entered Congress in 1971 with a maverick, antiwar attitude. Serving on the House Armed Services Committee, he earned a reputation as "Dr. No," but during the 1980s moved toward a more centrist position.

Though Aspin ranked seventh in seniority on the committee, his expertise on military matters so impressed his colleagues that he beat out two contenders, including the chairman, for the top job in 1985. He promptly showed his shrewd, dealmaking side by setting up what is euphemistically called the Member Services group on his staff. Aide Larry Smith, now counselor-designee at the Pentagon, ran what was really an old-fashioned political pork operation, assuring committee members that their interests would be looked after in exchange for their vote on committee affairs. Committee members who went along got along. Those who crossed him, like former Representative Albert Bustamante, found their pet projects unfunded. "We played hardball," said Smith, "but it shaped up the committee."

Aspin shone during the Gulf War, when he accurately predicted one week before the air attacks that "prospects are high for a rapid victory with light to moderate casualties." His casualty projections for the allied forces were far below the Pentagon's own figures -- and were right. He told Bush he supported the operation but warned it would require congressional approval. Within days, Bush sent a letter asking for congressional support. Had he not, Aspin told his policy advisers privately, "I'd have led the move to impeach him."

In 1992 the Congressman produced the seminal, four-scenario "A B C D" defense-options study, which impressed Clinton. "They think alike," said an aide to the Secretary. "They both like substance and structure." Option C of his study, which called for $60 billion in cuts from Bush's program over four years, became the cornerstone of Clinton's defense program. During the campaign, Aspin wrote the defense plank in the Democratic platform and became Clinton's sole briefer on security issues for the campaign debates. "It was pretty predictable that Aspin would become Secretary," concludes one of his aides.

Not inevitable, however, for Aspin is not everybody's cup of tea. Many members of Congress, especially in the liberal wing, believe he betrayed them by supporting such weapons systems as the B-2 and Strategic Defense Initiative. For all his charm, he is a loner, a shy person who finds it distasteful to court constituents. "Don't try to describe Les as a real human being," says an associate with a laugh. His big smile and firm abrazo notwithstanding, he isn't captivated with small talk. Says a friend, "As he whispers in your ear, his thoughts may be 6,000 miles away." A teetotaler with a consuming passion for food in all its varieties, he is a well-known workaholic; he supposedly sails for relaxation, but he sails alone. His total devotion to work is generally given as the explanation why his first marriage failed and why he hasn't remarried. He lives alone in a disorganized Georgetown row house piled high with books (his latest read: a McNamara biography). An associate says Aspin's idea of a vacation is "thinking defense in a different setting."

The most painful criticism of all for Aspin is that he remains conceptually a Congressman, with neither the administrative experience nor the decisiveness necessary at the Pentagon. He laughed out loud hearing himself described in one profile as "Hamlet, the Prince of Indecision." Congressman John Spratt of South Carolina, Aspin's colleague on the Armed Services Committee, declares this as nonsense. "Les is decisive when the time comes." Now it has arrived. He must assemble a staff, help broker a compromise on gays in the service and defend his Administration's historic downsizing of the world's largest military force. A tough job even for someone who always wanted it.