By the early 1960s, the army's ordnance officials had lost the arms race of their lives. As a result, just when the American armed services grasped that they needed a smaller automatic rifle, there was nothing suitable in the government design pipeline. Instead, the Pentagon reached into private industry for the AR-15, as the precursor to the M-16 was called. This seemed sensible. The mighty industrial economy of the United States had helped carry the country to victory in World War II, and now its universities and factories were producing an ever-varying stream of consumer goods. This economic and intellectual muscle, seemingly tireless and nimble, was a bewitching force. Its slogans were seductive. It had become an article of political faith in Washington that the American businessman was the world's most astute, and the American engineer the most innovative and sound. The evidence was all around. The United States churned out practical and coveted products like few other economies: televisions, phonographs, ovens, blenders, handbags, shoes, fishing reels, vacuum cleaners, and automobiles. If market forces could bring forth the Mustang and the Corvette, certainly they could produce a superior infantry rifle, too.

This might have been a valid conclusion, had American industry been involved in a.s.sault-rifle development in any robust sense. But when the Pentagon went seeking an a.s.sault rifle that could hold its own against the AK-47, it was working from a position far behind that of its enemies. It had spent twenty years misapprehending the shift in the evolution of automatic arms. Now it was in an inexorably escalating war with almost no choices from the private sector. McNamara's Pentagon was right on one point. The M-14 was not the best all-purpose rifle for what war had become, especially in a tropical delta or jungle. To compete against guerrillas armed with Kalashnikovs, the United States needed more firepower than the M-14 provided, and in a lighter rifle. It needed, in short, more lethality per pound, more ability to lay down suppressive fire, and more ammunition per combat load. It needed a rifle with which its soldiers would be mobile, quick, and deadly. The AR-15 offered all of these features, at least on paper. But none of this necessarily meant that the AR-15 was the best choice as a replacement. The AR-15 was, rather, the most well-known-and hyped-of the very few products available. It rose to the generals' attention through neither a meticulous development cycle nor an expansive market compet.i.tion. It arrived by default. The supporters of the AR-15, and its salesmen, insisted that it was ready for war. It was not.

It had not yet proven its reliability in objective field tests.6 Questions of its performance dogged it. As it was handed out, modified and renamed the M-16, Questions of its performance dogged it. As it was handed out, modified and renamed the M-16,iii many troops were not trained on it or equipped with the necessary equipment to clean it. Its proponents in the Pentagon first believed the most optimistic forecasts about the M-16's suitability for battle. Then they dismissed reports of problems when its performance did not match the hype. Moreover, the M-16's ammunition was neither fully developed nor subject to strict technical standards. For all these reasons, the M-16 was not a ready equalizer. It was the accidental rifle, pushed into service by a confluence of historical forces that left the United States military in a rush and unwilling to explore a wider set of options or a more careful course. These were conditions for disaster, as the Marines of Second Battalion, Third Marines were finding out. many troops were not trained on it or equipped with the necessary equipment to clean it. Its proponents in the Pentagon first believed the most optimistic forecasts about the M-16's suitability for battle. Then they dismissed reports of problems when its performance did not match the hype. Moreover, the M-16's ammunition was neither fully developed nor subject to strict technical standards. For all these reasons, the M-16 was not a ready equalizer. It was the accidental rifle, pushed into service by a confluence of historical forces that left the United States military in a rush and unwilling to explore a wider set of options or a more careful course. These were conditions for disaster, as the Marines of Second Battalion, Third Marines were finding out.

An account of the M-16's ascension from California curio to the American military's standard firearm could begin in many places, but the conditions that gave the process its velocity began with the inauguration of President John F. Kennedy in 1961. Kennedy brought with him Robert S. McNamara as secretary of defense. McNamara was a graduate of Harvard Business School, a former top executive at Ford, and a believer in an approach to decision-making called "systems a.n.a.lysis," which had been conceived in the 1950s at the Rand Corporation. Systems a.n.a.lysis centered on intensive study of problems and options, with examinations of costs, benefits, and risks of potential decisions. Its introduction to the Pentagon, along with a cadre of McNamara's disciples, who called themselves the whiz kids, was a frontal challenge to the military establishment. McNamara's followers saw themselves as a rarefied pool of talent, and they merged their boss's aggressive management style with a Kennedy mandate to look past contigencies for nuclear war and develop the doctrine, organization, and equipment for flexible responses to conflicts overseas. This meant limited war, which in the context of the Cold War further meant the ability to counter the Eastern bloc in proxy fights. Several of McNamara's officials turned their attention to the question of the rifle.

The rifle conundrum was a significant one. America's military machine had entered the nuclear age with an array of fearsome killing tools. The air force had supersonic jets and intercontinental missiles. The army was fielding a new line of battle tanks to enhance its armored divisions that had settled into Western Europe. The navy had launched a nuclear aircraft carrier that steamed under the power of nuclear reactors sealed within its hull. Yet when it came to the most basic tool of empire and of war-the infantry rifle-the American military had sputtered and stalled. The government had spent more than a decade bringing forward the M-14, only to discover in simulations and in Vietnam that soldiers equipped with M-14s were outmaneuvered and outshot by opponents with AK-47s.

The early 1960s were an unsettled time in American small-arms development. A pair of discordant ideas guided the army's plans. On one hand was the M-14, a rifle firmly rooted in past designs. But the M-14-for that matter, any rifle-was both a nod to the army's sense of what a rifle was supposed to be and regarded as the last of its kind, the end of the line. The army was developing what it called the Special Purpose Individual Weapon, or SPIW. As conceived, SPIW was to be the automatic dart gun for the Cold War, James Bond supplants Rifleman Dodd. It would fire bursts of needlelike flechettes from one barrel and grenades out another. By the early 1960s the project had met delays, and a variety of engineering problems was giving it the feel of unattainable whimsy. Its lightweight darts seemed less than ideal for punching through helmets, windshields, and armor plates. They struggled even to resist deflection in vegetation or heavy rain. The optimists who supported SPIW said a fully functional version might be ready in the mid-1960s and would replace rifles altogether. In the interim, troops would have their new M-14s. In the matter of shoulder-fired arms, the United States Army in the early McNamara era was very strange indeed. It simultaneously upheld old ideas about rifles and hitched its future to a fantastic dream. Somehow it had missed the weapon that was both feasible and the direction in which small-arms evolution had actually headed: the a.s.sault rifle.

McNamara sensed at least this much. In October 1962, after his aides had examined the gun gap, he wrote a secret memorandum to Cyrus R. Vance, the secretary of the army. The memorandum was a marker of bureaucratic exasperation. "I have seen certain evidence," he wrote: ... which appears to indicate that: 1. With the M-14 rifle in 1962, we are equipping our forces with a weapon definitely inferior in firepower and combat effectiveness to the a.s.sault rifle with which the Soviets have equipped their own and their satellite forces worldwide since 1950.

This was a painful declaration for the United States' most senior military official at the height of the Cold War-a frank admission that the Soviet Union had leaped ahead of the United States in an important way. McNamara left no room for the army to equivocate. He knew that the army had rejected the AR-15 in tests. He also knew that the M-14, an army darling, was vulnerable to criticism. It had been created according to old ideas, after long delays and at steep cost overruns. It was heavy and long. Its ammunition was burdensome. It was difficult to manage on automatic fire, enough so that most M-14s issued to troops were configured to fire one round at a time.iv And tactically it felt obsolete. Tests at Fort Ord and at the Hunter Liggett Military Reservation in 1958 and 1959 had discovered that five to seven soldiers armed with AR-15s produced more firepower and were more dangerous than eleven soldiers provided with M-14s. And tactically it felt obsolete. Tests at Fort Ord and at the Hunter Liggett Military Reservation in 1958 and 1959 had discovered that five to seven soldiers armed with AR-15s produced more firepower and were more dangerous than eleven soldiers provided with M-14s.7 Small automatic rifles with little recoil and lighter ammunition allowed soldiers to move and shoot more quickly and accurately and over a longer period of time. Small automatic rifles with little recoil and lighter ammunition allowed soldiers to move and shoot more quickly and accurately and over a longer period of time.

The defense secretary's disdain for the M-14 could hardly have been more bluntly expressed. As far as he could determine, he wrote, the AR-15 appeared "markedly superior to the M-14 in every respect of importance to military operations." McNamara's displeasure with the M-14 was well placed. But it led to narrow thinking-the M-14 is not the best rifle, therefore the AR-15 is. A more systematic view would have recognized that the AR-15 was not necessarily the best option. It was, by any reasonable a.s.sessment, only the beginning of an American effort to design an a.s.sault rifle. Rifle manufacturers in the United States had not yet invested heavily in developing small-caliber, lightweight a.s.sault rifles, judging correctly, at least in the short term, that there was no government customer for them. The AR-15 was not the product of full compet.i.tion within its cla.s.s. It was almost the only rifle of its sort. The industrial base had not been tapped. A more systematic view would have recognized that the AR-15 was not necessarily the best option. It was, by any reasonable a.s.sessment, only the beginning of an American effort to design an a.s.sault rifle. Rifle manufacturers in the United States had not yet invested heavily in developing small-caliber, lightweight a.s.sault rifles, judging correctly, at least in the short term, that there was no government customer for them. The AR-15 was not the product of full compet.i.tion within its cla.s.s. It was almost the only rifle of its sort. The industrial base had not been tapped.

But McNamara's pan came with orders that pushed the Pentagon on its course. He asked the army to share with him its views on the "relative effectiveness" of three rifles: the AK-47, the AR-15, and the M-14. And if the M-14 was not the most effective of these three, he wanted to know what action the army recommended taking.8 The instructions were implicit and strong. Prove that the M-14 was superior to the AK-47 and the AR-15, or plan to make changes. The instructions were implicit and strong. Prove that the M-14 was superior to the AK-47 and the AR-15, or plan to make changes.

For those trying to sell the AR-15, McNamara's Pentagon was the break they had gambled on. The new rifle had sprung from ArmaLite, a private concern in Southern California. In business terms, ArmaLite was an infant and an upstart, a company that began as a workshop in the Hollywood garage of George Sullivan, the patent counsel for Lockheed Aircraft Corporation. Sullivan was an aeronautical engineer fascinated with the possibilities of applying new materials to change the way rifles looked and felt,9 and he had collaborated with an inventor and arms salesman, Jacques Michault, to develop plans for rifles that departed sharply from existing designs in the West. In 1953, Sullivan met Paul S. Cleaveland, secretary of the Fairchild Engine & Airplane Corporation, at an aviation industry luncheon. and he had collaborated with an inventor and arms salesman, Jacques Michault, to develop plans for rifles that departed sharply from existing designs in the West. In 1953, Sullivan met Paul S. Cleaveland, secretary of the Fairchild Engine & Airplane Corporation, at an aviation industry luncheon.10 The pair talked about lightweight firearms and new techniques that might be applied to manufacturing them. Cleaveland mentioned the conversation to Richard S. Boutelle, Fairchild's president, who was an aviation-minded gun buff, too. Boutelle and Sullivan soon agreed to collaborate under Fairchild's sponsorship, and the company was founded in 1954 as a small Fairchild division. From the beginning, ArmaLite had energy, optimism, and curious possibilities for sales. Boutelle was a glad-handing dreamer hooked up to the jet age. A former major in the Army Air Corps and a pa.s.sionate big-game hunter, he carried himself as an engineering visionary and salesman, and brimmed with ideas for bold modern products that might make Fairchild a global powerhouse. Boutelle spoke of his intention to manufacture "a lightweight train, a gasoline-filled aerial tanker, even a mechanically operated wild-turkey call." His core business was in aircraft. He hoped a Fair-child turboprop pa.s.senger plane-the F-27 Friendship-would unseat the DC-3 as the dominant civilian air frame of the time. The pair talked about lightweight firearms and new techniques that might be applied to manufacturing them. Cleaveland mentioned the conversation to Richard S. Boutelle, Fairchild's president, who was an aviation-minded gun buff, too. Boutelle and Sullivan soon agreed to collaborate under Fairchild's sponsorship, and the company was founded in 1954 as a small Fairchild division. From the beginning, ArmaLite had energy, optimism, and curious possibilities for sales. Boutelle was a glad-handing dreamer hooked up to the jet age. A former major in the Army Air Corps and a pa.s.sionate big-game hunter, he carried himself as an engineering visionary and salesman, and brimmed with ideas for bold modern products that might make Fairchild a global powerhouse. Boutelle spoke of his intention to manufacture "a lightweight train, a gasoline-filled aerial tanker, even a mechanically operated wild-turkey call." His core business was in aircraft. He hoped a Fair-child turboprop pa.s.senger plane-the F-27 Friendship-would unseat the DC-3 as the dominant civilian air frame of the time.11 Not long after forming, the company hired a former Marine with a background in aviation ordnance, Eugene Stoner, as its senior design engineer. ArmaLite's tastes reflected those of its parent company. Stoner worked not with traditional steels and wooden stocks, but with aircraft-grade aluminum, new alloys, and plastics-materials that made firearm traditionalists cringe. Fortunately for ArmaLite, the Fairchild executives had a sales approach as novel as their weapons. Boutelle's long-standing friendship with General Curtis LeMay of the air force gave ArmaLite unusual access to an alternative market inside the Pentagon. By 1956, the air force had taken an interest in the AR-5, a collapsible rifle that ArmaLite proposed for inclusion in survival kits for air crews. The rifle weighed two and a half pounds and could be disa.s.sembled and stored inside its own plastic stock. According to ArmaLite, it even floated. The AR-5 never entered ma.s.s production. But it made ArmaLite, a firm that emerged from almost nothing at all, a contender for contracts in a business in which new firms usually met closed doors.

Stoner kept working. By 1956, ArmaLite was showing the AR-10-an automatic rifle that fired the standard NATO cartridge but ditched traditional lines and dress. If the AK-47 was stolid and proletarian, the AR-10 had the sleek look of 1950s modernity itself. Its receiver was forged aluminum alloy. Its stock and hand guards were molded plastics. It had a large handle at the base of its barrel that let it be carried like a briefcase. And it weighed less than automatic rifles under the U.S. Army's review. Like the AK-47, the AR-10 could be fired on automatic or on single-shot semiautomatic fire. Its self-loading features were made possible by putting to work the same excess energy harnessed in the Kalashnikov: It diverted gas from burning propellant through a port in the barrel and back toward the shooter, where its energy was used to keep the rifle moving through its firing cycle. But rather than drive a piston, the expanding gases were routed through a narrow metal tube that blasted gas directly against the housing that held the bolt. This energy was sufficient to drive the bolt carrier and bolt backward and clear the chamber of the freshly emptied cartridge case. A return spring slowed the rearward motion of the bolt, then reversed it and forced the entire a.s.sembly forward again.

A prototype AR-10 failed spectacularly when its barrel burst in army tests. The timing of ArmaLite's offering was serendipitous nonetheless. An advanced prototype of the M-14, known as the T44, was on an inside track to become the military's new standard rifle. But within the bureaucracy, an insurgency was afoot. Several senior officers believed that an automatic rifle based on a smaller-caliber cartridge brought more benefits than those offered by the T44. They were examining the possibility of taking the German and Soviet intermediate cartridges a step further, with an even smaller and lighter round that could be propelled at velocities previously unrealized in any standard arm. The concept was known as small-caliber, high-velocity, or SCHV. One of the idea's supporters, General Willard G. Wyman of the Continental Army Command, observed an AR-10 demonstration. ArmaLite, if nothing else, had an innovator's spirit. Wyman arranged a meeting with Stoner, at which he asked him to design a version of his AR-10 to handle a .22-caliber round. Stoner and ArmaLite agreed. This informal compact marked a turning point in American rifle design.

ArmaLite faced a significant technical hurdle. It was one thing to make a smaller rifle, and another to make a smaller rifle that would be accurate and deadly at great range. The United States Infantry Board, an organization responsible for testing new tactics and equipment, had initially accepted the notion that the rifle should be accurate out to three hundred yards. But the army set a more demanding standard: The miniaturized AR-10 was to be able to strike and penetrate a steel helmet at five hundred yards.12 This was an arbitrary requirement, more suited to presentations in conference rooms than related to the conditions of most warfighting. But ArmaLite had no choice. Stoner redesigned a .222 Remington round, a commercially available cartridge well suited for long-range varmint shooting. For a rifle round that would be fired at men, the .222 Remington was, in a word, tiny-at least by existing military standards in either the East or the West. It was 2.13 inches long and fired a bullet that weighed only fifty-five grains, This was an arbitrary requirement, more suited to presentations in conference rooms than related to the conditions of most warfighting. But ArmaLite had no choice. Stoner redesigned a .222 Remington round, a commercially available cartridge well suited for long-range varmint shooting. For a rifle round that would be fired at men, the .222 Remington was, in a word, tiny-at least by existing military standards in either the East or the West. It was 2.13 inches long and fired a bullet that weighed only fifty-five grains,13 roughly one-tenth of an ounce, which was less than half the ma.s.s of the Soviet bullet. Stoner altered the cartridge so it was slightly longer and could be filled with more powder. The result was a new round: the .223 (and later, the 5.56-millimeter round), the lightweight but high-powered ammunition for ArmaLite's new project. The company dubbed its new weapon the AR-15. roughly one-tenth of an ounce, which was less than half the ma.s.s of the Soviet bullet. Stoner altered the cartridge so it was slightly longer and could be filled with more powder. The result was a new round: the .223 (and later, the 5.56-millimeter round), the lightweight but high-powered ammunition for ArmaLite's new project. The company dubbed its new weapon the AR-15.

The AR-15 looked like nothing else in military service anywhere. It had all of the nontraditional features of its bigger brother, the AR-10, including an aluminum receiver, hard plastic furniture, and the odd-looking carrying handle. But it was thirty-nine inches long. It weighed, when unloaded, only 6.35 pounds. Its appearance-small, dark, lean, and synthetically futuristic-stirred emotions. A rifle, after all, was supposed to look like a rifle. To its champions, the AR-15 was an embodiment of fresh thinking. Critics saw an ugly little toy. Wherever one stood, no one could deny the ballistics were intriguing. The .223's larger load of propellant and the AR-15's twenty-inch barrel worked together to move the tiny bullet along at ultrafast speeds-in excess of thirty-two hundred feet per second, almost three times the speed of sound. The initial AR-15 and its ammunition were in place. The first steps in an American shift in rifles for killing men had been made.

Now came the matter of selling it. But to whom? Outside of ordnance circles, several officers saw promise in the SCHV concept.14 But as a rifle that emerged from the private sector, and had such unusual characteristics, the AR-15 met predictable resistance in the army's ordnance corps. The M-14 had been approved as the new standard rifle in 1957. The AR-15 arrived just as the army thought the conversation about rifles had closed. The idea of reconsidering the years of effort and enormous spending behind the M-14, and challenging the prevailing thinking with a high-concept minirifle, amounted to small-arms heresy. The entrenched interests offered ArmaLite little hope. The Fairchild Engine & Airplane Corporation, meanwhile, risked foundering. Its aircraft-marketing plans had not worked out. Nor had Boutelle's other schemes. The company was starved for cash. On January 7, 1959, Fairchild transferred manufacturing rights for the AR-15 to Colt's Firearms Division for $325,000 and a royalty-sharing guarantee with Stoner and Cooper-MacDonald, Inc., the independent arms-dealing firm that arranged the deal. But as a rifle that emerged from the private sector, and had such unusual characteristics, the AR-15 met predictable resistance in the army's ordnance corps. The M-14 had been approved as the new standard rifle in 1957. The AR-15 arrived just as the army thought the conversation about rifles had closed. The idea of reconsidering the years of effort and enormous spending behind the M-14, and challenging the prevailing thinking with a high-concept minirifle, amounted to small-arms heresy. The entrenched interests offered ArmaLite little hope. The Fairchild Engine & Airplane Corporation, meanwhile, risked foundering. Its aircraft-marketing plans had not worked out. Nor had Boutelle's other schemes. The company was starved for cash. On January 7, 1959, Fairchild transferred manufacturing rights for the AR-15 to Colt's Firearms Division for $325,000 and a royalty-sharing guarantee with Stoner and Cooper-MacDonald, Inc., the independent arms-dealing firm that arranged the deal.15 From that point forward, the weapons were to be made in Hartford, Connecticut, by the descendant of the firm that had manufactured Gatling guns, and put the world on the path toward automatic arms. From that point forward, the weapons were to be made in Hartford, Connecticut, by the descendant of the firm that had manufactured Gatling guns, and put the world on the path toward automatic arms.

With Colt's, the sales push entered a new phase. Robert W. MacDonald, a princ.i.p.al at Cooper-MacDonald, was a graying curmudgeon given to hard-nosed deals. He had made a name for himself selling explosives in Asia.16 His firm had collected a neat $250,000 finder's fee from the $325,000 ArmaLite-Colt's licensing deal. But he stood to make more money-a lot more money-if Colt's found customers for the AR-15. His firm had collected a neat $250,000 finder's fee from the $325,000 ArmaLite-Colt's licensing deal. But he stood to make more money-a lot more money-if Colt's found customers for the AR-15.v First he faced an arms-trade policy hurdle. He could not sell the rifle to America's potential enemies. And under mutual-aid provisions, he could sell it to Washington's allies only if it was compatible with American arms. For the AR-15 to have international sales potential the rifle first had to be introduced, somehow, to American military use. MacDonald put his ample imagination to use, even as Colt's pursued its own plans. First he faced an arms-trade policy hurdle. He could not sell the rifle to America's potential enemies. And under mutual-aid provisions, he could sell it to Washington's allies only if it was compatible with American arms. For the AR-15 to have international sales potential the rifle first had to be introduced, somehow, to American military use. MacDonald put his ample imagination to use, even as Colt's pursued its own plans.

In summer 1960, Colt's took the AR-15 on the road, including to police departments around the United States, where their sales team fired into a variety of objects (automobiles were a favorite) and engaged in almost giddy declarations of their rifle's powers. "The penetrating effects of the .223 round are devastating from a practical standpoint," one company summary read. "We are in a position to state that there is not a commercially manufactured automobile in this country that can withstand the penetrating effects of this weapon and cartridge." The summary described the effects of roughly three hundred rounds fired into a 1951 Pontiac Catalina, which was shot in a demonstration for the Indiana State Police. The range was seventy-five yards.

The .223 cartridge will penetrate: 1. b.u.mper steel.2. Frame steel.3. Motor block (only enters, does not exit).4. Both sides of car (broadside shot).5. Trunk lid, back seat, front seat, dashboard, firewall and in some cases on into the radiator when fired from rear to front.6. Wheel drums, coil springs and shock absorbers.7. All gla.s.s (laminated shatterproof or tempered gla.s.s).

A few weeks later, Colt's added a suggestive demonstration at a sales pitch to the police of Glas...o...b..ry, Connecticut. Its salesman put two large cans of water on the front seat of a 1955 Pontiac Tudor, paced off sixty yards, and opened up. The water cans were surrogates for a driver and pa.s.senger. Colt's let everyone know just how poorly those would-be criminals in a getaway car had fared, and how well the bullets fired by the AR-15 had performed: "The bullet will still penetrate both sides of vehicle after pa.s.sing through two 5 gallon cans of water placed in front seat of the automobile to simulate a body in the car. Both cans were ruptured and torn apart at the seams upon impact." A single bullet fired by an AR-15, by the implicit wink in this kind of statement, was capable of a bad-guy-stopping twofer-it could pa.s.s through a door, then one man, and then another man and then out another door. Bonnie and Clyde would have no chance. The summary's conclusions almost gasped. The AR-15, it read, "can be fired full automatic off the finger tips" and "can be fired off the stomach or chin or with one hand holding only the pistol stock. The recoil is so negligible as to be insignificant." It added, "There is not a piece of metal or steel on a commercially manufactured automobile that cannot be penetrated by the .223 cartridge," which will also "penetrate most commercially used building materials."17 Such sales copy was straight from the days of the Auto-Ordnance Corporation and the Thompson gun, though it was targeted against law enforcement officers and not yet the general public. As this c.o.c.ksure sense of the AR-15's formidability was being a.s.sembled, the most successful demonstration of all was held. In mid-1960, while automobiles were being pierced, punctured, and shredded by Colt's sales team, MacDonald arranged for General LeMay, then the air force's vice chief of staff, to be invited to Boutelle's sixtieth birthday party at Boutelle's gentleman's farm in Maryland. Much of the farm had been converted into recreational shooting ranges. General LeMay, like Boutelle, was a gun buff. The invitation was crafted to appeal. A sample AR-15, the new miracle gun, would be on hand for the general to fire. The party was held over the Fourth of July. The hosts set up three watermelons at ranges of 50 and 150 yards and invited the general to try his hand at shooting them. What followed was one of the odder moments in American arms-procurement history. Watermelons were bright and fleshy in ways that water cans were not, and when struck by the little rifle's ultrafast bullets, the first two fruits exploded in vivid red splashes. General LeMay was so impressed that he spared the third melon; the party decided to eat it. No doubt this was great fun for the arms salesmen. It was also nonsense. But salesmanship was salesmanship. MacDonald understood that the air force had its own small-arms needs and wanted its own automatic rifle for defending air bases and strategic-missile sites. He also knew that General LeMay was unimpressed with the M-14. Colt's, for the price of three watermelons and Independence Day c.o.c.ktails, had a high-level convert.

MacDonald had cultivated the right man. The air force began putting the rifle to tests. In 1961, General LeMay became air force chief of staff. In May 1962, the air force entered a contract with Colt's to buy eighty-five hundred rifles. This was a small order. But just like that, the AR-15 formally entered the American military arms system, via a side door. Colt's automatic rifle was now a viable product for foreign and domestic sales.

McNamara did not share with Vance what had convinced him of the M-14's definite inferiority to the AK-47 and AR-15. But the evidence circulating in the Pentagon in late 1962 was both theoretical and empirical. The theoretical side was strong. Charles J. Hitch, a former Rhodes scholar serving as comptroller for the Department of Defense, had recently completed an a.n.a.lysis of the American military's rifle programs. In it, Hitch endorsed the idea of the lighter-weight automatic rifle with smaller ammunition. The study marked a provocative tweak of the old guard. It suggested that systems a.n.a.lysts might, after all, be able to see things the traditional military could not. With it, the Pentagon had at last formally seconded ideas accepted by the Wehrmacht and the Red Army during World War II. The United States military was catching up. The empirical side was weaker. Hitch was more than attuned to the a.s.sault-rifle concept. He was smitten by a product: the AR-15. Cla.s.sified reports from Vietnam, where hundreds of these new rifles had undergone combat trials, were giving the AR-15 high marks and providing a surprise. Reports from the field claimed that when a bullet fired from the AR-15 struck a man, it inflicted devastating injuries.

The causes were apparently twofold. First, the metal jacket of early AR-15 bullets tended to shatter on impact, sending fragmentation slicing through victims.18 (In the army, this was variously seen as attractive and worrisome. In cla.s.sified correspondence, some officers were thrilled by the perceived wounding characteristics, which one prominent army doctor described as "explosive effects." Others wondered whether the .223 round might be illegal under international convention.) (In the army, this was variously seen as attractive and worrisome. In cla.s.sified correspondence, some officers were thrilled by the perceived wounding characteristics, which one prominent army doctor described as "explosive effects." Others wondered whether the .223 round might be illegal under international convention.)19 Second, the bullets often turned sideways inside a victim, a phenomenon known as yaw. In one respect, the effects of yaw somewhat resembled what could be seen on the surface of a lake when a speedboat turned sharply. In this case, the energy delivery manifested itself as a shock wave within a human body, which could create stretching or rupturing injury to tissue not directly in a bullet's path. By turning, the bullet also crushed and cut more tissue as it pa.s.sed through a victim, creating a larger wound channel. Second, the bullets often turned sideways inside a victim, a phenomenon known as yaw. In one respect, the effects of yaw somewhat resembled what could be seen on the surface of a lake when a speedboat turned sharply. In this case, the energy delivery manifested itself as a shock wave within a human body, which could create stretching or rupturing injury to tissue not directly in a bullet's path. By turning, the bullet also crushed and cut more tissue as it pa.s.sed through a victim, creating a larger wound channel.

The supposed effects of these phenomena on men were described in the first known battlefield trials of AR-15s, which had been coaxed to life in Asia via another of MacDonald's sales masterstrokes. In 1961, MacDonald had made contact with the army's Advanced Research Projects Agency, which had offices in Saigon and Bangkok. Among the officers eager to work with the new rifle was Lieutenant Colonel Richard R. Hallock, a paratrooper from World War II who was proud to be a.s.sociated with the whiz-kid culture and was attracted to rifle development, though he had limited experience with ballistics, procurement, testing, or weapon design. He was, however, an able writer of memorandums. His office proposed a study. In December 1961, McNamara approved the purchase of one thousand AR-15s for American military advisers to distribute to Vietnamese government soldiers. The approval worked on two levels. It gave an outlet for McNamara's interest in the new rifle and aligned with President Kennedy's decision a month before to increase military aid flowing from Washington to South Vietnam. The United States was envisioning warfare with new roles for Special Forces and helicopter-borne battalions. Vietnam was becoming a showcase for this thinking. The futuristic AR-15 seemed a tantalizing fit. Enthusiasm for the rifle was running high enough that as the test was approved, President Kennedy's military aide presented him with a sample AR-15 to look over in the Oval Office, and Kennedy was photographed playfully handling this peculiar little rifle, which was secretly being shipped to Vietnam.

Lieutenant Colonel Hallock and the agency dubbed their test Project AGILE-"a comprehensive field evaluation" of the AR-15 under combat conditions. The name in itself might have been a warning that this was not to be real science. Throughout much of 1962, Vietnamese units carried the new American a.s.sault rifles into combat. Excited vignettes trickled back. In May, Colonel Cao Van Vien, commander of the Vietnamese Airborne Brigade, reported that his soldiers had shot two Viet Cong guerrillas with their experimental weapons. One guerrilla had been hit in the wrist. The bullet severed the man's hand, which remained behind when he escaped. This was not necessarily revelatory. The typical Vietnamese fighter weighed about ninety pounds. Any number of military cartridges might shatter the lower forearm of a ninety-pound man upon smacking the radius and ulna squarely. And a data sample of one injury was not grounds for extrapolation. But context was absent from the report, which emphasized gruesome wounds with descriptive glee. "An AR-15 bullet pierced the head of a VC from the nape of his neck to his forehead," the report said of the injury to the second guerrilla. "The hole in the nape of the neck was about bullet size. However, it came out his face and took off almost half of it. The face was unidentifiable. Firing range: from 50 to 70 meters."20 This injury was easier to grasp, if only because it was familiar. Autopsy reports and medical literature had long shown that human heads shatter when penetrated by military rifle bullets. The description, in other words, should have been unremarkable. But the macabre cheerleading leaking from the field evaluation was a mere hint of what lay ahead. This injury was easier to grasp, if only because it was familiar. Autopsy reports and medical literature had long shown that human heads shatter when penetrated by military rifle bullets. The description, in other words, should have been unremarkable. But the macabre cheerleading leaking from the field evaluation was a mere hint of what lay ahead.

The secret report of Project AGILE, submitted in August 1962, was short on dispa.s.sionate observation but long on product boosterism. Like the Vietnamese colonel, Lieutenant Colonel Hallock and his team gushed with satisfaction. "On 13 April, 62, a Special Forces team made a raid on a small village," their report noted. "In the raid, seven VC were killed. Two were killed by AR-15 fire. Range was 50 meters. One man was. .h.i.t in the head; it looked like it exploded. A second man was. .h.i.t in the chest; his back was one big hole." A Ranger unit detailed similar effects on five guerrillas ambushed on June 9. Ranges were thirty to one hundred yards. The inventory was chilling: Back wound, which caused thoracic cavity to explode. 2. Stomach wound, which caused the abdominal cavity to explode. 3. b.u.t.tock wound, which destroyed all of the tissue of both b.u.t.tocks. 4. Chest wound from right to left, destroyed the thoracic cavity. 5. Heel wound, the projectile entered the bottom of the right foot causing the leg to split from the foot to the hip.

The report claimed that in another firefight a Vietnamese Ranger fired a three-round burst into a guerrilla fifteen meters away and both decapitated the man and severed his right arm. In order to accept these descriptions at face value, one would have to believe that in a small sampling of injuries the AR-15 had caused two traumatic amputations-a type of injury rarely observed from rifle bullets. But such coolheaded skepticism did not work its way into the report. A sales pitch was gathering momentum: The AR-15 was the most lethal rifle the world had known. The Project AGILE report did not stop there. It listed advantages beyond the AR-15's capacity for producing theatrically grotesque wounds. The new rifle was small, light, and easy to handle. The authors claimed it required very little maintenance. Its reliability was unsurpa.s.sed. They recorded only one shortcoming: A plastic handgrip along one rifle's barrel had cracked. This they explained away with laconic bemus.e.m.e.nt, observing that the break occurred while moving a stubborn prisoner, and "the soldier concerned had placed the handguard against a VC head with considerable force." MacDonald's Saigon pitch proved to be another salesmanship triumph. The report, from its t.i.tle to its conclusions, could not have read better for Colt's had MacDonald dictated it himself. Its claims exceeded even the contents of AR-15 sales brochures.21 Cyrus Vance had little to do but follow his boss's orders. He pa.s.sed McNamara's instructions to General Earle Wheeler, the Army's chief of staff, who ordered tests to determine the "relative effectiveness" of the AK-47, the AR-15, and the M-14. Here began the next strange chapter in the M-16's march out of obscurity. Evaluators have many ways to measure a rifle's utility for war. There are tests for accuracy, reliability, and durability. There are means to a.s.sess ergonomics. How the rifle performs tactically-the number of shots, hits, and near misses fired by soldiers as they attack and defend in controlled simulations-can form another set of useful measures. At General Wheeler's instruction, evaluators at American commands around the world were put to work to rank the three rifles along these lines. This was a sensible idea. It was also a flawed plan. General Wheeler wanted answers by November 30-a deadline almost certainly too tight for findings that would be meaningful, much less conclusive. But President Kennedy and Secretary McNamara wanted answers. The Pentagon was galloping headlong. The army's internal correspondence was frantic. "Initiation of testing will not await submittal or approval of final detailed plans," one of the instructions read. "Representation at tests will be kept to a minimum. . . . Tests should not be influenced or delayed by the requirements for observers."22 To see how this kind of haste could lead to poor judgment and shoddy science, one need look no further than the army's attempt to measure the three weapons' lethality. The tests sought to answer a seemingly simple question. What happened when a bullet fired from each rifle actually hit a human being? Implicit in the work was the related question: Which weapon would most surely cause incapacitation, the state in which a wounded enemy combatant would no longer be able to fight? Answering such questions was the realm of a sometimes-scientific field known, in what could seem a double entendre, as "terminal ballistics." The pract.i.tioners of this now secretive art were the professional descendants of Louis A. La Garde, the turn-of-the-century surgeon who had fired into cadavers and livestock to explore the means by which bullets tore through skin, bones, and flesh. In the United States, many of them worked at the army's Biophysics Division at the Aberdeen Proving Ground in Maryland, where General Wheeler's project became a major undertaking. More than 90 percent of the division's staff partic.i.p.ated, overtime pay was freed up, and to meet the tight deadline many people worked nights, weekends, and on holidays. The division chose four methods to evaluate the rifles.23 Its staff would measure the velocity of the bullets at the muzzle and at various points downrange. They would fire into blocks of a special gelatin designed to simulate human tissue. They would fire into live castrated male Texas Angora goats, which were the laboratory's preferred animals for experimentation, and in ready supply. And in tests that would later cause their study nearly to disappear from government records, they would fire into amputated human legs and decapitated human heads. Its staff would measure the velocity of the bullets at the muzzle and at various points downrange. They would fire into blocks of a special gelatin designed to simulate human tissue. They would fire into live castrated male Texas Angora goats, which were the laboratory's preferred animals for experimentation, and in ready supply. And in tests that would later cause their study nearly to disappear from government records, they would fire into amputated human legs and decapitated human heads.

Organizing a supply of legs and heads presented problems. In 1902, then-Major La Garde could make arrangements at a private medical college and shoot dangling corpses on the university grounds. Such options were not available in 1962, at least not on short notice. But the men who led the study-Arthur J. Dziemian and Alfred G. Olivier, who later would be expert witnesses before the Warren Commission's investigation into the a.s.sa.s.sination of President Kennedy-had tools at their disposal that were unavailable to La Garde. First, they could shield their work from public review. The Cold War's atmosphere of secrecy allowed a cone of silence to be lowered. Dziemian and Olivier needed only to claim that shooting human legs and heads was a matter of national security, and warn everyone involved that disclosing the strange doings of the Biophysics Division was punishable under counterespionage law. This ensured that the work would be cla.s.sified, and remain cla.s.sified, and that whatever the scientists did would barely be known. Second, the United States was now a global superpower with deep resources and long reach. For a project with the interest of the president and the secretary of defense, the ballisticians could make cadaver-procuring arrangements that had been impossible in La Garde's day. And so it came to pa.s.s that in order to satisfy McNamara's curiosity for a comparison, for the 1962 lethality tests a batch of human heads were made available via shipment from India. Neither the laboratory's cla.s.sified report nor the limited correspondence about the tests that survived disclosed precisely how the army procured them. Nor did the authors say how they disposed of the human remains after subjecting them to gunfire. All that survived was a 286-page record of the tests and the testers' conclusions, along with telltale signs of the army's embarra.s.sment about the entire affair.vi But if the record did not illuminate all of the details, it did illuminate something else. It showed just how bizarre, and off track, the American reaction to the AK-47 had become. But if the record did not illuminate all of the details, it did illuminate something else. It showed just how bizarre, and off track, the American reaction to the AK-47 had become.

The tests opened at 9:30 A.M. A.M. on October 26 at one of the proving ground's outdoor ranges. It began with live goats. The morning was chilly and overcast. The goats, which weighed between 62 and 145 pounds, had been sheared and secured inside holding racks. They were oriented at right angles to the gunners, each goat so his right side presented itself as a target. The gunners sat at a shooting table, leaned forward, looked through telescopic scopes, and fired. Thirty goats were shot that day. Goat No. 12658, an eighty-pound billy, was first. After each goat was struck, the testers released the wounded animal from the rack for the next research step: "observation of the clinical response of the animal to the trauma." This included measurements of the volume of blood lost (in milliliters); the "time to permanent collapse" (in seconds); the "direction of fall" (vertical, from the rifle, toward the rifle); and survival time, which was determined by counting the elapsed seconds from the impact of a bullet with a goat until the "cessation of heartbeats." (The goats that did not die quickly, and seemed destined to live beyond a few hours, were "sacrificed by electrocution.") To ensure nothing was missed, a 16-millimeter Dynafax motion-picture camera recorded each billy's fate, and the carca.s.ses were examined by necropsy. Goat No. 12658 was. .h.i.t with a bullet from an AR-15 at a distance of either twenty-five or one hundred meters, depending on which chart in the report is to be believed. He had a quick end. The bullet pa.s.sed through the animal's liver, at least one lung, and the gastrointestinal tract. Permanent collapse came forty-four seconds later, when the billy fell toward the rifle. His heart ceased beating within five minutes. In the course of the study, 166 goats were shot in all, at ranges of twenty-five to five hundred meters. on October 26 at one of the proving ground's outdoor ranges. It began with live goats. The morning was chilly and overcast. The goats, which weighed between 62 and 145 pounds, had been sheared and secured inside holding racks. They were oriented at right angles to the gunners, each goat so his right side presented itself as a target. The gunners sat at a shooting table, leaned forward, looked through telescopic scopes, and fired. Thirty goats were shot that day. Goat No. 12658, an eighty-pound billy, was first. After each goat was struck, the testers released the wounded animal from the rack for the next research step: "observation of the clinical response of the animal to the trauma." This included measurements of the volume of blood lost (in milliliters); the "time to permanent collapse" (in seconds); the "direction of fall" (vertical, from the rifle, toward the rifle); and survival time, which was determined by counting the elapsed seconds from the impact of a bullet with a goat until the "cessation of heartbeats." (The goats that did not die quickly, and seemed destined to live beyond a few hours, were "sacrificed by electrocution.") To ensure nothing was missed, a 16-millimeter Dynafax motion-picture camera recorded each billy's fate, and the carca.s.ses were examined by necropsy. Goat No. 12658 was. .h.i.t with a bullet from an AR-15 at a distance of either twenty-five or one hundred meters, depending on which chart in the report is to be believed. He had a quick end. The bullet pa.s.sed through the animal's liver, at least one lung, and the gastrointestinal tract. Permanent collapse came forty-four seconds later, when the billy fell toward the rifle. His heart ceased beating within five minutes. In the course of the study, 166 goats were shot in all, at ranges of twenty-five to five hundred meters.

The leg tests began on October 29, when gunners fired into human limbs that had been amputated from cadavers, frozen, and then thawed for testing day. The gunners shot from a distance of fifty meters, aiming for thighs, calves, and feet. On November 3, the gunners turned their attention to the processed heads from India. For these tests, the skulls were, according to Dziemian and Olivier, "unbleached and undefatted." To ready them, each was encased in ballistic gelatin, which allowed tissue gaps inside the cranium to fill with fake tissue and form what the authors called a "pseudobrain." The gelatin outside was sculpted close, to create "about the same resistance to penetration by the bullets as would the scalp and soft tissues of the face and head." The Biophysics Division's scientists switched on their motion-picture camera and the gunners began their work, firing from ranges of fifty and one hundred meters. In every case at both distances, the impact of a military rifle bullet with a human head created what Dziemian and Olivier called "explosive hydrodynamic effects." The heads ruptured and the fragments scattered, due in large part to the shock wave traveling through the pseudotissue within the cranium, which could not contain it. This should have been predictable. La Garde, in a summary of his own work and case studies of others, had published a voluminous work in 1916 that detailed what he called the "explosive effects" to the human head when solidly struck by modern rifle bullets. His case studies included victims of battlefield injuries, a barracks suicide, and a prisoner who attempted to flee from a guard, who shot him high on the back of the head. Ample data had acc.u.mulated in the decades since, including studies of cranial injuries to Allied soldiers in World War II. Put simply, by 1962 it was well-known in the ballistics and medical communities that human heads broke apart when struck by military rifle bullets at the ranges in question in these tests. Nevertheless, the heads were shot, twenty-three with pseudobrains and four without.

Then things got interesting, to the point of forensic absurdity. After the heads were broken, Dziemian and Olivier and their scientists attempted to differentiate the damage. A simple matrix was established. At a range of fifty meters, the M-14 and the AR-15 both caused more cranial damage than the AK-47. At a range of one hundred meters, the AR-15 caused more damage than either the AK-47 or the M-14, which were roughly equal to each other. Presented this way in the narrative portion of the Biophysics Division's secret report, the information appeared methodically observed. The pictures published in the appendixes exposed the rankings as near meaningless. Some of the images showed cranial fragments arranged for a.s.sessment and display. Others, time-sequenced photographs excerpted from the thousands taken by the motion-picture camera, doc.u.mented in slow motion the effect of a bullet penetrating and pa.s.sing through a human head. The results, in practical terms, were identical. Each and every head containing a pseudobrain flew apart. Government scientists might care to count pieces and decide which rifle was more lethal, as if such measurements were revelatory. Soldiers would have better sense. Heads were heads, not ammunition cans, watermelons, cubes of gelatin, or blocks of pine. When attached to living men they contained brains. The shooting tests had established, unsurprisingly, that bullets fired from some military rifles caused human heads to fragment into more pieces than bullets fired from other rifles. But what exactly did this mean for either a rifleman or his victim? There is, after all, but one degree of death.

If General Wheeler wanted to know about the relative effectiveness of the rifles under review, this was not a measure. The lethality tests, in the end, offered little of obvious value. Every human bone struck by a rifle bullet had broken, every gelatin-filled cranium had shattered. The relative differences in damages were academic. And yet the test results still might have had a use in restoring a more realistic conversation about the AR-15. Dziemian and Olivier's final report subtly but clearly revealed that the army's terminal-ballistics experts were suspicious of the Project AGILE findings. "More shots were made with the AR-15 on legs than with the other bullets," it noted, "because of the rather startling results from limb wounds in combat described in the A.R.P.A. report."24 The Biophysics Division's gunners shot legs at various orientations, with standard bullets and with bullets that had their tips trimmed off. No matter what they did, they were unable to reproduce the effects that the partic.i.p.ants in Project AGILE claimed to have seen. At Aberdeen Proving Ground, the traumatic amputations simply did not occur. This result, coupled with the observation that all heads shattered when struck by any of the bullets, might have been a basis for the Pentagon to question the objectivity and methods of Lieutenant Colonel Hallock's team. But instead of having such a practical value, the lethality tests underlined other things: the risks of secrecy and the deep dysfunctions in McNamara's supposedly highly functional systems-a.n.a.lysis approach. There was no peer review of this kind of hushed work, and events that followed ensured that almost no one would ever find out about it. The Biophysics Division's gunners shot legs at various orientations, with standard bullets and with bullets that had their tips trimmed off. No matter what they did, they were unable to reproduce the effects that the partic.i.p.ants in Project AGILE claimed to have seen. At Aberdeen Proving Ground, the traumatic amputations simply did not occur. This result, coupled with the observation that all heads shattered when struck by any of the bullets, might have been a basis for the Pentagon to question the objectivity and methods of Lieutenant Colonel Hallock's team. But instead of having such a practical value, the lethality tests underlined other things: the risks of secrecy and the deep dysfunctions in McNamara's supposedly highly functional systems-a.n.a.lysis approach. There was no peer review of this kind of hushed work, and events that followed ensured that almost no one would ever find out about it.25 The deadline for an initial report was November 30,26 seven weeks after Secretary McNamara raised the issue of American rifle choices with Secretary Vance. An understandable curiosity rose through the Pentagon. The possibility that scientists might tell soldiers which new American rifle was more dangerous was intriguing. Lethality data for the AK-47, a Soviet weapon the United States was beginning to face, added spice. But rather than allow a wider set of minds to examine the study and glean what they might from it-in other words, rather than being systematic-the army restricted its circulation reflexively and fiercely. Sometimes supervisors have to be wary of what they ask for, especially in inst.i.tutions that mix secrecy, cash, and guns. Away from the Biophysics Division, where shooting body parts had become part of the job, the realization that federal employees were performing gunfire tests on human heads was at once unsavory and politically risky. Someone, it seemed, felt that this was something the United States did not want to get caught doing. In spring 1963, the staff of Charles. .h.i.tch, the Pentagon's comptroller, asked the army chief of staff's office for two copies of the lethality report. Worry and embarra.s.sment crept in. The cover-up began. In a memorandum stamped SECRET the army chief of staff ordered Lieutenant General R. W. Colglazier, Jr., the deputy chief of staff for logistics, not to share the report, even with Hitch's office, "in view of the sensitivity and potential sensationalism with the use of human cadavers from India." seven weeks after Secretary McNamara raised the issue of American rifle choices with Secretary Vance. An understandable curiosity rose through the Pentagon. The possibility that scientists might tell soldiers which new American rifle was more dangerous was intriguing. Lethality data for the AK-47, a Soviet weapon the United States was beginning to face, added spice. But rather than allow a wider set of minds to examine the study and glean what they might from it-in other words, rather than being systematic-the army restricted its circulation reflexively and fiercely. Sometimes supervisors have to be wary of what they ask for, especially in inst.i.tutions that mix secrecy, cash, and guns. Away from the Biophysics Division, where shooting body parts had become part of the job, the realization that federal employees were performing gunfire tests on human heads was at once unsavory and politically risky. Someone, it seemed, felt that this was something the United States did not want to get caught doing. In spring 1963, the staff of Charles. .h.i.tch, the Pentagon's comptroller, asked the army chief of staff's office for two copies of the lethality report. Worry and embarra.s.sment crept in. The cover-up began. In a memorandum stamped SECRET the army chief of staff ordered Lieutenant General R. W. Colglazier, Jr., the deputy chief of staff for logistics, not to share the report, even with Hitch's office, "in view of the sensitivity and potential sensationalism with the use of human cadavers from India."27 General Colglazier sought help from Vance. "Although this is not the first use of elements of the human cadaver for this purpose, I consider such use to be extremely sensitive," he wrote, in another secret memorandum, adding that the army would like Vance to ask Hitch to withdraw the request in "recognition of the potential sensationalism which could arise from public disclosure of this information." General Colglazier sought help from Vance. "Although this is not the first use of elements of the human cadaver for this purpose, I consider such use to be extremely sensitive," he wrote, in another secret memorandum, adding that the army would like Vance to ask Hitch to withdraw the request in "recognition of the potential sensationalism which could arise from public disclosure of this information."28 The results of the lethality study remained hidden for forty-six years. And at the most important time, during the early and mid-1960s, the Project AGILE report, with its suspicious observations and false conclusions, remained uncontested. The results of the lethality study remained hidden for forty-six years. And at the most important time, during the early and mid-1960s, the Project AGILE report, with its suspicious observations and false conclusions, remained uncontested.29 The AR-15 continued its rise, boosted by a reputation for lethality and reliability that it did not deserve. The AR-15 continued its rise, boosted by a reputation for lethality and reliability that it did not deserve.

General Wheeler's larger set of worldwide tests also failed to provide a fully useful or enduring evaluation. This was in part because of the undue rush, but there were darker subcurrents, too. The study collapsed under the weight of allegations of bias and a climate of mutual recriminations between various camps. Proponents of the AR-15 accused the army and its evaluators of efforts at sabotage. The acidic climate prompted Vance to order an investigation by the army's inspector general, which found that at least part of the testing, a tactical a.s.sessment at Fort Benning, had been rigged against the AR-15. The results tainted the entire effort and provided the AR-15's backers with another argument they would use well: that their weapon was never treated fairly. Absent anything definitive to say, General Wheeler chose the safest path available. On January 14, 1963, based on the results of the worldwide tests, he delivered his recommendations. The army was most clear on one point-the pitfalls of the Soviet a.s.sault rifle. In his summary, General Wheeler dismissed the value of the AK-47, calling it "optimized for the submachine gun role" and declaring its "overall inferiority" to both the M-14 and M-16. Thus ending discussion about that, the general a.s.sessed the American arms. Being politically astute, he found merits in each. Both weapons, according to the army's a.s.sessment, had superior accuracy as well as acceptable durability, ease of maintenance, and other desirable characteristics. But the AR-15 had a consequential fault. The evaluation unequivocally rated it unsatisfactory in the important category of reliability. This was because, General Wheeler wrote, stoppages during firing were "so troublesome that soldiers might well lose confidence in the weapon." The general added that the army was optimistic that the deficiencies "can be readily corrected," though he was silent on what these corrections might be.30 Given the ferocity building in the argument over which rifle was best, General Wheeler was careful not to offend any camp too greatly. He seemed eager to step aside and let the defense secretary choose the next steps. The defense secretary, after all, was the one pushing the question. General Wheeler offered three recommendations: continue with the M-14 program, terminate the M-14 program and adopt the AR-15 as the new standard arm, or defer a drastic step and mollify all camps via what he called Option C. In this option, the army would buy AR-15s for helicopter-borne, airborne, and Special Forces soldiers and reduce its M-14 purchases accordingly. It would decide later which weapon would be the American shoulder-fired arm of the future: the AR-15, the M-14, or the SPIW, if the SPIW ever became feasible. Predictably, McNamara leaned toward Option C.

Now came the matter of readying the AR-15 for service. In early March, the Army Materiel Command formally opened an AR-15 development program, with an office at Rock Island a.r.s.enal in Illinois headed by Lieutenant Colonel Harold W. Yount. This was not to be a normal program, and Colonel Yount's managerial control was t.i.tular. A special committee with oversight duties was formed. The committee included representatives from all the services but also put the program under the defense secretary's control: Two of McNamara aides were given seats on it, along with veto power over all its decisions.31 This gave the AR-15 a high priority. It also left the program vulnerable to political interference on technical matters and introduced fresh tensions between the defense secretary's office and the ordnance service. McNamara had already expressed his dissatisfaction with the army's weapons experts, and the inspector general's investigation of the handling of the worldwide tests only added to the feelings of distrust. The defense secretary wanted to put his stamp on the AR-15 program and place it under his protection. But the top-heavy a.s.signment of political appointees to the committee risked alienating or even removing people with weapons expertise from partic.i.p.ation in the AR-15's development. McNamara's whiz kids were smart. But they had almost no experience in either war or weaponry, and were not necessarily an able subst.i.tute for those whose careers had been a