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Retired Col. Richard W. Stewart has released “Combat Historian,” a book chronicling his efforts to document American special operations from Desert Storm through the Afghanistan war between 1991 and 2002.
The former chief historian for the U.S. Army spent four years organizing his memories, photographs and records. He devoted two years to writing and arranging the images, followed by another two years preparing the final draft.
Stewart had long wanted to become a historian, aside from brief childhood interests in veterinary medicine and space exploration. His driving ambition was to understand human behavior and how civilization reached its present state.
While studying history and pursuing a reserve commission, Stewart initially struggled to see how his academic and military interests could form a single career. Graduate school and a weak job market eventually led him to a civilian historian position with the Center for Army Lessons Learned.
His book examines the changing role of combat historians from World War II through 1990 before turning to the challenges of converting battlefield experience into Army training and doctrine.
Stewart found that building a lasting historical record frequently lost out to immediate demands, including press releases and quickly produced lessons. Yet incomplete records could carry consequences years later. Information about where units served and on which dates, for example, could become critical when assessing possible exposure to chemical agents.
“The value of history is self-evident to historians but less to many command and staff officers,” Stewart said.
Embedded historians could capture what happened inside a unit, but their role was not always understood. Some officers had never encountered a historian and did not know why one was present. Many became willing to speak once they knew the work was legitimate, while support personnel were often eager to explain how their efforts contributed to a successful battle.
Recordkeeping created another obstacle. Accurate data often sat near the bottom of a unit’s priorities, Stewart said, with neither a firm requirement to preserve it nor a penalty for failing to do so. Computers made retaining records seem easier, but personnel still considered the task burdensome beside more immediate responsibilities.
Historical findings could also create friction. Some commanders sought to protect their units from negative observations, and Stewart was occasionally prevented from presenting specific supporting evidence because it might hurt feelings.
“Personality and prejudice overrode regulations and perhaps reason,” he said.
Combat historians also had to navigate emerging joint-command structures and persuade the Army to institutionalize a program that depended on units sharing information. During periods of tight budgets and fierce competition for personnel and resources, historian positions could appear expendable.
Stewart nevertheless argued that determining what truly happened should be a leading priority because accurate accounts can reveal better ways to operate.
He described himself as a “servant of forever,” preserving interviews, documents, official facts and personal experiences for historians to use decades later. Through that work, he said, he hoped to give a human face to the planning and combat stories of American special operations.