I was a new first lieutenant Cobra pilot at Camp Pendleton…

I was a new first lieutenant Cobra pilot in our fleet replacement squadron (FRS), HMT-303, at Camp Pendleton when news hit that Iraq had invaded Kuwait. Two of the Marine Light/Attack helicopter (HMLA) squadrons made up of 18 AH-1Ws and 12 UH-1N Hueys departed within days to MCAS El Toro for airlift to Jubail Airport Saudi Arabia.

As I completed my training, there was no expectation that I would deploy to the Gulf to join either HMLA-367 or 369 who were currently sweating out the Saudi Arabian summer along the Persian Gulf. Precious little news flowed into Camp Pendleton from the two deployed squadrons.

I hadn’t even had much of a look at their AH-1Ws before they deployed as we flew the Vietnam era AH-1Js in the FRS. I remember being fascinated by the one “hangar queen” W model Cobra left behind because all else were deployed. As I neared the end of my training in November of 1990, word came down that we would join either the remaining HMLA at Camp Pendleton, 169, or one of the reserve squadrons who still flew the J model Cobras. It was obvious by now that it was probably a mistake to train new Cobra pilots in the older J model aircraft because we had no way to transition to the W model now.

I attended W model ground school at Camp Pendleton where we studied the systems, which included the optics and missiles system, which were non-existent in the J model. I went into see the FRS training officer and submit my first choice of HMLA-369 to join if possible. I had heard about their commander, LtCol Michael Kurth, and his command of tactics and leadership style. I was informed that it was unlikely as 369 would probably be the first into battle and that they were full-up for pilots.

As fate would have it, two events happened in Saudi Arabia to two Cobra pilots causing them to have to return to the U.S. One pilot had some conduct issues in country while the other got passed over for promotion. I got word that I would be headed to Saudi Arabia in a week and to go draw my entire issue of gear for the desert. My girlfriend rushed out from Florida to say goodbye for a few days. Little did we know, this would be only number one of three wars we have experienced in our 31 years together.

My orders arrived telling me to go to Norton AFB in San Bernardino, hop a 747 for the flight to Saudi Arabia. No one knew what I should do once I arrive and although the jet was loaded, no one from our Air Group was traveling with me. I was told to just find my way to my unit after I arrived. I did exactly what I was told. The jet ride, by far the longest of my life, seemed to last forever. Think we stopped in Frankfurt, but don’t remember. I slept with my pistol and slept a lot, waking to eat more than I wanted.

I arrived at Jubail airport at about 0300 on Thanksgiving day. As we got off the 747, found our gear, I watched many of the Marines form into groups and be met by members of the units they were joining. I sat there by myself and felt for the first time in my life that I was homeless. I asked if anyone knew anything about the whereabouts of HMLA-369. No one had even heard of them.

I was nearly alone at the aircraft thinking I would just find someplace to hunker down until daylight when I caught site of the silhouette of a rotor blade far across the airport. I knew It was a Huey so was sure there was a Marine squadron over there. I flagged down a tug driver who was glad to help me get myself and my two large bags of gear across the airfield.

I entered what looked like a small regional airport terminal to find night crew Marines working hard to get aircraft ready for the early flight schedule just hours away. Miraculously, I had arrived right at HMLA-369’s squadron spaces set up inside part of the large terminal. HMLA-367 and HMM-161 were nearby as well. HMM-161 was my Dad’s squadron in Korea and one I would join two years later in Kuwait as they were deployed on the USS Tarawa.

I found the operations duty officer (ODO), 1stLt Pat Blubaugh, who was taken aback by my arrival. He said no one knew any new pilots were coming in at all, let alone Thanksgiving morning. He said the CO has a very early brief in just a few hours and I should wait as he pointed towards rows of yellow plastic terminal seats. With nothing else to do, I sat down and started to study AH-1W systems.

The CO arrived With what seemed like an entourage and was pointed toward me. I rose to my feet at attention and he quickly put me at ease. He asked me what they call me to which I responded with nickname since birth, “Benny”. In a split second he responded back, “Benny Boy”, which elicited laughter among the Marines with him. I didn’t find anything particularly witty about adding boy to my name and remember wondering why they were laughing. I would have to wait to find out that I had just been given a callsign probably faster than any pilot in history and that it would last forever as far as I can tell.

LtCol Kurth explained that I would get some training in the AH-1W but probably not fly any combat missions because of my lack of experience, particularly with the AH-1W or “Whiskey” model Cobra. Instead he said I was needed to fill in as an ODO, which was a 24 hour duty. I would be the ground safety officer where I could do little harm.

I met many of the other pilots that day and few took me over to the chow hall to eat our Thanksgiving meal. I got my gear and was shown to a general purpose tent with swine sandbags around the outside. Inside I was pointed towards an empty cot that used to belong to the Capt who got passed over for Major.

Later I checked in with my immediate boss, Major Jon Ray. He got me started on doing almost all of the paperwork required for the NATOPs jackets of all of the pilots. I had to share the one available portable computer with our entire maintenance department. I got duty 3 times a week so slept at the squadron spaces.

Most days I manned my desk in the safety department, which was little more than four embark desks, cruise boxes with files and some pictures from home. My seat was situated so I faced directly at one of the large terminal entrances, which meant I would be mistaken as a receptionist for the rest of our time at Jubail.

As Christmas and New Years approached, I got in some flying and was considered a last resort if all other pilots were unavailable. I was an expert at washing aircraft engines and programming our LORAN navigation sets placed in all our aircraft. It turned out to be a mistake to have the pilot least likely to do missions as the expert on navigation. We played pretty violent tackle football games every Sunday between officers and enlisted. The CO, already prone to chewing people out, would not have been pleased.

We got regular intelligence briefings that were only a little informative. It became clear that coalition patience was running out patience. Gens Powell and Schwarzkopf became household names. President Bush placed complete trust and authority in and with the military. We got “any Marine” letters by the box load. We watched some CNN, but mostly could only guess what was going on in Kuwait.

As we got word the air offensive and Operation Desert Storm would begin any day, we prepared our maps and flew final missions. I got to fly in a massive training lift of 32 helicopters, which ultimately would be aborted during the real mission because of the smoke left by the oil fires set by the Iraqis. I did get to film some of the oil dumped in the Gulf by Saddam Hussein using our FLIR mounted on Hueys and supplied by Loral Corporation.

Just after midnight January 16th, the massive air war was launched. Some of our Cobras launches north in case the Iraqis decided to attack into Saudi Arabia. I got word by way of air raid sirens going off. I donned my gas mask and wrapped a blanket and wandered outside to see others doing the same. Later after the sun came up, one of the Majors grabbed me to fly with him to test a post-maintenance Cobra.

As we were at the hold short for the active runway, tower informed us to hold in position for an incoming Emergency. Still in the peacetime mindset, I was thinking a mechanical malfunction. In fly two French Jaguar Jets with significant battle damage. The first had been stitched up one side with a large caliber AAA gun. The second had been hit in an engine by a missile. After we finished our flight, I walked in with one of the French pilots. He stopped at our threat board and exclaimed in English with his French accent that had he known about all those red threats on our map, he would not have flown where he did. It would be years later that I learned that the French had been against participating in the air war until the night before. Probably was not enough time for their pilots as they received something close to 100% battle damage according to the book, The General’s War.

I mostly muddled around the squadron as the established four divisions of four Cobras flew with the same pilots to man forward operating bases. On the night of January 29th, the Iraqis pushed into Saudi Arabia toward the coastal town of Khafji. Every available Cobra From both 369 and 367 was gone in hours to a forward base at Mishab, south of Khafji.

There was one Cobra that was down for maintenance out on the line. We had lost another due to a fueling mishap. The XO got word that it might be ready for testing that day. He was out flying with an enlisted Marine but gave me word I might be headed to Mishab. I was shocked as I was told not to expect to do any combat missions and barely had any training in the AH-1W. Nightfall was approaching and that meant night vision goggles (NVGs), with which I had fewer than ten hours.

Two Cobras came back and I knew what that meant. The XO told me to grab my gear, which took about five trips. I grabbed a new Garmin GPS that bore little resemblance to what we have today and off we went with me navigating on NVGs with a GPS that no one trusted. In those days, when the GPS had fewer that six satellites, it just froze, giving no warning that anything else was wrong. I attempted to navigate is well past Mishab and probably right toward Khafji. Luckily, LtCol Ken Conatser, our XO, looked right and saw Mishab just off to the east. My near disaster avoided.

We settled in to try to get some sleep. There was not one bit of floor anywhere to be found as pilots were scattered asleep everywhere. Little did we know, also according to, The General’s War, Mishab was the Iraqi objective for the attack Into Saudi Arabia. Unable to sleep, I went over to the UAV tent where a feed from the drones was coming in. I listened to our Direct Air Support Center (DASC) frequency all night and got quite alarmed.

Artillery and missiles were moving south and as I listened, I realized at some point we became in range of the long range artillery and missiles that had made it south. I listened as they called in section of fixed-wing aircraft on various artillery pieces and missile launchers. For some reason, Harriers and F-15Ds missed a particular missile launcher. Then an AC-130 Gunship checked in to attack this same target.

I listened only to the DASC because I could not hear the other transmitter. Things went south very quickly. The DASC was confused asking if this was an “Alpha C130” or a “Kilo C-130”. I was appalled and almost grabbed a radio myself to tell that Marine controller that no refueling of KC-130 would be anywhere near that battle. The AC-130 was finally cleared to attack but did not destroy the intended target. In moments, the sun was up and now the DASC is asking all aircraft and ground units if they have seen or heard from the AC-130. They didn’t yet know it had been caught in daylight and shot down with all crew lost. I began to worry that although the Iraqis could not beat us, we might just beat ourselves.

The next day, one of our pilots in our now flight of three, asked the DASC to launch our section toward Khafji. They obliged and off we went. Some Pilots were from our fellow squadron, 367, were not too happy with our trick, but we were off in under 15 minutes. As we were headed north, my adrenaline started pumping and I scared. I was afraid of getting shot down, but of failing. I had so little training and experience, I wasn’t sure what I would do.

On the way up, the XO had second thoughts about our situation and decided he needed to get back to move the squadron north to our new home at Tanijib, about forty miles north of Jubail. We turned for home angering the other Cobra crews. The next day, the pilot who we had butted in front of to get launch informed me the battle climaxed right after we left and he had destroyed several tanks and APCs. Distinguish Flying Crosses were awarded to many of those Cobra crews.

Tragedy struck February 3rd when one of our UH-1Ns in a flight of two crashed. The pilots had gotten spatial disorientation and flown into the ground as the wingman in the section. The XO informed us that night that our squadron brothers, Capt Jim “Injun“ Thorpe, Capt David “Super Dave” Herr, Cpl Al “Big Al” Haddad, and Cpl Kurt “Mercedes” Benz were dead. The shock and sadness were more than I had known up to that point in my life. They were fantastic Marines and pilots/crew.

But life went on and soon I learned that one of the strengths of Marine Corps units was the lightning fast process of loss, memorializing and then getting back to the business at hand. That lesson stayed with me for the rest of my career. We never forget or leave anyone behind, but we move on from grief very quickly because we have to.

My next mission was escorting an HMM-161 CH-46 our to the USS Wisconsin battleship. I was beyond excited. I got to fly in one our best Cobras that day too. That Cobra, bureau number 160820, would end up as one of our most prolific shooters during not only that war, but into Somalia, Iraq and Afghanistan before ending up in the Museum of the Marine Corps in Quantico where it resides today. I flew on this second mission in 1991 as a 1stLt nugget and my last two missions as a LtCol squadron commander of HMLA-169 in Iraq In 2006 near Ramadi, 15 years later.

Of the two significant missions I had, one was to fly with LtCol Kurth who was a Huey pilot, in a Cobra to the new Expeditionary Airfield (EAF) Lonesome Dove to meet with 3rd Wing and 1st Division planners who were plotting the ground offensive to start in just a couple of days. The CO insisted I remain out in the heat to watch the fully armed Cobra that I had to arm and de-arm myself without ordnancemen.

After hours spent with a great friend who just happened to be there flying Hueys with a reserve squadron out of Massachusetts and who had found me an MRE to eat, the CO came out nearly in a sprint screaming, “Let’s go!”. He was rushing me without mercy, which made no sense since I was brand new at arming a Cobra from outside the aircraft and because we were just headed back to Mishab.

After I armed the helicopter, the CO gave me some coordinates to fly to immediately. He was yelling the whole time, but because I had programmed all the aircraft Lorans, I could get us to the point in the desert. To my surprise, the point was just over the Kuwait border. I thought the CO had been the one in the heat too long as I was a new Cobra pilot, he was a Huey pilot and the big worry, we were completely alone. We got to the border area where I was finally told we were looking for an Iraqi tank that was headed south.

I looked through our optics and tried several methods to find the tank, but was interrupted by chatter from two of our Cobra divisions who were scrambled to find the same target. The CO called them on our squadron frequency and yelled at them for flying too high. They might have been flying too high, but we had been the ones violating just about every sound tactic we had learned in the months since August of 1990.

We finally broke off the search and headed home alone. On the way, we had an emergency light that forced us to land in the desert still far from our base. A Huey arrived with two other pilots qualified to fly the aircraft for the maintenance flight required to get it home. That night LtCol Kurth summoned me to what I thought was to massacre me for my performance of the day. Instead he wanted me to prepare his maps the same as mine and have them for him by 0600 the next day, which was about seven hours away. Considering I had about 30 hours into my map preparations I pulled an all-nighter. But I handed the CO the maps on time.

I was left at Tanijib while the bulk of the squadron moved to Lonesome Dove out west near the southern border of Kuwait where the first border bends northwest. I was to wait for HMLA-169 and help them prepare to support forces moving through the eastern oil fields of Kuwait. 169 was wide-eyed and ready for war when they arrived. But they had no maps, which I guess was now a specialty of mine. I worked for their XO, future 3-star, George Troutman. I became really angry that my squadron had left me with the newbies who were clueless as far as I was concerned. As fate would have it, this would be the squadron I commanded 15 years later in Iraq.

LtCol Kurth earned a Navy across over the next few days by leading divisions of Cobras through the treacherous oil fires to where they were needed in support of the Marines on the ground. At times, he flew under wires and at great risk from enemy fire. General Mike Myatt awarded him the nations second highest honor himself.

After just a few days the squadron came back and put me in a division headed north of Kuwait City. Little was going on anymore, but we did hear of a convoy that had been hit the night before. We flew northwest from the city expecting to see a couple of trucks and maybe a tank or two. What we found was later called, “The Highway of Death”. There were too many destroyed vehicles to count. We got concerned because the cease fire had not yet been called and there were many aircraft flying around the target area. We returned to Tanijib changed people.

At the time I thought I had missed the war of my lifetime. The XO found me and apologized for leaving me behind to help another squadron. He mentioned that my time would come later. At the time, I was just disgusted and didn’t believe a word of it.

Little did I know,  as a Major I would be the first Marine in history to be sent to a Wall Street hedge fund as an active duty officer. Just weeks before the 9-11 attacks, I began my one year wearing a suit as an analyst at the boutique hedge fund, Wyser-Pratt’s.

That would lead to me being an XO of HMM-266 during Operation Mountain Storm in Afghanistan in 2004, which was a massive squadron that flew from the USS Wasp through Pakistan to Kandahar. That in turn led to me being the CO of HMLA-169 in Iraq in 2006 with aircraft 160820 on the flight line waiting to greet me.

-Biagio Colandreo Jr
San Clemente, Ca