Rescue from Mogadishu (Part 3): "A Change of Plan"

The timing of the threat against the American Embassy in Mogadishu on January 2, 1991 was far from perfect as Washington’s attention was centered on the approaching January 15th deadline for Iraq to withdraw from Kuwait. It was with that deadline in mind that on the night of Wednesday, January 2nd, we boarded our aircraft for an evening of NVG training in the Omani desert.

However, before we launched, word was circulating around the ship about trouble in Somalia where the civil war was endangering diplomats. President Bush ordered U.S. Air Force C-130s to fly to Mombasa, Kenya with the expectation that they would fly to the Mogadishu International Airport once arrangements could be made for the aircraft to land and for Embassy staff to move to the airport for evacuation.[1] 

Somalia had been a place we had paid absolutely no attention to during our time in the region, and with our night training being so important to the liberation of Kuwait, we didn’t give Somalia another thought that evening. We didn’t give it another thought, that is, until we were recalled to the Guam and learned that the reason the Guam and the Trenton had urgently changed course and steamed south was that we might be called to conduct a noncombatant evacuation operation (NEO) to rescue the 37 American diplomats stranded in Somalia.

We began mission planning right away, but we knew almost nothing about the situation on the ground or even the location of the Embassy. With no information about potential landing zones (LZs), enemy threat intelligence, or maps and photographs of the area, we could do little more than ask questions that night. We sent a list of “elements of essential information” (EEIs) and requests for maps and satellite images, then we caught a few hours of sleep while the information we needed was being assembled. Unfortunately, we had no direct voice communications with the Embassy so getting the answers would take some time.

The following day, on January 3rd, Ambassador Bishop sought but was unable to receive commitments from the Somali government that would permit American C-130s to land at the airport and for American evacuees to safely move to the airport. To make matters worse, Somali army officers were reportedly being shot by their own soldiers who belonged to different tribes. With this news and ample evidence that all sides of the conflict lacked centralized control and were disregarding ceasefire agreements,[2] it became clear that the C-130 operation wouldn’t be viable.[3] The Embassy’s only salvation lay with the two U.S. Navy ships—the Guam and the Trenton and their embarked Marines—steaming south at maximum speed toward Somalia.[4]

Throughout the day on January 3rd, planning continued aboard the Guam as answers began to arrive, and a pair of maps were air dropped to us. The maps weren’t quite what we were accustomed to since they were severely outdated and written in Italian, probably owing to Somalia’s history as a former Italian colony. Although we didn’t realize it yet, the location of the U.S. Embassy as it was marked on one of the maps had changed. Ultimately, we’d need to verify everything on the maps before putting much faith in what was printed on them. Still, they were better than nothing, so we edited, copied, and laminated them for distribution to flight crews.

We also continued to receive messages detailing the situation at the Embassy. While the information provided small pieces of the planning puzzle, it also painted a picture of desperation at the Embassy. The messages from the Embassy gave the unmistakable impression that they were being written from cover beneath a desk as the fight raged nearby.[5] One message reported that a rocket-propelled grenade had slammed into the compound, while others described automatic weapons fire and armed aggressors being repulsed as they scaled the walls of the compound.[6] The State Department reported that the street outside the Embassy compound was “…littered with corpses.”[7]

As we began to wrap our heads around a plan to rescue the 37 U.S. diplomats under siege at the Embassy, we received an update that the mission had changed. Instead of rescuing 37 American diplomats, we were tasked with rescuing nearly 300 people from 30 different nations from the U.S. Embassy compound. Some nations had attempted evacuations and failed, while others lacked the ability to even attempt such a thing. Now, they turned to the United States for help. We adjusted quickly to this change in the mission and got right to work on developing a new plan.

<< Part 2 - "A War of All Against All"
>> Part 4 - "By Day Or By Night"

*****

[1] James K. Bishop, “Escape from Mogadishu,” Foreign Service Journal (March 1991), pp. 27-28.
[2] Bishop, “Escape from Mogadishu,” p. 29.
[3] Bishop, “Escape from Mogadishu,” p. 29; GlobalSecurity.org, “Operation Eastern Exit,” https://www.globalsecurity.org/military/ops/eastern_exit.htm.; Adam B. Siegel, “An American Entebbe,” Naval Institute Proceedings: Naval Review (1992), p. 97.
[4] Gary J. Ohls, “Eastern Exit–Rescue ‘…From the Sea’,” Naval War College Review, vol 61, no. 4, article 11 (2008), p. 133; Adam B. Siegel, “Eastern Exit: The Noncombatant Evacuation Operation (NEO) from Mogadishu, Somalia in January 1991,” (1992), Center for Naval Analyses, pp. 2–3, 11; GlobalSecurity.org, “Operation Eastern Exit”.
[5] Ohls, “Eastern Exit–Rescue,” p. 133; Doss, “Out of Africa,” p. 103.
[6] Bishop, “Escape from Mogadishu,” p. 29.
[7] R. Jeffrey Smith and Barton Gellman, “Daring Marine Helicopter Mission Rescued Foreigners from Somalia,” The Washington Post (January 9, 1991).

© Robert A. Doss

Rescue from Mogadishu (Part 2): "A War of All Against All"

At about the same time that LtCol Wallace was preparing his squadron for the pre-empted deployment to the North Atlantic in July of 1990, James K. Bishop was being sworn in as U.S. Ambassador to Somalia. But, as Ambassador Bishop assumed his posting in Mogadishu, the Somali capital, the nation was slipping badly into turmoil and ruin. It had become a particularly dangerous place where ethnic groups, street gangs, clans, and others fought and created a breakdown of societal order,[1] a condition accurately characterized in the Marine Corps’ “Operational Maneuver from the Sea” concept paper as a “war of all against all.”[2]

Embassies and Somali government buildings had been bombed, senior law enforcement officials had been assassinated, Westerners had been attacked and injured, and killings increased by the day. Twice in three weeks, a U.S. Embassy driver was shot and his vehicle was stolen. Ambassador Bishop later reported, “Vehicles were being taken and their drivers killed by soldiers, policemen, rebels, and common criminals throughout the city and at all hours of the day.” Robberies and gunfights outside the U.S. Embassy compound ultimately convinced American diplomats that they no longer had any real protection in the Somali capital. Then, the violence around the Embassy took a turn when a firefight outside of the Embassy gate sent bullets into the U.S. vice consul’s home.[3]

By December 19th, the number of official U.S. diplomatic staff members in Mogadishu had been reduced from 147 to 37 out of concern for their safety, a decision that was validated on December 31st when the U.S. defense attaché’s car was riddled with bullets and another officer’s vehicle was sprayed with gunfire at a roadblock to the extent that he had to limp the vehicle to the U.S. compound on its front rims. Ambassador Bishop later reported that on New Year’s Day 1991, fighting on the road that bordered the U.S. Embassy made the area a shooting gallery. Ambassador Bishop cabled Washington and asked for U.S. military assistance to evacuate the Embassy staff from the city as American lives were in grave danger.[4]

<< Part 1 - "In Every Clime and Place"
>> Part 3 - "A Change of Plan"

*****

[1] GlobalSecurity.org, “Operation Eastern Exit,” https://www.globalsecurity.org/military/ops/eastern_exit.htm.
[2] Headquarters U.S. Marine Corps, Operational Maneuver from the Sea (1996), p. 4; Gary J. Ohls, “Eastern Exit–Rescue ‘…From the Sea’,” Naval War College Review, vol 61, no. 4, article 11 (2008), p. 132.
[3] James K. Bishop, “Escape from Mogadishu,” Foreign Service Journal (March 1991), p. 27.
[4] Ibid. pp. 27-28.

© Robert A. Doss

Rescue from Mogadishu (Part 1): "In Every Clime and Place"

“(Operation) Eastern Exit received relatively little attention as it was conducted on the eve of the war with Iraq. In other circumstances, the execution of such a short-notice and high-risk operation might have garnered front page headlines around the world...The military operation itself might seem more like a Hollywood script than reality.”

–Adam Siegel
“An American Entebbe”
U. S. Naval Institute Proceedings

The arrival of 1991 found us wrapping up our fourth month in the Middle East. I had been a member of Marine Medium Helicopter Squadron 263 (HMM-263) since July of 1990 when a few of us joined the squadron from a neighboring squadron, HMM-365, for a two-month deployment to the North Atlantic. As members of HMM-365, we had just completed a lengthy and highly successful deployment to the Mediterranean as part of the 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit (Special Operations Capable) (24th MEU (SOC)) when the call went out from HMM-263’s new commander, Lieutenant Colonel R. J. Wallace for volunteers to join the squadron and help bring some fresh shipboard experience to the deployment.

But then when Saddam Hussein, the leader of Iraq, invaded Kuwait a few weeks later on August 2, 1990, HMM-263’s plans for a short deployment to the North Atlantic and HMM-365’s thoughts of a much-deserved break after a demanding deployment were suddenly set aside. For the Marines of HMM-263 and HMM-365, both based at Marine Corps Air Station New River, North Carolina, responding to these rapidly changing events made the words “in every clime and place” from the Marines’ Hymn ring true.

*****

The USS Guam (LPH-9) was a helicopter carrier and on Sunday, August 19, 1990, two weeks after Saddam invaded Kuwait, it would see twenty-four U.S. Marine Corps CH-46E Sea Knight helicopters land on its deck pierside in Morehead City, North Carolina. At the same time, Marines from HMM-263, HMM-365, and 1st Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment from Camp Lejeune were bussed, trucked, and flown to the ship as it was hurriedly loaded for a destination that no one acknowledged but few doubted. The ship pulled away from the pier that evening.

After crossing the Atlantic Ocean and passing through the Mediterranean Sea, the Suez Canal, and the Red Sea, we arrived in the Middle East in early September 1990. Over the next several months, we were in and out of the Persian Gulf several times, jabbing repeatedly at Saddam with a series of bold exercises that were both, in plain view and widely reported. Even the name of the exercises, “SEA SOLDIER,” another name for Marine, sent a message. That message was “The Marines Are Coming.” The exercises were so effective, they tied down five or six Iraqi divisions along the Kuwaiti coast and caused a reaction by Saddam’s forces each of the four times between October and January that the U.S. ran a SEA SOLDIER exercise.[1]

Then, U.S. planners decided to launch an operation that delivered an even stronger message in mid-November 1990. Our assignment was to give the appearance of an assault into Kuwait before making a late turn to the desert just south of the Kuwaiti-Saudi border. That operation was called “IMMINENT THUNDER,” an apparent reference to the name of another operation that none of us yet knew: “Operation DESERT STORM.” Nonetheless, even if the allusion to “storm” in the word “thunder” didn’t yet carry much meaning to Saddam, the word “imminent” should have.

Between exercises, we conducted extensive training in the desert and at sea. We flew with night vision goggles (NVGs), gas masks, rubber chemical-protective hoods, and we flew between ships and in the desert all up, down, and around the Arabian Peninsula.

Then, around Christmas time, three Guam CH-46E helicopters were temporarily reassigned to the amphibious ship USS Trenton (LPD-14) with a raid force consisting of Marines and SEALs to conduct seizures and inspections of defiant Iraqi vessels, most notably the infamous Ibn Khaldoon and the Ain Zallah. When the two ships refused to follow instructions to stop and be boarded, they were quickly taken by force and brought into compliance.[2]

After a short port visit in Muscat, Oman, we went back to work again. President George H. W. Bush’s January 15, 1991 deadline for Iraq to withdraw from Kuwait loomed ominously.  Although we remained uncertain that we would be at war in two short weeks, we continued to prepare intensely for it as if it was a sure thing. 

>> Part 2 - "A War of All Against All"

*****

[1] Gary J. Ohls, “Eastern Exit–Rescue ‘…From the Sea’,” Naval War College Review, vol 61, no. 4, article 11 (2008), pp. 128-129.
[2] Ronald J. Brown, “U.S. Marines in the Persian Gulf, 1990-1991, With Marine Forces Afloat in Desert Shield and Desert Storm,” (Washington, DC: History and Museums Division, Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps), p. 64.

© Robert A. Doss

The Fable of the Ill-Informed Walrus

I’ve used this several times over the years to illustrate the importance of keeping the boss informed and having the courage to act on the fact that what the boss wants to hear isn’t necessarily what he or she needs to hear.

*****

The Fable of the Ill-Informed Walrus

Author Unknown

“How’s it going down there?” barked the Big Walrus from his high rock. He waited for good news. Down below the smaller walruses conferred hastily among themselves. Things weren’t going well, but no one wanted to risk his ferocious bark. For several weeks the water level in the nearby Arctic Bay had been falling and it had become necessary to travel much farther to catch the dwindling supply of herring. Someone had to tell the Big Walrus; he would know what to do. But who? And how?

Basil, the second-ranking walrus, well remembered how the Big Walrus had ranted and raved the last time the herd caught less than its quota of herring, and he had no desire to go through that experience again. (He had even been tempted to fudge the figures or breach the beach code to avoid the awful fallout.)

Finally Basil spoke up. “Things are going pretty well, Chief,” he said. “As a matter of fact, the beach seems to be getting larger.” The Big Walrus grunted. “Fine, fine,” he said. “That will give us more elbow room.”

The next day brought more trouble with a new herd arriving. No one wanted to tell the Big Walrus about it, but only he would know what to do in the face of this new competition.

Reluctantly, Basil approached the Big Walrus and after some small talk he said… “Oh by the way, Chief, a new herd of walruses seems to have moved into our territory.”  The Old Man’s eyes snapped open wider and he filled his great lungs in preparation for an mighty bellow. But Basil added quickly, “Of course, we don’t anticipate any trouble. They don’t look like herring eaters to me.” Crisis averted.

Things didn’t get any better in the weeks that followed as more and more of the herd left to join the new herd. One day, peering down from the large rock, the Big Walrus noticed that a large part of his herd seemed to be missing. Summoning Basil, he grunted peevishly, “What’s going on Basil? Where is everyone?”

Poor Basil didn’t know how to explain this, but he explained it away as the herd getting rid of some of the “deadwood.”

“Run a tight ship I always say," the Big Walrus grunted. “Glad to hear that everything’s going so well.”

Before long, everyone except Basil had left. Terrified but determined, he flopped up on to the large rock. “Chief,” he said, “I have bad news. Everyone has left you.”

The Big Walrus was so astonished he couldn’t even work up a good bellow. “Left me?” he cried. “All of them? How could this happen? And just when everything was going so well!”

Officer Commissioning Speech - University of Missouri

This time of year, colleges and universities are holding December commencement exercises which also means that a new crop of young men and women will be commissioned as officers in the military.

In September 2019, my wife and I visited the University of Missouri in Columbia, Missouri where I received my undergraduate degree in 1983. While there, I stopped by Crowder Hall where the Navy ROTC program is administered. During the visit, I met the Marine Officer Instructor and his assistant and after a while, he asked if I would be willing to return to the University in December as the guest speaker for the December Navy and Marine Corps officer commissioning ceremony. I told him that I'd be honored to.

As I look back on the speech I delivered, it occurs to me that the encouragement that I offered to those new officers is still valid today. This is the speech I delivered during the commissioning ceremony at the Memorial Union.

*****

by Major Robert Doss, USMC (Retired)
Saturday, December 14, 2019

[TRANSITION FROM INTRODUCTION]

Again, I want to thank Captain Dry for the introduction, and I want to thank Captain LaLonde for inviting me to be here today. I also want to thank all of the family members and friends of our new officers here today for being here and sharing this important day.

I also want to recognize the staff members of the Mizzou NROTC unit–military and civilian–who’ve poured their knowledge and energy into ensuring our new officers are ready for this day and the days that lay ahead. You will soon see that their labor has put you in a great position to meet the rigors of service to your country.

Let me also thank the remarkable men and women who we’re here to honor today for joining a long line of citizens who’ve raised their right hand and have sworn to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.

Ladies and gentlemen, these men and women are here today, young and full of life, vigor, and opportunity ahead of them, and today they’ll take an oath to defend this nation against all enemies while not knowing exactly what their country will ask of them. They’ve decided to serve in a very complex and dynamic world as part of the most powerful military force the world has ever known. They’ll soon be part of the reason it’s that way.  

Let that sink in for a moment. These young officers aren’t merely serving in the military, they haven’t merely joined the military; they will each soon be part of the reason the United States military is the most potent military force on earth, a force that keeps our Nation–and many other nations around the world–safe and free of tyranny.

Now let me address our new officers. When you report for your next assignment, you’ll be thrust into an environment where sailors and Marines who are younger and less experienced than you and sailors and Marines who are much older and more experienced than you need your leadership.

With that in mind, let me leave you with three points–certainly not the only important points on the subject–about what will be your most important responsibility as a commissioned officer, whether in war or at peace: leading our sailors and Marines.

FIRST, recognize that the entirety of your work as a commissioned officer exists for one purpose: preparing yourself and those whom you lead for war.

As you consider that preparation, also recognize that war is inherently fluid and uncertain and that because of that, the Naval service requires competent leaders at all levels who will exercise the boldness and initiative necessary to accomplish the mission under those rapidly changing conditions.

At any moment, a 19-year old seaman might need to rise to the occasion with little or no guidance during a shipboard catastrophe as we saw a few years ago aboard the USS Cole where many senior enlisted leaders were incapacitated in a terrorist attack, or a young lance corporal might need to act decisively during an ambush in the streets of some village far from here as we’ve seen many times in recent years.

It’s vital, then, that you ensure that as you supervise your sailors and Marines, you don’t let them become accustomed to being over-supervised because micromanagement absolutely destroys the boldness, initiative, and creativity that are essential to battlefield decision-making.

Also, it’s important that you develop the confidence to force decision-making and idea formulation down to the lowest practical level, and not reserve it all at the top. Your goal should be to condition your subordinate leaders to thrive on acting and leading spontaneously.

SECOND, and in conjunction with the point we just discussed, remember that your credibility and success as a leader will lean heavily on your professional competence and the competence and skill of those whom you lead. You have to know what you’re doing–and know what you’re doing at an extraordinarily high level–and the people you lead have to as well.

As part of that, it’s important to set an example of teachability by being willing to listen and learn yourself, especially when it comes to your petty officers, NCOs, chief petty officers, and staff NCOs.  Remember, however, that as you’re being teachable, when it’s time to make a decision, make it confidently and decisively.

AND FINALLY, as you know, every great organization relies on guiding principles, vision, and values for their success. The underlying principles that shape our ethos–qualities like courage, integrity, selflessness, reliability, endurance, fairness and justice, faithfulness, and again, boldness and initiative–are indispensable when great challenges rise up to test us. Those principles and that ethos must abide in every person in the unit from the most senior officer to the most junior enlisted man or woman.

You might remember that on October 23, 1983, a terrorist in a bomb-laden truck destroyed the Marine barracks in Beirut, Lebanon, killing 241 Marines. It was the worst one-day loss of Marines since World War II.

Some weeks later, the Marine Corps Commandant at the time, General P. X. Kelley, told of visiting a severely wounded young Marine in a military hospital who he described as having “more tubes going in and out of his body” than he’d ever seen in a human being. The young man was in bad condition, probably fighting for his life.

General Kelley described the visit this way. He said, “He couldn’t see very well. He reached up and grabbed my four stars, just to make sure I was who I said I was. He held my hand with a firm grip. He was making signals, and we realized that he wanted to tell me something. We put a pad of paper in his hand and he wrote two words, Semper Fi,” short for Semper Fidelis, the Marine Corps motto, and it means “always faithful.”

So, in that moment, as that young Marine fought for his life, he embraced what his service and sacrifice were all about: being unswervingly faithful to his country and his commitment, even when things were at their worst. With the odds so heavily stacked against him, he returned to his foundation, his principles, his ethos.

Recognize that we can’t turn that ethos on and off. It’s not a thing we have only on duty. It’s a part of who we are and it shapes our professional and cultural core. Our principles and ethos can’t be merely event-driven; they have to be systemic–they have to be with us all the time.

We wake up with them in the morning and we go to bed with them at night. Something suddenly happens in the middle of the night that draws us into action, there they are. Something happens in the middle of the night and the next thing you know you’re in the hospital holding the hand of someone who claims to be the Commandant of the Marine Corps, there they are.

Why? Because we don’t succeed as leaders in combat without those principles and that ethos, and neither do our sailors and Marines.

Our ethos is what inspires and enables us to do the right thing at the right time for the right reasons, all the time. It’s what triggers two things that leaders MUST have in order to earn their rank and be worthy of respect: trust and confidence.

General George Washington used the words, “Reposing special Trust and Confidence in the Integrity, Diligence, and Good Conduct…” in the first military officer commissions during the Revolutionary War. Your commission contains nearly identical wording: “Reposing special Trust and Confidence in the Patriotism, Valor, Fidelity and Abilities…”

I want to ask you new officers to take the time in the next day or two to study and take to heart the words that’re written on your commission: “Reposing special trust and confidence…” As you celebrate and enjoy this day, reflect on the fact that the words “trust” and “confidence” in your commission don’t refer to the past, they’re words that refer to the future.

As we all acknowledge the accomplishments that place you here at this ceremony, we also realize that this moment arrives with a tremendous and important expectation that marks the beginning of your living up to the special trust and confidence that the President and the Congress–and your sailors and Marines–have in you.

Your challenge is to become the leader that our sailors and Marines need and deserve. If you do that, you’ll realize that although your experiences as a Naval officer won’t always be perfect and pleasant, you’ll forever cherish the memories of your service, the kinship that you develop, and the difference that you’ve made in the world and in the lives of others. More than the medals and promotions that you’ll earn along the way, the memories, the kinship, and the difference that you’ll make as a leader will be your most enduring and important reward.

So as you go about earning the special trust and confidence that will yield that reward, remember: Train and empower your subordinate leaders at all levels. Make yourself and your unit professionally competent and knowledgeable. Set an example of “teachability” and decisiveness. Be principled and reinforce our underlying ethos in everything that you do. And do the right thing at the right time for the right reasons, all the time, especially when it’s difficult or inconvenient to do that.

Congratulations and best wishes to you, and thank you again for serving our great country. And thank you all very much for having me here today.

True North

"I know the difference between right and wrong, and I can tell good from bad. But I also know that the more difficult decisions come when we have to choose between good and better. The toughest calls of all are those we have to make between bad and worse.”

In the summer of 1978, I met the man who, a decade later, would write those words. I was a sergeant and had just been transferred to K Company, 3rd Battalion, 8th Marine Regiment (K Co., 3/8), about to turn 21 years old. Since I was nearing the end of my enlistment, it didn't make sense to put me in charge of another squad only to leave again in a few months, so my new company commander asked me to manage the company training program.

That meant, in part, that I wrote our training schedules and firing range and ammunition requests and delivered them to the battalion headquarters about once or twice a week. About every other trip over there, the operations officer, a major and the man whose statement about making tough decisions begins this article, stopped me as I walked past his office and shot the breeze with me about a variety of things, sometimes, not surprisingly, about leadership and the state of the Marine Corps. We weren’t getting to be good buddies or anything; he was just being a good officer and mentor by picking my brain and sharing his thoughts with me.

One day, he asked me what my career plans were. I told him that I had applied for a commissioning program the year before but didn’t quite make the cut, so I was going to leave the Marine Corps when my enlistment was up. I told him that I had thought about reapplying, but that I had been told that my high school grades weren't good enough and that I shouldn't bother. Since I wasn't too impressed with those grades either, I understood.

He told me to forget that and to get to work on that application. My academic record was weak, but my record as a Marine was solid, so he believed that I had a decent chance of being selected for the program. He said that he'd be one of the three officers who would sit on my battalion screening board. The screening board interviewed me and came away recommending that I be selected for the program. Then, he called me to his office and gave me a lot of good advice, including a suggestion that I hand-carry my application to every colonel and general whose endorsements I needed and offer to be personally interviewed by them so they could confidently write a good recommendation for me.

A few months later, the Marine Corps published the list of Marines who were selected for the commissioning and education program, and my name was on it. Then, four years after that, I had a bachelors degree and a commission as a Marine second lieutenant.

Three years after I was commissioned, I saw a November 17, 1986 Newsweek article titled “The White House Swashbuckler-in-Chief,” that reported on a secretive member of the Reagan administration, Oliver North, who had roles in the release of hostages in the Middle East, the capture of the terrorists who killed an American on the cruise ship Achille Lauro, the invasion of Grenada, and negotiations with Iran during the Iran-Iraq War. Oliver North had been my operations officer from 3rd Battalion, 8th Marines in 1978, the man who encouraged me to become an officer. By 1986, he was a lieutenant colonel working as a member of President Reagan's National Security Council.

He went on to become very well known as a central figure in the Iran-Contra affair before he entered into politics and became a prolific author and a sought-after political and military analyst.

He came to Pensacola in 1991 on a signing tour for his book, "Under Fire," from which the passage that opened this article came. By then, I was a captain, having recently returned to the States and transferred to Pensacola after Operation Desert Storm. I stood in line to have him autograph my copy of the book.

When I finally reached the front of the line, I re-introduced myself to him, but after thirteen years, he didn’t remember me from Adam’s housecat. Still, he was quite gracious in trying to place me in his memory. After our brief conversation, he signed my copy of his book, “Rob–Semper fi–Oliver North,” then he shook my hand and wished me well before I went on my way.

Although my acquaintance with Oliver North didn't stand out in his memory, he was one of many Marines that I served with whose insights, advice, and leadership example were crucial to my development as a leader.

On a personal level, his advice and assistance were instrumental in encouraging me to apply for an education and a commission, and in getting me to follow through to see that my application received the consideration that it needed. I can't help but appreciate that all of the things that have happened in my life since then were made possible because of what he did for me.

On a larger and more professional level, his leadership example reinforced in me the importance of caring enough about your people to challenge them to be better, and sometimes, to challenge them to be better than they think they are. Some people have more potential than they realize. Sometimes it seems that hearing ourselves wonder if we have what it takes is a good reason to wade in and find out.

A Convergence of Heroes

I wrote the other day about serving with Staff Sergeant B.C. Collins and the impact he had on my life and career in the Marine Corps, so I thought I'd write about two other Marines who put themselves on that same battlefield in Vietnam with B.C. Collins that day, one of whom was also a great influence on me.

First, a little background...

First Lieutenant Frank Reasoner was a former enlisted Marine, a "mustang." Reasoner was a sergeant when he attended the Naval Academy Preparatory School in 1957, but he couldn't get into the Naval Academy. Undeterred, he walked up to Capitol Hill to the office of Senator Henry Dvorshak of Idaho and told him that he needed an appointment to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. The Senator must have been impressed with Sergeant Reasoner because he awarded him the academy appointment he wanted. Reasoner successfully completed his education at West Point and was commissioned as a Marine second lieutenant in 1962.

Reasoner was an infantryman when he was an enlisted man and he wanted to return to the infantry once he became an officer. As a first lieutenant, he commanded A Company, 3rd Reconnaissance Battalion in Vietnam.

Then on July 12, 1965, First Lieutenant Reasoner led a recon patrol deep in Viet Cong territory when the patrol was suddenly engaged by machineguns and other automatic weapons from an estimated 50 to 100 enemy soldiers. The patrol's point man, Corporal B.C. Collins immediately returned fire, killing three enemy soldiers before withdrawing to the advance party where Lieutenant Reasoner and three other Marines were.

Lieutenant Reasoner, Corporal Collins, and the other three Marines were practically isolated from the main body of the patrol due to the intensity of automatic weapons fire which prevented the main body from moving forward.  Lieutenant Reasoner repeatedly exposed himself to enemy fire and provided covering fire for his team while he attempted to rescue a wounded Marine. As casualties mounted, Lieutenant Reasoner attended to his radio operator who was among the wounded. Then, when the radio operator attempted to move to a covered position, he was hit a second time so Lieutenant Reasoner ran to his aid. However, as Lieutenant Reasoner maneuvered toward him, Reasoner was struck and killed by machinegun fire.

With his commander dead, Corporal Collins took charge of the situation and silenced the enemy machinegun with an M79 grenade launcher while exposing himself to heavy fire. He bandaged one wounded Marine then laid down covering fire so the wounded Marine could crawl out of the range of enemy fire. Then, Collins carried the remaining wounded Marine to cover before personally carrying Lieutenant Reasoner's body 100 yards back to the main body, again exposing himself to enemy fire from the flanks.

As nightfall settled on the patrol, the call came in to Marine Medium Helicopter Squadron 365 (HMM-365) informing them that Lieutenant Reasoner's patrol had been ambushed, was surrounded, and needed an emergency medical evacuation and extraction.

Major Si Kittler, a 1953 graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy, was a Sikorsky UH-34D "Choctaw" helicopter pilot with HMM-365 and he answered the call. Major Kittler flew his UH-34 helicopter out to get the patrol. The official account recalled that "The landing zone, surrounded by Viet Cong, was under a crossfire from three automatic weapons, which made it virtually untenable. In spite of heavy enemy ground fire, unknown landing zone conditions and a lack of visibility due to darkness, (Major Kittler) ... landed and assisted in the evacuation of the patrol," saving eighteen lives in the process. In addition to the eighteen members of the patrol, he successfully evacuated Lieutenant Reasoner's body as well.

Thirteen years after his patrol was ambushed in Vietnam, Staff Sergeant B.C. Collins reported to G Company, 2nd Battalion, 8th Marine Regiment (2/8) at Camp Geiger, North Carolina to be my platoon sergeant. Then, four years after I served with Staff Sergeant Collins, I married Si Kittler's daughter, Christina, both of us unaware of the other's connection to Staff Sergeant Collins. Then, after I was commissioned in 1983, I was transferred to The Basic School in Quantico, Virginia where I attended classes in Reasoner Hall named in Lieutenant Reasoner's honor, and two years later–almost exactly 20 years after the ambush of Reasoner's patrol–I was a helicopter pilot in HMM-365, the same squadron that Si Kittler served with in Vietnam when he rescued the Reasoner patrol.

For their actions that day, First Lieutenant Reasoner was awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously, Corporal Collins was awarded the Navy Cross Medal, our nation's second highest award for valor, and my father-in-law was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross Medal for valor.

As gruff and larger-than-life as Staff Sergeant Collins was, Colonel Kittler was just as low-key, although he exuded a compelling presence and upright bearing. His leadership style was patient and diplomatic, but he was also committed to maintaining high standards and the traditions and ethos of the Marine Corps. As different as these two men were, they both shared a keen sense of humor and were both extraordinarily humble about their heroism.

Each man's story is remarkable, made even more so by the fact that they are woven together forever in history. It's an honor to have served with and known two of these three great Marines.

Related Articles:

B. C. Collins - http://www.blitheringon.com/2011/05/remembering-b-c-collins.html

Simon Kittler - http://www.blitheringon.com/2019/02/a-long-flight-home.html

A Legacy of Honor

There are many men and women who served their country honorably and heroically who later lived and died without seeing their stories come to light so they could be duly honored in their own time.

Sometimes, we're able to peer into that sacred fraternity though the bits and pieces we assemble from the lives of their comrades. It's in honoring them that we're able to witness the importance of honoring them all, even if belatedly so.

One of those heroes was my father-in-law, the late Colonel Simon J. Kittler.

Si grew up in a troubled household in Michigan, but he was still able to secure a Congressional appointment to the United States Naval Academy in 1949 as a member of the Class of 1953. He was one of four brothers who received congressional appointments to the Naval Academy.

After he was commissioned as a second lieutenant on June 5, 1953, he fulfilled a dream inspired by his childhood employer and mentor to lead a platoon of Marines in Korea. 

Once he returned to the United States in October of 1955, he entered flight training in Pensacola, Florida and upon completion of training in October of 1957, he earned his gold aviator wings.

His first assignments as an aviator were with VMA-211 then with VMA-225 as an A-4D Skyhawk pilot, stationed in Edenton and Cherry Point, North Carolina. While he was on a deployment in the Mediterranean on board the USS Essex (CVA-9) during her final carrier deployment, the crew of the Essex and the 17 pilots of VMA-225 collaborated on an unprecedented achievement that possibly remains unduplicated to this day. On January 23, 1960, VMA-225 qualified all 17 of its pilots as Centurions when every pilot in the squadron completed his 100th arrested carrier landing of the deployment on the Essex on that day.

Then, in July of 1963, he completed a stint as an instructor in the Air Support Division, training forward air controllers (FACs) at Coronado, California which he later said was a great help to him when he needed to call in fire support missions in Vietnam.

In what would become a pivotal assignment in his career, he was sent to helicopter transition training with HMM-362 in Santa Ana, California in preparation for service in the Vietnam War, known to many as “the helicopter war.” With his transition training complete, he was promoted to Major and joined the newly formed HMM-365 in August of 1964 to fly the UH-34D, which he later said was “one helluva war bird.”

Just a couple of weeks after his wife Peggy gave birth to a baby boy, his namesake Simon Scott, he deployed with his squadron to the Republic of Vietnam in October of 1964. As thousands of others have done since the early days of our Republic, he left his wife, new son, and two daughters, 6 year old Angela and 2 year old Christina, behind in California.

Once in Vietnam, he and his squadron went to work immediately, flying combat missions daily. Within a month of arriving in Vietnam, then-Major Kittler “volunteered to undertake a vital resupply and medical evacuation mission to an isolated Vietnamese outpost located in an area infested with insurgent communist Viet Cong forces. The flying conditions were exceptionally hazardous due to typhoon conditions in the general vicinity, a ceiling of less than three hundred feet and a steady rainfall which severely limited visibility. As leader of a two aircraft flight, (he) fearlessly led the way through intense enemy small arms fire to land at the obscured landing zone. After discharging his supplies and taking aboard several wounded Vietnamese soldiers, (he) again displayed calm courage and superior aeronautical skill as he led the flight through enemy fire and further deteriorating weather conditions to deliver his wounded passengers to a field hospital.”  For his heroism that day, he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross Medal.

While Major Kittler was flying that mission and risking his life to save the lives of others, tragedy was settling onto his own home half a world away where his newborn son passed away in his crib that same day. Any sense of relief and satisfaction that he felt over having succeeded in that treacherous mission was quickly overwhelmed by the weight of profound loss and mourning as he boarded a plane to return to the United States to be with his family.

With his son buried and his family consoled, he returned to duty with HMM-365 in Vietnam where he resumed flying combat missions out of Danang in support of U.S. Marines, the South Vietnamese Army, and U.S. Special Forces.  

Then on July 12, 1965, a Marine reconnaissance patrol led by Lieutenant Frank Reasoner and point man Corporal B.C. Collins was ambushed deep in Viet Cong territory by 50 to 100 enemy soldiers firing machineguns and other automatic weapons. During the firefight, Lieutenant Reasoner was killed by machinegun fire while attempting to aid a wounded Marine. When the call went out to HMM-365 that the patrol had been ambushed, was surrounded, and needed an emergency medical evacuation and extraction that night, Major Kittler flew out to get them. "The landing zone, surrounded by Viet Cong, was under a crossfire from three automatic weapons, which made it virtually untenable. In spite of heavy enemy ground fire, unknown landing zone conditions and a lack of visibility due to darkness, (he) ... landed and assisted in the evacuation of the patrol," saving eighteen lives in the process. In addition to the eighteen members of the patrol, he successfully evacuated Lieutenant Reasoner's body as well.

For their actions that day, First Lieutenant Reasoner was awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously, Corporal Collins was awarded the Navy Cross Medal, our nation's second highest award for valor, and my father-in-law was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross Medal for valor.

[Note: Thirteen years after his patrol was ambushed in Vietnam, Staff Sergeant B.C. Collins reported to G Company, 2nd Battalion, 8th Marine Regiment (2/8) at Camp Geiger, North Carolina to be my platoon sergeant (which is a series of stories in itself). I was a sergeant and a 60mm mortar section leader in his platoon. Then, four years after I served with Staff Sergeant Collins, I married Si Kittler's daughter, completely unaware of Si's connection to B.C. Collins. Finally, almost exactly 20 years after the ambush of Lieutenant Reasoner's patrol, I was a second lieutenant with orders to report to HMM-365 to serve as a helicopter pilot, the same squadron that Si Kittler served with in Vietnam.]

In 1967, Major Kittler again transitioned to a new aircraft, this time to the OV-10 Bronco as a member of VMO-5 before returning to Vietnam in May of 1968 as officer-in-charge (OIC) and pilot in a VMO-2 detachment. Within just a few hours of the squadron’s Broncos arriving in Vietnam from the Philippines, he became the first pilot to fly the OV-10 aircraft in combat. Operating out of Marble Mountain in Vietnam, he flew both the OV-10A and the UH-1E Huey on direct combat support missions for Marine forces.

When he was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel in October of 1968, he was transferred to the 1st Marine Aircraft Wing (MAW) G-3 in Danang to serve as assistant operations and assistant plans officer. While in that assignment, he continued to fly combat missions in the OV-10 and the TA-4 on “Steel Tiger” forward air controller (FAC) missions along the Ho Chi Minh Trail until 1969 when he returned to the United States.

Following his promotion to Colonel in July of 1975, he assumed command of the 31st Marine Amphibious Unit (MAU)/Task Group (TG) 79.5. He then served as commanding officer of the Marine Corps Air Reserve Training Detachment (MARTD) in El Toro, California from 1977 to 1980. Finally, Colonel Kittler took command of the Naval ROTC Unit and served as the Professor of Naval Science at the University of Missouri in 1980 before retiring from active duty in September of 1982 with 30 years of service.

During his distinguished Marine Corps career, Colonel Kittler saw service in the Korean War as a ground officer then participated in 15 major combat operations as an aviator in Vietnam. Among his many decorations and awards are the Legion of Merit for valor, two Distinguished Flying Crosses for valor, 22 Air Medals, the Meritorious Service Medal, two Combat Action Ribbons, and numerous unit citations and campaign and service medals.

After his retirement from the Marine Corps, Colonel Kittler went to work in program management at McDonnell Douglas in Long Beach, California, working on the T-45, A-4, A-3, and the KDC-10 aircraft.

Ultimately, he settled in Pensacola, Florida, returning to his aviation roots where he was able to watch his two grandsons grow, enjoy seeing them play baseball and excel in school, and witness them eventually becoming Marines like their father and grandfathers before them. All along, he inspired them through his love, example, and wisdom.

From his childhood and throughout his adult life, during the high points and the low, through critical moments of life and death, and in periods of peace and extraordinary trial, he was buoyed by his Faith, his family, his country, and his unwavering loyalty and service to them all. Always a humble and composed warrior, he embraced life with good cheer and selfless personal courage.