Memoirs written in prose of Sergeant Robertson, Damon M. USMC while in Iraq | ...with frequent appearances of King Hammurabi.
If you are new to this journal, make sure to start reading in chronological order by scrolling down to the bottom of the oldest post in October 2004. Damon's letters from August 20th, 2004 - October 23rd, 2004 were all added to this blog on Oct. 23rd, 2004. All subsequent letters are posted in real time.
Saturday, October 23, 2004
The Dastardly Duo Have Returned. Unscathed. Of course, our Staff NCO had some encouraging words for us. "I see you didn't get to fire off any of your ammunition so I imagine you feel cheated and want to go back out there but I'm telling you right now if I have anything to say about it you won't ever leave the flight line again." Let me guess. "we're too valuable an asset to lose" or some such nonsense. Yeah. Right. Because apparently this place exploded and blew away in the wind while we were gone for three days. OH. Wait. IT DIDN'T. In fact, things are normal. Slow operational tempo, and very, very calm and normal. And for those of you distinguished folks in my audience, understand one thing: We were not fired upon. We did not shoot at anything. We do not feel cheated. For anyone to assume that 1) we even have some sort of blood lust and 2) that if we did we consider the satisfaction of the desire to kill more important than the lives we would have to take... Big Assumption. Understand this is the kind of thing I hear from my *leader*, who very badly wants to get outside the wire and show all of us young "upstarts" what it takes to be a real Marine. [whatever that is anyway] As Super Marine and I walked back to the flight line this morning having just come out of that *motivating* speech I laughed out loud to myself. I mean that good, gut wrenching cackling that echoes across the tarmac. Anyone could hear you within 100 yds but there's no one that close. "What, man?" asks Super Marine. "Yo, dude, like I just was thinking about the *one* card we still have left to play. The one hidden up our sleeve." "What's that?" he asks. Now, be aware that on one hand, we get the back handed praise of "you're our best operators. We can't afford to let you go." and yet on the other, we hear "you're never going to get what you want to do, so shut the F* up and sit down." Understand that Super Marine and I are VERY good at what we do. We get inside big forklifts and move other big and fragile things, which we never break. For one of us to break something is such a rare occurrence that neither of us can remember the last time we dented or bent anything out here. We're good at what we do. Some Marines would say we're "locked on," "Good to Go," etc. All that motivating trash. So there I am, still carrying my full combat load, on my way to the aircraft ramp, which is our post out on the flight line. Laughing. "We still have the S* bird card." Which, succinctly, is the following: A "S* bird" is Marine terminology for someone who is a bad Marine. Sloppy, lazy, lacking proficience in their MOS skills. Nasty is another favorite word. Super Marine and I know full well that being locked on, elite, whatever, is a matter of choice. "You are as elite as you choose to be" we were once told. So it stands, rationally speaking, that one can choose to be, as 2 Live Crew have previously demonstrated, as "Nasty as we Wanna Be." ergo, playing the "S* bird card." How does this play out in every day life, you ask? Easy. We start dropping things. Approaching loads too quickly with our forks at the wrong level and WOOPS, there they go, piercing right through some delicate engine housing or a crate of MRE's. What would that make us look like, you ask? Every *other* operator this company brought out here with us. And when the fifth "accident" in a single day finally happens, and our Staff NCO comes out of the COC (command operations center... I think...) screaming his fool head off "What the F****!!" we just stand there, shrug. "I dunno." and get back in the gear because he has no one else he can rely on. Crush crates number 6 and 7, please. "I dunno. Must be the hydraulics er... something" ... I know that most of you are thinking this would have to signify some gross dereliction of duty. Yeah, you're right. Also understand that when reason and clearly spoken English fail two very bright people as a means of communicating what they want, all us Marines have to fall back on is ... you guessed it. the S*bird card. I really don't think it will get to that extreme, but it is nice, knowing that we do at least have *some* leverage on these guys. I'm not even sure they realize it. In fact I'm confident they don't. That's only because we've always been straight shooters with these guys. They know we actually care about the quality of work we turn out. In fact, ironically, it's our dedication to the job/Corps/Country that even makes us susceptible to their inane droning in the first place. It is fair, given all this, to ask yourself "why do I care?" at which point I change the subject entirely from discussion circumstantial hardship within human relations to one of duty, oath-swearing, and personal integrity. Basically, I swore an oath, signed the dotted line, and volunteered to be here. That's why Damon cares. I don't care at all because of the overt or covert threats of these men. Big deal. Blah blah blah. I've heard it all before and I'm still on the same path I was when I started. It's a small and windy road called "righteousness" and I know the One who leads me down it. Bald, angry men aside. Here's to growing my hair out like a hippie when this is all done. Just because I can. ;) :D
# posted by chevas @ 7:41 PM 