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
Dear *Audience* .... Despite my best attempts to be boring, the popularity of my sporadic emails is growing beyond my capacity to choose my audience. I feel it necessary to make the following stipulation clear to those (1) now on the list, and (2) to those who wish to join: I am not in the habit of pulling any punches or redacting truth. The majority of these messages are the direct result of my personal experience living in a war zone. As with most situations of this nature, most of my time is spent working my tail off to complete my current mission. The incessant work schedule is periodically disrupted by moments of what can only be fairly described as panic and mortal danger. 120mm rockets, however few and far between, leave a distinct impression in the subconscious. I get irritated now when one of the other heavy equipment operators slams a pallet down too hard. It sorta sounds like a mortar. Enough, anyway, to send a jolt of adrenaline through me, and not the good sporty kind. The stress kind. I'll get to my point. Be careful whose curiosity you indulge when sharing these emails. While I don't share anything I consider intensely personal, the last thing I want is some raging lunatic hippie sending me hate mail about all the Iraqi infants I've supposedly done in. If someone wants to read these, then tell them they get to accept the consequences of their curiosity and face the information like a responsible adult should be able to. If they're offended, they're offended and I'm not taking time out of my busy "trying not to die" schedule to apologize. With that being said, peace to you. ... In a number of days I will be leaving base on my first convoy operation. My friend, Super Marine, and I were the first to be chosen. This will be perilous. There are lots of nasties roaming around outside the wire. Make no mistake. They want people like me dead. Rest assured I will shoot them before they get the chance to shoot me. If that's at all possible. That being said, expect the tone of my messages, and probably their frequency, to change. I'm not so naive as to believe that these sorts of experiences won't affect me, and that will directly affect what I can and will say to you. ... Once again I thank you for your prayers, love, and support. Some days I wake up not recognizing the room I'm in. Then I pick up the stale scent of the room and think. Oh. I'm still in Iraq. then Yeah. I'd rather be snuggling with something warm and female. because this place, for whatever reason, arouses all sorts of domestic urges. Buy House. Find Wife. Raise Kids. Mow a freakin lawn. Instead yesterday I had to report the divisive and irresponsible behavior of one of my junior Marines to my chain of command. I had no choice; he was failing the mission and seeking only his personal gain in the process. I am confident that he will never trust me again. Or more specifically, that he never did truly trust me, and this latest instance shows in full color the depth of his inability to follow lawful orders without question and without hesitation. (instant and willing obedience of my lance corporals is good to anticipate/have when I might have to, oh, go root out a machine gun position that's lighting up a convoy I'm charged with protecting; the last thing I need is a Marine with slightly more than one year in the Corps doubting the four years of sweat and lessons I've built up to get the rank I have, and getting himself, someone else, or me killed because of his pride and inability to trust his leaders). Go fish. No. I mean it. Some one of you go get a rod and throw it in the water and thank God you (1) have the body of water, (2) have the free time to sit on your rear and watch God throw a meal on your hook. He provides. Some one better respond telling me they went and fished. Or drank a slurpee at 7-11 w/their sweet-heart. Or watched Arnold Schwarzenneger in a public address, fondly remembering all the aliens and slime balls he's offed in his movies, all the while thinking "Those lucky Californians... truly there is a God..." :] ... I finally saw a camel spider. Very small version. You cannot properly comprehend how truly disgusting these things are. Especially when they're not just a picture, but alive, very huge, and moving very fast. Bullets. I'm going to need lots of bullets. love you all, :D
# posted by chevas @ 7:38 PM 