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 Everybody: Okay. It really should look like this. Cpl. Robertson, Damon M. LS Company "A" Unit 43655 FPOAP: 96426-3655 If any of you sent me lacy underwear or copies of cosmopolitan with the second line added to the first, chances are it will still find me. I was instructed to write it that way originally and then chastized like the village idiot for following those directions. Such is the way of the Corps. *** I have some new vocabulary for you all. You'll probably see these again, and there may be more as the time goes by. P.O.G. this is an old one. Pronounced "POE-hG," an acronym that stands for "Persons Other than Grunts," i.e. someone not in the infantry of the Marines. I am a pog. I am an engineer and while, like all Marines, trained for war, it is not actually my job as an engineer (1345) to kill people. Basic rifleman is an 0311. Applicable Term: "Epiphany of POGness": When you realize that 4 out of 5 commanding officers you've had claim to be former recon and somehow never manage to get your unit any combat action, you start to wonder if they're just like Box or Toothless: marines who stand in front of groups, talk long and loud, and always act like they're "real Killers" but when it comes down to it (and it is coming down to it) they don't get us out on convoys, mumbling all the while about "mission accomplishment" or something. The real epiphany occurs when you stare at your rifle, this "weapon of iron and plastic" that you've married, and wonder what is the use of cleaning her every day. They don't even let us go to the firing range on our off hours. They haven't even issued ammunition to the machine gunners. I have 60 rounds. That's about two minutes of fire in a combat situation. I open her up, take out her insides, and yeah, whaddya know, the bolt is still clean. Dust doesn't even find any action in there. N.A.P. Basically, pronounce that like you're taking a "nap," sleeping. This one came to me yesterday and stands for "Non-Action Post." See "epiphany of POGness" above for hints as to "non-action." Interchangeable Term for "Brain Storm": INCLEMENT THINKING. That one snagged in my gray matter yesterday as I stood four hours of continuous watch on a post where I'm not actually allowed to carry a loaded weapon. Yes. You read correctly. "Condition 3 weapons are not authorized, Marine" (where condition 3 indicates "Magazine inserted, bolt forward, chamber w/o round, safety on). Given that on the same post the day before a Hadji truck pulled up and he had no I.D., and I went condition 1 on his buttocks (that's magazine inserted, round in chamber ready to fire, bolt forward, safety on, finger straight and off the trigger but oh-so ready to get real twitchy real quick). God forbid I should actually have a magazine inserted and not have to go through the few seconds it takes to do so in a real situation where I might desperately need to keep my end of things up in a rifle-to-rifle conversation. [for those of you who don't think that's important, know that fire fights are won or lost in tenths of seconds. Most last no more than a few minutes. Those are the long ones.] love, :D
# posted by chevas @ 7:34 PM 