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 Family and Friends: Interesting news. This afternoon my sergeant pulled me aside and told me I'd be running the Heavy Equipment detachment at an airbase in ****. This means that I have **** Marines under my command and ... that's pretty neat... "We looked at what we had," said Postal (my sgt's nickname). "With your operational abilities and your leadership skills, you're the obvious choice." [eyebrows raise. polite applause issues from a room next door; alas, not for me, but for some swank fellow named Bond who has this irritating habit of saying his name twice when he introduces himself] What this really means is that I get to be the "Detachment Head," despite my relatively low rank, and what THAT means is I get to butt heads with men like Toothless and Box when they tell my operators to do stupid (and therefore inherently dangerous) things. When there are a bunch of 0481's scurrying around your heavy equipment there isn't a lot of margin for error-- I know of at least one fire hydrant that lies, to this day, in a ruddy puddle at port Hueneme, in mute attestation to the lethality of my operating skills. Ahem. [600 gallons per minute. this is a random fact and has nothing at all, whatsoever, to do with the amount of water a fire hydrant provides upon being neatly severed] I need to hurry this up. I'm in the library on Camp Pendleton and will have to surrender the computer when my time is up. Suffice to say, the place I'm heading to is no longer the Sunny, Sandy, Shady, Bikini-Clad-Women-Infested resort originally promised to me by Halliburton. I have entertained, briefly and at regular intervals, the idea of complaining about the apparent discrepancy that seems to exist between my pamphlet and actual pictures of the place they're sending me... but perhaps there actually are some moments in our lives when complaining will not actually change anything. At all. [honestly I'm very excited about going to ****. I want the chance to lead Marines and be the one for whom the buck stops. I'm just ribbing Halliburton. Why waste time you ask? Well, sillies, they're watching, of course! Haven't you read 1984?!?!] Today we're all packed and ready to head out. We won't actually leave camp pendleton until sometime early tomorrow morning. When I say, early, I mean it. It's a good thing we have our gear staged 17 hours early... I mean, without that, the trucks coming to pick us up wouldn't have time to get lost! :] I have bought many toys. By "toys" I mean anything from a k-bar knife (tonto style blade with serrations, tactical grey blade... >:D ... drop holster for magazines, Wiley-X glasses, etc. For those of you still convinced that women shop differently than men, take a man to a tactical gear store. Your preconceptions of gender behavior will be sorely tested. Do this only if you *actually* want your understanding of socio-economic gender relations to change drastically. For all those who wish to remain oblivious to Man's True Shopping Power, ignore this last paragraph. [For the record, a tactical drop holster, complete with rigger's belt to carry the extra load, costs MUCH MORE, per "Square Inch of Covered Body Space," than does women's lacy unmentionables. Not that I've ever looked at a Vicky's Secret catalogue. Never. Ahem.] God's Peace, and (dare I say it?) ... no, I don't... something about "pieces of my enemies" or whatever... God Bless you all, Semper Fidelis :D
# posted by chevas @ 7:29 PM 