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 World of Lovely People: The Camel Spider, I am convinced, was the "last straw" when it came down to creating things in the world. God looked at the spider, then at Lucifer, and said "oh that's *it*" And a few years later, here we are. As much as I appreciate my brother's attempt to dispel some of the "legends" about the camel spider, any man knows he needs a good prejudice or two and doggone it if I'm going to keep my paranoia about these not so little horrors very much alive. It's not paranoia if it's real, after all. ... Okay. The convoy got kanked. For those of you who wish deeply to identify with my emotional path here, imagine the following. You get news that you've been selected to go on a convoy. You know of IED's, bandits (yes, there are bandit lords here... stretching "lord" a bit there, but I'm dramatic), terrorists, etc. You think to yourself, "Gee. I guess this makes my chances of dying in the next few days *slightly* higher." this because you're trying to be realistic about the situation. You'll even think "Maybe I should write *the* letter... give it to one of my buddies." You know. The letter that everyone opens "if I am killed," where you list your friends off by name and thank them each for the kindness and joy they have brought you. You'd say something like "this world would have been a darker place if I hadn't known you." And you'd mean it. If you're anything like me you'd spend time praying. You'd go, set yourself down on your knees in the middle of the dust-bowl equipment lot, not caring how dirty that makes you or how strange it must seem for passers by to see a Marine they don't know on his knees, indecently in front of God and everybody, crying softly to himself and his Lord, admitting the cardinal unmentionable. Father, I am afraid. "why?" Because there are things-- there are people, dreams, places-- that i love and I don't want to lose. "Lose?" [And I know what He's getting at. "What do you *really* have?" He's asking.] I don't have anything, strictly speaking. Nothing I can lay a claim over. I can say "That's my set of goggles; they were issued to me, they have my name on them," and yet they can (and were, dammit) still be stolen while I'm not around. So much for making claims. "The Lord upholds those who fall, and gives grace to the humble." ... Then they tell you your not going. Actually, they don't even tell you. The way this "informationless denial" works is you see half your unit get pieced off to go to a real hot spot, Fallujah, Al Qaim, Sadr City, etc., and your mission is conveniently forgotten about. Because *YOU*, yes, You Robertson, and your friend Super Marine, *YOU* make this flight line work. We can't very well send you out! What would happen to the mission, my boy? Neverspeaks: "The mission can go to hell. You lured me into this activation with the promise that I would actually get to provide security and protection for other Marines. That I would finally be able to test myself in combat, to see ultimately whether or not I have what it takes. I have sat here patiently, worked dilligently and industriously for you and have not, as have others, gone behind your back to lock on training and missions for themselves. I have respected the dignity of the chain of command and have upheld my terms of service. And now you tell me that I'm "mission critical" and can't be spared for the very reason I agreed to join your company. In my stead, you are sending Marines that can't even work a FLIGHT LINE in relatively peaceful conditions, perhaps thinking "they're expendable" or at the least "we can spare them." Instead, you should hammer them harder, make them learn their basic job, and get *us* to teach them, since we seem to have far exceeded your expectations, and when time comes to send your warriors out to kill their enemies, don't hold your warriors back and in their place send unprepared and unrealisticly minded boys." ... Thank you, sir, for the stress. ... But we know Neverspeaks never does. ... :D
# posted by chevas @ 7:39 PM 