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
MEA MAXIMA CULPA Dear Family and Friends: And most certainly I will not forget to include Mr. Nillin in this introduction, a man I consider the best of my friends, who I forgot to include in this mass mailing thus far. I really, really thought your address was on this list, man. Sorry. To recap: I am in AL ASAD MCAS (Marine Corps Air Station) helping to load/offload cargo planes. I was promised I would be guarding convoys and other such macho stuff when I was attached to this unit but all i've done since getting here is handle other people's baggage and spend hour after hour after hour fixing all the broken, run-down forklifts that were hand-me-downed to us by the unit we replaced. We work 12-14 hour days and have no days off (which may not seem like it's a big deal but, no other units on base work as much as we do, and they STILL require us in the vast open stretches of "off time" we get (about 10 hours) to stand duty, to work the chow hall, to doooooooo all sorts of other crap the other units actually have the numbers to support. ... I spoke again with Hammurabi. It was late early in the morning a few days ago (I work from 1am to 1pm, so I see the sun rise every day) and the sun was still a fierce orange disc in the eastern sky. Mile after mile of desolate, garbage strewn desert stretched out beneath it. In my cammies I had only begun to feel the furious heat of the day. An F-18 swooped in from the north, flaps down, landing gear deployed. The intense wash of fire from the engines angered the air in its wake, leaving a blurr of ripples. The sun continued to rise ever so steadily behind it. The red and orange and platinum light is everywhere. "Hokay," he says. "We never had any of those." "Yeah, I know," I say noncomittally. It is the first beautiful thing I've seen since being here. Quite remarkable what we can make. You should see those jets take off at night. The afterburners kick in and a gout of blue fire spits out the back that must be 20 feet long at least. Inside the individual jets of flame you can see white-hot rings. The engine housings literally glow like stars and sting the eyes. Yet even during the day, the light of the sun overruns the light of the jets, and all we see is the wash of super-heated air. Man's promethian fire, and the single star God gave us. I don't often imagine God sitting up there bothering to point out his inevitable one-upsmanship of every proud thing we make. I think He just lets things speak for themselves (at which point it requires us to stop and listen?). ... I may have a very, very, very good opportunity to train with an utterly savage unit of Marines in the near future. They might even allow me to transfer to their command if I play my cards right (i.e. if God blesses the attempt I'm going to make). Please pray about this (all of you who are in the habit of doing so). Anyone else? Eh, just get a slurpee and pour some out on the ground for me. I'll be back soon enough to get my portion! :D
# posted by chevas @ 7:37 PM 