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.
Monday, November 29, 2004
Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear Family and Friends: [First, i apologize for the numerous spelling errors in my emails. Most of the time I'm too lazy or forgetful to hit the "check spelling" button. Yesterday, however, that button resulted in the loss of my email, unfortunately justifying three months of correspondence laziness that will now never be truly cured. This being said, ...] Four Like Sensations: 1. Getting woken up during a nap you undertook at the point of extreme exhaustion. 2. Getting slammed in the gut in the middle of a much-needed stretch. 3. Working for my bosses in Iraq. 4. Having a really good friend of the opposite sex tell you "you're a good friend." While you have flowers for her/him in your hand. ... "You Only Live Twice" Hammurabi is slurping real coffee out of my new mug. You know, the kind that seal at the top with the little carabeener handle that lets an operator like myself attach it to the inside of the vehicle cab on any one of the numerous dull metal protrusions therin. Long gone are the days in which I would operate my multi-ton equipment with thoughts of preserving an open Coffee container. Nevermore. Now I will drive like an idiot, smashing and crashing into things. Generals are top points, particularly the sort that execute dogs, only to be exceeded by my senior staff, my bosses; that because the emotional and professional frustration of working with them every day seems like so much more bull honkey than anything else. Ever. The sun isn't even up yet. It's cold, about 36 degrees not counting wind chill. I'm indulging my reservoir of self-hatred by sitting outside for a few minutes. In my hands I hold a heavy box filled with coffee of all sorts. One of the bags is ruptured because of the careless handling of our mail by the couriers that see it delivered to the middle of Iraq. I guess I can't complain about the handlers: they're the only ones brave enough to fly in here on a regular basis, despite the fact that none of them have ever been shot down. So what if some of them are disgruntled Moldovian bomb makers? I got my coffee. Others get their mail. And now we storm random planes when they land. Big deal. Yawn. Here's a 5.56 shoulder mounted rifle in your face, there, Vlad. Now can I have my mail? The obfuscating detail about the package is that the Secretary of the UN has attached a letter of complaint to the outside. It is a simple slip of white paper with a red and white checkered border. *So* European. "We regretfully inform you..." blah blah blah "the amount of coffee herein is in excess of..." blah blah blah, "your associate Aileen Sanchez will be arrested promptly for her immense generosity..." signed, Kofi Anan, UN Secretary. "Coffi AnneAnne?" I spit incredulously. "Way to make the power of the UN known. Arrest care package givers. Overlook the lighter offenses of world despots..." "That's Koffi Ann-- er, Coffee Ana... " Hammurabi, too, is at a loss to pronounce the man's name. He isn't paying attention to my tirade and it's all the better in the end. "Can they do that?" I ask. "What, arrest your friend for sending you coffee?" He responds. "Sure. Why not. 60% of the UN budget is unaccounted for. Did you think it was all going in to his pocket or that maybe some of it actually gets wasted doing silly things in the shadier places of the world?" Heh. I never thought of it that way. "Anyway, man. Don't sweat it. I'll take care of this," Hammurabi offers. He reaches into his gore-tex jacket and produces an iridium phone, the kind that chat with sattelites and charge you something like 75 cents a minute. The sheath on the antenna is huge. I back away nevertheless, fearing for my future children. He hits speed dial and in a few seconds, he's talking. "Yeah. COffi? Kofe? Kofeeef? Whatever. Hey. Lay off on that Sanchez dame. Why? Do you have any idea who this is? ... Uh huh. Yeah. Okay, look..." The wind is searing my eyes and defeating the little neck gator I'm wearing. My hands are cold, but just cold enough to make me believe that a real man wouldn't put gloves on just yet. Nevermind put his hands in his pockets while he sits in the chill wind. That's "unsatisfactory," or "unsat" for short in Marine lingo. People like my first sergeant, who honestly have no work to do here, get driven to the office at 10am every morning, driven home at around 2pm, and chew the butts of Marines like myself the whole way for giving in to the weakness of warm hands in pockets. Because, and YES God himself did forbid this, Marines should never be warm or comfortable. But that is another story. Something just nibbled my hand. Charlie? Yes. There he is. The dog himself. I thought he was dead, taken away two days ago. The iridium phone claps shut. "S'alright, Robertson," Hammurabi says. "I just had to rib him about the food-for-oil scandal he and his nephew are enmeshed in and he had a change of heart. Aileen will not be serving time in the Hague." "Nice work, ma--" but I'm cut off as Charlie uses a new pinpoint snout strike technique to hit me in my junk. I squak like a bird and reach over his furry hide with my long arms, scooping the side of his canine hiney and flinging him around in a dizzying circle. He recovers and begins consuming my right hand. Gently of course. "You didn't hear about the dog I take it?" he asks. "no, what?" "Well, i don't think this is the first time he's been able to dodge a death warrant. In fact, if you'll remember, the best cover for a secret agent is being dead. Remember your Bond. There were a few things we needed him to take care of, eh, elsewhere. Just routine, I swear." I grin. Charlie nibbles my knee. Little turd. ... Yes, Charlie is still with us. Abducted briefly and then returned after my shift was over yesterday. Apparently the Hadji vet couldn't make his way here. Maybe IED's are useful after all. :D
# posted by chevas @ 4:53 PM 0 comments 
Sunday, November 28, 2004
Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Yeah, so Gmail just ate about 1/2 hour of my writing. ... The long and the short of it is that yesterday, Charlie, our dog, was put down by order of the Commanding General. I want to break someone's jaw. Charlie was the only innocent fun we had here. ... Final Role Call PFC Dog, Charlie First Joined the Marines of "C" Company in October 2003. Voluntarily Transferred to "A" Company on September 11, 2004. Meritoriously promoted PFC on Nov 27, 2004. Executed on Nov28, 2004 for performing to the utmost of his abilities. Charlie's unquestioning love and unfaultering motivation will be sorely missed. He spent his life in keeping with the highest standards of the Marine Corps. Semper Fi. ... We could use more Marines like Charlie. It's the brainless idiots that we have too many of. ... :D
# posted by chevas @ 5:25 PM 0 comments
Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear F&F: (i'm getting or have gotten lazy with my greeting) ... My Very First International Incident by D.M.Robertson I think it's odd how terrorists use our media against us. Send in a tape of anything at it will get played by the airwave jockies. Bin Laden might as well have his own talk show or Rap CD label. I mean, goldarn, his niece is a pop singer or at least last I heard aspiring-to-be-pop singer in the pan-Arab world. I don't know how well she'd do in the US with a name like "Wafa Bin Laden" on her CD's. It'd be sorta like seeing an instructional ice skating dvd set narrated by Adolf Hitler. Just not the best family name to be touting to the western world these days... Off subject, and sorta on it again: there's a lot of stink over here about supposed "holy sites" that us infidel Marines aren't allowed to set foot in or around. Supposedly, non-muslims aren't allowed in or near a Mosque. Problems arise, you can surely understand, given the presence of a Mosque on base. The commanding General has issued orders that no Marines/service members/civilian contractors/anyone white is not allowed near the structure. It is no longer in use, by the way, and the gates are chained and locked shut. [Indicentally, there's a spring on the grounds that spews up this *really* blue water that smells tantilizingly like sulfur. Probably has copper in it, too, given the clearness of the water... copper sulfite, a likely culprit, is neat. Clear water, pretty baby blue, UTTERLY POISONOUS... oh well. But most impactfully to our daily lives, given the proximity of our barracks to the Mosque, is the smell. Farts. Living, breathing, sleeping, it doesn't matter. The whiff of fresh gas from Allah's hiney is ever present. Some of us call the area "Allah's butt-crack." Allah is all powerful, his curse of flatulence eternal... We make endlessly insensitive jokes on our way to and from work, which requires us to drive past the spring. "smells like Islam" someone will say, and we'll laugh, knowing that this isn't the sort of thing that should ever be shared in a public, sensitive setting. Like this.] Continuing on. Given the amount of stink that gets raised when Marines go barging in to Mosques after gunmen take refuge in them, it's not surprising that the Mosque on base is off limits. These people, or some of them, really believe in the sanctity of the site and we should be sensitive to that. Seems a bit abstract to me, given that one of my friends filmed a fantasy/sorcery type movie scene in a large mosque back in the US that used to be a Greek Orthodox church of all things. But oh well. I suppose it would be an international incident if word ever got out that people were wantonly sneaking in to this building. Not that we/they/anyone/whoever is. I've never seen anyone go so much as within 10 yards of the thing (that's about the distance between it and the sidewalk). Yet, I figure there'd be hell to pay, right? It'd put Al Asad on the map for sure, ironically and somehow appropriately drawing more mortar and rocket attacks (it's funny how they alter their schedules based on what the media reports about the war effort... it's like they're sitting around watching CNN and they get all worked up and grab some rockets they'd been saving for a special occasion, their daughter's birthday or something, and say "scew it!! We kill American Satans today!!"). Or maybe it's after they lose a Deathmatch on XBOX live that they play over their new satellite dish. Ah whatever. I suppose if someone were to sneak into that building, all ninja-wrapped and stealthy, in the middle of the dark, dusty hours of the night, and take something inconsequential from inside to prove he'd done it, there'd be a whole lot of butt-hurt and powerful people steaming over it. Provided anyone ever checks there to verify the integrity of the building or not. Who knows. But it's tempting, given all the boredom we have to swill in here. Perhaps a "feat" or show of prowess/cunning to impress one's peers. I don't know. It's too bad our culture doesn't do anything like that anymore, I mean make men do impressive things to show they're men. The women might be happier in the long run. As for now, the brown ninja clan is at ease. ... :D
# posted by chevas @ 2:00 AM 0 comments
Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear Family and Friends: I think we all know how popular it is to deconstruct myths and legends and faiths and practices in our society. I suppose some of you are enduring the "why did the original pilgrims *really* celebrate thanksgiving" horse crap from some rakishly retarded newscaster or maybe even the highly praised History Channel. Remember the poor, outcast prudes who fled here from the iniquitous dens of Eurpoean cities, bringing with them as indentured servants the offal of the prisons, the lowest of the low and those sorts who could no longer be rejected and cast out because There Was Nowhere Else To Go. "Bring me the Tired, for here their strength, now almost spent, will finally be enough to feed them, for I, the Lord, will bless the fruit of their labors and reward the faithfulness of these scattered few and my blessing will not fail even for generations to come." I think too many people spend a lot of time feeling guilty for what we have instead of allowing themselves to feel like they should: remarkably blessed in material ways to the extent that our wealth has no historical precident. Be thankful. Maybe I'm rambling. But it's just like God to take a bunch of heretics and criminals, the sort of people who didn't even like eachother they were still so locked in religious, political, and legal disputes... He'd take 'em all and plop them down in the middle of nowhere and make something awesome with what He had. Tell those crackers on the beach that someday we're going to walk on the moon. Someday, turkeys will be flown into a winter-beaten Korea to feed your armies. Nevermind the internet or motor cars or flight. Battle ships. Machine guns. [okay sorry]. Microsoft... okay we've gone too far... There's a lot to be thankful for. I guess we thank Him, and then ask immediately afterward "what on earth are we supposed to do with all this stuff?" He'll figure it out. He always has. ... :D
# posted by chevas @ 1:59 AM 0 comments
Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
The Best Thing To Happen Since Women: [this is a hard category to fill. I've considered nominating guns, which despite the NRA's claims are the coolest *toys* ever made, but they are made expressly to shoot people, which all things considered is not in and of itself very neat, the apparent expedience and utility of that function notwithstanding.] Ever type a sentence and then look at it, eyebrows arched, not really sure it is what you've said and not being able to remember what you set out to communicate? Nah. Never. Today is thanksgiving for you all. Yesterday in the chow hall they threw some above average quality meat at us and, in keeping with capitalist marketing tradition, had already begun to play Christmas music before we were done eating. ... A related subject. The music they play on the Armed Forces Network Radio basically amounts to all the hits from the past 30 years. Pretty good stuff, though having been here for a few months i can say there weren't really that many cool songs in three decades, having heard them all about 50 times. I suppose it's Coca-Colonization all over again, with the Arab youth listening to DefLeopard and Hoobastank and the Doors, bobbing their heads while they look at a picture of Britney Spears that fell off a seven ton truck as it rumbled through the village on a convoy delivering diet soda. But do we ever hear the end of the "baby i miss you" songs, or the one that says "I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell-- I know, right now you don't care-- but baby in a while maybe then you'll see a different side of me. I'm not crazy..." Are they trying to put us in touch with the indecently huge longing we all have for something more normal, a place where water runs clear, where toilets flush, where the dirt doesn't naturally smell like crap, where there aren't angry, uneducated, disenfranchised mullahs running around lobbing mortars out of religious buildings? I mean, Hippies in frisco are a pretty violent lot if you count the way they talk. Let's not even get in to how badly they smell, which is worse in my opinion because they were raised in the greatest nation on earth and should damn well know better. Yes. I said it. USA, USA. Now the patriotic "propaganda" can cease, right? ... Or take it as an advertisement. "Just look at the muscular American Marines... taller, healthier, more educated! Follow our social example and some day you too could be occupying a "third world" nation, running around teaching them how to do stuff!" ...
# posted by chevas @ 1:59 AM 0 comments
Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear F&F: You can thank R.H. for the following admission. Not that you wouldn't have heard of it eventually anyway, but since someone actually asked... ... Hammurabi and all other schizo characters aside, this little experience in Iraq actually *does* resemble an episode of Hogan's Heroes moreso than... how did R.H. put it? ...oh yeah. "It seems like you're in the Twilight Zone and not a warzone..." ... subject: "Mach Humping" We've all seen the way young dogs attempt to establish dominance over other living beings in their environment: they hump. "Saddle Up and Ride" might as well be Charlie's motto. He's a young dog. What can we expect? Well, as much as i'm keen about having my leg humped, my response was generally to pimp-slap his silly iraqi mutt face. The response I have is much different when one of my fellow Marines attempts to sieze the mantle of "Alpha Male." Super Marine can be blamed for starting it. He'd shuffle up beside an unsuspecting victim and start "freaking" them, loudly proclaiming his victory a split second later. It's a surprise at first, and generally you only resist the first few times, and after that surrender to the inevitability. I mean, the more show you make of resisting, the more he gets egged on, so why bother? Well, it got to this boiling point, see. After all, a man can only take so much humping before the long suppressed "fight or flight" mechanism really kicks in. And no real Marine runs. So one day, as if by plan, everyone on our shift took our vengeance, sometimes piling on him three at a time in what *could* still be described as a dog pile... or something. Even the mighty Super Marine, detainer of would-be bombadiers, now submits to the inevitable... Yet, Charlie, being a dog, got left out of this equation. I mean, in the best of all possible worlds none of us would have ever freaked the other. It's GAY. I mean, GAY GAY GAY or at least if not really gay, it opens one up for the inevitable accusation [to which a defiant "SO WHAT?" is invincible repudiation, as things have turned out]. The Stormin' Mormon, who technically oversees Charlie when he's tied up, got fed up with his young puppyness one day and... in keeping with the principle that one is most likely to succeed in communicating in a manner in which his audience is prepared to understand... Humped Charlie. [spun the irrational hairball around, picked him up and did the Elvis Dance] I have never seen such a look of resignation and shame ... on the face of a dog. You can slap him, yell, do whatever. You can try to run him over with a C130, but he'll still be a young dog, and until you can hump him, you ain't got S*. One day, freezing my kiester off on guard duty, Charlie comes swaggering up to me, having been turned loose for his morning constitutional. In relational terms, I'm the "nice parent" to Charlie, who gets to bite my boots and run amock whenever I'm the only human around. But basically, charlie doesn't really respect me in that fundamental way... this morning, being frozen from the toes to the stupid haircut, Charlie's "Initial Greeting," i.e. humpathon, wasn't so welcome. So I did what any red blooded American would do. ... I wonder sometimes why no one ever makes a movie about the "real marine corps." It has nothing to do with the hard-ass persona we have in the media. It generally has everything to do with such things as mach-humps, breaking expensive things when we're bored, etc. We get into lots of trouble, making the phrase "a bored Marine is a dangerous Marine" very pertinent. oh well. whaddya gonna do.... ... :D
# posted by chevas @ 1:57 AM 0 comments
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
D F&F: Alright. Here's the short and nasty version: A cargo plane arrived at our flight line, and as per usual had loose loaded cargo stuffed around the palletized load in it's belly. One of our junior Marines was on board helping to offload the loose stuff and found a strange package. You know, the sort made from a tiny white box wrapped in duct tape with, oh, a signal wire sticking out of it. [included within, we were told much later by Explosive Ordinance Disposal experts, were approx 1 lb Composite 4 explosive, blasting caps, and a wad of shapnel in the form of tiny metal spikes. An intricate timing device, apparently having nothing to do with the "decoy" signal wire, was the true mechanism of activation, and thank GOD we found this thing in time. The odd thing is that without the signal wire, we wouldn't have thought twice about the package as a whole; the wire wasn't even used correctly, to put things in an intentionally unhelpful critique format: the rest of the bomb, we are told, was pure genious.] The crew of the plane hail from, oddly enough, former Russian satellite states. There were two iraqi nationals on board but they weren't the ones that popped the "hand swipe" test the EOD Marines ran to find particles of explosives on one of the crew member's hands. Apparently in this corner of the world, Georgians, Moldovians, etc., i.e. the same sort of folks who killed all the school kids not too long ago, have no problem taking a pot shot at Americans since we're not doing anything to stop what Putin's Russia is doing in her former sattelites. At the time I was several hundred yards from the plane, operating one of the forklifts and essentially experiencing one of the most frustrating offload procedures of my ENTIRE LIFE. Unloading a truck that's been loaded by unhelpful morons is one thing, but add to that the fact that the containers (big, thin skinned aluminum) are empty, we're left with some additional problems. Any error, as in any errant contact with the forks, will send the container skidding off the other side of the flat bed (I've done that before... "yee haw" I think about covers it). But that day, a fierce wind was screetching through Iraq courtesy of Siberia (yeah, butt-cold) so when I finally fenagled the containers off the truck, of course the wind toppled every single one of them. I have this "issue" as an operator. I used to let things like this bother me, as in I'd let the stress of the spectators effect my own stress level. Bah humbug. Not worth it. After killing fire hydrants, civilian truck chasis (not my fault), ammo crates (ooh baby) and a few bags of poorly stacked mail, things tend not to bother me so much. Why? No amount of self effacing behavior can fix the problem. "Yes sir, that is correct. I did run over the mail." (he is Major Mack, and yes, he's one of the biggest dorks *ever* made, with all the anal retentiveness of ... I dunno... no one else compares) "We saw you stop, devil dog. Then you decided to drive ahead anyway. you did it on purpose!" [in moments like these the accusation of sinister intent is so laughable I can only give these guys an incredulous stare, as if to say "Yes sir I'm wicked, you're right, for some reason unbeknownst even to the devil I deliberately ran over someone else's care package..."] But we can't be sarcastic with Major Mack, who is accompanied by a staff sergeant who *literally* parrots everything the major says. I don't really know how many times I heard "... but you ran over that mail, Marine..." come out of his mouth. YES, FOR GOD'S SAKE AND ALL THINGS HOLY WE HAVE ESTABLISHED THAT. MOVING ON... But I don't say that either. I sit in the cab, calmly explaining that the pallet of loose loaded material was unsoundly stacked, that I was driving very slowly (idle speed, like 1mph) and that when I stopped for the recklessly careening fed-ex van that nearly side-swiped me, mail fell of the front of the pallet. WHICH I CAN'T SEE FROM THE CAB... oh wait, am I yelling again? The only clue I had that I'd run over mail, or anything at all really, was the subtle roll of my cab as I heaved over something that shouldn't have been there.... major mack? No, only mail... darn.... I mean, who does that on purpose? OH, yeah. You wanted to hear about the bomb. So I wasn't there when they confiscated the package. Super Marine, being the NCO unloading the plane, ran and got his machine gun and ordered several juniors to do the same. Under his leadership they boarded the plane (tactical terminology uses the word "stormed the plane," but no shots were fired so that rhetoric seems a bit lofty) and detained the crew. Of course none of the staff have given him any credit whatsoever, and last we heard the postal Marines ...yes, the fat, dopy, glossy-eyed postal marines... were claiming to have discovered the package. [it should be noted that if he had not intervened, the crew would have escaped, the bomb most likely been passed on through the mail system to explode *whenever*. And yes, at that time the postal Marines would have definitely been involved, though most likely in terms that positively group them with another unit stationed here, the "mortuary affairs" division.] Dear God is there no justice... postal didn't even come to the site until THE NEXT DAY. [it definitely does NOT help that their master sgt, a modestly rotund woman of superior screaming ability, irritates the living crap out of all of us, especially when she enters our barracks screaming at the top of her lungs in true military fashion, i.e. for no doggone reason at all] back to the point, I don't know how anyone can be so freakin stupid to go around propogating that kind of false claim. Perhaps it is in strict adherence to the unwritten code of military conduct that states that "people who work hard should never get credit for what they accomplish; likewise, those same people, ever having made a mistake, will be expected to take full responsibility for their actions while their staff and officers are allowed to plead ignorance of all wrongdoing, etc." ... Particularly broken record types around here periodically repeat the famous boot-camp / recruiter slogan "They didn't promise you a rose garden." This is true. I was never promised a rose garden. Neither do I desire one. I was, however, promised Honor, Courage, and Commitment, which I was willing to group conveniently under the banner of "Integrity." Huh. Infer what you like. ... :D
# posted by chevas @ 11:35 PM 0 comments
Monday, November 22, 2004
Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear Lovely People: i'd love to share with you what happened on our flight line yesterday, but rumor has it that someone, and I don't know who, actually called home about it already and you should be able to see it on the news. once we're cleared to talk about it, I'll tell ya all what actually happened since I'm sure CNN can't get anything straight (no one was hurt or killed so I imagine they're having trouble finding "the story"). But needless to say, my close friend Super Marine was on the top of his form, and some very seedy, evil, cowardly men are reaping the proverbial whirlwind because of his lightning fast initiative and immense steel balls. more later, :D
# posted by chevas @ 7:31 PM 0 comments
Sunday, November 21, 2004
Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear Family and Friends: Someone asked me for my opinion, God help you all. *whether recruiters are honest or do they use "propaganda" to achieve their aims. Heh. Well, to borrow from someone smarter than me; I know it's fun to use the word "propaganda" but let's be honest and call recruiting what it really is: "Sales Marketing." Yes, some recruiters lie. Salesmen lie. At any rate, it's not usually the fact that a recruiter has to come right out and tell a bold faced lie, because most kids don't even know the right questions to ask. Mostly a recruiter omits the truth, rather than obscuring or misrepresenting it. This has been my experience. *whether we went to war with the wrong country. From an immediate strategic consideration, Iran and North Korea are reputed to be actually producing WMD, so they're more dangerous in the long run. However, if we remember our Chomsky and our history and also what we know about warfare: if you're going to build an empire at someone else's expense, strike first at his weak point and exploit any advantage that gives you to the fullest. What am I saying? Geographically, the middle east now has a significant foreign military presence in its heartland. The U.S. has battle hardened troops within easy striking distance of Iran, Syria, and Jordan, and a government in Iraq that will presumably be very pro U.S. (most likely depending heavily on our intervention for its survival). Under the "pre-emptive strike" reservation made by the so-called Bush Doctrine, the U.S. military has proven twice the ease and speed with which we can topple an undesired regime (Afghanistan, Iraq). The prolonged occupation proves to be the spoiler, as it seems, but at any rate we know that our combined arms, hyper-mobility, heavy discriminate firepower military philosophy *works*. So as long as we're being cynical, let's remember that Saudi Arabia is working to cut her ties with US military protection, and even though the US denies it will seek "permanent" leases in Iraq, it seems clear that we're going to be here for some time. Get real. The F-18's outside this internet center could hit Iranian sites in a matter of minutes. Likewise with Syria and Jordan. Technically speaking, in regards to the "opposition," aka "axis of evil," or just plain "the other guys," we're right where they don't want us to be. ... Take that with a grain of salt. I'm not the most informed bloke on the block. ... :D
# posted by chevas @ 9:01 PM 0 comments
Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear Family and Friends: Someone asked me for my opinion, God help you all. *whether recruiters are honest or do they use "propaganda" to achieve their aims. Heh. Well, to borrow from someone smarter than me; I know it's fun to use the word "propaganda" but let's be honest and call recruiting what it really is: "Sales Marketing." Yes, some recruiters lie. Salesmen lie. At any rate, it's not usually the fact that a recruiter has to come right out and tell a bold faced lie, because most kids don't even know the right questions to ask. Mostly a recruiter omits the truth, rather than obscuring or misrepresenting it. This has been my experience. *whether we went to war with the wrong country. From an immediate strategic consideration, Iran and North Korea are reputed to be actually producing WMD, so they're more dangerous in the long run. However, if we remember our Chomsky and our history and also what we know about warfare: if you're going to build an empire at someone else's expense, strike first at his weak point and exploit any advantage that gives you to the fullest. What am I saying? Geographically, the middle east now has a significant foreign military presence in its heartland. The U.S. has battle hardened troops within easy striking distance of Iran, Syria, and Jordan, and a government in Iraq that will presumably be very pro U.S. (most likely depending heavily on our intervention for its survival). Under the "pre-emptive strike" reservation made by the so-called Bush Doctrine, the U.S. military has proven twice the ease and speed with which we can topple an undesired regime (Afghanistan, Iraq). The prolonged occupation proves to be the spoiler, as it seems, but at any rate we know that our combined arms, hyper-mobility, heavy discriminate firepower military philosophy *works*. So as long as we're being cynical, let's remember that Saudi Arabia is working to cut her ties with US military protection, and even though the US denies it will seek "permanent" leases in Iraq, it seems clear that we're going to be here for some time. Get real. The F-18's outside this internet center could hit Iranian sites in a matter of minutes. Likewise with Syria and Jordan. Technically speaking, in regards to the "opposition," aka "axis of evil," or just plain "the other guys," we're right where they don't want us to be. ... Take that with a grain of salt. I'm not the most informed bloke on the block. ... :D
# posted by chevas @ 8:59 PM 0 comments
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear Family and Friends: A few things... It seems abundantly clear to me at this point that the leadership of "A" company are not able/willing to provide the convoy protection duty they have been promising all along. In short, It seems like I'm going to be stuck on this flight line for the entirety of my stay in-theater. They are asking for volunteers to replace the Marines assigned to "softer" stations in Kuwait. It seems all the Marines in Kuwait are under the impression that, up here, we're really "in the S*" and are constantly begging to be sent up here. All it really means is they'll have fewer amenities than they do now. I'm wondering if I should volunteer to go south. It even pays better, for some odd reason. Do my time, come home. Etc. Get out of the stinking, dishonest-leader-ridden corps as fast as the next callendar year will let me. ... Can't fault a man for having the motivation to do more. ... ;D
# posted by chevas @ 4:50 PM 0 comments
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear Family and Friends: Today is the first day I've seen the sun rise in the desert without there being a ton of dust in the atmosphere. From the ground up the sky looks like a rainbow. Full spectrum. It's 55 degrees outside and with a body that got quickly accostomed to a dry 120 degrees, it feels like *winter.* Dear God it's cold. I keep expecting to see frost but then again I might just be a wuss. ... Listen and Learn from my Mistakes: Never, and I mean never, ask for *two* specific things when your loved ones inquire after "what you need." Why? Well, perhaps there is too much of a good thing. Mind you, mountains, rain, pizza, movies about warriors who love their women, actual real rifles with bullets, snuggling, etc., are all things that are never "tired." I can, and I know it hurts you all to hear this, take only so much coffee in one day. I was in the habit of putting so much doggone Yuban in my cup that the warm water I added to it came out black as sin and thick enough to surface a tarmac. The other Marines make wussy coffee. They are weak. But I'm off the subject. I now have 13.75 pounds of coffee. I also have about 6 pounds of skittles. ... Thank you all very much. The Marines of "A" Co. thank you with every jitter! ... I have this gentlemanly front I put up in the morning before my first cup of *real* coffee is swilled. I won't operate any of the forklifts over the rough terrain here at a speed that will in any way cause me to spill a single drop of my beloved dirtwater. My sgt is usually quite put-off by this, but I also never break anything (unintentionally) so he doesn't spew too much sarcasm. Usually. But for God's sake, just because we're in a war zone doesn't mean we have to lose all standards of behavior. I mean, who among you spills coffee and really considers him/herself to be part of the civilized world? ... We have a dog (did I ever mention this?) named Charlie. He's an iraqi mutt, which gives him some very interesting features, though he wouldn't look too out of place in the U.S. In contrast, when I was in Al Qaim, near the syrian border, I saw a dog that was part jackal. Looked funny, like someone had taken jackel + some other breed and just butt-grafted them together. Like a cartoon half-breed. Wierd. But charlie is normal enough. He's still young enough to appreciate being let off his chain in the morning and he tears around the flight line, eats the trash, urinates excessively and in most other ways behaves precisely like we expect him to-- like a dog. He has this 'lawsuit' trait that would make him hard to own in the U.S., that is he likes to express his affection by nibbling random passers-by. Knees, dangling hands, crotches. Nothing is sacred. You should see the special forces guys-- the SEALS, the Rangers-- when charlie saddles up and starts spreadin the love. I know school girls who have more (metaphorical) cajones than these vaunted warriors. Once the MP's brought their bomb-sniffing dogs through about the time charlie was on his "off leash" time and the MPs started raising all hell, complaining that Charlie was going to infect their dogs or start a fight. 1. Charlie sees the vet on base regularly. He is not sick, and carries fewer germs than the DUST does... 2. If Charlie, goofy, uncoordinated, submissive, loveable charlie can kick your German Shepherd's sorry ass, you've got more problems than we can possibly help you with. But you should hear the pilots of the C-130s and FA-18's whining on the secure tactical radio when they see him roaming and peeing near Foxtrot ramp (where I work). God. As if Charlie could crash a C130 or disrupt the war, er, peacekeeping effort... Pilots are such wieners... ... :D
# posted by chevas @ 7:47 PM 0 comments
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear Family and Friends, and particularly the Liberals among you: ... Please pay attention, this is actually going to have some conciliatory admissions in it for you. ... I was originally going to phrase this next bit in another Hammurabi conversation but I figure i'd just get it over and done with. Some days here I don't have the energy to be all that creative with my time. :[ I know a lot of intelligent folks who identify themselves with the political left. My best friend Nillin, and a former co-worker of mine, the frighteningly articulate Mr. Hillburn, are among them. The most skilled director I know, "Kamikaze," believes very much in the liberal path and yeah, still loves Jesus. Mercy (this is her real name, not made up) is there, too. What am I saying. Nillin called me to task on some of the things I've said regarding John Kerry's service record in Viet Nam. The man has seen combat action, has three purple hearts. Nillin's step-dad, a man I spoke with just before going to boot camp, is a Nam vet with purple hearts (!) of his own. He told me not to go. I will remember his words forever: "Did you know that a Marine is the only animal in the world that's trained to run *towards* the sound of enemy machine gun fire?" By the time I was taught that in my basic training, it made sense to me then. Get out of the "kill zone." Surprise the enemy by immediately attacking and seizing the initiative. Overrun what they consider to be an impervious position. Kill them. Ironically, and not to get off the subject, that sort of initiative works very well here. The iraqis generally don't shoot at Marines. They light the army up, who're so cought up in rules of engagement that they're hands are tied. Soldiers die because the officer corps of the army is too worried about how their after-action report will look. God knows we aren't here to hurt anyone's feelings. But I'm getting off subject. Mr. Kerry. He has seen combat action. I have not. He was wounded in action, three times, and whether or not you accept the stories that he exaggerated his wounds to get the medals is beside the point. He has them. I heard once, though I'm not certain, that he also has a bronze star, which is given for conspicuous valor in the face of enemy fire. There are people on my mailing list who I acknowledge as being patriots, even though they would vote for a man who returned from VN to lambast his fellow service members with tales of rape and plunder. Nillin put it this way "we acknowledge the general F*ed up-edness of viet nam..." and I agree. In general. The same way that the media will not let the American people ever forget Abu Ghraib for the next 30 years. A generalization was made, and no one seems to care when someone stands up and says "yeah, but most of our men and women served faithfully, doing their duty, and behaved in all ways within the scope of human compassion and ethics... " As much as anyone can in war. I have wondered often whether Kerry, returning from viet nam, may have really believed that he didn't deserve his medals. But why? Why throw them away, or burn them as other vets did? Was it because he knew he'd exaggerated the stories of his own wounding to get them, or was it really that he'd seen something he was so repulsed by that he couldn't stand to be numbered as "one of the heroes." I don't know. Only John and God know that. ... The bottom line: if Wrathful Buddha, Nillin, The Hillburn, Mercy, and Kamikaze still read these mails of mine; there is room for people to get p.o.'d at the way this war was engendered. False reports? Who knows. Apparently that's the way things are shaking down. Why did I get sent here? Apparently on a fool's errand to find something that isn't here. Why am I still here? The Iraqi Police officer I met, the one who cried at his Marine buddy's funeral; the 14 year old kid who believes there's something better, and that good men have to be willing to sweat buckets and bleed to achieve it. Why on earth, you may ask, do I criticize a man like Kerry? Heroism has at its core the virtue of humility. Politics are depraved, we all know, or at least we all say they are. Standing up and declaring "I'm running for office" is tantamount to inviting a public hazing and "background check" the likes of which even the NSA isn't capable of achieving. Kerry knew we'd all hear about the medals being thrown away, about all his days spent testifying that U.S. soldiers are rapists and murdering thieves. Only his most staunch supporters would be the ones standing up to say "Yeah, but he was awarded three purple hearts..." and if he'd never said that, our media would have never reported it. At least that's likely. I'm offended, and I gripe and slam at J.K., because I know humble men who earned their scars, who never stood up in public and said everything but "i'm a hero." If you're lucky you'll find their medals hanging on a wall in their house, not even well lit, if they're in open view at all. These are the men with PTSD who sleep three hours a night and still work 40 hours a week and still love their wives and pay their taxes and NEVER COMPLAIN. Nor do they ever tell anyone they are a hero. But they do, and one did, take time to tell an idealistic (maybe plain stupid) Marine recruit that service in the corps is just not all it's cracked up to be. "Trust me. I know." he'd said. Yeah. But I want to be a hero. ... :D
# posted by chevas @ 6:30 PM 0 comments
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear Family and Friends: [My references to deceased Marines and other "concrete" instances are related to you in a manner that directly reflects my personal experiences in Iraq. "Hammurabi" is of course ficticious, and any reference to the actual historical man is limited by my lack of factual knowledge about his life and exploits. My emails, while written in prosaic style, are not imbelished in regard to the facts of my experience but are presented in such a manner as to preserve and emphasize the irony, boredom, and insanity inherent in this place. Sometimes the voices of characters such as "Neverspeaks" and (the 'critically acclaimed' Hammurabi himself) are *your* words. Enjoy.] ... (directly continued from last conversation) ... The "coffee" is cold already. "I know what you're thinking," the figmental Babylonian says with a derisive smile. I look him straight in the eye. Pray tell. "If the first casualty of war is the Truth, your words mean nothing more than mine, or anyone else's, and nothing you write home to your adoring audience is ever going to change anything; ever, or at all." I drink from my cup; hiding, I hope, the disgusting taste of the cold, bitter, reconstituted freeze-dried coffee from Hammurabi. I listen with a face I hope looks impassive. Obviously I have nothing to say, or nothing I *dare* say. Yet. "Remember who you're talking to, American," he starts anew. "I'm a king. I ruled this place thousands of years before your kind even thought of choking this planet with your fossile fuels and crappy movies. Kings, countless kings, ruled before *me*, and none of them had the power I had. Everyone in my court, myself included, thought that the glory of Babylon would never fade away. We enslaved God's very own people, and nothing, no calamity, no vengeance, no enemy could overtake us. But let me tell you, it all ended. Yeah, you Americans have lasted longer than we Babylonians did, but there's variability in all things. Sooner or later, the 'world community' you disregard so intensely is going to produce the 'next big thing,' and you Americans will be stuck here like me, scratching your heads, wondering what on earth happened. But it will be too late." I chuckle. I spit a mouthful of coffee on the dirt. "Hammurabi," i say not phrasing it like a question, but pausing nevertheless. "Yes?" "Your presence in my dialogue as a voice of irony and historical perspective should implicitly satisfy the accusation that I'm not aware of the ephemeral nature of power-- particularly American power, such as it is. For crying out loud, man, I could talk to Puff the Magic Dragon for all intents and purposes and still get my point accross. Hell. He'd at least have interesting games to play. At any rate, my friends would still listen whether they agreed or not. Now wipe that sarcastic grin off your face, or perish in the withering gaze of my solipsism." I say this last sentence with a smile on my face. He hasn't touched his "coffee" since the first abominable sip, and I don't blame him. "Pharoah had better," he mutters within his wild beard. "Cyrus of Persia. What a prick." ... [tune in next time for Hammurabi v. Damon on "Purple Lace." ... no, this has absolutely nothing to do with "The artist formerly known as prince" 's album (how in God's name do you punctuate a possessive on a referent like that anyway...?) ] ... :D
# posted by chevas @ 3:34 PM 0 comments
Friday, November 12, 2004
Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear Family and Friends: ... There it is. The body. Torn up very badly. His face is frozen in a grimace of pain. Splattered, dried blood covers his limbs. His face is ripped, burnt. He doesn't even smell yet. I peer at him, swallowing the urge to be afraid of this spectacle. Breathe easy, :D It's just a dead body. Land mine casualty. Nothing supernaturally frightening. Just a lump of carbon, now. Hammurabi reaches down and takes the dog tag from around his neck and reads. "..." but his mouth won't sound out the name. I take the tag myself, subconciously terrified of hazardous bacteria or residual chemicals from the explosion, consciously derisive of myself for such a petty fear. "Truth," I read. ... 'rabbi and I sip our "coffee." "You know," he says at long last, "we had better stuff when I was in charge." I don't argue. The instant Yuban we have tastes like... iraq. Or "butt crack," whichever term suffices to communicate the level of cullinary incivility I'm willing to tolerate to get my fix. All the same, we made a third cup and placed it by the litter next to us. For the dead guy. His is getting cold and he hasn't touched it. I sip mine and don't blame him for not doing the same. Where he's going, they've *got* to have better stuff than this. "You keep promising me the real thing," Hammurabi says. "Yeah, I know," I respond. "The packages aren't here yet. My friend is sending me starbucks..." "Yes," he interrupts, "Tell me more about this 'Siren' you keep referring to. Is she a god?" "Nah, man. Just an icon." "But you worship her?" The wind is rippling through the cammy netting above us. The perforated shadows dance at our feet, accross our bench, over us and everything. "Not so much," I say, wondering in my heart how much I rely on the cup of muddy water in my hands to keep my blood sugar levels between "Manic" and "Depressed," hopefully in the range we call "sane." I look at 'Rabbi. He isn't convinced. "I don't, but a lot of people do. You know how it is. With one part of a tree-- the beans in this case-- a man fashions a thing he worships, the coffee. With the other part of the tree, he makes fuel for a fire, and never stops to consider that the ultimate substance of the one is no greater than the other, apart from the question of utility, of course." He looks at me with an arched eyebrow. "You know you talk with big words when you've had too much of this stuff, right?" I sigh. It almost creeps me out that we're keeping this body company, but it seems right. Truth was a good man brought down by the ingenious subterfuge of the land mine. In my heart I am sad, because now the relativists are right. No more Truth. Just small, multiple "truths," the sort that pass for "Truth" when/if your friends will let you get away with calling a truth the Truth. I'm angry because I know when he's burried, the man won't have many medals on his chest, either. Seems that it takes a lot of self-glorifying to get those nowadays, and Truth would have none of it. He even lost rank once, having stood up for what was right, and calling out our leaders with the sort of honesty we'd come to expect from him. Now we really do have to rely on what people write down. I look at Hammurabi, hoping he doesn't know how irritated I am that he's right. ,,, It's been a stressful week. Thank you all for your prayers and your love. ... :D
# posted by chevas @ 4:45 PM 0 comments
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear Family and Friends: After yesterday's promotion cerimony, i took my rank off my own uniform and spent the rest of the day as a private, listening to the orders of the lance corporals. i even made one of them take me outside the barracks and "haze" me (he made me do pushups). I was so upset i wanted to throw my rifle through a wall... ANY wall. Almost no one stayed after the ceremony to congratulate the new corporal. Super Marine and I did. I don't know of anyone else. I think even before then he started to get the hint. Later, when all the Corporals had made the decision to have a joint talk with our newest member, I hunted him down. He saw my uniform, and whether or not his new rank made him more sensitive to my own or not, he asked: "where's your rank, corporal?" he looked dejected, discouraged, thwarted of any satisfaction. Interesting. We still hadn't said anything to him yet. "Is is because of me?" he asked. I looked him straight in the eye -- you who know me can surely remember how intense i get, especially when I'm frustrated, angry, and somehow still articulate. I fixed him with that glare. "Yes." "why?" "Because I'm part of a company in which thieves are not punished and S*birds get meritoriously promoted." [there are thieves, cought red handed in this company, who were not punished in any measureable extent under the UCMJ. One of them was a Staff Sgt, and rather than take him down, they "pardoned" everybody, even down to the Private First Class who did the same thing. The man i'm talking to was not one of the thieves.] "i'm not a S*bird," he said. desperation and frustration are leaking through in his tone of voice. "Prove it." "How?" I shove a finger straight into his new rank insignia. "Show me you understand how much that weighs. Do you understand that I had documented several instances of your insubordination, had offered that to the chain of command, and done everything I could to ensure that a Marine didn't get promoted before he was ready to? If they'd asked me, i wouldn't have submitted your name for this. I can think of at least three Marines who deserve this more than you do." He looked me straight in the eye. He took it like a man who was actually, finally, prepared to listen. "But that doesn't matter now," I said. "This matters," i point at his chevrons again. "Whether or not you're ready for this, you're there, and now your job just got harder than it was before." ... Later, *all* of the NCOs sat him down and gave him the skinny. we told him not to ever tolerate all the crap we'd let him get away with. we told him we wouldn't bother telling him this if we didn't think he wasn't worth salvaging. we reminded him that, even though he has our rank, we're still senior by time in grade and there *is* a pecking order. we told him to get our help if one of the lance corporals gives him attitude, that we'd help him square the situation away. before i left, i said one last thing. "even when you were a lance corporal, i witnessed you condescending your peers. You will NEVER do that ever again, especially now that you outrank them. You are now in charge of some outstanding men who have never given me a reason to doubt their character or abilities. I will warn you *one* time. Never lord your authority over them. I will not let you get away with it, nor will anyone else in this room." ... later i took the Lcpls aside and told them that, whatever their personal feelings were, they'd better for the sake of their own continued health and well being treat our new corporal with the respect his rank deserves. it's nothing less than what I expect from them, but all's the same, i know how unmotivating it can be to see inept marines get promotions when the hard working ones get overlooked. I told them i understand how they feel, and i do. I've been in their shoes TWICE myself, having been in the running for meritorious promotions that were not, in the end, decided with any reference to proficiency or conduct, but instead with defference to friendship/political ties. ... I know those marines. i didn't have to say what i did, but I wanted to make sure they kept the appropriate perspective. ... God. I try. And Jesus keeps telling me I have trouble surrendering. it's really damn hard when you care about something so much it makes you burn inside. ... love you all, :D
# posted by chevas @ 11:31 PM 0 comments
Friday, November 05, 2004
Hammurabi, USMC - DMR
Dear y'All: Last night my friend, Trent Walker, aka "Super Marine" participated in the "friday night fight" we have here at base. It required us to stay up hours into the time we have set aside for sleep (our shift starts at 0100 in the morning). Trent has a lot of experience in the ring, but hasn't boxed for 9 years. He's been in about 100 street fights and once even had the Law step in and give him the "wake up call" when he was alot younger. So, basically he utterly dismantled the poor fool he got matched with last night. The one time his opponent landed a punch, Trent just smiled his goofy "oh no you didn't" smile and went to town. The other guy even tried to sucker punch him during the sacred "glove touch" portion at the beginning of the round-- that's sort of like shaking hands before any sort of competition-- but Trent just leaned away and I saw this spark in his eyes and , well... the other guy's nose is broken. play fair, or pay fair. He chose. Wow. It was a beautiful thing to see... >:] I've been thinking about getting in the ring myself, but I've been stacking on weight at this point in the gym, and weigh about 196. Goal is 200 lean pounds. The other guys in that weight category have experience. Them + me = a lot of time for my face to get aquainted with the mat. oh well. there's worse things than facing defeat in the ring. :? You guys remember the junior Marine I've had so much trouble with? Well, *Every* other NCO has had difficulties with him as well. I myself have counselled him regarding his behavior, spending 1.5 hours one day explaining in painstaking detail what I expected from him as a man and a Marine. I did this because I believed I was not wasting my time. In the intervening weeks he has proven me wrong. Oh. But understand, that isn't stopping the brass of our company from MERITORIOUSLY promoting him these next few days. for those of you who don't know, that's about the highest non-medal honor you can receive: to be promoted early-- in this case about 2 years of humble development early. I spent some time yesterday talking to my Company Gunnery Sergeant. I have journalled three instances of insubordination in my journal (thank you for the little black book, Wolphin). I explained the situation with every ounce of communicative control and holy Grace i have (thank you for your patient teachings, Dr. Taylor; logic class *still* pays off). I was so discouraged and excited and disappointed at the news that it was all I could do to pray to the Lord that I would speak clearly and not just cuss a blue streak in the atmosphere. I spoke clearly. I made my mind known. I detailed the evidence/instances/witnesses I have recorded. None of it matters. It's already a done deal. I can do nothing to stop the promotion of an arrogant, incapable, self-inflated man who belittles his peers and despises the correction (even when kind and judicious) of his superiors. ... who are no longer of higher rank... On my way back to the flightline from the command office, I found myself choking up. It was hard to explain. I know of THREE lance corporals who excell in all things, who never complain or talk back, who do their jobs with humility and proficiency and make my life easier because of it. J* is one of them. We call him "Junior." He's just returned from Germany, having suffered a massive hernia that he concealed from us for weeks. He *is* hard, though we kind of raz him now for not telling us when he was in excruciating pain. "I didn't want to get sent home," is all he ever told us. I'm passing by him in the dark. He's standing watch at the flight line gate. My jaw is clenched and my heart racked by the wretched injustice that's about to take place. Don't get me wrong. I have nothing *personally* against the marine they're going to promote. It's professionally... all of it. Documented. All of it I have attempted to correct with more patience than I have on my own (thank you Jesus). The words fly out of my mouth before I even know it: "I'm sorry, Junior." "uh... about what, Corporal?" "I want you to know that *we* notice the hard work you do." then I point to the command building, "Even when they never will. I'm sorry." I'm almost bellowing against the wind, and I walk away with a heavy heart. Later he asks me what I meant, and I tell him to forget it. Not because he doesn't deserve an answer, but because he's an outstanding man without my input or opinions. "Just keep being who you are." ... :D
# posted by chevas @ 7:51 PM 0 comments
Hammurabi, USMC
Dear Family and Friends: I have finally compiled a more complete list of recipients for my mass emails. If any of you have been included on this list and do not wish to be, please inform me and I will remove your address on my own sweet time :] ... The Marines of Al Asad air station DID get to vote. The commanders of the base managed to "poof" some mail-in voter's forms on the day of the elections. The post office stayed open late to make sure we all got our stuff post-marked in time. The election is already decided, and we know our votes won't be needed to break a tie anywhere, but we were all pretty dang happy to go through the motions. Noam Chomsky would probably say we're just happy to get our 'opiate of participation' and go on with our feeble, controlled lives, but Noam Chomsky is an idiot. (now that i've said that ... is now a good time to wonder if I spelled his name correctly? heh...) And in so defying the Great Sith Lord of Socialism, I realize I stand in jeopardy! Yet, Darth Chomsky should realize that one even greater than he stands with me! (oh yeah. you guessed it) Hammurabi. The one and only. Step back. (it took a while to explain the concept of "voting" to Hammurabi, but it was worth it. You'll get that conversation later. I'm out of time today.) Peace and Bullets. The Conservative Way to Fly. :D
# posted by chevas @ 12:27 PM 0 comments