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.

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

 

DMR Photos


Here are some photos that turned up on the USMC site. PhotoID: 2005111131513 Submitted by: 3rd Marine Aircraft Wing Caption: Lance Cpl. Chelsee A. Rattray (left), landing support specialist, and Cpl. Damon Robertson (right), heavy equipment operator, block their faces from wind while ensuring their teammates safely hook up a decommissioned Assault Amphibian Vehicle for an external movement. The vehicle was externally lifted Jan. 9 by a CH-53E Super Stallion from Marine Medium Helicopter Squadron 166 (reinforced), Marine Aircraft Group 16, and moved from Al Asad, Iraq to an off-base aerial firing range used by elements of the 3rd Marine Aircraft Wing. Rattray, a 24-year-old Sunnyside, Wash., native, and Robertson, a 27-year-old San Francisco native, had to brave hurricane force winds created by the helicopter’s blades in order to help properly hook up the vehicle to the helicopter. The Marines are part of a helicopter support team with Combat Service Support Battalion 7, 1st Force Service Support Group. Photo by: Sgt. Nathan K. LaForte. --------AND-------- PhotoID: 200511114528 Submitted by: 3rd Marine Aircraft Wing Caption: Lance Cpl. Chelsee A. Rattray (left), a 24-year-old landing support specialist from Sunnyside, Wash., grounds the dual point hook from a CH-53E Super Stallion while Cpl. Damon M. Robertson, a 27-year-old heavy equipment operator from San Francisco, hooks up the external cargo cable to the helicopter. The Super Stallion, from Marine Medium Helicopter Squadron 166 (reinforced), Marine Aircraft Group 16, has the ability to lift extremely heavy loads, which the helicopter support team from Combat Service Support Battalion 7, 1st Force Service Support Group, used to lift several decommissioned Assault Amphibian Vehicles and Iraqi armored personnel carriers from Al Asad, Iraq Jan. 9. The vehicles were are to be used by aerial gunners in the 3rd Marine Aircraft Wing for target practice before missions. Photo by: Sgt. Nathan K. LaForte -------------- These can be seen here: http://216.239.63.104/search?q=cache:93Ji6xX86O0J:www.marines.mil/marinelink/mcn2000.nsf/lookupstoryref/2005111125136+%22damon+robertson%22&hl=en
# posted by chevas @ 4:15 PM 1 comments

Monday, February 21, 2005

 

Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR


Dear Family and Friends: A quick update. Staff Sgt Toothless has been shipped down to Kuwait, relieved of his command of the Air delivery Marines and there's whispers of a "court martial" in the rumor mill. There may yet be-- even if my unit is only talking about it to keep us from revolting-- the Jag officers promised to stipulate that this instance was not erased or forgotten in the exchange of forces currently underway. I realize that on a long enough timeline, if Justice is allowed to be the sole victor, every single one of us is hosed. We are all human and will all fall short if given enough time. However, on our timelines we usually don't include such vulgarities as theft and sexual harrassment while masquerading as an honorable and courageous Marine. I say this so you all know my intense desire to see this sack of falsehoods burn isn't motivated out of some self-blind judgmental thinking on my part. The way this "man" acts, he's asking for the torch. It seems like he's getting it, thank God. :D

# posted by chevas @ 11:38 PM 0 comments

Thursday, February 17, 2005

 

Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR


Yo, like We're the last unit left on base from 1MEF (Marine Expeditionary Force). I still don't know which unit I'm going to be sloughed off on, and at this point maybe I should add "whether it's going to happen at all." The positive side: I haven't met a single staff sgt or above from any of the new units that looks in any way as reproachable as my own. I don't get it. Super Marine and I were laughing self-depricatively the other day about how we were cursed. Both times we've been activated we've been under these sleazy, corrupt commands who reign their Marines with an iron fist because they're afraid we might "do something." They never specify, and such is the nature of fear. The less specific their fear is, the more control it has over them. (we can assume they're afraid of incidents of a public nature, i.e. "when the Marines get back to the US we don't want them getting drunk so we're not going to give them any liberty... they need to wind down first.") Riiiiiight. See how fast they snap when they're back on Camp Pendleton and can literally smell the southern Californian ocean... and they can't go there. Never mind beer and ladies. I feel like I'm watching a Greek trajedy from the front row-- close enough to the action to feel like I'm part of it-- where the main characters try to do everything they can to thwart fate but end up playing right into its hands. The main characters here being the staff, who hope to manipulate their Marines into behaving well by continually and unjustifiably restricting their lives tighter and tighter with each passing week. Has no one ever told them that (typically) fatherless Gen-Xers lose their minds in an uber-controlled environment? Even boot camp can't undo the roots of nintendo and the all-powerful "WHAT-Ever..." I guess Roy Rodgers said something about people, their different styles of learning, and how some learn by observing, others by careful instruction, and some sods just have to go and urinate on an electric fence for themselves... ... I talked to my commanding officer this morning about the units I could possibly be assigned to, and he asked me if I still wanted to be attached to 3rd LAR or something like that (light-armored recon). Honestly I was shocked he'd still ask. I'd been broken of aspiration long ago, but said "that'd be great if you could swing it, sir." (no, he doesn't know I've been to JAG. unfortunate as it may sound, being "frugal with the truth" is a lesson well applied here. He doesn't ask, I don't tell, and no one gets their lace pantaloons in a bunch. By the time the investigation trickles down to him, it won't have my name on it-- and yes, I got that assurance from JAG since I work for a company that's all about personal vendettas.) Where was I? Oh. Here's a little joint, as in "day dream," I'll share with you all in closing. It's one of those "this would be too good to be true" things that I'm afraid will go "poof" if I just mention it aloud, or in written word. There's a squadron of Huey gunships that roam the base and surrounding area with a AH1 Super Cobra escort. Their callsign is "MISFITS" and the other day they invited some of us to go along on a "ride," i.e. "let's see if there's anything to shoot out there flight," but our staff told us that it was dangerous and they didn't want anyone getting hurt. ??? Oh My God what am I? A Marine or Mary Poppins!?!? (a broken dichotomy given that even Mary, faithful, pure Mary got to fly around the dangerous streets of london whenever she so desired). Alright, but for God's sake THEY PAY ME HAZARD MONEY EVERY MONTH FOR A REASON. sorry I didn't mean to raise my voice but Lord forbid we actually face danger while we're here. You see, they lost their old excuse for keeping us in a dog kennel when our replacements arrived on deck. They used to tell us "no convoys, no flights: we have the flight line to run and that's our mission so shut up already!!!" ...seeing as how we're now very close to being unemployed, they can't tell us that anymore. We're training the guys who will take our place, which means there's a glut of qualified personnel on a flight line that's winding down anyway. So now we should just be safe. I'll be sure not to stub my toe on my way over to the MISFIT squadron this afternoon when I go to "observe operations," and do my best to safeguard my fingernails when I sign in on their mission roster. Wouldn't want to break one or get a hangnail and have to fill out all that messy workman's comp paperwork... (and yes, for those of you who are still reading and wondering "but will he bring his lace underoos that his company issued him?" the answer is "no, I don't wear them.") At this point you're all fired if you read this at work... I've been on a while. Thanks for the opportunity to vent, guys. much love, ;D

# posted by chevas @ 6:31 PM 0 comments

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

 

Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR


Dear Family and Friends: The JAG Major was all ears. He took notes. At the conclusion of our interview he muttered something about bringing in a Lt. Colonel to make sure that things don't get stifled at the battalion level. Overall me and my buddies (two others) were pleased that we actually managed to be articulate and not stumble over one another in our mutual frustration. "It says a lot about you guys coming here," the Major said. "It takes serious balls to do what you're doing." We felt good about that perspective. It's magically like that whenever I speak to a senior staff member or officer *from*another*unit*. They're encouraging. It's wierd to think there are Real Men who lead out there somewhere. ... "I feel like I'm taking Crazy Pills!!!!" --Mugatu, of "Zoolander" Rest assured the Department of Defense has issued several statements to the effect that long-term exposure to Crazy Pills results in medical conditions that can universally be healed with the passage of time. Generally it takes a Marine Reservist a few months back in what civilians (correctly) call the "real world," a distinction which baffles career Marines as they know nothing but the Corps. ... Crazy pill # ... oh who knows. So many of use lose the bottles issued to us we just end up borrowing eachother's anyway... Get this. Last night I hear that Lcpl A's original offender was being assigned to our shift, to work in the pax terminal RIGHT ALONG SIDE HER. Apparently the fact that an ongoing sexual harrassment investigation might complicate things never occurred to our staff. I had *just* walked the mile or so back from the JAG office upon hearing this, and sighed and said aloud to no one in particular: "Gee. I guess I'll go see the Major again tomorrow." Then the Sergeants of our shift got wind of the impending debacle and shook things up enough so the harrasser is on a different 12 hour shift than the harrassed. We have a joke in our unit, one we whisper behind the backs of senior sergeants who are taking on the properties of the next rank up, that of Staff Sgt (same rank as toothless). Once my mormon buddy asked aloud "So, when they get promoted do they have to s* their brains out their a**es or what?" Well... that may be. ... Darn me, I tried to do another good thing the other day. I have this Lance Corporal who is a real person and also one of the hardest workers (ergo finest Marines) I've ever had the fortune to lead. He should have gotten promoted the time our illustrious non-Mech Golden Boy did, but he wasn't the Major's buddy. This time I took several hours to write a three page recommendation that he be promoted meritoriously, citing specific examples. The best part is I didn't have to fudge the truth. He's ready for the authority and he deserves the honor. I offered this voluntarily, having heard another meritorious board was in motion. I tried to get a jump on things. Someone else is getting it. I don't know if anything I do gets heard by anyone up the chain of command. If it is, they don't care. Maybe I raise eyebrows. No. That's being optimistic, too optimistic probably. ... The other day the Major (our Major, the one who doesn't care about injustice among his ranks) made us wash our dusty short little retarded bus we ride to work in. (God had recently forbidden that anything belonging to our company be dusty in the desert, and we were horrified to hear of our transgression) So imagine this. We're outside with bottled water (precious commodity, remember, in the DESERT) washing the outside of the bus and scrubbing it with ... not sponges, but the one broken broom we have that's missing a lot of bristles. We're done soon enough, but only after three staff sgts have put their two critical cents in and sufficiently circus-ized (i.e. made like a circus) the excercise that should have been simple and bellowing-idiot-free. I'm looking characteristically downcast. My shift is over. I'm a Corporal in a Corps that I was once proud to be a part of, in a company that reeks of corruption, and for those of you who know me... that is everyone, right? ... you'll remember I don't intend to hide my feelings very often, and even when I try i'm still easily read. Anyone smarter would have known to just let me be. I'm working on my 14th hour for the day and I'm tired and cranky and demoralized beyond comparison... and I'm washing a bus in Iraq. Oh God the shame. If only my Great Grandfather could see me now (he fought in the trenches of WW1). "Good job, Corporal Robertson!" It's the Major. I turn. I am genuinely clueless: "With what, sir?" "The bus," he says. I turn. "Rodger that." I get on the bus and slowly become aware that there's this dull acheing knife in my chest and it really hurts and I don't know why. I talk to Super Marine, tell him what was said. "It hurts because that's all this whole deployment amounts to, dude," he says. Yay. Good Job. Wonderful little P.O.G.y washed a bus. Now take him to chow and send him to bed (voiciferously resenting him all the while for needing such pathetic mortal sustenance). The Major does genuinely wonder why moralle is so low. He's voiced his astonishment, and that was after he learned moralle was low in the first place. Yes, that's right, he's so out of touch that he doesn't know that the only reason we haven't stopped functioning altogether is because we really are Marines and the only reason our hearts really hurt is because we do, or did, Believe that meant something. Honestly, though, having seen him "in touch" with Lcpl A's investigation, i'm sorta glad he doesn't keep tabs on us. Maybe the inanely brutal yet utterly predictable rants of the 1st sgt are preferrable to a man who thinks he has what it takes. We see the 1st sgt for what he is; a paper mache demon stuffed with plastic party trinkets. We can handle that. We know it, after all, because we've lived too close. ... I volunteered for this? Please don't commit me to an asylum when I get back. This place messes me up so much precisely because I've done my best to keep my heart of justice and compassion intact. I figure I'll need it someday, and maybe, just maybe, will have bosses some day who prize it and don't see it as distinct and opposed from who they have made themselves to be. ... D

# posted by chevas @ 7:57 PM 0 comments

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

 

Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR


Dear Family and Friends: Short from telling this next bit to CNN or Fox News, I'm going to see if the judicial arm of the Marine Corps can preserve the Marine Corps' honor. We have a blatant case of sexual harrassment in our unit. Here's the summary: Lcpl A (female) has pictures of herself, on her own computer, which she describes as "inappropriate." She does not share these pictures, nor any information as to why they are there or who took them. "A" is a married woman. Cpl Z steals said digital photos on a 'thumb drive,' passes them around in the platoon for several days before "A" hears about it. "A" approaches her staff sgt, "Toothless" if you've read my early emails, who instead of rising in righteous fury as he should, striking down the perpetrator, continues to instead inform her that "you shouldn't be embarassed. they're good pictures." i.e., the real judicial snag here: the staff sgt is as guilty as the cpl, according to military regulation, as he knew of this dishonorable behavior and not only did nothing to stop it, but condoned it. Lcpl "A" goes further up the chain of command, to our Dear First Sgt. He tells her she's merely gunning for the rank of the Cpl and doesn't respect her pleas. He tells her "an investigation will be undertaken." No investigation is undertaken. Instead, "A" and her friends are subjected to M.I.H., "military instructional hours," a creative way of saying they get screwed with after they work 13 hours. They get assigned extra duties like cleaning the entire barracks building every day for a week, while half of them stand in full combat gear with weapons to "guard the perimiter." These orders are issued by Toothless who is, in any interpretation, as guilty as the Cpl of sexually harrassing his junior Marine. Our sgt files "request mast" paperwork, whereby he is allowed to skip his chain of command and speak directly to our commanding officer, a Major (o-4). Our major informs the sgt that he's not going to get excited to defend "A" if she's been a trouble maker the whole time we've been here. [logical interlude and insight into why this company is so messed up: the supposed continual misbehavior of "A" does not justify her lack of recourse to justice. Whether or not she is a "good Marine" in the opinion of the Major does not mean she can be wantonly victimized without penalty. This bringing-up of another's faults to hide one's own is commonly referred to as a "red herring," a distraction to the real argument at hand, in this case, whether or not justice can be delivered in a sexual harrassment case. The accused have rights.] "A" is told that if she pursues charges/legal action, she herself will be charged with sexual harrassment. Toothless says "if you want to F* someone else, you're going to get F*ed yourself." In the days since our sgt's appeal to the Major, nothing has been done. "A" has been sufficiently beaten down by the extra duties and once, when she used to seek my advice, now only says "who cares I just want to go home." ... Contrary to popular myth, there are men in my company, myself included, who aren't going to let the staff get away with this. Me and a few other stand-up corporals are going to see the JAG (judge advocate general) office in the near future and present our complaint. Our other alternative is to request mast ourselves: a request mast stops at our commanding officer only if *we* believe he'll handle the situation. He hasn't. Broadly speaking, we can take our request mast all the way to the Secretary of the Navy. There is precident for us to file on behalf of another Marine. We will. And, like I said, if the JAG won't do anything and the chain of command frustrates our efforts to request mast (which is itself a criminal act, but not beyond them nor is it something I haven't witnessed before in other units), then something tells me that certain civilian news agencies would love to get a letter signed by a bunch of men like myself who aren't going to let these jerks get away with this kind of abuse. (Toothless is also the same man who stole from Seal Team 1 pallets earlier in the deployment and was not punished. Rumor has it he has been nominated for a medal for this deployment, a Service Commendation Medal, which I don't know how nifty that is or not, but the Real Marine in me burns with indignation even at the suggestion that he should be rewarded for his wretched and repeated failings as a human being, let alone as a Marine. He disgraces the uniform. Some men wear the digital cammies because we actually Believe. Some do it for a paycheck, and apparently what they can get on the side.) God help us. :D

# posted by chevas @ 7:54 PM 0 comments
 

Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR


When the Poop hits the Prop. (that's the kosher way of saying s* this the fan, mind you, and also notice the airplane reference with "prop" as being specific to my current situation). Everyone Gets Crapped on. A lyrical essay in as many parts as there are free-floating particles after the aforementioned and fateful collision. ... Keeping a positive attitude can save your life. But let's be honest. Some things really do just suck. There's a PFC (private first class) in our barracks who, everytime she sees me, says "oh, it's Mr. Positive again," and I'm not quite sure what to say. I explained to her once that no matter what chose to call it, a "turd, for instance, will still smell. Exactly like a turd. It will still get stuck in the tread of your combat boots, if not somewhere else." These are the days pragmatism falls short. When you're trying, in the early morning over your first cup of coffee, to remind yourself that "you know, this really isn't all *that* bad" and then without fail you hear something from the chain of command, like "you are all required to attend three hours of safety briefings after shift today." And that, honestly, isn't so bad. But you get to the chow hall after shift, rush through another meal, get back to the barracks after counting rifles two times to make sure no one lost theirs... [no one in my company ever has... they just make us count them like a bunch of recruits, as though you could forget the worthless piece of metal you've been carrying around here for the past several months... i'm not sure i'm going to ever get rid of mine short of highly dangerous and invasive surgery to remove it like a gangrenous limb] end up in a room with other loud smelly dudes who have half an hour with nothing to do. You'll think someting like "I want to throw this damn rifle out the window, follow it, and then run screaming to the mosque and jump into the spring water there." It's about 40 degrees outside and as detailed in previous emails, the water smells like farts. But you feel just crazy enough to do it anyway, in full gear, and then maybe run six miles because you just can't get away from the BS... What is this, you wonder... psychologists call this "acting out," or at least the temptation to act out. Why act out? Why does sanity fail us in these critical times? Sanity doesn't work. Your brain is trying ever so hard to make sense of something that doesn't make sense, and it's willing to try "insanity" as a defining criterion. [i.e. they made us attend three hours of class but we will, WILL be chewed out today for not field cleaning our rooms at the same time and in the same respect. We will be punished for following directives, then coming home to get four hours of sleep before returning to 13 more hours of work. They will call us lazy, nasty, and all sorts of other things because we didn't field day during the last few hours of sleep time we had left. We are weak, worthless pieces of s*. There is no other way to describe our frail mortality.] "Hell is the impossibility of Reason." --Charlie Sheen (and probably someone smarter than him before) ... So we leave the theater, having droned through three hours of things that none of us will remember. I will tell you the idea of suicide is never so appealing as when I'm forced for the um-teenth time in my short years of service to watch the suicide prevention video... again... "does this make twice in 6 months?... ARRGH!!!" Also, when the theater temperature is about 40 and I keep my beanie on to save body heat, and some yick yack officer in a row behind me says in the Standard Abusive (tone of condescending authority) "Take your cover off inside, Devil Dog!" OH. I'M SO SORRY. I THOUGHT I WAS IN A WAR ZONE AND PETTY RULES DIDN'T MATTER... Oh, yeah. I'm at Al Asad. I'm a Marine. My bad. I didn't even hide my sarcasm. I'm losing it. We get outside. The Marines are instinctively waiting to be counted by our staff sgt and told when they can start walking the two blocks back to our barracks. One or two ask me what to do. "Move in pairs, not as a group, and make your way back to the barracks." I answer. [keeping them separate keeps them safer from mortars and rockets. bunch up and bunch up dead if Murphy's Law rears its ugly head. Also staying with a buddy keeps both guys out of trouble. Usually. This suggestion of mine made sense. To me.] But, Oh God No. Was I ever wrong. They needed to count bodies and rifles again. Again. DAMMIT for the third time that afternoon we counted rifles and I got my butt chewed "You need to get your head out of your ass and start taking charge!!!" ... duh.... .... I mean, uhhhh.... I thought that's what I did, and here we truly have our conundrum. Micro/Nano management by the staff breeds leadership paralysis in the lower ranks. If no matter what you do, you're wrong, you're never going to want to make decisions because no matter how much thought and experience you bring to the table, there's always going to be someone of greater rank, age, and treachery willing to undermine and destroy your youthful skill and zeal. [no one had given me orders to take a count and I actually do know the men, know they're not stupid and trust them to have their gear, rifles and all. I no longer require them to bring their sanity to work, since it's all useless anyway, and they're never required to use it anyway.] I walked as fast as I could back to the barracks, and having long legs this means I can at least move fast when I want to. There is justice in the universe in this, at least. Crawl in the sleeping bag. Wonder why I don't cry at such frustrations anymore. Wake up today. Repeat. :D "As soon as you make something fool-proof, someone has already developed a better fool." --Jared Robertson (and maybe someone else, but definitely not somone smarter than him)

# posted by chevas @ 8:09 AM 0 comments

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

 

Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR


THIS is funny... the govt always whines about how much money it pays for the military to be the military. We have notoriously low salaries and a retirement that's not great in numbers but actually does have some perks. The govt. is paying the civilians I work with (the ones who train the Iraqi police) 436 dollars a DAY. That's 13,000 a month. 150,000 a year. Tax free. They make as much in two months as I make in six. Anyone want to apply for a job and work about four years and retire... we can work together. it'd be great fun. Youd get to carry your own M4 assault rifle and choice of sidearm, as well as ... i dunno. Be a civilian and get paid booyah cash. :) :D p.s. seriously, especially for those Clift studs I used to work with in SF, this might be a worthwhile gig. Let me know. I've got "connections." Oooh I feel special!

# posted by chevas @ 6:37 PM 0 comments
 

Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR


Dear Family and Friends: Some things I've learned, The Navy "doctors" really do believe that Motrin heals all wounds. If I ever make a video game starring Marines, they'll regenerate their life in firefights by gobbling up little floating motrin pills. Life really is short. I'd rather fail seeking my dreams than succeed in living a life of regrets. Oppressed peoples do really love the idea of voting. The argument forwarded by Arab league rulers who insist that democracy is a western, and therefore incompatible, concept are fooling themselves, CNN, and anyone who buys everything they see on TV. Anyone who says an Iraqi National Guardsmen or Police Officer is cowardly is slandering some of the most dedicated and persevering people I've ever had the fortune to meet. An Iraqi voting official asked me the other day why American news networks didn't specify that the "muja" (short for mujahadeen, literally "fighters willing to give their lives for a cause," but in modern speech read "terrorist") were foreigners. I could only tell him that the news isn't truth, it's a story being told. The idea of suicide leading to salvation is a foreign concept to Iraq, imported by Hezbollah fighters with Iranian support. The tradition traces its roots back to the ancient Lebanese Hashishim, hired killers from whom the modern noun "assassin" is derived. Some of the best lessons I've ever learned were from cartoons. One character, Vash "the Stampede, the humanoid typhoon and $$60,000,000 Man," is an outlaw. He is falsely accused. He holds all life sacred and even though men (monsters) hunt him and seek his life, he does all he can to save everyone and never complains about his own wounds or pain. He feels deeply and wrongs he has done, he takes time to see past the veneer of human frailty to see the beauty that lies beneath. He loves them, even when they continually cast him out because of their own selfishness, ignorance, and fearful hatred. He cries and with child-like innocence and wonders why anyone, anywhere, ever thought they had a right to take the life of another. In this world we've made, it's hard to see how we can fight our way out of an apparently unsolvable dichotomy: a spider traps a butterfly in it's web. Free the butterfly and the spider starves. Leave the situation as is and the butterfly dies. Is it the worst option to do nothing? Are we really helping anything when we pluck the butterfly from the web? Why should it live while the spider dies? Vash's whole life is summed up with "there's got to be another way." Here I am, willing and ready to crush the spider. :D

# posted by chevas @ 6:20 PM 0 comments

Thursday, February 03, 2005

 

Re: Hammurabi, USMC - DMR


Dear Family and Friends: Assuming there's a place for me over here, my address is going to change very soon so please don't send all the fattening goodies you've been stashing away for me... yet. I'd hate for your good will to end up in the hands of ... ewwww.... the army or navy... :D

# posted by chevas @ 3:39 PM 1 comments