Lady Luck: War's Greatest Enemy
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Photo by Jason Crawford
Lady Luck is a mistress who disguises herself in many shapes and forms. Some good. Some bad. In Iraq, she was mainly a bitch.
The sun was setting as our squad returned to base. As we approached the front gate we would take turns bounding across the road that separated us from the base. The first man in the patrol would stop on our side of the road, take a knee, and scan for any threats. If there was no traffic, the second man would then cross the road, turn around, take a knee, and scan for threats to the rear of the patrol. The squad would then take turns running across the road.
I was the second man in the patrol and crossed the road first. Kneeling, I took my position on the far side of the road. Being right outside the base, and the threat seemingly less, I casually watched the men cross the road one by one more closely than I did scan for threats. The third man to cross was Robison. Robison watched the Marine before him cross the road just as Sandoval came up behind him, signaling that it was Robison’s turn to cross.
Robison began his trot across the road. As he reached the halfway point his body stiffened, as if he passed out mid-stride, and fell headlong into the road. He laid there, not moving.
“SNIPER!” Sandoval cried out from across the road. “CORPSMAN UP!”
Robison was an eccentric young man from Iowa. He was big into the Eastern culture, martial arts, anime, and it was not uncommon to find Robison talking to anyone who would listen about the role-playing games he enjoyed. Stories about his sexual encounters that would involve fantasy role-playing would leave his listeners creeped out. Robison was not the typical Marine.
Robison was an odd Marine who caught the eye of Lady Luck.
This is their story.
“What the fuck?!” Sandoval said as he sat up in his rack to look at Robison.
Robison had just pulled what appeared to be a mechanic’s wrench from his seabag.
“Why the fuck do you have that?” Sandoval continued, garnering more attention from the rest of the squad in the tent.
“Body hardening,” Robison replied as he set the wrench on his mattress and began unbuttoning his blouse. As he removed his blouse he gave any Marine who would listen further explanation.
“For centuries, martial artists have come up with ways to make their bodies stronger. Certain groups would have trainees start out by hitting a sack of feathers hundreds of times per day with their fist. Later they would move on to a sack of wool, then mud, then sand, then brick. They would do similar things for the rest of their body.”
Robison hung up his blouse at the end of his rack and picked up the wrench. Grasping the wrench in his right hand he raised his left arm and said, “Like I said, ‘body hardening’.”
What we saw next left us in awe of the man standing before us. Not the type of awe that one would have while watching an amazing athlete or viewing a great piece of art, but rather the type of awe a person would have when watching a sword swallower or someone hanging from hooks in their back.
Robison leaned to his right to stretch the left side of his torso before hitting it with the wrench. Starting at the top of his rib cage, and moving down his side and to his abs, Robison hit himself dozens of times before moving to the right side of his torso. Marines shook their heads in disbelief as they returned to their books or music.
Robison returned to beating his inner and outer thighs. The sound, as if someone was tenderizing chicken, filled the tent.
“How do you like your new TV?” I asked Robison upon entering the tent and seeing him sitting on his rack.
“Love it!” he said. “It’s perfect for my growing collection of pirated Haji movies.”
Most Marines had packed a portable DVD player or cheap laptop for movies and porn. Not wanting to give up precious space in his bags, Robison had waited to purchase a small TV with a built-in DVD player once we settled into our small base in Iraq.
He placed his small TV at the end of his rack so when his “jerk curtain” was drawn, he could experience his own personal theater.
Before going further, I must explain what a “jerk curtain” is. Marines would create a “jerk curtain” by running a cord between the ends of their rack and draping their poncho over the cord. Since the racks were bunk beds, the man on the bottom could cover the space from the bottom of the top bunk to the bottom part of his bunk. If clothing was hung at the ends of the bunks, the Marine could escape into his own little world to read, watch movies, or partake in the activity which gave the curtain its name.
“In fact, I’m going to watch one now,” Robison said, pulling out a stack of movies.
“What are you going to watch?” I asked as I began to hand up my weapon and began undressing.
Shuffling through his stack of movies he stopped and showed me the movie.
“Aladdin!” he said. “Princess Jasmine is smokin’ hot!”
“Damn, you are odd,” I said as he crawled into his rack and pulled the “jerk curtain” shut.
Within a few minutes, I could hear the movie start and Robison pressing buttons to skip ahead.
I can show you the world. Shining, shimmering splendid.
“What a fucking weirdo,” I thought as I heard the familiar childhood song.
Tell me, Princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?
I couldn’t help but begin to sing along in my head, and as I did, I noticed Robison’s rack swaying slightly end to end.
I can open your eyes. Take you wonder by wonder.
Not thinking a whole lot of it, I finished undressing and crawled into my rack. As I was about to draw my “jerk curtain”, I saw the swaying of Robison’s rack stop. I then saw his “jerk curtain” flutter as wadded up toilet paper was dropped next to his rack.
Robison was an odd Marine whose weirdness seemed to catch the eye of Lady Luck.
Every time our squad would train or go on patrol, bad luck would follow Robison. He would frequently trip or run into something. Lady Luck would even tag along during times Robison should be having fun.
Prior to deployment, we were stationed at Camp Pendleton, along the California coast. During our time there, our company went on a long hike, that would take us to the beach where we would spend half the day grilling, drinking, swimming, and boogie boarding. Robison spent part of that day sleeping. Without a shirt on. And without suntan lotion.
The next day, the second-degree burn on his body caused him to roll on the floor, yelling that bees were stinging him all over.
This set the tone for the rest of the deployment.
I remember Robison’s first encounter with Lady Luck on deployment when our squad crossed over a canal. I call it a canal, but it was more like a small man-made river. Unless crossed at a road, the canal would have to be crossed on large irrigation piping which would span the width of the canal — many times 30–40 meters — and 10–15 meters above the water. If a Marine fell into the water from that height it would almost surely be fatal. A person crossing the canal would balance on the piping until reaching a post that was vertically welded to the piping 5 to 10 meters from the edge of the canal. The posts were welded in such a way where someone could almost reach the next one. This caused the person crossing to shuffle step from one post to the next. The Marines found this more difficult from the weight of their gear.
As the Marine to my rear took my place on the far side of the canal, I stood to see a shepherd herding sheep toward our position. Not thinking much of it I turned to watch the Marine crossing next. Seeing it was Robin I paid closer attention. As he took his first step onto the pipe, I saw the herd of sheep out of the corner of my eye appear to gain speed. As I turned I saw the sheep within an arm’s reach from me. The first sheep turned and began to cross the irrigation piping. The rest of the herd followed.
I looked back across the canal in time to see Robison grasping the second post.
“Robison! ROBISON!” I shouted with a few other Marines as we all realized what was unfolding before us. “Get the fuck off the pipe! Go back!” we yelled.
Robison, unaware of what was happening because of his focus on the next post, glanced up to see the herd bearing down on him.
For a moment Robison seemed unsure whether to stand his ground or move back toward the safety of solid ground. He chose solid ground.
Robison awkwardly turned around and began shuffling toward the canal’s edge. The squad watching him fell silent, knowing their cries would be of no help. As he started to shuffle step, it appeared as if he would plunge into the dark canal water. Once near the edge of the canal, he dove. From my vantage point, the first sheep in the herd appeared to have pushed him forward.
Robison stood, dusted himself off, and watched as the last of the herd crossed the canal with the shepherd quickly on their tail. Realizing what had happened, Robison shoved the shepherd to the ground as he stepped off the piping. From the opposite side of the canal, I could hear Robison cursing at the shepherd as another Marine held him back.
The canal crossing would set the tone for the rest of our deployment.
Lady Luck in the form of sheep.
On a different day, our squad was patrolling through the city’s busy marketplace. Our squad leader halted our patrol at a small shop, with the intention of grabbing some chow and questioning the shop owner. Since the road the shop was on was not all that wide, it took very few men to post security. Robison and I, not needing to post security, sat outside the shop on a foot high curb which separated parking spots. It had been a longer patrol and we appreciated the rest. We appreciated, even more, when our squad leader took his time questioning the shop owner, giving us 15–20 minutes of rest.
Once finished with his questioning, our squad leader came out from the shop and told us it was time to move on. Robison and I both stood. Robison turned around, began walking, and tripped over the curb he had been sitting on for all that time.
Lady Luck in the form of a rock monster.
At the end of another operation, our squad was unloading rolls of concertina wire from the back of Humvees we had taken. The easiest way to accomplish this task was by having a man on each side of the roll, lifting the roll, and quickly throwing it off the side of the vehicle as to not get caught in the thousands of razors.
Oblivious to what was happening, Robison walked alongside a vehicle which was being unloaded. The timing was perfect. The Marines unloading the humvee threw the concertina wire roll off the side of the vehicle, unaware the Robison had been walking by. Like a heavy, sharp hula hoop, the roll of concertina wire landed over Robison. The roll knocked him to the ground where he groaned in pain, not sure how to escape the razor wire.
Lady Luck in the form of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
At one point we all thought Robison had escaped Lady Luck’s clutches.
Near the end of a long patrol, our squad had to cross a small canal near the base. Unlike the river sized canals, this canal could almost be jumped with a running start — but not quite.
Because of this, the farmer who used this canal had created a makeshift bridge to cross. He accomplished this by driving a post into the middle of the canal. He then took a 2x4 piece of lumber and place one end on the bank of the canal, and the other end on the post in the middle of the canal. He did the same thing on the opposite side of the canal, before securing the ends of the board to the post.
We would take turns balancing across this small bridge.
Robison would be one of the first men across.
“Robison,” Lawrie said getting his attention. “If you don’t fall in this will be the first patrol your dumb luck hasn’t got you!”
“Ya! Don’t suck!” I said, giving him a hard time.
The other Marines took turns making jokes at Robison’s expense and sarcastically letting him know how confident they were in him.
Turning his back to the Marines, Robison stuck a middle finger in the air as he walked toward the narrow crossing. Placing one foot on the board he pressed down testing its sturdiness. Confident that it would hold his weight, Robison shuffled onto the board and began the short crossing. A few times it appeared as if he was losing his balance and would fall, but with a few hurried steps on the far side of the canal, he crossed without falling.
We all hooted and hollered, congratulating Robison on his successful crossing. The look on Robison’s face was one of surprise and relief. He had finally gone a patrol without anything happening to him.
Robison turned to set up security on the far side of the canal. Within the first few steps, a ripping noise was heard by all.
A post which could not be seen in the tall grass had caught the lower part of Robison’s trousers, tearing a softball size hole in them.
We all hooted and hollered in a different way this time.
Lady Luck in the form of hidden things.
“SNIPER!” Sandoval cried out from across the road. “CORPSMAN UP!”
My heart jumped into my throat as my adrenaline spiked. I did not hear where the shot had rung out from.
Sandoval raced to Robison’s aid.
As I scanned the horizon for places I thought a sniper could be hiding, Sandoval reached Robison.
As he kneeled beside Robison, Sandoval heard him groan and saw him move his arm.
“Where are you hit!?” Sandoval yelled, not seeing any blood.
Robison groaned some more and tried rolling over.
Sandoval helped him roll over as the corpsman reached them.
“Where the fuck is he hit?” the corpsman asked Sandoval.
“I’m not hit,” Robison growled in response. “I fucking tripped.”
Lady Luck in the form of a misstep.
Lady Luck was cruel to Robison. She beat him down and continued to beat him down once he was back home. But he made it back home. She was a cruel mistress to Robison, but a mistress nonetheless. Other men were not so lucky. Lady Luck would bed them down for a night, before robbing them of everything. In Iraq, men bled and died at the hands of Lady Luck. But not Robison. Robison walked hand in hand with his mistress until she eventually led him safely home.