Operation Desert Porn

There is a procedure for searching the rooms in which soldiers and civilian contractors live. An officer with too much time on his hands or an obsessive love of order typically needs more than just a hunch to rifle through the possessions of the men and women serving under him. It's recommended that before scouring the barracks for that outlawed movie or half-pint of liquor, the commanding officer file a memorandum for record (MFR) that carefully defines the scope of the search for the military police who will conduct it. And as the living quarters are dissected, the residents are usually allowed to observe the search in order to prevent theft and damage.

Sayler would eventually conclude that the July 5 search at Camp Anaconda was anything but by-the-book. To begin with, he says, the inspection was ordered by Command Sergeant Major Ruben Vela. Typically, Vela's boss would have initiated the search, with Vela's responsibility limited to overseeing it. Additionally, Vela appears never to have filed an MFR, leaving the MPs with no official instructions. And finally, Sayler says, the civilian contractors in the affected barracks were not allowed to watch the MPs conduct the search.

As he waited outside during the inspection, Sayler's first thought was "Oh shit, I hope they don't find the disks!" They were at the bottom of his backpack, out of view but hardly hidden. When Sayler was allowed to return to his room hours later, he saw that not only were his movies gone, but his laptop computer had disappeared as well.

A few weeks later, the Army barred Sayler from the base, and he was subsequently fired by ITT. He claims that when he tried to speak with Vela about the situation, the sergeant major (who declined repeated requests to be interviewed for this article) simply pointed his finger at him and exclaimed, "I don't care. You got caught! You are going home! You are going home!"

Sayler says he spent the next few days under the supervision of armed guards. During that time, Sayler—who'd majored in political science while attending UMass—unsuccessfully appealed the Army's decision to Camp Anaconda's commander, then worked his way up the chain of command with a series of phone calls and e-mails. He says he never received a single reply. "I didn't think it would change the outcome," he remembers, "but I figured I'd give it a shot."

His appeals exhausted, Sayler returned to Haverhill. His laptop was given back to him before he left. He says it was determined the computer should never have been confiscated in the first place. It was small consolation.

After slogging through the entire military machine, Sayler decided to send one last e-mail directly to Brigadier General Joseph Anderson, one of the top commanders in Iraq. "I didn't think I'd hear back from him," Sayler remembers. Amazingly, though, the general replied within 24 hours: "This is the first I have seen any of this," Anderson wrote. "Our lawyers will review the packet and make a recommendation to me." It turned out that none of Sayler's appeals while still on the base had made their way to Anderson. In essence, the brigadier general's authority had been disrespected. "The base commander didn't forward my appeal," Sayler remembers with a smile. "That pissed [Anderson] off."

On September 22, two and a half months after the search, Anderson ruled that Sayler would be permitted to return to Iraq. Like most officers who attain his rank, however, Anderson is a savvy politician. He had ruled in Sayler's favor, but he also knew that the leadership at Anaconda would need to be able to save face. So Sayler's reinstatement ended up as only a partial vindication. Though he'd be allowed to return to Iraq, he'd have to limit himself to postings in Baghdad—which ruled out Camp Anaconda. Any military travel elsewhere in the country would require approval.

ITT, the company that had offered Sayler the new position in the first place, did have a shop in Baghdad, and even appeared to have an opening there. But Sayler eventually gave up on a return to Iraq. He crashed on couches in Massachusetts, New York, and Virginia as he hunted for a new job stateside. In time he returned to Fort Lee, Virginia, where he'd been based before his time in Iraq.

Sayler says the whole episode has left him feeling "tossed aside like a damaged plaything a child no longer wants or needs." Still, he strikes a somewhat analytical tone when asked about GO-1A. "It seems awfully self-defeating and counterproductive to terminate employees over purely non-work-related conduct," he says. "Particularly when you have to make a significant investment in those employees just to get them there in the first place."

Cassidey, the porn star whose movies set the entire affair in motion, was less measured in her reaction: "We send off our boys to fight in a war that's not even ours, and our boys get fired or discharged for that shit? Wack."