American Sniper: The Autobiography Of The Most Lethal Sniper In U.S. Military History Part 17

.338

We didn't have .338s in training; we started getting them later on during the war. Again, the name refers to the bullet; there are a number of different manufacturers, including MacMillan and Accuracy International. The bullet shoots farther and flatter than a .50 caliber, weighs less, costs less, and will do just as much damage. They are awesome weapons.

I used a .338 on my last deployment. I would have used it more if I'd had it. The only drawback for me was my model's lack of a suppressor. When you're shooting inside a building, the concussion is strong enough that it's a pain-literally. My ears would hurt after a few shots.

Since I'm talking about guns, I'll mention that my current favorites are the weapons systems made by GA Precision, a very small company started in 1999 by George Gardner. He and his staff pay close attention to every detail, and his weapons are just awesome. I didn't get a chance to try one until I got out of the service, but now they're what I use.

Scopes are an important part of the weapon system. Overseas, I used a 32-power scope. (The powers on a scope refer to the magnification of the focal length. Without getting too technical, the higher the power, the better a shooter can see at a distance. But there are tradeoffs, depending on the situation and the scope. Scopes should be chosen with a mind toward the situation they'll be used in; to give an obvious example, a 32-power scope would be wildly inappropriate on a shotgun.) Additionally, depending on the circ.u.mstances, I had an infrared and visible red laser, as well as night vision for the scope.

As a SEAL, I used Nightforce scopes. They have very clear gla.s.s, and they're extremely durable under terrible conditions. They always held their zero for me. On deployments, I used a Leica range finder to determine how far I was from a target.

Most of the stocks on my guns used adjustable cheek-pieces. Sometimes called a comb (technically, the comb is the top piece of the stock, but the terms are sometimes interchanged), the extension let me keep my eye in position when sighting through the scope. On older weapons, we would adapt a piece of hard-packed foam and raise the stock to the right height. (As scope rings have gotten larger and more varied in size, the ability to change the stock height has become more important.)

I used a two-pound trigger on my rifles. That's a fairly light pull. I want the trigger to surprise me every time; I don't want to jerk the gun as I fire. I want no resistance:

Get set, get ready, put my finger and gently start squeezing, and it goes off.

As a hunter, I knew how to shoot, how to make the bullet go from point A to point B. Sniper school taught me the science behind it all. One of the more interesting facts is that the barrel of a rifle cannot touch any part of the stock: they need to be free-floating to increase accuracy. (The barrel will "float" in the stock, due to the way the stock is cut out. It attaches only to the main body of the rifle.) When you shoot a round, a vibration comes through the barrel, known as barrel whip. Anything touching the barrel will affect that vibration, and, in turn, affect the accuracy. Then there are things like the Coriolis effect, which has to do with the rotation of the earth and the effect it has on a rifle bullet. (This comes into play only at extremely long distances.)

You live all of this technical data in sniper school. You learn about how far to lead someone when they're moving-if they're walking, if they're running, depending on the distance. You keep doing it until the understanding is embedded not just in your brain but in your arms and hands and fingers.

In most shooting situations, I adjust for elevation, but not for windage. (Simply put, adjusting for elevation means adjusting my aim to compensate for the drop of my bullet over the distance it travels; windage means compensating for the effect of the wind.) The wind is constantly changing. So about the time I adjust for wind, the wind changes. Elevation is a different story-though if you're in a combat situation, a lot of times you don't have the luxury of making a fine adjustment. You have to shoot or be shot.

TESTED

I was not the best sniper in my cla.s.s. In fact, I failed the practice test. That meant potentially was.h.i.+ng out of the cla.s.s.

Unlike the Marines, in the field we don't work with spotters. The SEAL philosophy is, basically, if you have a fellow warrior with you, he ought to be shooting, not watching. That said, we did use spotters in training.

After I failed the test, the instructor went through everything with me and my spotter, trying to figure out where I'd gone wrong. My scope was perfect, my dope was set, there was nothing mechanically wrong with the rifle ...

Suddenly, he looked up at me.

"Dip?" he said, more a statement than a question.

"Oh ..."

I hadn't put any chewing tobacco in my mouth during the test. It was the only thing I'd done differently ... and it turned out to be the key. I pa.s.sed the exam with flying colors-and a wad of tobacco in my cheek

Snipers as a breed tend to be superst.i.tious. We're like baseball players with our little rituals and must-dos. Watch a baseball game, and you'll see a batter always does the same thing as he steps to the plate-he'll make the sign of the cross, kick the dirt, wave the bat. Snipers are the same way.

During training and even afterward, I kept my guns a certain way, wore the same clothes, had everything arranged precisely the same. It's all a matter of controlling everything on my end. I know the gun is going to do its job. I need to make sure I do mine.

There's a lot more to being a SEAL sniper than shooting. As training progressed, I was taught to study the terrain and the surroundings. I learned to see things with a sniper's eye.

If I were trying to kill me, where would I set up?

That roof. I could take the whole squad from there.

Once I identified those spots, I'd spend more time looking at them. I had excellent vision going into the course, but it wasn't so much seeing as learning to perceive-knowing what sort of movement should get your attention, discerning subtle shapes that can tip off a waiting ambush.

I had to practice to stay sharp. Observation is hard work. I'd go outside and just train myself to spot things in the distance. I always tried to hone my craft, even on leave. On a ranch in Texas, you see animals, birds-you learn to look in the distance and spot movement, shapes, little inconsistencies in the landscape.

For a while, it seemed like everything I did helped train me, even video games. I had a little handheld mahjongg game that a friend of mine had given us as a wedding present. I don't know if it was exactly appropriate as a wedding present-it's a handheld, one-person game-but as a training tool it was invaluable. In mahjongg, you scan different tiles, looking for matches. I would play timed sessions against the computer, working to sharpen my observation skills.

I said it before and I'll keep saying it: I'm not the best shot in the world. There were plenty of guys better than me, even in that cla.s.s. I only graduated about middle of the pack.

As it happened, the guy who was the honor man or best in our cla.s.s was part of our platoon. He never had as many kills as I did, though, at least partly because he was sent to the Philippines for a few months while I spent my time in Iraq. You need skill to be a sniper, but you also need opportunity. And luck.

BEATEN BY DOLPHINS, EATEN BY SHARKS

After spending the entire summer at sniper school, I returned to my platoon and got busy with the rest of our workup, going through the different training sessions as we prepared to deploy in a year. As usual, I had some of my hardest times in the water.

Everyone gets all warm and fuzzy about marine animals, but I've had close and personal encounters that were anything but.

While the Navy was testing a program using dolphins for harbor defense, they used us as targets, in a few cases without warning. The dolphins would come out and beat the s.h.i.+t out of us. They were trained to hit in the sides, and they could crack ribs. And if you hadn't been warned in advance of the exercise, you didn't know what was going on-your first reaction, or at least mine, was to think you were being attacked by sharks.

One time we were out and the dolphins were taking it to us. Getting beaten bad, I headed toward sh.o.r.e to dodge the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Spotting some piers, I ducked underneath-I knew they wouldn't follow me.

Safe.

All of a sudden, something clamped hard on my leg. Hard.

It was a sea lion. They were being trained to guard the piers.

I went back out into open water. I'd rather be beaten by a dolphin than eaten by a sea lion.

But sharks were, by far, the worst.

One evening, we were supposed to swim across the bay off San Diego, in the dark, and plant a limpet mine on a particular s.h.i.+p. Simple, standard SEAL operation.

Not every SEAL hates the water like I do. In fact, a lot of them like it so much they'll swim around and play tricks on the others in the exercise. You might have a guy plant his mine, then sink to the bottom and wsait for the next guy to come over with his. There's usually enough light from above that the second diver is silhouetted and easy to see. So when the victim-I mean, diver-comes to plant his mine, the first diver comes up, grabs his fin, and jerks it.

That scares the s.h.i.+t out of the second diver. Usually he thinks there's a shark in the water and screws up the rest of the exercise. And his gear may need a special cleaning.

On this particular day, I was beneath the s.h.i.+p and had just planted my mine when something grabbed my fin.

SHARK!!!

Then I put my heart back in my chest, remembering all the stories and warnings about my brethren SEALs.

Just one of the guys messing with my head, I told myself. I turned around to flip him off.

And found myself giving the finger to a shark who'd taken a particular liking to my flipper. He had it in his jaw.

He wasn't a huge shark, but what he lacked in size he made up for in pure orneriness. I grabbed my knife and cut off my fin-no sense keeping it now that it was all chewed up, right?