American Sniper: The Autobiography Of The Most Lethal Sniper In U.S. Military History Part 28

After I'd been working with Kilo Company for about two weeks, the commanders called all the SEAL snipers back so they could redistribute us where we were needed.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing out there?" asked one of the first SEALs I met. "We're hearing s.h.i.+t that you're down there on the ground."

"Yeah, I am. No one's coming out on the street."

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" he said, pulling me aside. "You know if our CO finds out you're doing this, you're out of here."

He was right, but I shrugged him off. I knew in my heart what I had to do. I also felt pretty confident in the officer who was my immediate commander. He was a straight shooter and all about doing the job that needed to get done.

Not to mention the fact that I was so far out of touch with my top command that it would have taken a long time for them to find out, let alone issue the orders to get me pulled out.

A bunch of other guys came over and started agreeing with me: down on the street was where we needed to be. I have no idea what they ended up doing; certainly, for the record, they all remained on the roofs, sniping.

"Well h.e.l.l, instead of using that Marine M-16," said one of the East Coast boys, "I brought my M-4 with me. You can borrow it if you want."

"Really?"

I took it and wound up getting a bunch of kills on it. The M-16 and the M-4 are both good weapons; the Marines prefer the latest model of the M-16 for various reasons that have to do with the way they usually fight. Of course, my preference in close quarters combat was for the short-barreled M-4, and I was glad to borrow my friend's gun for the rest of my time in Fallujah.

I was a.s.signed to work with Lima Company, which was operating a few blocks away from Kilo. Lima was helping fill in holes-taking down pockets of insurgents who had crept in or been bypa.s.sed. They were seeing a lot of action.

That night, I went over and talked to the company leaders.h.i.+p in a house they'd taken over earlier in the day. The Marine commander had already heard what I'd been doing with Kilo, and after we talked a bit, he asked what I wanted to do.

"I'd like to be down on the street with y'all."

"Good enough."

Lima Company proved to be another great group of guys.

DON'T TELL MY MOM

A few days later, we were clearing a block when I heard shooting on a nearby street. I told the Marines I was with to stay where they were, then ran over to see if I could help.

I found another group of Marines, who had started up an alley and run into heavy fire. They'd already pulled back and gotten under cover by the time I got there.

One kid hadn't quite made it. He was lying on his back some yards away, crying in pain.

I started laying down fire and ran up to grab him and pull him back. When I got to him, I saw he was in pretty bad shape, gut-shot. I dropped and got an arm under each of his, then started hauling him backward.

Somehow I managed to slip as I went. I fell backward, with him on top of me. By that point, I was so tired and winded I just lay there for a few minutes, still in the line of fire as bullets shot by.

The kid was about eighteen years old. He was really badly hurt. I could tell he was going to die.

"Please don't tell my momma I died in pain," he muttered.

s.h.i.+t, kid, I don't even know who you are, I thought. I'm not telling your momma anything.

"Okay, okay," I said. "Don't worry. Don't worry. Everybody will make it sound great. Real great."

He died right then. He didn't even live long enough to hear my lies about how everything was going to be okay.

A bunch of Marines came. They lifted him off me and put him in the back of a Hummer. We called in a bomb strike and took out the shooting positions where the fire had come from, at the other end of the alley.

I went on back to my block and continued the fight.

THANKSGIVING

I thought about the casualties I'd seen, and the fact that I could be the next one carried out. But I wasn't going to quit. I wasn't going to stop going into houses or stop supporting them from the roofs. I couldn't let down these young Marines I was with.

I told myself: I'm a SEAL. I'm supposed to be tougher and better. I'm not going to give up on them.

It wasn't that I thought I was tougher or better than they were. It was that I knew that was the way people looked at us. And I didn't want to let those people down. I didn't want to fail in their eyes-or in mine.

That's the line of thinking that's beaten into us: We're the best of the best. We're invincible.

I don't know if I'm the best of the best. But I did know that if I quit, I wouldn't be.

And I certainly did feel invincible. I had to be: I'd made it through all sorts of s.h.i.+t without getting killed ... so far.

Thanksgiving shot past while we were in the middle of the battle.

I remember getting my Thanksgiving meal. They halted the a.s.sault for a little bit-maybe a half-hour-and brought up food to us on the rooftop where we'd set up.

Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans for ten-all in a large box.

Together. No separate boxes, no compartments. All in one pile.

Also no plates, no forks, no knives, no spoons.

We dipped our hands in and ate with our fingers. That was Thanksgiving.

Compared to the MREs we'd been eating, it was awesome.

ATTACKING THE MARSH

I stayed with Lima for roughly a week, then went back to Kilo. It was terrible to hear who'd been hit and who they'd lost in the time I'd been gone.

With the a.s.sault about finished, we were given a new task: set up a cordon to make sure no insurgents were able to get back in. Our sector was over by the Euphrates, on the western side of the town. From this point on, I was a sniper again. And figuring that my shots would now mostly be at longer range, I went back to the .300 Win Mag.

We set up in a two-story house overlooking the river a few hundred yards down from Blackwater Bridge. There was a marshy area immediately across the river, completely overgrown with weeds and everything. It was near a hospital the insurgents had converted into a headquarters before our a.s.sault, and even now the area seemed to be a magnet for savages.

Every night, we'd have someone trying to probe in from there. Every night I would get my shots off, taking out one or two or sometimes more.

The new Iraqi army had a camp nearby. Those idiots took it in their head to send a few shots our way as well. Every day. We hung a VF panel over our position-an indicator showing we were friendly-and the shots kept coming. We radioed their command. The shots kept coming. We called back and cussed out their command. The shots kept coming. We tried everything to get them to stop, short of calling in a bomb strike.