American Sniper

^{baby crib turned on its side.}

^{General Peter Pace, the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, hands me the Grateful Nation Award from JINSA, the Jewish Institute for National Security Affairs. JINSA gave me the award in 2005 in recognition of my service and achievements in Fallujah.}

^{Charlie Platoon of SEAL Team 3 during the Ramadi deployment. The only faces that are shown are Marc Lee’s (left), Ryan Job’s (middle), and mine (right).}

^{Marc Lee leading the platoon on patrol in Ramadi. With the help of the Marines, we were able to use the river to launch several ops against insurgents.}

^{We made our own logo, reminiscent of the Punisher character. We spray-painted it on our vests and much of our gear. Like him, we were righting wrongs. Photograph courtesy of 5.11}

^{Here I am with the boys in ’06, just back from an op with my Mk-11 sniper rifle in my right hand.}

^{Set up on a roof in Ramadi. The tent provided me a bit of relief from the sun.}

^{Another sniping position I used in the same battle.}

^{We chose roofs in Ramadi that provided us with good vantage points. Sometimes, though, the job called for more than a sniper rifle—that black smoke in the background is an enemy position obliterated by a tank.}

^{Marc Lee.}

^{After Marc died, we created a patch to honor his memory. We will never forget.}

^{Ryan Job.}

^{A close-up of my Lapua .338, the gun I made my longest kill with. You can see my “dope” card —the placard on the side contains the come-ups (adjustments) needed for long-range targets. My 2,100-yard shot exceeded the card’s range, and I had to eyeball it.}

^{When not on the gun myself, I like to help others improve their skills. This was taken during my last deployment, while instructing a little class for some Army snipers.}

^{Leading a training session for Craft International, the company I started after leaving the Navy. We make our sessions as realistic as possible for the operators and law enforcement officers we teach. Photograph courtesy of 5.11}

^{Here I am on a helo training course for Craft. I don’t mind helicopters—it’s heights I can’t stand. Photograph courtesy of 5.11}

^{Our company logo and slogan (“Despite what your momma told you… violence does solve problems”) honor my SEAL brethren, especially my fallen comrades. I’ll never forget them.}

^{Me and Taya, the love of my life and better half. Photograph courtesy of Heather Hurt/Calluna Photography}

^{My son and I check out a C-17.}

7. DOWN IN THE SHIT

On the Street

The kid looked at me with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. He was a young Marine, eager but tempered by the fight we’d been waging the past week.

“Do you want to be a sniper?” I asked him. “Right now?”

“Hell yeah!” he said finally.

“Good,” I told him, handing over my Mk-11. “Give me your M-16. You take my sniper rifle. I’m going in the front door.”

And with that, I headed over to the squad we’d been working with and told them I was helping them hit the houses.

Over the past few days, the insurgents had stopped coming out to fight us. Our kill rate from the overwatches had declined. The bad guys were all staying inside, because they knew if they came outside, we were going to shoot them.

They didn’t give up. Instead, they would take their stands inside the houses, ambushing and battling the Marines in the small rooms and tiny hallways. I was seeing a lot of our guys being carried out and medevac’d.

I’d been turning the idea of going down on the street over in my head for a while, before finally deciding to go ahead with it. I picked out one of the privates who’d been helping the sniper team. He seemed like a good kid, with a lot of potential.

Part of the reason I went down on the streets was because I was bored. The bigger part was that I felt I could do a better job protecting the Marines if I was with them. They were going in the front door of these buildings and getting whacked. I’d watch as they went in, hear gunshots, and then the next thing I knew, they’d be hauling someone out in a stretcher because he just got shot up. It pissed me off.

I love the Marines, but the truth is these guys had never been taught to do room clearances like I had. It’s not a Marine specialty. They were all tough fighters, but they had a lot to learn about urban warfare. Much was simple stuff: how to hold your rifle as you come into a room so it’s hard for someone else to grab; where to move as you enter the room; how to fight 360 degrees in a city—things that SEALs learn so well we can do them in our sleep.

The squad didn’t have an officer; the highest-ranking NCO was a staff sergeant, an E6 in the Marine Corps. I was an E5, junior to him, but he didn’t have a problem letting me take control of the takedowns. We’d already been working together for a while, and I think I’d won a certain amount of respect. Plus, he didn’t want his guys getting shot up, either.

“Look, I’m a SEAL, you’re Marines,” I told the boys. “I’m no better than you are. The only difference between you and me is I’ve spent more time specializing and training in this than you did. Let me help you.”

We trained a little bit during the break. I gave some of my explosives to one of the squad members with experience in explosives. We did a little run-through on how to blow locks off. Until that point, they’d had such a