American Sniper: The Autobiography of the Most Lethal Sniper in U. S. Military History

T
ESTED
I
was not the best sniper in my class. In fact, I failed the practice
test. That meant potentially washing out of the class.

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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 passed the exam with flying colors—and a wad of
tobacco in my cheek
S
nipers as a breed tend to be superstitious. 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.

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T
here’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.

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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 class.
I only graduated about middle of the pack.
As it happened, the guy who was the honor man or best in our
class 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.