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

A W
ANTED
 M
AN
A
ll Americans were wanted men in Ramadi, snipers most of all.
Reportedly, the insurgents put out a bounty on my head.
They also gave me a name: al-Shaitan Ramadi—“the Devil of
Ramadi.”
It made me feel proud.
The fact is, I was just one guy, and they had singled me out for
causing them a lot of damage. They wanted me gone. I had to feel
good about that.
They definitely knew who I was, and had clearly gotten
intelligence from some fellow Iraqis who were supposedly loyal to
us—they described the red cross I had on my arm.
The other sniper from my sister platoon got a bounty on his head
as well. His ended up being more—well, that did make me a little

---

jealous.
But it was all good, because when they put their posters together
and made one of me, they used his photo instead of mine. I was
more than happy to let them make that mistake.
The bounty went up as the battle went on.
Hell, I think it got so high, my wife may have been tempted to
turn me in.
P
ROGRESS
W
e helped set up several more COPs, and meanwhile our sister
platoon did the same on the eastern side of the city. As the weeks
turned into months, Ramadi started to change.
The place was still a hellhole, extremely dangerous. But there
were signs of progress. The tribal leaders were more vocal about
wanting peace, and more began working together as a unified
council. The official government still wasn’t functioning here, and the
Iraqi police and army were nowhere near capable of keeping order,
naturally. But there were large sections of the city under relative
control.
The “inkblot strategy” was working. Could those blots spread
over the entire city?
Progress was never guaranteed, and even when we succeeded
for a while there was no guarantee things wouldn’t go backward.

---

We had to return to the area near the river around COP Falcon
several times, providing overwatch while the area was searched for
caches and insurgents. We’d clear a block, it would be peaceful for
a while, then we’d have to start all over again.
We worked a bit more with the Marines as well, stopping and
inspecting small craft, going after a suspected weapons cache, and
even running a few DAs for them. A few times we were tasked to
check and then blow up abandoned boats to make sure they
couldn’t be used for smuggling.
Funny thing: the SBU unit that had blown us off earlier heard
about how much action we were getting and contacted us, asking
now if they could come up and work with us. We told them thanks
but no thanks; we were doing just fine with the Marines.
W
e got into a certain rhythm working with the Army as they
continued cordoning off areas and searching them for weapons and
bad guys. We’d drive in with them, take over a building, and go up
on the roof for overwatch. Most times there would be three of us—
myself and another sniper, along with Ryan on the 60.
Meanwhile, the Army would move out to the next building. That
taken, they’d work their way down the street. Once they reached a
certain spot where we couldn’t see to provide them security, we’d
come down and move to a new spot. The process would start all
over again.
It was on one of these ops that Ryan got shot.

---