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

L
OVE
S
omething else happened to me that spring that had an enormous
impact not just on my military career, but on my life.
I fell in love.
I don’t know if you believe in love at first sight; I don’t think I
did before the night in April of 2001 when I saw Taya standing at a
bar in a San Diego club, talking with one of my friends. She had a
way of making black leather pants look smokin’ hot 
and
classy.
The combination suited me fine.
I’d just joined Team 3. We hadn’t started training yet, and I was
enjoying what amounted to a week of vacation before getting down
to the serious business of becoming a SEAL and earning my place
on a Team.
Taya was working for a pharmaceutical company as a drug rep
when we met. Originally from Oregon, she’d gone to college in
Wisconsin and moved out to the coast a couple years before we
met. My first impression was that she was beautiful, even if she
looked pissed off about something. When we started talking, I also
found out she was smart, and had a good sense of humor. I sensed

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right away she was someone who could keep up with me.
But maybe she should tell the story; her version sounds better
than mine:
Taya:
I remember the night we met—some of it, at least. I
wasn’t going to go out. This was all during a low spot in
my life. My days were spent in a job I didn’t like. I was
fairly new in town and still looking for some solid female
friendships. And I was casually dating guys, with not
much success. Over the years I’d had some decent
relationships and a couple of bad ones, with a few dates
in between. I remember literally praying to God before I
met Chris to just send me a nice guy. Nothing else
mattered, I thought. I just prayed for someone who was
inherently good and nice.
A girlfriend called and wanted to go down to San
Diego. I was living in Long Beach at the time, about
ninety miles away. I wasn’t going to go but somehow she
talked me into it.
We were walking around that night and we passed a
bar named Maloney’s. They were blaring “Land Down
Under” by Men at Work. My friend wanted to go in but
they had an outrageous cover charge, something like ten
or fifteen bucks.

---

“I’m not doing that,” I told her. “Not for a bar that’s
playing Men at Work.”
“Oh, shut up,” my girlfriend said. She paid the cover
and in we went.
We were at the bar. I was drinking and irritable. This
tall, good-looking guy came over and started talking to
me. I’d been talking to one of his friends, who seemed
like a jerk. My mood was still pretty bad, though he had
a certain air about him. He told me his name—Chris—
and I told him mine.
“What do you do?” I asked.
“I drive an ice cream truck.”
“You’re full of shit,” I told him. “Obviously you’re
military.”
“No, no,” he protested. He told me a bunch of other
things. SEALs almost never admit to strangers what they
really do, and Chris had some of the best BS stories ever.
One of the better ones was dolphin waxer: he claimed
that dolphins in captivity need to be waxed so their skin
didn’t disintegrate. It’s a pretty convincing story—if
you’re a young, naive, and tipsy girl.
Fortunately, he didn’t try that particular one on me—
I hope because he could tell I wouldn’t fall for it. He’s
also convinced girls that he mans an ATM machine,
sitting inside and doling out money when people put

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their cards in. I wasn’t anywhere near that naive, or
drunk, for him to try that story.
On e look at him and I could have told he was
military. He was ripped and had short hair, and had an
accent that said “not from here.”
Finally, he admitted he was in the service.
“So what do you do in the military?” I asked.
He said a bunch of other things and finally I got the
truth: “I just graduated from BUD/S.”
I was like, okay, so you’re a SEAL.
“Yeah.”
“I know all about you guys,” I told him. You see, my
sister had just divorced her husband. My brother-in-law
had wanted to be a SEAL—he’d gone through some of
the training—and so I knew (or thought I did) what
SEALs were all about.
So I told Chris.
“You’re arrogant, self-centered, and glory-seeking,” I
said. “You lie and think you can do whatever you want.”
Yes, I was at my charming best.
What was intriguing was how he responded. He didn’t
smirk or get clever or even act offended. He seemed
truly . . . puzzled.
“Why would you say that?” he asked, very innocently
and genuine.

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I told him about my brother-in-law.
“ I would lay down my life for my country,” he
answered. “How is that self-centered? That’s the
opposite.”
He was so idealistic and romantic about things like
patriotism and serving the country that I couldn’t help
but believe him.
We talked for a while more, then my friend came over
and I turned my attention to her. Chris said something
like he was going to go home.
“Why?” I asked.
“Well, you were saying about how you never would
date a SEAL or go out with one.”
“Oh no, I said I would never marry one. I didn’t say I
wouldn’t go out with one.”
His face lit up.
“In that case,” he said, with that sly little smile he
has, “I guess I’ll get your phone number.”
He hung around. I hung around. We were still there at
last call. As I got up with the crowd to go, I was pushed
against him. He was all hard and muscle-y and smelled
good, so I gave him a little kiss on his neck. We went out
and he walked us to the parking lot . . . and I started
puking my brains out from all the Scotch on the rocks
I’d been drinking.

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How can you 
not
love a girl who loses it the first time you meet?
I knew from the start that this was someone I wanted to spend a lot
of time with. But at first, it was impossible to do that. I called her
the morning after we met to make sure she was okay. We talked
and laughed a bit. After that, I’d call her and leave messages. She
didn’t call back.
The other guys on the Team started ribbing me about it. They
were betting about whether she’d ever call me on her own. You
see, we talked a few times, when she would actually answer the
phone—maybe thinking it was someone else. After a while, it was
obvious even to me that she never initiated.
Then, something changed. I remember the first time she called
me.
We were on the East Coast, training.
When we were done talking, I ran inside and started jumping on
my teammates’ beds. I took the call as a sign she was 
really
interested. I was happy to share that fact with all the naysayers.
Taya:
Chris was always very aware of my feelings. He is
extremely observant in general and it is the same with
his awareness of my emotions. He doesn’t have to say
much. A simple question or easy way of bringing
something to light reveals that he is 100 percent aware
of my feelings. He doesn’t necessarily enjoy talking

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about feelings, but he has a sense of when it is
appropriate or necessary to bring things out that I may
have been intent on keeping in.
I noticed it early on in our relationship. We would be
talking on the phone and he was very caring.
We are, in many ways, opposites. Still, we seemed to
click. One day on the phone he was asking what I
thought made us compatible. I decided to tell him some
of the things that drew me to him.
“I think you’re a really good guy,” I told him, “really
nice. And sensitive.”
“Sensitive?!?” He was shocked, and sounded
offended. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t know what sensitive means?”
“You mean like I go around crying at movies and
stuff?”
I laughed. I explained that I meant that he seemed to
pick up on how I was feeling, sometimes before I did.
And he let me express that emotion, and, importantly,
gave me space.
I don’t think that’s the image most people have of
SEALs, but it was and is accurate, at least of this one.