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

O
UT OF THE 
F
IGHT
T
hat action turned out to be our last significant encounter during
that deployment. The CO pulled us back to base.
It was a waste. The Marines were going into Nasiriya every
night, trying to clear the place out as the insurgency stoked up. They
could have given us our own section that we could patrol. We could
have rolled in and taken out the bad guys—but the CO vetoed it.
We heard it at the forward bases and camps where we were
sitting around waiting for something real to do. The GROM—the
Polish special forces—were going out and doing jobs. They told us
we were lions led by dogs.
The Marines were blunter. They’d come back every night and
bust on us:
“How many did y’all get tonight? Oh, that’s right—y’all
didn’t go out.”
Ballbusters. But I couldn’t blame them. I thought our head shed
was a bunch of pussies.
We had started training to take down Mukarayin Dam northeast
of Baghdad. The dam was important not only because it provided

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hydroelectric power, but because if it were allowed to flood it could
have slowed military forces attacking Iraqis in the area. But the
mission was continually postponed, and finally given to SEAL Team
5 when they rotated into the Gulf toward the end of our stay. (The
mission, which followed our basic plan, was a success.)
There were many things we could have done. How much of an
impact on the war they would have had, I have no idea. We
certainly could have saved a few lives here and there, maybe
shortened some conflicts by a day or more. Instead, we were told
to get ready to go home. Our deployment was over.
I sat back at base for a couple of weeks with nothing to 
do. I felt
like a little 
....
coward, playing video games and 
waiting to ship
out.
I was pretty pissed. In fact, I was so mad I wanted to leave the
Navy, and give up being a SEAL.

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