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

6
Dealing Death
B
ACK TO 
W
AR
T
oward the end of our workup, we found out that they were
standing up a new unit in Baghdad to do direct action raids on
suspected terrorists and resistance leaders. The unit was being run
by the GROM, the Polish special operations unit. While the Poles
would handle most of the heavy lifting, they needed some
supplements—namely, 
snipers 
and navigators. And so, in
September 2004, I was pulled from my platoon and sent to Iraq to
help the GROM as a navigator. The rest of the platoon was due to

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come overseas the following month; I’d meet them there.
I felt bad about leaving Taya. She was still healing from the birth.
But at the same time, I felt my duty as a SEAL was more important.
I wanted to get back into action. I wanted to go to war.
A
t that point, while I loved my son, I hadn’t yet bonded with him. I
was never one of those dads who liked to feel my wife’s belly when
the baby was kicking. I tend to need to know someone well, even
kin, before that part of me grows.
That changed over time, but at that point I still hadn’t
experienced the real depth of what being a father is all about.
G
enerally, when SEALs go out for a deployment or come back,
we do so very quietly—that’s the nature of special operations.
There are usually few people around except for our immediate
families; sometimes not even them. In this case, because of when I
was heading out, it happened that I passed a small group of
protesters demonstrating against the war. They had signs about
baby killers and murderers and whatever, protesting the troops who
were going over to fight.
They were protesting the wrong people. We didn’t vote in
Congress; we didn’t vote to go to war.
I signed up to protect this country. I do not choose the wars. It
happens that I love to fight. But I do not choose which battles I go
to. Y’all send me to them.

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I had to wonder why these people weren’t protesting at their
congressional offices or in Washington. Protesting the people who
were ordered to protect them—let’s just say it put a bad taste in my
mouth.
I realize not everybody felt that way. I did see signs on some
homes supporting the troops, saying “We love you” and that sort of
thing. And there were plenty of tearful and respectful sendoffs and
homecomings, some even on TV. But it was the ignorant protesters
I remembered, years and years later.
And, for the record, it doesn’t bother me that SEALs don’t have
big sendoffs or fancy homecomings. We are the silent professionals;
we’re covert operators and inviting the media to the airport is not in
the program.
Still, it’s nice to be thanked every so often for doing our job.