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

D
ON’T 
T
ELL 
M
Y 
M
OM
A
few days later, we were clearing a block when I heard shooting
on a nearby street. I told the Marines I was with to stay where they
were, then ran over to see if I could help.
I found another group of Marines, who had started up an alley
and run into heavy fire. They’d already pulled back and gotten
under cover by the time I got there.
One kid hadn’t quite made it. He was lying on his back some
yards away, crying in pain.
I started laying down fire and ran up to grab him and pull him
back. When I got to him, I saw he was in pretty bad shape, gut-
shot. I dropped and got an arm under each of his, then started
hauling him backward.
Somehow I managed to slip as I went. I fell backward, with him
on top of me. By that point, I was so tired and winded I just lay
there for a few minutes, still in the line of fire as bullets shot by.
The kid was about eighteen years old. He was really badly hurt.
I could tell he was going to die.
“Please don’t tell my momma I died in pain,” he muttered.
Shit, kid, I don’t even know who you are,
I thought. 
I’m not
telling your momma anything.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Don’t worry. Don’t worry. Everybody
will make it sound great. Real great.”

---

will make it sound great. Real great.”
He died right then. He didn’t even live long enough to hear my
lies about how everything was going to be okay.
A bunch of Marines came. They lifted him off me and put him in
the back of a Hummer. We called in a bomb strike and took out the
shooting positions where the fire had come from, at the other end of
the alley.
I went on back to my block and continued the fight.