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

particularly precise—at best, you lay down enough fire so you can
get the hell out of there.
Besides our four three-seat DPVs, we had two six-seaters. The
six-seater was the plain-vanilla version—three rows of two seats,
with the only weapon the 60 on the front. We used it as the
command-and-control wagon. Very boring ride. It was kind of like
riding in a station wagon with Mom when Dad’s got the sports car.
We practiced for a few weeks. We did a lot of land navigation,

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built hide sights, and did SR (“surveillance and reconnaissance”)
along the border. We’d dig in, cover the vehicles with netting, and
try and make them disappear in the middle of the desert. Not easy
for a DPV: usually it ended up looking like a DPV trying to hide in
the middle of the desert. We also practiced deploying the DPVs out
of helicopters, riding out the back when they touched down: a
rodeo on wheels.
A
s January neared its end, we started getting worried, not that the
war was going to break out, but that it would start without us. The
usual SEAL deployment at the time was six months. We’d shipped
out in September, and were due to rotate back to the States within
a few weeks.
I wanted to fight. I wanted to do what I’d been trained for.
American taxpayers had invested considerable dollars in my
education as a SEAL. I wanted to defend my country, do my duty,
and do my job.
I wanted, more than anything, to experience the thrill of battle.
Taya saw things a lot differently.
Taya:
I 
was terrified the whole time as the buildup
continued toward war. Even though the war hadn’t
officially started, I knew they were working dangerous
o p s . When SEALs work, there’s always some risk

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involved. Chris tried to play things down to me so I
wouldn’t worry, but I wasn’t oblivious and I could read
between the lines. My anxiety came out in different
ways. I was jumpy. I’d see things out of the corner of my
eye that weren’t there. I couldn’t sleep without all the
lights on; I’d read every night until my eyes closed
involuntarily. I did everything I could to avoid being
alone or having too much time to think.
Chris called twice with stories about helicopter
accidents that he’d been in. Both were extremely minor,
but he was worried that they would be reported and that
I would hear about them and worry.
“I just want you to know, in case you hear it on the
news,” he’d say. “The helo was in a minor bang-up and
I’m okay.”
One day he told me he had to go out on another
helicopter exercise. The next morning, I was watching
the news and they reported that a helicopter had gone
down near the border and everyone had died. The
newscaster said it had been filled with special-forces
soldiers.
In the military, “Special Forces” refers to Army
special-operations troops, but the newscasters had a
tendency to use the term for SEALs. Immediately, I
jumped to conclusions.

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I didn’t hear from him that day, even though he had
promised he’d call.
I told myself, I’m not going to panic. It wasn’t him.
I poured myself into my work. That night, with still no
call, I started to feel a little more anxious. . . . Then a
little freaked out. I couldn’t sleep, though I was
exhausted from working and holding back the tears that
kept threatening to overtake any sense of calm I was
faking.
Finally, around one o’clock, I was starting to crack.
The phone rang. I jumped to answer it.
“Hey, babe!” he said, as cheerful as ever.
I started bawling.
Chris kept asking what was wrong. I couldn’t even
choke out the words to explain. My fear and relief came
out as unintelligible sobs.
After that, I vowed to stop watching the news.

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