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

W
ITH THE 
GROM
“K
yle, you will come.”
The Polish NCO doing the briefing stroked his bushy beard as
he pointed at me. I didn’t understand much Polish, and he didn’t
speak very good English, but what he was saying seemed pretty
clear—they wanted me to go in the house with them during the
operation.
“
....
yeah,” I said.
He smiled. Some expressions are universal.
After a week on the job, I had been promoted from navigator to
a member of the assault team. I couldn’t be happier.
I still had to navigate. My job was to figure out a safe route to
and from the target house. While the insurgents were active in the
Baghdad area, the fighting had slowed down and there wasn’t yet
the huge threat of IEDs and ambushes that you saw elsewhere. Still,

---

the huge threat of IEDs and ambushes that you saw elsewhere. Still,
that could change in an instant, and I was careful plotting my routes.
We got into our Hummers and set out. I had the front seat, next
to the driver. I’d learned enough Polish to give directions—
Prawo
kolei
:
 
“right turn”—and guide him through the streets. The computer
was on my lap; to my right was a swing arm for a machine gun.
We’d taken the Hummer’s doors off to make it easier to get in and
out and fire. Besides the mounts on my side and in the back, we
had a .50 in a turret at the back.
We reached the target and hauled ass out of the truck. I was
psyched to finally get back into battle.
The Poles put me about sixth or seventh in the line to go in. That
was a bit disappointing—that far back in the train you’re unlikely to
get any action. But I wasn’t about to bitch.
The GROM hit houses essentially the way SEALs do. There are
little variations here and there: the way they come around corners,
for example, and the way they cover buddies during an operation.
But for the most part, it’s all violence of action. Surprise the target,
hit them hard and fast, take control.
One difference I particularly like is their version of flash-crash
grenades. American stun grenades explode with flash of light and an
enormous bang. The Polish grenades, on the other hand, give a
series of explosions. We called them seven-bangers. They sound
like very loud gunfire. I tried to take as many of those from them as
I could when it was time to move on.
We moved the instant the grenade started going off. I came in

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through the door, and caught sight of the NCO directing the team.
He motioned me forward silently, and I ran to clear and secure my
room.
The room was empty.
All clear.
I went back downstairs. Some of the others had found the guy
we’d come for and were already loading him into one of the
Hummers. The rest of the Iraqis who’d been in the house stood
around, looking scared to death.
Back outside, I hopped into the Hummer and started directing
the team back to base. The mission was uneventful, but as far as the
GROM were concerned, my cherry had been burst—from that
point on, I was a full-fledged member of the team.