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

DA
S, 
H
ELOS, AND 
H
EIGHTS
W
ith Baghdad settling down, at least for the moment, the head
shed decided they wanted to open up a SEAL base in Habbaniyah.
Habbaniyah is twelve miles to the east of Fallujah, in Anabar
Province. It wasn’t quite the hotbed of the insurgency that Fallujah
had been, but it wasn’t San Diego, either. This is the area where
before the First Gulf War, Saddam built chemical plants devoted to
manufacturing weapons of mass destruction, such as nerve gas and
other chemical agents. There weren’t a lot of America supporters
out there.
There was a U.S. Army base though, run by the famous 506th
Regiment—the Band of Brothers. They’d just come over 
from
Korea and, to be polite, had no 
....
clue what Iraq was 
all
about. I suppose everybody’s gotta learn the hard way.
Habbaniyah turned out to be a real pain in the ass. We’d been
given an abandoned building, but it was nowhere near adequate for
what we needed. We had to build a TOC—a tactical operations
command—to house all the computers and com gear that helped
support us during our missions.
Our morale sunk. We weren’t doing anything useful for the war;
we were working as carpenters. It’s an honorable profession, but
it’s not ours.

---

Taya:
It was on this deployment that the medical doctors
did a test and, for some reason, thought Chris had TB.
The doctors told him he would eventually die of the
disease.
I remember talking to him right after he got the news.
He was fatalistic about it. He’d already accepted that he
was going to die, and he wanted to do it there, not at
home from a disease he couldn’t fight with a gun or his
fists.
“It doesn’t matter,” he told me. “I’ll die and you’ll
find someone else. People die out here all the time. Their
wives go on and find someone else.”
I tried to explain to him that he was irreplaceable to
me. When that didn’t seem to faze him, I tried another
equally valid point. “But you’ve got our son,” I told him.
“So what? You’ll find someone else and that guy will
raise him.”
I think he was seeing death so often that he started to
believe people were replaceable.
It broke my heart. He truly believed that. I still hate
to think that.
He thought dying on the battlefield was the greatest. I
tried to tell him differently, but he didn’t believe it.

---

They redid the tests, and Chris was cleared. But his
attitude about death stayed.
Once the camp was settled, we started doing DAs. We’d be
given the name and location of a suspected insurgent, hit his house
at night, then come back and deposit him and whatever evidence
we gathered at the DIF—Detention and Interrogation Facility, your
basic jail.
We’d take pictures along the way. We weren’t sightseeing; we
were covering our butts, and, more important, those of our
commanders. The pictures proved we hadn’t beaten the crap out of
him.
Most of these ops were routine, without much trouble and
almost never any resistance. One night, though, one of our guys
went into a house where a rather portly Iraqi decided he didn’t
want to come along nicely. He started to tussle.
Now, from our perspective, our brother SEAL was getting the
shit kicked out of him. According to the SEAL in question, he had
actually slipped and was in no need of assistance.
I guess you can interpret it any way you want. We all rushed in
and grabbed the fatso before he could do much harm. Our friend
got ribbed about his “fall” for a while.
O
n most of these missions, we had photos of the person we were
supposed to get. In that case, the rest of the intelligence tended to

---

be pretty accurate. The guy was almost always where he was
supposed to be, and things pretty much followed the outline we had
drawn up.
But some cases didn’t go so smoothly. We began realizing that if
we didn’t have a photo, the intelligence was suspect. Knowing that
the Americans would bring a suspect in, people were using tips to
settle grievances or feuds. They’d talk to the Army or some other
authority, making claims about a person helping the insurgency or
committing some other crime.
It sucked for the person we arrested, but I didn’t get all that
worked up about it. It was just one more example of how screwed
up the country was.