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My shots saved several Americans, whose lives were clearly worth more than that woman’s twisted soul.
It’s about being a man. And it’s about love as well as hate.
“I don’t care how much money you get,” my dad used to tell me. “It’s not worth it if you’re not happy.”
In my mind, I thought, I’m better than that and I’ll show you.
The thing we all had in common wasn’t muscle; it was the will to do whatever it takes.
Being stubborn and refusing to give in is the key to success. Somehow I’d stumbled onto the winning formula.
looming in the dark.
Urine was about the only warm thing available at that point. If you happen to look out on the surf during a BUD/S class and see a bunch of guys huddled together, it’s because somebody out there is pissing and everybody is taking advantage of it.
He doesn’t necessarily enjoy talking about feelings, but he has a sense of when it is appropriate or necessary to bring things out that I may have been intent on keeping in.
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.
The joke was that President Bush only declared war when the Starbucks was hit. You can mess with the U.N. all you want, but when you start interfering with the right to get caffeinated, someone has to pay.
One of the Marines outside took an American flag and hoisted it over the position. Someone else played the National Anthem—I have no idea where the music came from, but the symbolism and the way it spoke to the soul was overwhelming; it remains one of my most powerful memories.
The words of the music echoed in each of us as we watched the Stars and Stripes wave literally in dawn’s early light. The reminder of what we were fighting for caused tears as well as blood and sweat to run freely from all of us.
I’ve lived the literal meaning of the “land of the free” and “home of the brave.” It’s not corny for me. I feel it in my heart. I feel it in my chest. Even at a ball game, when someone talks during the anthem or doesn’t take off his hat, it pisses me off. I’m not one to be quiet about it, either.
trying to clear the place out as the insurgency stoked up.
But that’s politics for you: a bunch of game-players sitting around congratulating each other in safety while real lives are getting screwed up.
and I think my need to keep to myself at first probably hurt them more than they’ll say.
It’s funny—sometimes the strongest individuals feel the worst when events are out of their control, and they can’t really be there for the people they love. I’ve felt it myself.
I use.
there are no restrictions on getting to the gym to blow off steam.
If I’d ever been shot, my buddies could have cut out the bottom of the cargo pocket and pulled out the kit.
Thanksgiving, Christmas—in Iraq, those dates didn’t mean all that much to me. But missing my son’s experience of them was a little different. The more I was gone, and the more I saw him grow, the more I wanted to help him grow—do the things a father does with and for a son.
keyed up
rummaging
psych
rallying
we didn’t want to draw more attention to our position by setting off an explosion, even if it was relatively small. (The holes were patched after we left.)
elaborate chandeliers,
grenade
cemented
adrenaline,
duel—whoever
slugs
brunt
limping,”
I often would sit there and think, “I know this motherfucker is bad; I saw him doing such and such down the street the other day, but here he’s not doing anything, and if I shoot him, I won’t be able to justify it for the lawyers. I’ll fry.” Like I said, there is paperwork for everything. Every confirmed kill had documentation, supporting evidence, and a witness.
My attitude was: if my justification is I thought my target would do something bad, then I wasn’t justified. He had to be doing something bad.
strangled
huddled
ducked back
The semiautomatic is a great, versatile weapon, but in this particular situation its twenty-round magazine seemed awful small. I
I jumped up and laid down fire as they ran. The final Marine tapped me on the shoulder as he passed, signaling that he was the last man out. Ready to follow, I glanced to my right, checking my flank.
camis.
slapped
The other Marines said I saved his life. But it wasn’t just me. Getting all those guys to safety was a joint effort; we all worked together.
valor
in the end they’ve become more political than accurate. I’ve seen men who deserved a lot more and men who deserved a lot less rewarded by higher-ups negotiating for whatever public cause they were working on at the time. For
gruesome.
empathy.
Yet I would guess if someone were shooting at them and they had to hold their family members while they bled out against an enemy who hid behind their children, played dead only to throw a grenade as they got closer, and who had no qualms about sending their toddler to die from a grenade from which they personally pulled the pin—they would be less concerned with playing nicely.
