Part 26 (1/2)

We made our own logo, reminiscent of the Punisher character. We spray-painted it on our vests and much of our gear. Like him, we were righting wrongs. Photograph courtesy of 5.11

Here I am with the boys in '06, just back from an op with my Mk-11 sniper rifle in my right hand.

Set up on a roof in Ramadi. The tent provided me a bit of relief from the sun.

Another sniping position I used in the same battle.

We chose roofs in Ramadi that provided us with good vantage points. Sometimes, though, the job called for more than a sniper rifle-that black smoke in the background is an enemy position obliterated by a tank.

Marc Lee.

After Marc died, we created a patch to honor his memory. We will never forget.

Ryan Job.

A close-up of my Lapua .338, the gun I made my longest kill with. You can see my ”dope” card-the placard on the side contains the come-ups (adjustments) needed for long-range targets. My 2,100-yard shot exceeded the card's range, and I had to eyeball it.

When not on the gun myself, I like to help others improve their skills. This was taken during my last deployment, while instructing a little cla.s.s for some Army snipers.

Leading a training session for Craft International, the company I started after leaving the Navy. We make our sessions as realistic as possible for the operators and law enforcement officers we teach. Photograph courtesy of 5.11

Here I am on a helo training course for Craft. I don't mind helicopters-it's heights I can't stand. Photograph courtesy of 5.11

Our company logo and slogan (”Despite what your momma told you ... violence does solve problems”) honor my SEAL brethren, especially my fallen comrades. I'll never forget them.

Me and Taya, the love of my life and better half. Photograph courtesy of Heather Hurt/Calluna Photography

My son and I check out a C-17.

CHAPTER 7

Down in the s.h.i.+t

ON THE STREET

The kid looked at me with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. He was a young Marine, eager but tempered by the fight we'd been waging the past week.

”Do you want to be a sniper?” I asked him. ”Right now?”

”h.e.l.l yeah!” he said finally.

”Good,” I told him, handing over my Mk-11. ”Give me your M-16. You take my sniper rifle. I'm going in the front door.”

And with that, I headed over to the squad we'd been working with and told them I was helping them hit the houses.

Over the past few days, the insurgents had stopped coming out to fight us. Our kill rate from the overwatches had declined. The bad guys were all staying inside, because they knew if they came outside, we were going to shoot them.

They didn't give up. Instead, they would take their stands inside the houses, ambus.h.i.+ng and battling the Marines in the small rooms and tiny hallways. I was seeing a lot of our guys being carried out and medevac'd.