American Sniper - Boekje Pienter

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I leaned out and laid down cover fire, forcing the Iraqis back. I
waited a few seconds, giving Runaway time to get into position so he
could cover me. When I thought enough time had passed, I jumped
out and started running.
Bullets began flying all around, but not from Runaway. They were
all coming from the Iraqis, who were trying to write their names in my
back with bullets.
I threw myself against the wall, sliding next to the gate. For a moment
I was disoriented: where was Runaway
He should have been nearby, waiting under cover for me so we
could leapfrog back. But he was nowhere to be seen. Had I passed him
on the street
No. Motherfucker was busy earning his nickname.
I was trapped, hung up by the insurgents and without my mysteriously
disappearing friend.
The Iraqi gunfire got so intense that I ended up having to call for
backup. The Marines sent a pair of Hummers, and with their firepower
backing up everything I could lay down, I was finally able to get
out.
By then I’d figured out what had happened. When I met with Runaway
a short time later, I practically strangled him—I probably would
have, if it hadn’t been for the officer there.
“Why the hell did you run away” I demanded. “You ran all the
way down the block without covering me.”
“I thought you were following me.”
“Bullshit.”
It was the second time that week Runaway had taken off on me
under fire. The first time I’d cut him slack, giving him the benefit of