American Sniper - Boekje Pienter

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they were supposed to be resting. But that’s the thing with Marines—you
beat them down and they come back for more.
We broke into one house with a large front room. We’d caught the inhabitants
completely by surprise.
But I was surprised as well—as I burst in, I saw a whole bunch of
guys standing there in desert camouflage—the old brown chocolatechip
stuff from Desert Storm, the First Gulf War. They were all wearing
gear. They were all Caucasian, including one or two with blond
hair, obviously not Iraqis or Arabs.
What the fuck
We looked at each other. Something flicked in my brain, and I
flicked the trigger on the M-16, mowing them down.
A half-second’s more hesitation, and I would have been the one
bleeding out on the floor. They turned out to be Chechens, Muslims
apparently recruited for a holy war against the West. (We found their
passports after searching the house.)
OLD MAN
I have no idea how many blocks, let alone how many houses, we took
down. The Marines were following a carefully laid out plan—we had to
be at a certain spot each lunchtime, then reach another objective by
nightfall. The entire invasion force moved across the city in choreographed
order, making sure there were no holes or weak spots the insurgents
could use to get behind us and attack.