American Sniper - Boekje Pienter

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“There’s no reason for more than one of us to get blown up,” he
told me matter-of-factly as he came across.
TERPS
Fallujah had been taken in an all-out assault, moving through the city
in a very organized fashion. While it had been successful, the attack
had also caused a lot of damage, which had supposedly hurt support
for the new Iraqi government.
You can argue whether that’s true or not—I sure would—but the
top American command didn’t want the same thing to happen in Ramadi.
So, while the Army worked on a plan for taking Ramadi with
minimal destruction, we went to war in the area nearby.
We started with DAs. We had four interpreters—terps, as we
called them—who helped us deal with the locals. At least one and usually
two would go out with us.
One terp we all really liked was Moose. He was a bad-ass. He’d
been working since the invasion in 2003. He was Jordanian, and he
was the only one of the terps we gave a gun. We knew he would
fight—he wanted to be an American so bad he would have died for it.
Every time we got contacted, he would be out there shooting.
He wasn’t a great shot, but he could keep the enemy’s heads down.
Most importantly, he knew when he could and couldn’t shoot—not as
easy a call as it might seem.
There was this little village outside Shark Base we called Gay Tway. It
was infested with insurgents. We would open the gates, walk out, and