American Sniper - Boekje Pienter

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they put together a little attack from a mosque. Holed up behind its
walls, they started raining AK fire at a squad of soldiers on the ground.
I was up on one of the roofs when the fight started. Within moments,
we started firing everything we had at the bad guys: M-4s,
M-60s, sniper rifles, 40-mm grenades, LAW rockets—everything we
had. We lit that mosque up.
The momentum of the battle quickly shifted in our favor. The soldiers
on the ground began maneuvering to assault the mosque, hoping
to catch the insurgents before they could slide back into whatever sewer
they’d emerged from. We shifted our fire higher, moving our aim
above their heads to allow them to get in.
Somewhere in the middle of the fight, a piece of hot brass from
another gun—probably an M-60 machine gun next to me—shot
against my leg and landed in my boots next to my ankle. It burned like
hell, but I couldn’t do anything about it—there were too many bad
guys popping up from behind the walls, trying to get my people.
I was wearing simple hiking boots rather than combat boots. That
was my normal style—they were lighter and more comfortable, and ordinarily
more than enough to protect my feet. Unfortunately, I hadn’t
bothered to lace them up very well before the battle, and there was a
space between my pants and the boot where the brass happened to fall
after it ejected.
What had the instructors told me in BUD/S about not being able
to call “time out” in battle
When things quieted down, I stood up and pulled out the casing. A
good wedge of skin came out with it.
We secured the mosque, worked through the rest of the village,
then called it a day.