American Sniper - Boekje Pienter

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were doing, or what we planned to do, or even specifically what we had
done.
All of our conversations from the base were recorded. There was
software that listened for key words; if enough came up, they’d pull
the conversation, and you could very well get in trouble. At one point,
somebody ran their mouth about an operation, and we all got cut off
for a week. He was pretty humiliated, and of course we reamed him
out. He felt appropriately remorseful.
Sometimes, the bad guys made it easy for us.
One day we went out and set up in a village near the main road. It
was a good spot; we were able to get a few insurgents as they tried
passing through the area on their way to attack the hospital.
All of a sudden, a bongo truck—a small work vehicle with a cab
and a bed in the back where a business might carry equipment—careened
from the road toward our house. Rather than equipment, the
truck was carrying four gunmen in the back, who started shooting at
us as the truck drove across the fortunately wide yard.
I shot the driver. The vehicle drifted to a halt. The passenger in the
front hopped out and ran to the driver’s side. One of my buddies shot
him before they could get going. We lit up the rest of the insurgents,
killing them all.
A short while later, I spotted a dump truck heading down the
main road. I didn’t think all that much about it, until it turned into the
driveway of the house and started coming straight at us.
We’d already interviewed the owners of the house, and knew no
one there drove a dump truck. And it was pretty obvious from his
speed that he wasn’t there to pick up some dirt.