American Sniper - Boekje Pienter

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balance as I stepped off onto land. I trotted up the dry land, then
stopped and waited for the rest of the platoon to rally around me.
We’d taken eight Iraqis with us in the boats; counting our terps, we
were just over two dozen strong.
The Marines slid back into the water and were gone.
Taking point, I started moving up the street toward our target.
Small houses loomed ahead; there were alleys and wider roads, a maze
of buildings, and the shadows of larger structures.
I hadn’t gotten very far when the laser on my rifle crapped out.
The battery had died. I halted our advance.
“What the hell’s going on” asked my lieutenant, coming up
quickly.
“I need to change out my battery real quick,” I explained. Without
the laser, I would be aiming blind—little better than not aiming at all.
“No, get us out of here.”
“All right.”
So I started walking again, taking us up to a nearby intersection. A
figure appeared in the darkness ahead, along the edge of a shallow
drainage canal. I caught the shadow of his weapon, stared for a moment
as I made out the details—AK-47, extra mag taped to one in the
rifle.
Muj.
The enemy. His back was turned and he was watching the street
rather than the water, but he was well-armed and ready for a fight.
Without the laser, I would have been shooting blind. I motioned
to my lieutenant. He came up quick, right behind me, and—boom.
He took down the insurgent. He also damn near put a hole in my
eardrum, blasting a few inches from my head.