American Sniper - Boekje Pienter

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Fortunately, we were already winding down our deployment. And
as soon as I mentioned my little girl’s condition to my command, they
started making travel arrangements to get me home. Our doctor put
through the paperwork for a Red Cross letter. That’s a statement that
indicates a service member’s family needs him for an emergency back
home. Once that letter arrived, my commanders made it happen.
I almost didn’t get out. Ramadi was such a hot zone that there weren’t
a whole lot of opportunities for flights. There were no helos in or out.
Even the convoys were still getting hit by insurgent attacks. Worried
about me and knowing I couldn’t afford to wait too long, my boys
loaded up the Humvees. They set me in the middle, and drove me out
of the city to TQ airfield.
When we got there, I nearly choked up handing over my body armor
and my M-4.
My guys were going back to war and I was flying home. That
sucked. I felt like I was letting them down, shirking my duty.
It was a conflict—family and country, family and brothers in
arms—that I never really resolved. I’d had even more kills in Ramadi
than in Fallujah. Not only did I finish with more kills than anyone else
on that deployment, but my overall total made me the most prolific
American sniper of all time—to use the fancy official language.
And yet I still felt like a quitter, a guy who didn’t do enough.