American Sniper - Boekje Pienter

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One night a little later on, we were in an exhausting firefight. Ten
of us spent roughly forty-eight hours in the second story of an old,
abandoned brick building, fighting in hundred-degree-plus heat wearing
full armor. Bullets flew in, demolishing the walls around us practically
nonstop. The only break we took was to reload.
Finally, as the sun came up in the morning, the sound of gunfire
and bullets hitting brick stopped. The fight was over. It became eerily
quiet.
When the Marines came in to relieve us, they found every man in
the room either slumped against a wall or collapsed on the floor,
dressing wounds or just soaking in the situation.
One of the Marines outside took an American flag and hoisted it
over the position. Someone else played the National Anthem—I have
no idea where the music came from, but the symbolism and the way it
spoke to the soul was overwhelming; it remains one of my most
powerful memories.
Every battle-weary man rose, went to the window, and saluted.
The words of the music echoed in each of us as we watched the Stars
and Stripes wave literally in dawn’s early light. The reminder of what
we were fighting for caused tears as well as blood and sweat to run
freely from all of us.
I’ve lived the literal meaning of the “land of the free” and “home of
the brave.” It’s not corny for me. I feel it in my heart. I feel it in my
chest. Even at a ball game, when someone talks during the anthem or
doesn’t take off his hat, it pisses me off. I’m not one to be quiet about
it, either.
For myself and the SEALs I was with, patriotism and getting into
the heat of the battle were deeply connected. But how much a unit like