American Sniper

by Chris Kyle

  So even though life should have been sweet, for some months after getting out of the service, it felt like it was plunging down a mineshaft.

  I started drinking a lot, pounding back beers. I’d say I went into a depression, feeling sorry for myself. Pretty soon drinking was all I did. After a while, it was hard liquor, and it was all through the day.

  I don’t want to make this sound more dramatic than it really is. Other people have faced more difficult problems. But I was certainly headed in the wrong direction. I was going downhill and gathering speed.

  Then one night I turned a corner too fast in my truck. Now, maybe there were extenuating circumstances, maybe the road was slippery or something else was out of whack. Or maybe that guardian angel that had saved me back in Ramadi decided to intervene.

  Whatever. All I know is I totaled my truck and came out without a scratch.

  On my body. My ego was something else again.

  The accident woke me up. I’m sorry to say that I needed something like that to get my head back straight.

  I still drink beer, though not nearly to excess.

  I think I realize everything I have, and everything I could lose. And I also understand not just where my responsibilities are but how to fulfill them.

  GIVING BACK

  I’M STARTING TO UNDERSTAND THE CONTRIBUTIONS I CAN make to others. I realize that I can be a complete man—taking care of my family and helping in a small way to take care of others.

  Marcus Luttrell started an organization called Lone Survivor Foundation. It gets some of our wounded warriors out of the hospital and into situations where they can enjoy themselves a little. After being wounded in Afghanistan, Marcus said he healed twice as fast at his mom’s ranch than he had in the hospital. Something about the open air and being able to roam around naturally helped the process. That’s one of the inspirations for his foundation, and it’s become one of my guiding principles as I try to do my small share.

  I’ve gotten together with some people I know around Texas who have ranches and asked if they could donate their places for a few days at a time. They’ve been more than generous. We’ve had small groups of servicemen disabled in the war come in and spend time there hunting, shooting guns on a range, or just hanging out. The idea is to have a good time.

  I should mention that my friend Kyle—the same guy who was a driving force behind getting Craft afloat—is also extremely patriotic and supportive of the troops. He graciously allows us to use his beautiful Barefoot Ranch for many of our retreats for the wounded troops. Rick Kell and David Feherty’s organization, Troops First, also works with Craft to help as many wounded guys as we can.

  Hell, I’ve had a bunch of fun myself. We go hunting a couple of times a day, shoot a few rounds on the range, then at night trade stories and beers.

  It’s not so much the war stories as the funny stories that you remember. Those are the ones that affect you. They underline the resilience of these guys—they were warriors in the war, and they take that same warrior attitude into dealing with their disabilities.

  As you’d expect if I’m involved, there’s a lot of bustin’ going on back and forth, giving each other hell. I don’t always get the last laugh, but I do take my shots. The first time I had some of them out to one of the ranches, I took them out on the back porch before we started shooting and gave them a little orientation.

  “All right,” I told them, picking up my rifle, “since none of you are SEALs, I better give you some background. This here is a trigger.”

  “Screw you, Squid!” they shouted, and we had a good time from there on out, pushing each other and making fun.

  WHAT WOUNDED VETERANS DON’T NEED IS SYMPATHY. THEY need to be treated like the men they are: equals, heroes, and people who still have tremendous value for society.

  If you want to help them, start there.

  In a funny way, bustin’ back and forth shows more respect than asking “Are you okay?” in a sickly sweet voice.

  We’ve only just begun, but we’ve had good enough success that the hospitals are very cooperative. We’ve been able to expand the program to include couples. We’re aiming to do maybe two retreats a month going forward.

  Our work has gotten me thinking bigger and bigger. I wouldn’t mind doing a reality hunting show with these guys—I think it could inspire a lot of other Americans to really give back to their veterans and their present military families.

  Helping each other out—that’s America.

  I think America does a lot to support people. That’s great for those truly in need. But I also think we create dependency by giving money to those who don’t want to work, both in other countries and our own. Help people help themselves—that’s the way it should be.

  I’d like us to remember the suffering of those Americans who were injured serving this country before we dole out millions to slackers and moochers. Look at the homeless: a lot are vets. I think we owe them more than just our gratitude. They were willing to sign a blank check for America, with the cost right up to their life. If they were willing to do that, why shouldn’t we be taking care of them?

  I’m not suggesting we give vets handouts; what people need are hand-ups—a little opportunity and strategic help.

  One of the wounded vets I met at the ranch retreats has an idea to help homeless vets by helping build or renovate housing. I think it’s a great idea. Maybe this house won’t be where they live forever, but it’ll get them going.

  Jobs, training—there’s an enormous amount that we can do.

  I know some people will say that you’ll have a bunch just taking advantage. But you deal with that. You don’t let it ruin things for everyone.

  There’s no reason someone who has fought for their country should be homeless or jobless.

  WHO I AM

  IT’S TAKEN A WHILE, BUT I HAVE GOTTEN TO A POINT WHERE being a SEAL no longer defines me. I need to be a husband and a father. Those things, now, are my first calling.

  Being a SEAL has been a huge part of me. I still feel the pull. I certainly would have preferred having the best of both worlds—the job and the family. But at least in my case, the job wouldn’t allow it.

  I’m not sure I would have either. In a sense, I had to step away from the job to become the fuller man my family needed me to be.

  I don’t know where or when the change came. It didn’t happen until I got out. I had to get through that resentment at first. I had to move through the good things and the bad things to reach a point where I could really move ahead.

  Now I want to be a good dad and a good husband. Now I’ve rediscovered a real love for my wife. I genuinely miss her when I’m on a business trip. I want to be able to hug her and sleep next to her.

  TAYA:

  What I loved about Chris in the beginning was the way he unabashedly wore his heart on his sleeve. He didn’t play games with my heart or my head. He was a straight shooter who seemed to back up his feelings in actions: spending an hour and a half to drive up to see me, then leaving in time for work at five a.m.; communicating; putting up with my moods.

  His sense of fun balanced out my serious side and brought out the youthful side of me. He was up for anything and completely supportive of anything I wanted or dreamed of. He got along famously with my family and I did with his.

  When our marriage reached a crisis, I said I wouldn’t love him the same if he reenlisted again. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him, but I felt that his decision would confirm what I thought was becoming increasingly evident. In the beginning, I believed he loved me more than anything. Slowly the Teams started to become his first love. He continued to say the words and tell me what he felt I needed to hear and what he had always said in the past to express his love. The difference is, the words and actions were no longer meshing. He still loved me but it was different. He was consumed by the Teams.

  When he was away, he would tell me things like “I would do anything to be home with you,” and “I miss you,” and �
��You are the most important thing in the world to me.” I knew if he joined up again that all of what he had been telling me over the past years were mostly words or feelings in theory, rather than feelings expressed in actions.

  How could I love with the same reckless abandon if I knew I was not what he said I was? I was second fiddle at best.

  He would die for strangers and country. My challenges and pain seemed to be mine alone. He wanted to live his life and have a happy wife to come home to.

  At the time, it meant everything I loved in the beginning was changing and I would have to love him differently. I thought it might be less, but it turns out it was just different.

  Just like in any relationship, things changed. We changed. We both made mistakes and we both learned a lot. We may love each other differently, but maybe that is a good thing. Maybe it is more forgiving and more mature, or maybe it is just different.

  It is still really good. We still have each other’s backs and we’ve learned that even through the tough times, we don’t want to lose each other or the family we’ve built.

  The more time that goes by the more we are each able to show each other love in ways the other one understands and feels.

  I feel like my love for my wife has gotten deeper over the past few years. Taya bought me a new wedding ring made of tungsten steel—I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it’s the hardest metal she could find.

  It has crusader crosses on it, too. She jokes that it’s because marriage is like a crusade.

  Maybe for us it has been.

  TAYA:

  I feel something coming from him that I hadn’t felt before.

  He’s definitely not the person he was before the war, but there are a lot of the same qualities. His sense of humor, his kindness, his warmth, his courage, and a sense of responsibility. His quiet confidence inspires me.

  Like any couple, we still have our day-to-day life things we have to work through, but most importantly, I feel loved. And I feel the kids and I are important.

  WAR

  I’M NOT THE SAME GUY I WAS WHEN I FIRST WENT TO WAR.

  No one is. Before you’re in combat, you have this innocence about you. Then, all of a sudden, you see this whole other side of life.

  I don’t regret any of it. I’d do it again. At the same time, war definitely changes you.

  You embrace death.

  As a SEAL, you go to the Dark Side. You’re immersed in it. Continually going to war, you gravitate to the blackest parts of existence. Your psyche builds up its defenses—that’s why you laugh at gruesome things like heads being blown apart, and worse.

  Growing up, I wanted to be military. But I wondered, how would I feel about killing someone?

  Now I know. It’s no big deal.

  I did it a lot more than I’d ever thought I would—or, for that matter, more than any American sniper before me. But I also witnessed the evil my targets committed and wanted to commit, and by killing them, I protected the lives of many fellow soldiers.

  I DON’T SPEND A LOT OF TIME PHILOSOPHIZING ABOUT KILLING people. I have a clear conscience about my role in the war.

  I am a strong Christian. Not a perfect one—not close. But I strongly believe in God, Jesus, and the Bible. When I die, God is going to hold me accountable for everything I’ve done on earth.

  He may hold me back until last and run everybody else through the line, because it will take so long to go over all my sins.

  “Mr. Kyle, let’s go into the backroom . . . .”

  Honestly, I don’t know what will really happen on Judgment Day. But what I lean toward is that you know all of your sins, and God knows them all, and shame comes over you at the reality that He knows. I believe the fact that I’ve accepted Jesus as my savior will be my salvation.

  But in that backroom or whatever it is when God confronts me with my sins, I do not believe any of the kills I had during the war will be among them. Everyone I shot was evil. I had good cause on every shot. They all deserved to die.

  MY REGRETS ARE ABOUT THE PEOPLE I COULDN’T SAVE—Marines, soldiers, my buddies.

  I still feel their loss. I still ache for my failure to protect them.

  I’m not naive and I’m beyond romanticizing war and what I had to do there. The worst moments of my life have come as a SEAL. Losing my buddies. Having a kid die on me.

  I’m sure some of the things I went through pale in comparison to what some of the guys went through in World War II and other conflicts. On top of all the shit they went through in Vietnam, they had to come home to a country that spat on them.

  When people ask me how the war changed me, I tell them that the biggest thing has to do with my perspective.

  You know all the everyday things that stress you here?

  I don’t give a shit about them. There are bigger and worse things that could happen than to have this tiny little problem wreck your life, or even your day. I’ve seen them.

  More: I’ve lived them.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  THIS BOOK WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN POSSIBLE WITHOUT MY brother SEALs, who supported me in battle and throughout my career in the Navy. And I wouldn’t be here without the SEALs, sailors, Marines, airmen, and soldiers who had my back during the war.

  I’d also like to thank my wife, Taya, for helping me write this book and making her own contributions. My brother and my parents supplied their memories as well as their support. Several of my friends also kindly provided information that was invaluable. Among those who were especially helpful were one of my lieutenants and a fellow sniper who appear as LT and Dauber in this book, respectively. Marc Lee’s mom also helped with some key insights.

  Special thanks and appreciation go to Jim DeFelice for his patience, wit, understanding, and writing ability. Without his help, this book would not be what it is today. I also want to express my sincere appreciation to Jim’s wife and son for opening their home to Taya and me as this book developed.

  We worked on this book in a variety of places. None matched the comfort of Marc Myers’s ranch, which he very generously allowed us to use while we worked.

  Scott McEwen recognized the value of my story before I did, and played a critical role in bringing it to print.

  I’d like to thank my editor, Peter Hubbard, who contacted me directly about writing this book and connected us with Jim DeFelice. Thanks also to the entire staff at William Morrow/HarperCollins.

  IN MEMORIAM

  CHRIS KYLE

  (1974–2013)

  INTRODUCTION

  WHEN OUR EDITOR FIRST CONTACTED US ABOUT PUTTING together a memorial edition as a tribute to Chris, we were overwhelmed. While Chris certainly deserved such an honor, we worried about how to adequately sum up what he meant to people. What more could be said about him that hadn’t been told, either in American Sniper itself or the more recent American Gun, which at that point was going to press?

  As we thought about it, though, we realized that while those books have Chris’s voice, both miss the voices of those around him. We knew the best tribute would be to include the words of others, with their own unique perspectives on who Chris was. And so we started contacting his fellow SEALs, veterans, friends, relatives, neighbors, and others to ask for help.

  The program from Chris’s memorial, held at Cowboys Stadium in Arlington, Texas, on February 11, 2013.

  These are the memories of everyday people loving each other the best they can and unknowingly blessing each other along the way. As humble as Chris was, the people in his life were also humble. In writing about Chris, not one of them drew attention to themselves. So please allow us a moment to thank them, as well as all of his friends and family and the many supporters we’ve met and have yet to meet, readers and well-wishers in general.

  The list of contributors here is nowhere near an exhaustive list of Chris’s closest friends, let alone a list of those he touched with his life. It is merely a cross-section, a taste, of those he meant a lot to. Some of his closest and dearest friend
s are not represented. The contributions were unfortunately limited by time and space. Please accept that they are meant to be representative rather than exhaustive. Taken together, they provide one more glimpse not just of who Chris was or how others saw him when he was alive, but of the legacy that he has left behind. He lives on not just in our hearts, but in the deeds and actions of those who knew him in the short time God shared him with us.

  We start with some messages from the memorial service at Cowboys Stadium in Arlington, Texas, on February 11, 2013, read by Chris’s parents and Taya.

  —TAYA KYLE AND JIM DEFELICE

  WAYNE AND DEBY KYLE

  CHRIS’S MOM AND DAD

  Chris with his parents at his and Taya’s wedding.

  Chris was a son who was strong enough to know when he was weak and brave enough to face himself when afraid. One who could stand proud, even in defeat, but humble and gentle in victory.

  Chris was a son whose heart was true and whose goals were high. He never asked anything of anyone that he had not already asked of himself.

  Chris always kept his sense of humor, so he could be serious and yet never take himself too seriously.

  Chris put action to the quote, “It’s our duty to serve those who serve us.” He would not allow words to take the place of deeds.

  Chris’s chosen path in life was not easy but stressful, laden with difficulties and challenges. He stood tall in the storms, but showed compassion for those who failed.

  Chris, there are not enough words to describe how proud we are of you! We believe in your courage, compassion, and strength of character. We believe in your goodness. We believe in YOU!

  The following is the letter we wrote to Chris that was read at his memorial: