Too Short for a Blog Post, Too Long for a Tweet XC

Here's an excerpt from a book I am reading, "American Sniper: The Autobiography of the Most Lethal Sniper in U.S. Military History," by Chris Kyle:

The Marines sent a patrol over to pull us out.  As I watched them coming from the post, I spotted an insurgent moving in behind them. I fired once. The Marine patrol hit the dirt. So did the Iraqi, though he didn’t get up. “There’s [an insurgent] sniper out there and he’s good,” their radio man called. “He nearly got us.” I got on my radio. “That’s me, dumbass. Look behind you.” They turned around and saw a savage with a rocket launcher lying dead on the ground. “God, thank you,” answered the Marine. “Don’t mention it.” 

The Iraqis did have snipers working that night. I got two of them—one who was up on the minaret of a mosque, and another on a nearby building. This was a fairly well-coordinated fight, one of the better-organized ones we would encounter in the area. It was unusual, because it took place at night; the bad guys generally didn’t try and press their luck in the dark. Finally, the sun came up and the gunfire slacked down. The Marines pulled out a bunch of armored vehicles to cover for us, and we ran back to their camp. I went up to see their commander and brief him on what had happened. I had barely gotten a sentence out of my mouth when a burly Marine officer burst into the office. “Who the hell was the sniper up there on Seven Story?” he barked. I turned around and told him it was me, bracing myself to be chewed out for some unknown offense. “I want to shake your hand, son,” he said, pulling off his glove. “You saved my life.” He was the guy I’d called a dumbass on the radio earlier. I’ve never seen a more grateful Marine.