They Call Me the Reaper

The test we faced that third night working in support of Charlie Company, First Platoon, in Kandahar was not the first one and it wasn't going to be the last. In fact, long before I rose through the army's ranks to become a direct action sniper, I was constantly faced with challenges. To one degree or another, that's probably true of most people in just about any walk of life. Except that for me, so much of it took place in a short period of time. I enlisted right of out of high school in 2004 and then served in various capacities with the Third Ranger Battalion after getting through the Ranger Indoctrination Program (RIP)—machine gunner, machine gun team leader, grenadier, team leader, designated marksman, sniper, sniper team leader, and master sniper.

During the three-and-a-half-month period from May of 2009 through August of that year, when I tallied more than thirty-three kills, I was about three months shy of turning twenty-four years old. On and off, I'd been deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan since 2005; I married in 2007; and I'd gone through more schools and training programs than somebody who'd gone the other route and attended college as an undergraduate and then as a graduate. I like to think that I learned a whole lot, and I'm sure I did, but while it was all going on, I felt like I was a rock rolling downhill, gathering momentum, tearing up a few things around me, and accumulating a few things that stuck to me. Some of it was painful; some of it was fun; and like anybody who'd been rolling along like that, I was feeling a bit dizzy.

As you can imagine, especially during that period that earned me the nickname "the Reaper," I didn't have a whole lot of time to sit back and reflect on everything that had happened to me that put me in that hot zone. I knew that it was the luck of the draw that had us seeing so much action.

A lot of guys at Fort Benning told us when they learned that we were being deployed to Kandahar that we needed to be prepared to be bored out of our minds. I was also fortunate that I was with Charlie Company, First Platoon. After all, that was the unit that I grew up with in battalion. I knew most of the guys I was going to be assigned with. We'd been deployed together before, and they were really, really good guys, squared away. In some ways this was going to be different. I had rank now and I'd be one of the men planning missions, giving briefings. I felt prepared for that, but I also knew that with leadership came responsibility. You don't serve in the armed forces without having a sense of responsibility for your fellow soldiers, but this was going to be at a different level. I wasn't always the most responsible kid and I liked to have a good time still, and I told myself that I wasn't going to change too much.

You're always on edge predeployment. When word came down that we were going to Kandahar, we all met the news with a mixture of relief and curiosity. The Second Ranger Battalion was currently over there, and their guys were reporting back that things were very quiet. A few missions. Not really getting shot at.

I should clarify something. The sense of relief I mentioned. That was mostly what we told our wives and girlfriends. I told my wife, Jessica, that this was going to be a boring deployment, probably my last one. I'd be away just a few months and then we'd figure out the next steps. Afghanistan sucks. You hardly ever see anybody; they all live hidden in the mountains. Kandahar is a city. Don't worry.

In truth, I was pissed for all the reasons stated above. I wanted to get into as much stuff as possible. That's what I'd been spending all these years busting my ass off preparing to do. You become a sniper; you want to shoot. You want to do your job. So, along with the anxiety I was feeling, there was some disappointment and frustration. It didn't help that all around the base we're hearing from some other guys who'd been assigned to Forward Operating Base (FOB) Wilson as well as others in Kandahar that we better take our Xboxes and our PlayStations, and we'd better load every hard drive, zip drive, and any other kind of digital storage device we had with plenty of movies.

A few days later, I was sitting in our old Mercury Grand Marquis inside the brown gate that surrounded the Third Battalion's secret compound at Benning. Jessica was in tears, just a river of them flowing. I felt helpless to really reassure her, and that made me mad at myself. Add that to being frazzled with all that comes with being deployed, all the worry and wonder I had about my new role, and our good-bye was not rom-com worthy. I cried a bit, and felt bad that the two of us had been Stateside together only a few months.

I have to admit that I wasn't always the most pleasant guy to be around when I came back from deployment. Prior to this upcoming deployment, my company and I had been working out of Baghram Air Force Base in support of SEAL Team Six. While at Baghram I'd worked with another Ranger sniper by the name of Pete who really showed me the ropes. He had been in the sniper section for some time and served as the sniper platoon sergeant.

When I'd come back to Georgia, it was like I was in a new world. It always felt like that, but it didn't help that while I was gone, Jessica had rearranged the whole house. I knew that I shouldn't be pissed about that. After all, she was looking for ways to make things better, to help her pass the time waiting, but still. It's hard to flip the switch back to being normal Nick after being downrange. Out in the field, you want to keep everything the same. Keep the routine going.

I knew that I had to flip the switch again. Go back to being that other Nick, the guy who, to be honest, over the five-plus years I'd been in the army, was the easier one to be. So, as I'm standing outside the car hugging Jessica, it is like a scene from a sci-fi movie. She's standing there holding on to me, and a faint, ghostlike image is separating himself from her, already with the other guys on the compound ripping and running around getting all their stuff together, hearing that C-17's engines revving up and idling. Then I really did walk away, giving Jessica one more wave before immersing myself in my other life.

An hour later, I'm settled in. The Ambien-induced sleep had a hold on me, and twenty-three hours later I was in Afghanistan. Bleary-eyed and dry mouthed, I stepped off the transport into a kind of heat that Georgia can't produce—a dry, searing version in which every ounce of moisture has been wrung from the air.

I liked that introduction to this other life. It signaled that the slate was wiped clean. This was not the States. When I looked around as we offloaded and then loaded to make our way to the FOB, nothing seemed at all familiar. Gone was the...