Shooter: The Autobiography of the Top-Ranked Marine Sniper

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"With more than sixty confirmed kills, Jack Coughlin is the Marine Corps' top-ranked sniper. Shooter is his first-person account of a sniper's life on and off the modern battlefield." "Gunnery Sgt. Jack Coughlin is a divorced father of two who grew up in a wealthy Boston suburb. At the age of nineteen, although he had never even held a gun, he joined the Marines and would spend the next twenty years behind the scope of a long-range precision rifle as a sniper." "In that time, he accumulated one of the most successful sniper records in the Corps,
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New York, NY 2005 Hard cover New in new dust jacket. Sewn binding. Cloth over boards. With dust jacket. 320 p. Contains: Illustrations. Audience: General/trade. (Jack Coughlin ... was the Marine Corps' top-ranked sniper, who in twenty years of active service reached, or accumulated a good record with the Corps ranging through many of the world's hot spots. Read more Show Less

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Shooter: The Autobiography of the Top-Ranked Marine Sniper

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Overview

"With more than sixty confirmed kills, Jack Coughlin is the Marine Corps' top-ranked sniper. Shooter is his first-person account of a sniper's life on and off the modern battlefield." "Gunnery Sgt. Jack Coughlin is a divorced father of two who grew up in a wealthy Boston suburb. At the age of nineteen, although he had never even held a gun, he joined the Marines and would spend the next twenty years behind the scope of a long-range precision rifle as a sniper." "In that time, he accumulated one of the most successful sniper records in the Corps, ranging through many of the world's hotspots. During Operation Iraqi Freedom alone, he recorded at least thirty-six kills, thirteen of them in a single twenty-four-hour period." Now Coughlin has written a highly personal story about his deadly craft, taking readers deep inside an invisible society that is off-limits to outsiders. This is not a heroic battlefield memoir, but the careful study of an exceptional man who must keep his sanity while carrying forward one of the deadliest legacies in the U.S. military today.
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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
“[Jack Coughlin] is one of the best snipers in the Marine Corps, perhaps the very best.”—-Peter Maas, war correspondent and bestselling author of Love Thy Neighbor

“Coughlin is less concerned with his tally than with the human values of comradeship and love.” —-The Washington Post

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780312336851
  • Publisher: St. Martin's Press
  • Publication date: 5/1/2005
  • Edition description: First Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 320
  • Product dimensions: 6.34 (w) x 9.42 (h) x 1.13 (d)

Meet the Author

Gunnery Sgt. Jack Coughlin was the Marine Corps' highest ranked sniper in the Iraq War. He served with the the Third Battalion, Fourth Marines during the drive to Baghdad and has operated on a wide range of assignments in hot spots around the world. He is co-author of the Kyle Swanson Sniper Novels.

 

Captain Casey S. Kuhlman left the Marines after the Iraq War. He studied at Vanderbilt University Law School, and is now a lawyer and social entrepeneur working in Somaliland.

 

Donald A. Davis is the author of Lightning Strike: The Secret Mission to Kill Admiral Yamamoto and Avenge Pearl Harbor, and numerous other books, including several New York Times bestsellers. He lives outside Boulder, Colorado.

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Read an Excerpt

SHOOTER

The Autobiography of the Top-Ranked Marine Sniper
By Jack Coughlin Casey Kuhlman Donald A. Davis

ST. MARTIN'S PRESS

Copyright © 2005 Gunnery Sgt. Jack Coughlin, USMC, and Capt. Casey Kuhlman, USMCR, with Donald A. Davis.
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0-312-33685-3


Chapter One

At another time, on another battlefield, my radio call sign had been "Gabriel," because the archangel and I have a lot in common. Legend says Gabriel's trumpet will sound the last judgment. I do the same sort of thing with my rifle.

In 1993, I was the sergeant in charge of a Marine sniper section with Task Force Somalia, and on the evening of January 6, General Jack Klimp barked, "Gabriel, the 10th Mountain CP [command post] says they are under attack. Grab a couple of your boys and go check it out." I took a three-vehicle convoy bristling with machine guns through the north gate of the Mogadishu stadium, turned right for about thirty yards, then hung a sharp left on the 21 October Road, the main drag through the tattered capital of the famine-gripped country. Resting between my knees was a M82A1A Special Application Scoped Rifle (SASR), a .50 caliber beast of a weapon that weighs more than twenty-eight pounds and fires an armor-piercing incendiary tracer bullet that can punch a big hole through a sheet of steel, and an even bigger hole through flimsy flesh.

Dusk had not yet settled over the city, so the temperature still simmered in the nineties, and children who resembled the walking dead begged for food as we passed. Some three hundred thousand people had already starved to death in Somalia, and many more would die as long as the feuding warlords chose to violently expand their fiefdoms rather than feed and protect their people. When I saw flies crawl on the face of a dead child, it was easy to hate the vicious fighters who were causing such slaughter.

We called the ragtag militia "Skinnies" and "Sammies." It is natural for a Marine to denigrate the enemy, because it helps dehumanize them. The Germans were "Krauts" in the big wars, the North Koreans and Chinese were "gooks" in Korea, and in Vietnam the enemy was "Charlie." We had to call them something and didn't want to think of them as real people, for that might make us hesitate for a fatal moment. The old saying "Know your enemy" does not apply in such cases, for some things are better left unknown.

I had alerted my boys to be ready for a fight because once out of the stadium we never knew if someone would shoot at us. There were always snaps of random gunfire sparking around Mogadishu, but the entire route to the command post of the Army's 10th Mountain Division, about a hundred yards off the 21 October, was quiet. The gates of the walled compound swung open as we approached, and we were welcomed by a colonel who apparently had been expecting the whole damned Marine Corps to come charging over the hill. Instead, they got me and about ten other guys.

The 10th Mountain, a strong division with thousands of combat troops, was spread out all over and beyond Mogadishu and had left only a few security troops to protect their headquarters, in the heart of a city that seethed with unrest. Nevertheless, other than some chipped plaster on the outside walls, I saw no sign that any dangerous firefight had taken place.

The colonel didn't know he was dealing with a Marine sergeant, since we never wore rank insignia in combat situations, so he treated me as an equal. He escorted me up to the third floor of the command post building, and I put up a hand to shield my eyes from the glaring sunlight. Only six hundred yards away were three long warehouses that our intelligence sources said were packed to the rafters with weapons of the warlords. As long as the guns stayed inside, there was no problem, but if the militiamen decided to come out and play, they would be more than this group of cooks, bakers, and candlestick makers could handle.

A lot of people were hurrying around those warehouses, busy movement with nothing getting done, for they were not taking things in and out. Every so often, they would steal a glance over at us. Although there had been no more than the occasional harassing shot so far, I believed that these guys were doing more than just passing through the area and that the situation had the potential to worsen. I told the colonel I'd be right back, and my Marines and I sped back to the stadium, racing to beat the approaching darkness.

General Klimp, the commander of the Marines in Task Force Mogadishu, had been receiving similar reports from other intelligence sources, and by the time I got back to the stadium headquarters, his staff was already laying plans for how to deal with the situation brewing around the warehouses.

Ever since arriving at the stadium on the last day of 1992, American forces had been out patrolling the dangerous streets and taking guns away from thugs. The orders were to let them surrender, but dealing with these maniacs one by one was a slow business. Klimp figured that if they were converging on the warehouses, we could bag a bunch at one time, so he gave orders to surround the buildings, not let anyone in or out, and blare a Psy Ops message over loudspeakers throughout the night telling the militias not to fight and to surrender at dawn. With any luck, they would disobey.

Klimp then told me to establish an overwatch position, and I once more hustled my boys back through the streets and back into the 10th Mountain compound. By the time night fell, I was on the roof with three other snipers, a couple of guys with M-60 machine guns, and a forward air controller, known as the FAC, to coordinate helicopter gunship backup when the ground troops moved in at dawn.

I found a spot between an air-conditioner duct and the three-foot-high parapet that surrounded the roof and squeezed into a tight sitting position, my boots and butt making a solid three-point stance, elbows on knees and eye to the 10-power Unertl telescope on the big SASR rifle, which rested on a pad across the parapet. I had a marvelous field of view, and the powerful scope brought everything into such sharp relief that I felt I could reach out and physically touch the men moving around the warehouses. Measuring with our laser range finders, we jotted out green range cards to show the exact distance between us and every building, window, and pile of junk behind which an enemy might hide.

As night finally came about 7:30 P.M., a snipers' nest manned by some of the best marksmen in the Marines had been created above a potential battlefield. I checked my weapon one more time-one big .50 caliber round in the chamber and five more in my clip-then slipped on my night vision goggles. If something happened, I had no intention of letting it devolve into a fair fight.

Few things in nature are as punishing as an African storm that tries to convert the parched land into a swamp in only a few hours. The scalding heat of the day vanishes in an instant, it is difficult even to breathe because so much water is falling, and the rain chills the bones and rapidly lowers the body temperature. Just such a storm swept in from the Indian Ocean about an hour after nightfall. Our carefully prepared snipers' "hide" began to feel more like an icy swimming pool, and we took turns going inside to get a cup of hot coffee and stay dry for a few minutes. One of my boys tore the canvas top from a Humvee and ripped it into crude shelters, but there was no real escape from the pounding rain. We were miserable.

Worse, the sheets of rain degraded our night vision goggles and left us blind to what was going on around the warehouses, although we could hear people shouting and motors turning over. The Skinnies were making mischief.

Dawn, the demanded time for surrender, approached. Our missile-carrying Cobra helicopters were inbound, guided by the FAC, who was working the radios beside me. We had not slept at all, and as the rain tapered off, we threw aside the canvas covers and stood to our guns, while our goggles showed blurred images of an incredible scene. A bunch of gunmen were in positions of cover, and the Skinnies had rolled out a couple of T-52 tanks and a big radar-guided antiaircraft weapon, a ZSU-23/4, which had four 23 mm cannons and is known as a "Zeus." If the choppers arrived on schedule, that thing could blow them out of the sky. "Abort! Abort!" the FAG screamed into his radio handset.

We had wanted a fight, and it looked like we would get one, but we still gave them a final chance to surrender. As the loudspeakers shouted the warning, I heard General Klimp speaking calmly into my headset. "Gabriel, can you take out that Zeus without hurting anybody else?"

"Yes," I replied, forgetting to add "sir." I was curt because I was busy, firmly locked into a rigid sitting-Indian position with my body square behind the rifle, and with my scope sighted on the ammunition feed tray of the ZSU. If ordered, I would disable the big gun. The Cobras had come to a halt and were hovering just behind our building, their rotor blades thudding like a mad drummer. The Zeus gunner heard them, too, and began cranking his weapon up to aim directly over our rooftop position in order to catch the arriving choppers when they popped into view.

As usual, just before combat, life slowed down for me. It is as if a viewer is fast-forwarding a movie and then suddenly clicks to slow motion. My eyesight sharpens; I can hear the slightest sound but can tune it out if it is not important. Even my sense of smell is heightened. I believe that a really good sniper not only has muscle memory developed by years of constant practice but also has some special unknown gene in his body chemistry, because I was operating more on instinct than on training.

I looked carefully past the feed tray and examined the magnified image of the gunner seated between the two pairs of mounted cannons. He wore a dirty T-shirt and some kind of cutoff trousers, with flip-flop sandals on his feet. I had a good line.

"Take the shot," said the general, and I fired, taking the big kick of the recoil as my rifle thundered. The heavy round punched through the metal feed tray, then slammed into the gunner like a bowling ball going a hundred miles an hour. The last I saw of him, he was flipping upside down over the back of the seat, thin legs splayed in the air, and barefoot because he was blown right out of his sandals.

My shot started the battle and brought an answering blast from another Zeus. Its big rounds chewed at the concrete, green tracers laced the dawn sky, and we dove beneath the parapet for cover. That was only a momentary reaction. My spotter shouted, "You gotta engage or he'll tear this building apart! Stop him, Jack!" Chunks of cement exploded around us as the quadruple cannon rattled nonstop. I had rolled over like a turtle, still in the cross-legged position, and my spotter grabbed my collar with his left hand to help yank me up straight again.

Fighting had erupted all around the perimeter of the warehouses, and the din was incredible, but all we were concerned with was that Zeus. I came over the parapet again with that green shit flying all around and shells smashing the building. I opened up at the very center mass of the Zeus, killing this gunner, too, and my armor-piercing bullets tore the weapon apart.

The tanks were next, and my boys took down every Skinny who tried to climb aboard them. In case anyone was already inside, I reloaded and put three bullets into the hulls where a gunner would be, then three more into the driver's positions. Our two machine gunners poured fire into the militiamen and around the perimeter; our grunts took care of anyone they saw with a gun. Then I began searching for, and finding, what are called "targets of opportunity."

The Marine Cobra helicopters rose up and joined the fight, coming in right over our heads and unleashing a deafening typhoon of missiles, cannon, and snarling machine gun fire on the warehouses. Their rotor blasts threatened to tear us off the building, and their spent brass showered down on us, steaming hot. Then a couple of Marine tanks lumbered into the area and added even more firepower. The cease-fire command came only about four minutes after I had made the first shot, and the absolutely devastated area fell silent. Flames ate at the warehouses, and columns of smoke blackened the morning sky.

Then, off to the right, another Skinny with an RPK light machine gun jumped into a window and opened up on the grunts below. My spotter looked quickly at the range card we had sketched earlier, saw that the window was exactly 623 yards away, and called the shot. "Target One-Alpha 623!" he called, and three snipers put the guy just a little above the crosshairs of their scopes to allow for a bit of an arc at that distance. We all fired at the same instant, and the guy was torn apart when our three rounds simultaneously exploded into his chest, shoulder, and stomach. The grunts rushed in to clear those buildings, and another cease-fire was ordered.

I pushed in a fresh five-round clip and scanned the area carefully. A tall, strangely well-groomed man was on the balcony of a nearby building, waving to militiamen gathered below. I locked onto him but, under the rules of engagement, did not fire, since he was not a direct threat and the men below were only milling about. A "technical," a truck with a machine gun mounted on the back, drove up, and gunmen congregated around it. I didn't know whether this guy was a warlord, but he sure seemed to be organizing a counterattack. I reported the situation and was told that if the gate to that compound opened, I was to take him out.

People around the man began pointing and gesturing my way, and when the man on the balcony turned, he saw a big SASR rifle and the large eye of my telescope pointing straight at his nose. He dropped his hands slowly and went inside, leaving the men in the courtyard below as a leaderless mob. This fight was over.

The 10th Mountain compound had a mess tent, and the cooks, bless their hearts, had been busy at their stoves while the fighting raged outside the walls. After the long night in the rain and the ferocious battle, my boys and I were starved, and I loaded a plate with potatoes, eggs, and some awesome links of sausage. We had stood down, but my adrenaline was still pumping and my combat senses were still sharp. The taste buds were wide-awake, and I shoveled in the food. My fellow snipers and I yelled insults at each other, and everything was in vivid color.

The colonel who had welcomed me came into the tent. He was one of those big dudes, a six-foot-something who looked sharp in his creased battle-dress uniform with a pistol on his hip. He swaggered to our table and looked with disdain at the stack of food disappearing into me, a man who had just finished killing a bunch of people. "How can you sit here and eat like this?" he asked.

"I'm fucking hungry," I replied, detecting a problem. A hush settled over the mess tent.

"Well," said the colonel with a rather theatrical sigh, "I guess that's the difference between us."

I stand five-nine and weigh 165, but I never back down from bullies. I rose from the bench and moved into his personal space. "No. The difference between us is that I don't squeal for help when somebody shoots at me."

The colonel huffed, and his eyeballs bulged with surprise. "Who the luck are you, anyway? What's your rank?" He still had no clue, pulling this chickenshit routine right after we had saved his ass.

I had been through too many fights in too many places on this planet to take any shit from this guy, colonel or no. Hell, he had probably been shuffling papers at his desk a few nights ago when I was out on foot patrol in the rain with the French Foreign Legion. "My name is Gabriel," I said, smirking. My senses were quivering again, my muscles tense. I knew my boys had my back if an Army-Marine brawl erupted. "And my rank is none of your damned business. You got a problem, take it up with General Klimp."

The first sergeant stepped between us before anyone threw a punch. The colonel left, we finished our meal and returned through quiet streets to the stadium. Instead of chewing me out, General Klimp signed the papers awarding me a Navy-Marine Corps Commendation Medal for my work that day.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from SHOOTER by Jack Coughlin Casey Kuhlman Donald A. Davis Copyright © 2005 by Gunnery Sgt. Jack Coughlin, USMC, and Capt. Casey Kuhlman, USMCR, with Donald A. Davis.. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Sort by: Showing all of 18 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 16, 2007

    AWESOME READ

    A true look into the mind of a Marine Sniper. He tells the story from his point of view, and spares little detail! He is not political at all, he just states what he did and saw! I couldn't put it down, and I wanted an encore when I got to page 293

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 24, 2006

    THIS IS A GREAT BOOK

    TELLS YOU THIS MAN'S INSIDE JOB IN THE MARINE CORE AS WELL AS HIS FEELINGS OF WAR AND KILLING

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 4, 2006

    Too Much Bravado

    Are you kidding me? Please don't compare this to literary works like BlackHawk Down. BlackHawk Down was a masterpiece that captured the heroism and bravery of our finest (and I'm a former Marine NCO). This garbage is written by someone who clearly didn't have enough people to brag to, so he wrote a book hoping more people would get to hear what a hotshot he thinks he is. Credit where credit is due... he was a Marine, and he dedicated twenty years to upholding our values, fighting with the best unit our country has to offer. But this story would have been much more enjoyable if it wasn't so self-grandized and pompous. Its filled with text by an NCO who feels that his years of service automatically gives him the right to judge the abilities of commissioned officers. It reeks of insubordination and fraternization. Combine that with his chest thumping, and it makes for an annoying read. I'll say that there are many areas of the book, when the action is taking place, that I enjoyed the story. But overall, I can't give this more than one star. Sorry Gunny.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 22, 2006

    Semper Fi

    Started off slow but picked up quickly. A worthwhile read, chock full of facts and interesting tid bits.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 1, 2006

    OOORAH!!

    The book Shooter was long and interesting. It is the story of Gunnery Sergeant Jack Coughlin and his role in the war in Iraq. Gunny Sergeant Jack Coughlin is the Marine Corps top ranked sniper. The book also tells the story of Captain Casey Kuhlman. Donald A. Davis wrote the book, however Jack and Casey both gave information and helped write it. With both of them helping, it gives the unique duel view to the story. One view from an officer who had to make life and death decisions on a daily basis. The other view from a highly decorated sniper who has to find a way to cope with killing humans on a daily basis. Gunny Sergeant Jack Coughlin had earned the call sign ¿Gabriel¿ to show that he was a guardian angel. He always said that he never enjoyed taking a life, but he had to because it was his job. ¿ I never enjoy taking a human life, for only a homicidal maniac would do so. An experienced sniper can hate what he does when he pulls the trigger, but at the same time, he understands the important fact that he is involved in something much larger than himself. I always knew there was a good reason for what I did- If I didn¿t get him, he would get us- so I put him in the crosshairs and squeezed the trigger without remorse.¿(Gunnery Sergeant Jack Coughlin, USMC, Shooter) Jack expressed his feelings on the war in Iraq several times throughout the book. He said several times throughout the book, that even though he didn¿t want to be in Iraq, if the Marine Corps was going then he would want to be there with them. The book itself was very long, but never at any point boring. If the book isn¿t following Jack in a sniper hide, then it is with Casey in the middle of an intense firefight, and sometimes with both of them at the same time. It covers every part of the early war. It even gets to a personal level with Jack when he starts talking about his family back home. He talks about the long journey to becoming a sniper and the rigorous training that he went through to get to the skill level that he is at. I liked every aspect of this book. It was very interesting to get a snipers point of view on the war. Although I had heard several opinions from Marines on the war, I had never heard the opinion of a sniper and an officer. The book provides a great point of view from ¿behind the lines¿. This gives perspectives on the war that the media doesn¿t always give. Jack Coughlin is so good at what he does that when one of his commanders was asked about his skills, the commander replied, ¿I¿m just glad he¿s on our side.¿ What I also liked that Jack Coughlin expresses his views on other wars that he had been in such as dessert storm. Not everyone will enjoy this book. I enjoyed it so much because I want to be a Marine and it¿s written from a Marines perspective. Also, people who don¿t like violence and wars might take offence to this book.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 26, 2005

    A book that taks you into the mind and emotion of a sniper

    The book helps me remember the hurry up and wait. This will be a book that will be used in the future to teach sniper's new tactics.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 30, 2005

    Great! Couldn't put it down!

    This book truly speaks for all snipres in the Marine Corps. This will be definetly a book that will be used in future sniper classes within the Marine Coprps. This bok portrays the life of a sniper ni the Marines, and the conflicts it sometimes comes with being a sniper. Gunny coughlin truly did a good job on this one.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 8, 2005

    If you disagree with the occupation, read this, see the other side of the argument.

    Inline with Black hawk down. One mans account of the invasion of Iraq and how he came to be one of the Marines top snipers. You really feel for his situation and understand exactly where he is coming from.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 26, 2005

    Wow!!!

    One book I just could not put down. As a fomer Marine myself, the author sticks with details, which I truely enjoyed. One of the better 'Marine' books I have read. It's worth every penny.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 19, 2005

    good but not great.

    I feel this book needed more action in it.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 5, 2005

    Great Book!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    This book, Shooter, is one of the best books I have ever read. Its about 2 snipers who participated in Somalia and the Second Gulf War. The 'through the gun sights' writing style of this book is amazing. It really taught me how hard being a sniper could be. The author had all of the details and everything in there. This book deserves to be on the top of the New York imes bestseller list. I recomend this bok to any former Marine. Or anyone who loves war books.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 5, 2005

    Semoer Fi

    Gone is the AW shucks shyness of WWI heroes and the 'the real heroes are still there' modesty of WWII and Korean war heroes. Instead the Marine snipers in Shooter have all the braggadocio and bluster of fighter pilots but fighter pilots set out just to kill another airplane. They are almost surprised when they discover a real live person's face in the cockpit looking back at them. Snipers really earn their braggadocio because their kills are up close and personal. Even at 800 yards, with those scopes, they see clearly the person they are killing. Snipers traditionally have fallen out of favor with the US military between wars because it was considered vaguely unsporting or unfair to pop an unsuspecting target a half mile behind their lines. But during every American war, snipers have been brought back because they are so damn effective. They are effective not just in the number of kills but psychologically too. Is there no place safe? Fact is, in the kind of war we have now, there is no safe place FOR ANYONE. You might get it from a homicide bomber in Cleveland and a terrorist in Iraqi might get it wandering alone a half mile away from the front. I couldn't put down this book! This book gives a rare close up look at our tough, volunteer, military. A military that is made up of professional killers. The author really tries to be super tough and make it clear he is good at and enjoys his work . . . but, in spite of him and in spite of his best efforts some mushy humanity slips comes through when telling about the one who got away or the animals caught in the crossfire locked in a corral or in his last chapter. I like and respect this guy! Not only because I like and respect every Marine but because he is so damn good at his job. This book is a must-read! Semper Fi!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 5, 2005

    Compelling true story

    I could not put this book down,i'm in the middle of my second read. Outstanding !!!! Would not want to be the enemy.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 13, 2005

    A MUST READ!

    THIS BOOK IS A MUST READ, I READ THIS BOOK IN LESS THAN A DAY. THAT SHOULD TELL YOU SOMETHING!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 31, 2005

    A must read and should be on bestseller list

    I bought the book in the morning and finished it by the end of the day. First time in my life I have ever done that. It is one of the best books I have ever read. Fascinating insight into the mental and physical toughness needed to kill people for a living and also the toll being a soldier takes on your personal life. Anyone who doesn't give this book 5 stars didn't read it.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 30, 2005

    MARINE VALUES

    THIS IS THE AUTOBIBIOGRAPHY OF TWO TOUGH MARINE SNIPERS ( GUNNERY SGT JACK COUGHLIN)(CAPT CASEY KUHLMAN)WHO BOTH WAS IN THE HOT ZONE AND MOGADISHU( WHO TOOK OUT SEVERAL WAR LORDS) LATER THESE 2 SNIPERS WOULD JOIN IN IRAQI FREEDOM AND TAKE OUT MANY TERRORISTS AND HELP THE OTHER MILITARY UNITES. THIS IS A WONDERFUL BOOK WRITTION BY DONALD A. DAVIS AND WOULD MAKE A GREAT GIFT FOR FAMILY OR FRIENDS OR SOLDIERS OVER SEAS

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 10, 2005

    Greatest book on the human side of war

    This is a non stop action filled read with a great human touch. The best book I have read in years about the struggle to keep your mind on killing vice having to live with it.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 21, 2009

    No text was provided for this review.

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