“Nick Irving has a story to tell that every American should hear. This captivating journey is about much more than just getting your hands dirty for Uncle Sam… It’s about what it means to be an American in this necessary battle against fundamental terrorism.” —Mike Ritland TRIDENT K9 WARRIORS

“I am amazed by the parallels between Nick’s life and my own. I am also deeply humbled and appreciative that we still produce men like this. I would be on his team any day.  THE REAPER is the kind of book that you have to live to write—and it’s more exciting than any thriller could be.” —Howard Wasdin SEAL Team Six

It could always be worse.

This is a picture that I’ve held onto for personal reasons and will continue to hold onto for many years. Whenever things seem to be a little tough, I refer back to my time in service as a Ranger, and especially the moment this picture was taken.

This picture was captured immediately after my recon/sniper team of six men was pinned down for hours against an enemy sniper, surrounded in a 360° ambush. Three of our men had been shot while pinned down in a small ravine; one was only a couple of feet away from me and another inches away—close enough to hear the round impact his upper chest and feel the warm spray of blood smack my face.

When you see the water-soaked uniforms my spotter and I are wearing in this photo, that isn’t just water, it’s mixed with the blood from two of our men—one, Cpl. Ben Kopp, who ultimately died of his wounds and is currently recovering in a place we cannot see.

We all fought hard that day. The majority of the guys had bullet holes in their uniforms. I dream every night and think every day what else I could have done to change the outcome on my end. Call it survivor’s guilt or whatever, but it’s something…something that I consciously choose to take with me until it’s my time to recover under the dirt.

I frequently dream at night of telling my spotter, “P, I got less than a mag,” and him informing me that he had to pick and choose targets with less than 10 rounds of .300 Win. Mag. left. I can still feel his fist bump when we thought we were done. We popped smoke and bounded from the small hole we were in, back to a rescue element, our backs to the incoming fire. I can hear him saying, “Let’s do it, bro!”