The border mission was clean. One shot, one target, home by Thursday. I had spent years believing my father hated the sight of me carrying a rifle, so I assumed his contempt came from arrogance. When I returned, I finally had enough clearance to pull his old service record. What I found there changed the meaning of almost everything he had said to me.
In 1991, my father had recommended a female sniper for a dangerous mission despite her commander’s objections. Her name was in the file. She was his best friend’s wife. She took the shot, her position was overrun, and she never came home. My father wrote the letter to her family himself, and the reprimand that stalled his career followed. I kept reading until I understood why he had spent twenty years trying to keep me away from the ridgelines. Click continue reading below for Part2
