I don’t worry about what other people think of me. It’s one of the things I most admired about my dad growing up. He didn’t give a hoot what others thought. He was who he was. It’s one of the qualities that has kept me most sane.

As this book goes to print, I’m still a bit uncomfortable with the idea of publishing my life story. First of all, I’ve always thought that if you want to know what life as a SEAL is like, you should go get your own Trident: earn our medal, the symbol of who we are. Go through our training, make the sacrifices, physical and mental. That’s the only way you’ll know.

Second of all, and more importantly, who cares about my life? I’m no different than anyone else.

I happen to have been in some pretty bad-ass situations. People have told me it’s interesting. I don’t see it. Other people are talking about writing books about my life, or about some of the things I’ve done. I find it strange, but I also feel it’s my life and my story, and I guess I better be the one to get it on paper the way it actually happened.

Also, there are a lot of people who deserve credit, and if I don’t write the story, they may be overlooked. I don’t like the idea of that at all. My boys deserve to be praised more than I do.

The Navy credits me with more kills as a sniper than any other American service member, past or present. I guess that’s true. They go back and forth on what the number is. One week, it’s 160 (the “official” number as of this writing, for what that’s worth), then it’s way higher, then it’s somewhere in between. If you want a number, ask the Navy—you may even get the truth if you catch them on the right day.

People always want a number. Even if the Navy would let me, I’m not going to give one. I’m not a numbers guy. SEALs are silent warriors, and I’m a SEAL down to my soul. If you want the whole story, get a Trident. If you want to check me out, ask a SEAL.