A couple of rusting steel plates and a thin layer of sandbags his only protection, Staff Sergeant Steve Reichert lay down 60 feet atop an oil tank as his patrol rolled below into Lutafiyah, Iraq.
Three days earlier in the same spot, tracer bullets fired by insurgents began whizzing around him. ''They knew we were up there," said Reichert, a 25-year-old scout sniper from Medfield who honed his skills target shooting at the Medfield Sportsman's Club starting at age 13. ''But it was a good spot to cover patrols and see what's going on in the town."
With his .50-caliber rifle pressed close to his shoulder, Reichert was his patrol's eyes as about 20 fellow Marines entered a maze of unknowns. It was last April, and the town south of Baghdad was in the midst of Arba'een, a Shi'a religious holiday. In military terms, he was in a guardian-angel position.
By the end of the day, Reichert became a hero, hitting an insurgent machine gunner from more than a mile away with a gun meant to disable tanks, not humans. His feat turned the tide in the ensuing firefight that last month won him one of the Marine Corps' highest honors, the Bronze Star with a combat V for valorous action, one of 336 awarded by the Corps for service in Iraq.
As the patrol moved toward the town, Reichert said, he saw the usual debris littering the road. But a strange reflection around a dead animal in front of the patrol's path drew the eyes of Reichert's spotter, Corporal Winston Tucker.
Improvised explosive devices, the roadside bombs that are killing many American troops, are often disguised. So Reichert radioed his patrol leader, who radioed back shortly later, confirming two thin wires leading from the dead dog.
''They'll put them in anything that looks normal," Reichert said in a phone interview from Camp Lejeune, N.C.
Thirty minutes later, a rocket-propelled grenade was fired at the patrol followed by shots from a machine gun and small arms. Scanning a puzzle of rooftops, Tucker finally saw a man firing an AK-47 at the Marines.
With little time to calculate an accurate wind speed, Reichert took his best guess, aimed, and fired, hitting his target on his second shot from what was later found to be 1,614 meters away, more than a mile. Marine officials later said Reichert's accuracy was a deciding factor in the outcome of the firefight.
Still, it wasn't over.
Reichert's spotter saw three men climbing some stairs before ducking behind a brick wall. Reichert quickly calculated the range and fired through the brick. All three dropped.
Three more men, one with a weapon slung on his back, were seen climbing on top of a building near two Marines who had become separated from their patrol. Reichert fired, the enemy turned back, and the Marines rejoined their squad.
Back where it all began, specialists in explosives and other Marines near the dog carcass began to take heavy fire from all directions. But when Reichert began giving them cover fire, the Marines mistakenly began shooting at Reichert.
Reichert tried to call off the Marines, but he couldn't get anybody on the radio.
The friendly fire finally stopped, but the firefight lasted most of the afternoon, making it impossible for anyone from the patrol to pick up Reichert and his spotter, who were left isolated atop the oil tank until after dark.
''He risked his life for his fellow Marines," reads his commendation.
Reichert, for his part, called his shot dumb luck. His sniper's rifle is intended to blast holes in armored vehicles and aircraft turbines. ''When you're going up against smaller targets," he said, ''that's when luck comes into play."
Luck was nowhere near Reichert two months later. In a Humvee patrolling an area south of Fallujah, a roadside explosive was detonated, sending shrapnel into Reichert's head. He was the only Marine on board who was seriously injured. When he talks about it today, he nonchalantly says: ''I got blown up."
Reichert, who joined the Marines at age 19, plans to medically retire from the Marines when his tour is up next year. He still suffers 70 percent deafness in his right ear and 30 percent in his left. He has constant headaches.
He is looking for jobs in Europe with his Russian-born wife, Ira. He said he'll probably be working for another government agency, declining to say more.
''I'll still be shooting for as long as I can see," he said, ''but as far as sniping goes, I've had enough. After I was almost killed, this whole thing changed. I didn't feel too good about what was going on with me, so I've had enough basically. Besides, it's the right time for a career change."
Mac Daniel can be reached at mdaniel@globe.com.![]()
