The Chris Quinton Story

When Chris Quinton arrived in Baghdad, it was an entirely different world than his home on Marco Island. The mercury was hovering at about 110, and the air in the ancient city smelled like an equal mix of garbage and the biggest septic tank ever.

This was just after the big statue of Saddam Hussein was down and American soldiers blasted a hole in the Iraqi cigarette warehouse. Saddam controlled the cigarettes just as he controlled everything else, but now there was a new sheriff in town, and when an American tank blew a hole in the tobacco storage building, all the Iraqis craving nicotine ran through the still-smoking hole to get liberated cigarettes. 

Every day was just another day in the “Rack” - as the American troops called Iraq - but as the weeks of service began to merge with the heat, the septic smell, and the sporadic bombings, Chris suddenly found that his original assignment as an artillery specialist in a self-propelled 155-millimeter gun was over. The Army now had a new job for Chris, and that was when he became Sniper-4.

Everyone had a code name and Chris was Sniper-4. The biggest troopers are always the prime target for snipers because they stand out taller than their fellow troops. When Chris learned his new assignment was going to be at night it was a relief - because everyone wanted to be out of the heat—but with the new undertaking, it was suddenly obvious that Sniper-4 was to have one of the most dangerous missions in Baghdad.

Because Chris was six feet six inches tall, Chris’s fellow soldiers decided he was to be the first in the door. He had the height, the weight, and the strength to kick in any door with only one attempt of a well-placed combat boot. Because Chris was the first in the door, he was to be the first to confront the AK-47 machine gun that was the right of every homeowner in Iraq to have. Every Iraqi family had the right to self-defense, and because of that ruling, every American knew every household had the potential to be a hideout, an observation post to gather intelligence, or a firing position to shoot at an American. With urban warfare, higher apartment buildings offered vantage point positions where snipers could shoot anyone who was unaware.

For Chris and his unit, the nights in Baghdad were a continuous series of fast-paced raids filled with danger and adrenalin.

The nightly assignments began when an intelligence officer would deliver a list of possible insurgent hideouts. Six apartments per night were normally on the list and when Sniper-4 and his unit would arrive, Chris would go through the door first.

There was no knock or warning for the possible insurgents. Only Sniper-4 with his six-foot-six frame with 240 pounds, kicking the door down and moving inside quickly with his supporting group of four troops moving in rapidly behind him.

The adrenalin came just before the door was kicked in because this was an address where army intelligence believed the enemy was hiding and because every home was armed with at least one fully automatic machine gun.

When the door came down, the screaming began, the neighbors woke up, and the tension in the surrounding tenements began to soar. 

There was one midnight mission, however, that was unforgettable.

The evening patrol began as usual, but when the fourth apartment door was open and the possible insurgents were facing questions from the local translator, everyone started howling and the surrounding apartment complex was suddenly up and angry as a kicked-over beehive.

With the lights on in almost every apartment on both sides of a wide boulevard, and the neighboring Iraqis standing on their balconies and watching the Americans intently, the headlights of a strange car appeared at the far end of the street. As the car turned and started down the street, it was suddenly clear the approaching vehicle was going to challenge the American army truck that was blocking the roadway and protecting the investigating troops.

Every American soldier was trained in basic Arabic phrases, and as Chris and his unit advanced with their M-16 rifles pointed toward the possible attacker, the American troops were clear with their repeated shouted warnings of: “Stop or we will shoot!”

When the intruding sedan ignored the warning and began racing forward toward the American truck and troops, Chris and his unit opened fire on the attacking vehicle.

With seemingly every Iraqi watching from the balconies of the neighboring apartments, gunfire stopped the attacking car.

Before the American troops could begin to comprehend the horror of the suicide attack, all of the armed Iraqis watching from the multi-story apartments opened fire with their fully automatic machine guns.

In an instant, the air was full of the angry buzz of bullets, and Chris found himself down on the ground with no cover whatsoever. For Chris, the firefight seemed to be unending with bullets ripping up the asphalt all around him and narrowly missing his prone figure as he returned fire, but when an armored personnel carrier roared down the boulevard with a female American trooper arming a heavy machine gun, the truck stopped, a door popped open, and an American voice said, “Hey! It looks like you could use a lift.”

With real-time turning into slow motion, insurgent bullets continued to rip up the surrounding asphalt and pound on the metal of the Abrams Fighting Vehicle as a Marco Islander escaped the Iraqi onslaught and climbed aboard.

“There is no doubt that female trooper saved us that night,” Chris related later, “She was fearless as she opened up with the heavy machine gun and gave the entire unit enough time to find cover.”

When asked upon his return whether he thought the American effort in Iraq had done anything to help the Iraqis, Chris Quinton responded at once. “When I first arrived in Baghdad, the Iraqi women were walking around covered in chador and trailing behind the men as if they were no better than dogs. When I left 14 months later, many of the Iraqi women were walking with other women in groups. Some were wearing western dress with jeans and their hair was showing. They were also smiling. That was enough for me to know America had done something very important.”

Chris passed away unexpectedly November 4, 2022 at the age of 41 after experiencing a medical emergency, leaving behind his wife Kristina and sons CJ and Max. Chris will be laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetery on May 30.