American Sniper - Boekje Pienter

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“All right,” he said, lecture over. “Don’t let it happen again. Get the
hell out of here.”
We all left, duly chastised, his words ringing in our ears for . . . a
good five seconds or so.
But the story doesn’t end there.
Another unit heard of our little adventure, and they decided that
they should visit the bar and see if history would repeat itself.
It did.
They won that fight, but from what I understand the conditions
were a little more difficult. The outcome wasn’t quite so lopsided.
A little after that, yet another military group soon had to train in
the same area. By now, there was a competition. The only problem was
that the folks who lived there knew there would be a competition. And
they prepared for it.
They got their collective asses kicked.
From then on, the entire town was placed off limits for SEALs.
You might think it’d be tough to get into a drunken brawl in Kuwait,
since there really aren’t any bars where you can drink alcohol. But it
just so happened that there was a restaurant where we liked to eat,
and where, not so coincidentally, it was easy to sneak in alcohol.
We were there one night and started to get a little loud. Some of
the locals objected; there was an argument, which led to a fight. Four
of us, including myself, were detained.
The rest of my boys came over and asked the police to release us.
“No way,” said the police. “They’re going to jail and stand trial.”
They emphasized their position. My boys emphasized theirs.