American Sniper - Boekje Pienter

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I knew he’d catch anything drastic, so I made one little switch and
got Dauber into my platoon. I needed a good sniper and corpsman.
The master chief apparently never noticed it, or at least didn’t change
it.
I had my answer ready in case I was caught: “I did it for the good
of the Navy.”
Or at least Delta Platoon.
Still recovering from knee surgery, I couldn’t actually take part in a lot
of the training for the first few months the platoon was together. But I
kept tabs on my guys, watching them when I could. I hobbled around
the land warfare sessions, observing the new guys especially. I wanted
to know who I was going to war with.
I was just about back into shape when I got into a pair of fights,
first the one in Tennessee I mentioned earlier, where I was arrested,
and then another near Fort Campbell where, as my son put it, “some
guy decided to break his face on my daddy’s hand.”
“Some guy” also broke my hand in the process.
My platoon chief was livid.
“You’ve been out with knee surgery, we get you back, you get arrested,
now you break your hand. What the fuck”
There may have been a few other choice words thrown in there as
well. They may also have continued for quite a while.
Thinking back, I did seem to get into a number of fights during this
training period. In my mind, at least, they weren’t my fault—in that
last case, I was on my way out when the idiot’s girlfriend tried picking