American Sniper - Boekje Pienter

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They were small, radio-controlled toys that were just a blast to
drive around. Some of the Iraqis working on base had apparently never
seen anything like them before. I’d drive a vehicle toward them and
they would scream and bolt away. I don’t know if they thought it was
some sort of guided missile or what. Their high-pitched screams,
coupled with sprints in the opposite direction, had me doubled over.
Cheap thrills in Iraq were priceless.
Some of the people we had working for us were not exactly the
best of the best, nor were all of them particularly fond of Americans.
They caught one jerking off into our food.
He was quickly escorted from the base. The head shed—our commanding
officers—knew that as soon as everyone found out what he’d
done, someone would probably try and kill him.
We stayed at two different camps in Kuwait: Ali al-Salem and Doha.
Our facilities at both were relatively bare-bones.
Doha was a large U.S. Army base, and played important roles in
both the First and what would be the Second Gulf War. We were given
a warehouse there and framed-out rooms with the help of some Seabees,
the Navy combat engineers. We’d come to rely on the Seabees for
similar support in the future.
Ali al-Salem was even more primitive, at least for us. There we got
a tent and some shelving units; that was about it. I guess the powersthat-be
figured SEALs don’t need much.
I was in Kuwait when I saw my first desert sandstorm. The day suddenly
became night. Sand swirled everywhere. From the distance, you
can see a vast orange-brown cloud moving toward you. Then,