Some years ago, there were, for various reasons, a couple of SAS JNCOs working at DISS at Ashford who were very matey with an ex 3 Para Lance Jack who was transferring to the Int Corps. One day, a US SF SSgt turned up to do a course and, spotting what he assumed to be soul mates, glommed onto them. After a while, they got bored with his Green Beret big-timing and decided that they would hold a 'Who's best?' competition, featuring a bergan tab and some gym work on a wednesday afternoon. This duly happened: our brave lads whipped the Spam's arse on the bergan tab; the gym work was pretty evenly matched. No surprises there.
That evening they all headed down town for a few beers and wound up in Dusty's, Ashford's premier chav dance venue. The Spam spots an attractive young lady and horns in on her. He leant over, murmured some sweet nothings into her ear... at which point she tw@tted him.
When the dust had settled, the plucky Brits helped their American buddy to his feet, only to find that his jaw was somewhat bent and crumpled. An ambulance was summoned and he was whisked off to the William Harvey Hospital where he was admitted, pending an operation to reset his jaw.
As it happened, I was the orderly officer and had to go and visit him first thing in the morning. It was all a bit embarassing because he wouldn't look at me or talk to me for the first five or ten minutes I was there, as he knew that we had to report what had happened to him to the US Defence Attache's office, and he couldn't bear the thought that his unit would hear that he had been RTU'd after being beaten up by a teenaged girl. Eventually he did look at me (allowing me to see the amusing cigarette burn on the end of his nose ), but all he would say - or mutter really, he couldn't open his mouth - was: 'It was a sucker punch, it was a sucker punch...', over and over.