Ensign Peter Flynn didn’t know who threw the first punch. He only knew that the marine that had half a meter on him and at least fifteen kilos was set to pound him into the bar. Seeing as he was fresh out of Officer Training and had plenty of classes on tactics, he could have opted to employ those now, except his temper had gotten the better of him when one of the marines had quite literally spit beer in his face.
The marine was too used to relying on his size, so telegraphed his punch. Flynn ducked to the side, grabbing the marine’s arm, spun around behind the larger man, and promptly dislocated the shoulder. While the marine howled, he kicked the man in the back of the knees, then rammed his head at the wooden panels underneath the bar.
The SPs promptly cuffed him, but not before Skip Rollins, lip bloody and a black eye already swelling up said, “Great Brawl, Pete. Let’s come back next liberty.”