Big Red One, The (1980)

[bunniefuu]

- Permission to enter?

- Come.

Where's the rest of

the company, captain?

Where do you think?

Moved out with the battalion.

I've been waiting here for you.

- You took your time getting back.

- I got lost in the smoke.

What happened to your g*n?

Have you ever seen a

shell-shocked horse?

He stomped all over me and got my

r*fle, knocked it to smithereens.

Well, I suppose horses have as much right

to go crazy in this w*r as men have.

Oh.

What do you think?

What the hell is it?

It's a "one." First

Infantry Division.

The Red One. You think General

Pershing will like it?

- Oh, sure.

- Got the idea from a cap of a Hun I k*lled.

- When?

- Oh, about an hour ago.

Did he yell out anything?

Well, the same old kaiser stuff, you

know, "The w*r is over," all that junk.

- Finish it.

- Sir?

Finish it.

The armistice was signed

at 11:00 this morning.

The w*r's been over for four hours.

Well, you didn't know it was over.

He did.

A quarter of a century later,

that piece of red cloth...

from the dead Hun's hat had

become famous all over the world.

It was the insignia of the

1st Infantry Division.

The Fighting First,

the Big Red One.

Twenty-four years later, the Big Red

One was fighting the Krauts again.

It was World w*r II this time.

We were invading North Africa.

Hey, Griff.

Great! Thanks, sergeant.

We were his r*fle squad.

First Squad, 1st Platoon,

I Company, 16th Infantry.

He called us his wet-noses.

Griff, he was a hell

of a sharpsh**ter.

Johnson was a pig farmer

with hemorrhoids.

Vinci was a street kid who played hot jazz

on the saxophone, and that's me, Zab.

I thought I was the

Hemingway of the Bronx.

You really a book writer?

- Yeah.

- What book did you write?

The Dark Deadline.

- Never heard of it.

- Never read it.

It's an unpublished mystery novel.

I left it with my mother.

Why's a book writer a rifleman?

To come out with a w*r novel,

meathead. Why else, huh?

What about you, Griff?

You gonna be a cartoonist...

- ...for a big newspaper or something?

- Mm-hm.

Say, Griff. You do

everything left-handed?

Everything but sh**t.

And play with my pecker.

"Watch out, Vichy.

Here comes the Big Red One."

Vichy?

I always thought Vichy was

some kind of soda pop.

No. Vichy's the French,

fighting on Hitler's side.

Yeah, that's why we're wearing these

so they don't sh**t Americans, huh?

We dropped leaflets so

they know we're coming.

But if they start a fight,

we'll have to k*ll them.

We were in this w*r to fight

Germans, not Frenchmen.

We were kind of hoping they

were feeling the same way.

Put your rubbers on and

keep the salt water out.

Thanks, Griff.

I'll bet the guy that

invented these...

- ...never figured they'd be used on a r*fle.

- I never could screw with them.

- How about you, Johnson?

- Not me.

Over on the Algerian beach, French

soldiers were reading our leaflets...

and also wondering if

they were gonna fight.

The colonel is stupid not

to believe these leaflets.

We are no good. You,

me, all of us here.

Defending this miserable Algerian beach

for Marshal Ptain and Adolf Hitler.

I can't k*ll an American.

There were four things you

could hear on the boat:

The waves, the engines...

an occasional muffled prayer...

and the sound of 50 guys all

heaving their guts out.

French troops, don't sh**t.

We are Americans.

Don't sh**t. We come to fight Hitler,

not to fight with you. Don't sh**t.

Hold your fire!

- Yes, colonel.

- Open fire.

Not on Americans.

Medic! Medic!

Nail him, Griff!

How the hell could you miss him?

Hell, he was close enough

to kiss on both cheeks.

What the hell's the matter with you?

I never saw you miss.

Medic! Over here.

Sixteenth Infantry, hold your fire!

Americans, this is Captain Chapter.

General Tavernier is dead.

Americans! I surrender

my troops to your hands.

Frenchmen, we do not

accept your surrender.

You surrender only to the enemy.

If you're Vichy, fight us.

If you're Frenchmen, join us!

We were feeling cocky as hell.

Except Griff.

In the middle of the

battle, he froze.

It got to Griff.

He kept away from the rest of us.

Nobody wanted to use the

word "coward," not yet.

How come we're not pushing inland?

Red Company's carrying the ball.

Take your malaria pills.

I wonder what they gave you in the

other w*r not to get a hard-on?

The same stuff you're wolfing

down now. It has saltpeter.

Griff's back.

I can't m*rder anybody.

We don't m*rder, we k*ll.

It's the same thing.

The hell it is, Griff.

You don't m*rder

animals, you k*ll them.

The truth is, none of us had the

faintest idea what w*r was all about.

We hadn't met the Krauts yet.

Communications Center

caught an American b*mb.

These wet-noses found the phonograph

and one record undamaged.

Look at the faces of these

puppies, Schroeder.

They think the Horst

Wessel song is so...

Horst Wessel was a pimp who supplied

Hitler with baby faces like you.

He was k*lled in a brawl,

over a whore in Berlin.

A poem by a pimp became the

hymn of Hitler's party.

Is that right, Schroeder?

Don't want to disillusion

these infants, huh?

You're getting soft.

Schroeder used to be tough. In Libya,

I saw him m*rder a German officer.

I didn't m*rder him,

Gerd, I k*lled him...

when he ran from a fight

with the British.

m*rder. k*lled.

It's the same thing.

We don't m*rder the enemy, we k*ll.

Everything is on the move.

Battalion is sending us

to the Kasserine Pass.

- We're going to choke on panzer fumes.

- Not me, Schroeder.

Let Rommel's panzer grenadiers

march behind those tanks.

But not me. I want no more.

I'm no damn n*zi fanatic like you.

Germany is through

singing for Adolf Hitler.

Our brilliant generals

had figured...

that Rommel's push would come

at a place called Speava...

so they massed most of the

Allied forces over there.

But they sent our regiment

around the back way...

through a shit-hole called

the Kasserine Pass.

Our squad was on point.

We got an eyeful, all right.

The whole damned Afrika Korps was

coming through the Kasserine Pass.

Rommel had caught us

with our pants down.

We got tanks, boys, and

infantry with them.

They'll be looking behind the rocks

for antitank g*ns, so let's go!

- Oh, shit.

- Let's go.

Sergeant, where are we gonna run to?

They'll spot us out in the open.

We're not running,

we're digging in.

Digging in?

Are you crazy, sergeant?

All right. Dig in and let

them roll over our heads.

Hey, they're going

off to the right!

Guess again, jerk-off.

Look over there.

Jeez.

Tanks! They're all over the place!

The w*r is over for you.

We won.

You lost.

You are in a temporary German

hospital in Tunis, sergeant.

Our doctors are very impressed

with your recovery.

You should be dead.

We'd better get out of here.

You heard what that orderly said.

This is an unmarked hospital,

and they'd just as soon blast us.

Anybody here from the Big Red One?

Sixteenth.

Eighteenth!

Where's that Big Red One man?

What happened at the pass?

You with the 16th?

You one of them g*ons?

I Company, 3rd Battalion.

What are you doing wrapped

up in that Arab bed sheet?

- What happened at the pass?

- We counterattacked after you jokers ran.

We took Kasserine, Gafsa,

El Guettar, Tunis.

- We ran Rommel right out of Africa.

- You mean the Big Red One took Tunis.

We sure as hell did.

This is Tunis.

You're right.

We took Tunis.

The old bastard just couldn't

face being left behind.

He heard we were shipping

out to invade Sicily.

Where's the 1st Squad?

Where's the 1st Squad?

Out of the original

12-man r*fle squad...

the four of us were

the only ones left.

This invasion wasn't gonna

be like North Africa.

The beach would be

heavily defended.

So now at least, we could all go

to Sicily and get k*lled together.

I gave the supply

officer a Luger for it.

By the way, what were you

doing in that Arab bed sheet?

They were shanghaiing

all the combats...

and noncoms and training

replacements for those rebel devils.

Where'd you steal it, stupe?

My name's Shep, not "stupe." I got it

from the St. George Hotel in Algiers.

I understand you're

an Italian, Vinci.

How come they let a wop

in this man's Army?

I don't think a wop's

gonna fight a wop.

I think all you'll do is drink dago

red and sing "O Sole Mio."

I like "O Sole Mio."

The creepy thing about battle

is that you always feel alone.

All you can see are the

guys right next to you...

and the bodies you

keep tripping over.

Why are we always sent out?

It's the only damn squad

in the whole U.S. Army?

- Where's the rest of the Army?

- There are eight patrols...

checking the villages

for diehard sn*pers.

Anybody wants to transfer,

just let me know.

I want to transfer.

Okay, Vinci. You're

transferred to the point.

You know how you

smoke out a sn*per?

You send a guy out in the open

and you see if he gets shot.

They thought that one

up at West Point.

- Are you okay, sergeant?

- Why?

- You just let Vinci walk into a sn*per.

- That's why he's here.

We got plenty of

wet-noses here too.

You really want to finish

that book, don't you?

That's why I'm here.

Vinci made it.

Come on, Carlos, your turn.

Let's go. Come on!

- Hey, Vinci?

- Ho!

You know where he lives!

Work to your right,

I'll go left. It's your ball.

Bravo! Bravo!

- You had him in the sights all the time.

- All the time.

You just wanted to see me sweat.

It's punishment for transferring me to the

point. May I rejoin the rear echelon now?

You are transferred

back to the point.

Oh, my aching butt.

By now, we'd come to look

at all replacements...

as dead men who temporarily had

the use of their arms and legs.

They came and went so

fast and so regular...

that sometimes we didn't even

get to know their names.

Truth is, after a while we sort

of avoided getting to know them.

I... I brought some water.

Do you know what they call you

four guys down at Battalion?

Sergeant's Four Horsemen.

I don't get it. You guys

lived through North Africa.

You didn't even get a scratch.

That's because replacements

keep getting hit instead of us.

You think...? You think

maybe I'll get it?

Why not? You something special?

I'll go get some, all right?

I'll... Excuse me.

Water.

You'll live, Smitty. You

did tripwire the mine.

They're not designed to k*ll

you, just to castrate you.

Castrate me?!

Hey, here it is. I found it.

- Oh, my God!

- It's just one of your balls, Smitty.

You can live without it.

That's why they gave you two.

They're supposed to

be coming this way.

Hold it up.

I said, hold it up!

I'm eating.

Okay, let's try this.

Come on.

- Keep an eye peeled for snakes.

- Yeah, and bats.

Bats? I love bats.

Sergeant, what's the

word from Headquarters?

Yeah, what did the lieutenant say?

The lieutenant said that Hermann Goring's

panzers overran the 2nd Battalion.

If they break through

the division...

we're in the sea.

- Where are they headed?

- Right for us.

Our big g*ns will clobber them.

- They're still on the water.

- None of them have unloaded yet?

Not yet.

Patton's got tanks.

Still on the water.

Jesus. We're sitting

in our own coffin.

We knew he wanted to run for it...

but we knew he wouldn't...

way before he did.

Anyway, the sergeant would've

shot him if he tried it.

He's taking a piss.

Those American g*ns? I thought

they were still on the water.

It beats the hell out of me.

- Relays! Relays!

- Come on, relays!

Radio!

Lieutenant. Yeah, 1st

Squad, 1st Battalion.

You're kidding.

Yes, sir!

You know who fired that a*tillery?

The United States Navy.

That was the crews of Savannah

miles offshore, all right?

Right. Can you believe that?

The U.S. Navy saved our ass.

Hey, where's our planes?

Why can't they spot that g*n?

I don't know, but Battalion's got 20 patrols

out looking for it in this quadrant.

- They think it's an SP.

- So why send us?

That's right. We got

a break coming.

The Army's made of the 1st Division

and 10 million replacements.

- Where the hell are they?

- Being stuffed with mattress covers.

Five to 10, when we get off this island,

we'll get our feet wet invading Italy.

You don't know geography well

for a writer. We're in Italy.

No, this is Sicily. Here they say,

"I'm a Sicilian," not an Italian.

My old man was bo... Whoa!

I figure close to 2500 bucks!

I'm sending every lira home.

Mussolini money's

good for one thing.

It's Victor Emanuel loot.

It's kosher.

- Who told you that?

- The captain.

Enlisted man can't send

home more than his pay.

- That's to discourage black marketing.

- But the lieutenant can.

It's for my old man.

Always wanted his own bagel shop.

- I didn't know bagels were Italian.

- Sure they are.

The pope eats gefilte

fish on Friday, don't he?

It's his mother. He's

hauling her to the beach.

- Tell him We'll bury her.

- I did.

He'll put her next to his father.

She's decomposing already.

The sun's blowing her up.

We've gotta find that SP.

Ask if he knows where the g*n is.

- Hell, he doesn't know what an SP is.

- You Knucklehead.

Tell him it's a self-propelled

g*n with wheels.

He knows where it is.

The smart aleck wants to

make a business deal.

Shell out some bagel money.

He'll take us to the g*n...

we get an ambulance to take

her to the cemetery in Gela.

He wants a casket for

his mother to sleep in.

And it's gotta have four handles.

All right, he'll get it.

Tell him we'll leave her in the wagon in

the shade if he leads us to that g*n.

Either we take her with us or

we find that g*n on our own.

Boy! I don't know how long I'm

gonna be able to take this stink.

Can it, Johnson, will you? Talking

about it only makes it worse.

Hey, sergeant.

Think this kid is leading

us into a bushwhack?

Well, we're getting closer

to some kind of g*n.

Can you see what it is, sergeant?

Yeah, it's an 88 all right.

On a Tiger t*nk, in a house.

They got women working

in front of her...

under a Schmeisser.

Yeah, makes a nice, peaceful

picture from the air.

What's-your-name, you stay behind.

When you hear us fire, you

take out the Schmeisser.

Those Sicilian women

cooked us a terrific meal.

Too bad they were all over 50.

We were more horny

than we were hungry.

A little mothering is good in any

w*r, but this beats them all.

There's not a man in

the whole village.

- Hey, Vinci.

- Ho.

Tell Matteo the meat wagon

is on its way for his mother.

Oh, and that the general is sending up a

casket, silk-lined, with six handles on it.

Matteo! Matteo!

All right, Matteo,

it's okay. Thank you.

I told you, kid, a deal's a deal, right?

That's all right. That's okay.

No, no, no. I'm mucho gordo,

huh? That's okay.

Thanks a lot. You're

okay, Matteo, any time.

It was the first time in ages

that we had all felt really good.

It lasted about an hour.

Then we got our orders to move out.

Where's my helmet?

The Krauts are gonna spot

that garden a mile away.

I like the smell.

North Africa was sand and rocks.

Sicily was rocks and sand.

England was green.

We hung around England for seven

months getting ready for D-Day.

Give me back my doughnut.

Then one day, we were

in the boats again.

How about it, Johnson?

- Who are you?

- I'm Lemchek.

Lemchek, remember? We been on

dry runs for this invasion...

for seven months in

England. I'm Lemchek.

How about what?

Will you swap with me?

Nope. Eleven is my lucky number.

Try Vinci, he might do it.

- Do what?

- Hey, listen.

Swap numbers in the

Bangalore Relay with me.

My number two for your number 10.

- How much?

- Ten thousand dollars.

Ten thousand dollars! Where the

hell are you gonna get $10,000?

It's from my GI insurance.

I'll make you my beneficiary.

- Can you do that?

- Hey, I could put Eisenhower down...

for my beneficiary. I can

put down anybody I want.

Oh, Lumnuts, I am really shocked.

You know, you told me your

mother was your beneficiary.

What's the matter? Don't

you love your mother?

- I love my mother.

- Sure. I love my mother.

Sure, sure, I love my mother.

But she ain't number

10 on the relay.

Swap with him. He gets

hit, you get 10 grand.

- What if I get hit using number two?

- Ten thousand will buy a lot of bagels.

No, I like my number 10,

like Griff likes number eight.

Zab, nine. Johnson, 11.

The sergeant, 12.

It's bad luck to change numbers.

Don't worry, Lemchek,

you'll make it. You know why?

Only be dead Germans on that beach.

- Yeah.

- That's right.

- You sure? I mean, are you really sure?

- Sure, I'm sure.

You don't think I wanna

blow $10,000, do you?

He don't wanna blow 10,000.

Relax, Lemchek. You heard

what the captain said.

It's a couple of schnell battalions,

combat rejects defending the beach...

at Colleville-sur-Mer.

First Squad!

First Squad, over here.

Son of a bitch.

This beach hasn't been touched.

Either our shells and bombs fell too

far inland or in the English Channel.

Vinci!

It's Lemchek.

You just blew 10,000 bucks.

Hey, throw me his helmet.

Second Squad!

Those combat rejects sure

know how to lay down fire.

Those aren't rejects up there.

That's infantry.

We couldn't move forward,

we couldn't move back.

Exit E-1 was blocked by a

huge barbed-wire t*nk trap.

Our Navy was supposed to shell it,

our planes were supposed to b*mb it...

our bazooka teams were

supposed to blow it up.

If all else failed, we were the

last resort: the Bangalore Relay.

First Squad! First Squad!

Bangalore teams two and

three knocked out!

- What about our bazooka team?

- Dead.

- Bazooka team?!

- k*lled.

- Break them out!

- Naturally, all else failed.

The Bangalore torpedo was 50 feet long

and packed with 85 pounds of TNT...

and you assembled it

along the way, by hand.

I'd love to meet the

assh*le who invented it.

Ready!

Number one.

- Number two.

- Dead!

Number three.

Number four.

Number five.

Six.

- Number seven.

- Dead!

Number eight.

Number eight.

You'd better make it, Griff, you son of

a bitch, because my number's up next!

Nine!

Hang on.

Come on.

Zab, tell the colonel.

Tell the colonel his

Exit E-1 is open.

Hey! Layton, 2nd Division, right?

Denham, 29th. Get some

coffees, boys, doughnuts.

We'll chew the fat later.

Hey, come on. Throw the ball.

Just another buzz b*mb

headed for London.

- Buzz b*mb?

- Yeah, V-1 rocket.

How do you like the book?

- Damn good.

- Hey.

My mother sent it to

me for my birthday.

I'm Zab.

- Welcome to the 1st Squad.

- I'm Kaiser.

Nice to meet you, Kaiser.

That's my book.

- Your book?

- Yeah.

What do you mean, your book? I got

this from the Repple-Depple in St-Lo.

I wrote it, baby face.

And I printed it.

You, I don't want any

infantry around the panzer.

Put that dead panzer gunner

hanging halfway out the hatch.

Second radio man, here,

behind that man.

Put yourself in a good position.

As we slogged through the

hedgerows and across France...

the sergeant began keeping to

himself. It was a little spooky.

He told Vinci he fought

around here in the first w*r.

He kept ahead as if looking

for some old ghost...

to rise up out of the mist.

Kaiser, your turn at bat.

Would you look how fast

they put up the names...

of all our guys who got k*lled.

That's a World w*r I memorial.

But the names are the same.

They always are.

Enemy scout advancing.

Give him a round-trip ticket.

I don't want any of you to

be where I didn't plant you.

No fingers on triggers.

One shot in panic and

we've lost what I want:

A platoon of dead Americans.

Don't twitch any muscle.

Look dead or you will be dead.

Give him a round-trip ticket.

Nothing but a bunch

of dead Germans.

- No dead dogfaces?

- None.

Let's go.

Enemy scout returning with patrol.

These dead guys give me the creeps.

Shit, Kaiser, something's

always giving you the creeps.

How come there aren't any dead GIs?

Shut up. Keep your eyes open.

Just like I said, sergeant,

just three dead Germans.

But the sergeant wasn't satisfied.

He'd noticed something about the

piping on their collar patches.

They were different colors.

- What color is that piping?

- White.

White's infantry.

Radio.

Get me the lieutenant.

- Lieutenant? Lieutenant.

- Yeah, go ahead.

- Yeah, this is Sergeant Possum.

- Possum, right. Where are you?

We're at point 33,

Christ on the Cross.

You're in an ambush, huh?

Nothing here. Just a bunch of dead

Krauts and a knocked-out t*nk.

All right, sir, we'll wait for you.

Wish we could help, sergeant,

but you're on your own.

- What's that?

- Good luck. Over and out.

What?

Yes, sir.

Well, I'll be damned.

To hell with all officers.

He's afraid the platoon's gonna

get lost coming up here...

so we gotta go back and handhold

them all the way right here.

Well, I'll be a son of a g*n.

Let's go.

Don't panic. Live

people are watching us.

It's a bushwhack.

I'm hit!

Check for wounded Krauts.

You're pretty good at that, Johnson,

you should have been in the Medics.

Yeah, I was one...

in Indiantown Gap.

- Where?

- Back in Indiantown Gap, Pennsylvania.

Never heard of it.

Is he dead?

Johnson, you ever notice how no one

talks about home anymore, or women?

Yeah, I noticed.

On the double, boys.

There's a woman in there.

- Is she wounded?

- Easy.

Wounded, hell, she's pregnant.

Christ, she looks like

she's about to pop.

That's what the man said.

Jesus, sergeant, what

are we gonna do?

Get the dead Krauts out of

the t*nk and get her in it.

Johnson, you're gonna

deliver a baby.

- What baby?

- Her baby.

Her husband said she's got labor

pains five minutes apart.

- Why me?

- You're qualified. Let's go.

Hey. Her legs gotta

be propped up higher.

- Higher?

- Higher! And spread them apart.

Wide apart. Give me

some room, okay?

Face the b*ll*ts the other

way, away from her.

Relax, would you?

Okay.

Okay. Go to work.

- We need some hot water.

- What are you talking about?

- No time for hot water.

- Some rubber gloves.

Hey, Griff, break out the condoms.

I need a mask. I can't

get germs on the baby.

- There's more germs in this t*nk than...

- No mask, no baby.

That's fine. That's fine.

Give me a diaper pin.

Oh, the rubbers, the rubbers.

Easy, easy...

That's the United

States Army for you.

- Take it easy, would you?

- Put them together.

Hey, look. Lady...

I'm a hell of a lot more

scared than you are, okay?

Just take it easy.

Get her hands away.

Okay?

Hey, Johnson, your dog tags.

Come on.

I don't see the head yet.

You're never gonna see

it if she don't push.

- She gotta push, I think.

- What do you mean?

- I think she's gotta push.

- You don't know?

- I know. She's gotta push.

- You're sure?

- I'm sure.

- You're sure?

- Yeah.

- Then do it.

Come on, damn it, push.

Push...

It's no use. She ain't gonna push.

We might as well write this kid off.

- Can't you push for her?

- No, she's gotta...

Look, how do you say

"push" in French?

Hey, Johnson, look. You get the

head, I'll do the poussez-ing.

All right.

Easy, lady. Hey, we all love you.

Hey, hey. I can see it.

I can see his head.

That's it. That's it.

Don't stop, lady.

Come on. Don't stop.

Keep it up. You're

doing great. Push.

Push. Push.

He's coming out. Great.

He's out! He's out!

It's a boy. A boy!

Look at that.

We got a bunch of medals...

not for delivering the kid,

just for k*lling Krauts.

The whole German army was on the run now.

We were right on their heels.

In September, we slipped across

the Meuse River into Belgium...

ahead of the main American push.

The regiment figures there's a

railway g*n chopping them up.

Forward observers in a

monastery right here.

- Why don't we shell it?

- Throw a couple of bombs on it.

There's an underground

fighter living in there.

It's a woman, she's a k*ller.

Her name is Walloon.

She has a squad plan...

to wipe out the Krauts without firing

a shot or k*lling one civilian.

A woman in a monastery?

It's really not a monastery. It's an

asylum for retards and insane people.

I say division should b*mb it.

k*lling insane people is not

good for public relations.

k*lling sane people is okay?

That's right.

Let's go.

The Americans are coming

The Americans are coming

Two men in the tower.

Squad. Come on.

Bayonets.

Bayonets.

Beautiful...

I am one of you.

I am sane. I am sane!

For a minute there before I dropped him,

I remembered thinking he might be right.

Now, when you're in a situation where

you can't tell crazy from sane...

that's pretty confusing for a soldier, but

it's good stuff for an aspiring novelist.

I mean, at least that's

what I kept telling myself.

I'll be a son of a bitch.

My mother sold my

novel to Hollywood.

For Humphrey Bogart and

Edward G. Robinson.

Hey, hey. For how much?

For 15,000 bucks.

We got another Rockefeller

in the company here.

So, what you gonna do

with all the moola?

Well, first, I think I'm gonna

blow 1000 bucks on a squad party.

Only you guys gotta think of the damned

things you wanted to do to a girl.

Hey, Griff.

I'm working on it.

- Vinci?

- Hey...

Come on.

- I'll tell you in a minute.

- Hey, Johnson.

I think I'd like the

most beautiful...

I know what I want.

Who the hell are you?

Kaiser. You patched me up

behind that t*nk in France.

- What t*nk?

- I was the one that liked your book, Zab.

Yeah, baby face. Yeah, so, what do

you want? What do you wanna do?

I want a big, zaftig girl...

stick her plump butt against

an ice-cold window...

Yeah?

And just hold it there.

What are you gonna do

with a frozen butt?

Thaw it out.

It may take a while.

Three bursts. Making millions

of splinters, lieutenant.

- They spot your position?

- They're not aiming at us.

They're just hitting the trees.

They've got us pinned down.

Take them out for us.

- But watch out, they've got sn*pers too.

- Yeah.

Let's go.

Watch yourself, they still

got sn*pers out there.

I can't see a goddamned thing.

- Griff.

- Ho!

- Zab.

- Ho.

- Vinci.

- Ho.

- Johnson.

- Ho!

Kaiser.

Kaiser?

I'm hit.

Where are you?

Find me...

Did I k*ll that guy...

that k*lled me?

Yes.

We thought we'd push through...

but the Krauts regrouped

and counterattacked...

and bumped us back into France.

Lieutenant, we got tanks and

infantry coming at us...

at point 33. Three-three.

We spent the whole winter freezing our

asses off just to take back Belgium.

Kaiser, I'm beginning to see

what you like about big butts!

Sergeant, can you come here so we

can, uh, talk about it, you know?

I'm gonna like winning

this Purple Heart.

He was that close, that's where he

was. Easy target. Easy target.

So he asked me why

I didn't get him.

Everything's gonna be

okay. I guarantee it.

Okay, Zab, you know it's

time to take the hill.

- Take the hill.

- Wait a second. Excuse me, my dear.

Would you help the young

lady down, please, sergeant?

Okay, now let's see.

I...

I paid for this party...

so the hill will be took

when I say it's to be took.

- I beg your pardon.

- Well, okay, sir.

- Now, move.

- Yes, sir.

Come on, let's get on with it. Don't

forget your pieces. Let's go.

Keep your front sight covers on,

or else you'll get a rusty bore.

Let's go. Move it.

Come on. Come on.

Come on.

The party was kind of a

last big blowout for us.

The w*r was almost over and we were sure

we'd be sent back to the rear pretty soon.

As usual, we were wrong.

The sergeant hadn't told us yet, but we

were being sent to a place called Falkenau.

He knew what that meant. We didn't.

I think you got him.

Jew?

Polish.

Czech?

Russian?

He walked around

for half an hour...

before he could bring himself

to put the kid down.

That night, he buried

him in the woods.

Sergeant!

Sergeant!

- Sergeant!

- Sergeant?

Over here.

Where the hell have you been?

I'm not gonna tell you again.

- No lights at night.

- Sergeant, the w*r's over.

Look, nobody's firing at us.

One minute after

midnight, official.

The w*r's been over for four hours.

Hey, sarge, the dead

Kraut, he's still warm.

- You didn't know it was over.

- He did.

He's still alive!

Sulfa.

Come on.

- Pills?

- Right here.

Live, you son of a bitch.

You're gonna live if I have

to blow your brains out.

Saving that Kraut was the final

joke of the whole goddamned w*r.

We had more in common with him...

than with all our replacements who got

k*lled whose names we never knew.

We'd all made it through.

We were alive.

I'm gonna dedicate my book to those

who shot but didn't get shot...

because it's about survivors.

And surviving is the only glory

in w*r, if you know what I mean.