All language subtitles for Jarhead (2005) (1080p BluRay x265 afm72)

SWOFF: A story.

A man fires a rifle for many years,

and he goes to war.

And afterward, he turns the rifle in
at the armory

and he believes he's finished with the rifle.

But no matter what else he might do
with his hands...

love a woman, build a house,

change his son's diaper,

his hands remember the rifle.

FITCH: You are no longer black,
or brown, or yellow or red!

You are now green!

You are light green or dark green!

Do you understand?

Sir, yes, sir!

- Swofford!
- Sir, yes, sir!

You the maggot
whose father served in Vietham?

Sir, yes, sir!

Outstanding!
Did he have the balls to die there?

Sir, no, sir!

Too fucking bad! He ever talk about it?

- Sir, only once, sir!
- Good! Then he wasn't lying!

Are you eyeballing me
with those baby blues?

- Are you?
- Sir, no, sir!

- Are you in love with me, Swofford?
- Sir, no, sir!

You don't think I look good
in my uniform, Swofford?

Sir, the drill sergeant
looks fabulous in his uniform, sir!

So you're gay, then, and you love me, huh?

Sir, I'm not gay, sir!

- Do you have a girlfriend, Swofford?
- Sir, yes, sir!

Guess again, motherfucker!
Jody's banging her right now!

Get on your face and give me 25

for every time she gets fucked this month.

Down on your face!

SWOFF: It was shortly after meeting
Drill Instructor Fitch

that I realized that joining the Marine Corps

might have been a bad decision.

FITCH: What in the fuck is this?

Sir, it's a recruit's drawing
of a footlocker, sir!

Jesus, Joseph and doggie-style Mary!

That is a pile of dog shit.

Sir, the recruit's
never been good at drawing, sir!

Why the fuck are you my scribe, then?

Isn't my scribe supposed to know
how to draw?

Sir, the recruit doesn't know!

The recruit thought the scribe
was supposed to write, sir!

Of course the recruit doesn't know!

The recruit doesn't know
because I haven't told him!

All right, cum-for-brains...

show me exactly where your Skivvies
and running shoes go.

Sir, the recruit can't think

while the drill instructor
is hitting him on his head, sir!

You can't think while I'm giving you
a few love taps?

How the fuck are you going to fire your rifle

when grenades are going off in your face?

What the fuck are you even doing here?

Sir, I got lost on the way to college, sir!

(COUNTRY MUSIC PLAYING)

SWOFF: So, now my hands
were dick skinners.

A flashlight was a moonbeam.
A pen was an ink stick.

My mouth was a cum receptacle.

A bed was a rack. A wall was a bulkhead.

A shirt was a blouse.

A tie was still a tie, and a belt a belt.

But many other things
would never be the same.

Swofford.
What kind of fucking name is that?

It's English.

My great-grandfather came over here
in the 19th century.

Whatever.

I'm putting you in Golf Company.

It's full of retards and fuck ups.

Maybe you can elevate
the sons of bitches a little.

Or maybe not.

Next.

(SOLDIERS CHATTERING)

SWOFF: Jarhead: Noun. Slang for "Marine."

Origin: From the resemblance to a jar

of the regulation high-and-tight haircut.

The Marine's head,
by implication, therefore...

also a jar.

An empty vessel.

Hey.

May I help you?

Yeah, I was assigned to Second Platoon.

- Second Platoon?
- Yeah.

- What's going on, boss?
- Nothing much, man.

- Welcome to Second Platoon.
- Thanks, man.

Hey, boys! Fresh fucking meat!

- What kind of meat?
- We don't want you!

Boo, motherfucker!

Get some!

Oh, fuck.

Yeah, we switched out the hot brand.

Little fuck-fuck trick
we play on the new guys.

Nice.

You want a brand, you gotta earn it.

Welcome to the Suck.

NURSE: Still got that stomach flu,
Swofford?

I can't seem to shake it.

NURSE: That's all right. Not everyone's
cut out for the Marines.

SWOFF: But for me, there was nowhere else.
That was the truth.

After all, I was made in a war.

Here's Mr. and Mrs. Swofford
on R&R from Vietnam.

Honolulu Hilton, 1969.

I can't watch

and neither can you.

And here are some other things
I can't show you.

Visiting my sister.

Making muffins with Mom.

Breakfast conversations with Dad.

But here are some things you can see.

Taking a dump.

Thinking about going to college.

Studying after school with my girlfriend.

- Oh, my God, I love you.
- I love you, too.

Giving away my favorite USMC T-shirt.

I'll write you every day.

SYKES: Hey!

Swofford?

- Swofford?
- Yo.

What the fuck? You're sick?

No, I just had a stomach thing, sir.

Staff Sergeant Sykes.

I'm with Surveillance and
Target Acquisition. STA.

I heard it took six guys to pull
that little branding trick on you.

Your file says that you ain't
too fucking dumb, either.

So you better get un-sick
most motherfucking ricky-tick

because there's a chance
that you could be a scout sniper.

What the fuck is this?

"The Stranger by Camus."

That's some heavy dope
right there, Marine.

"Mary however..."

"That's when we ran up to the office..."

Indoc class starts on Monday.
I suggest you have your ass there.

Is that an order, Staff Sergeant?

It's a fucking opportunity.

It's a fucking honor.

It's the best fucking job
in the Marine Corps.

Sounds good, Staff Sergeant.

- Sounds good, Staff Sergeant!
- Sounds good.

Could I have my...

You know what? I got a better idea.

You play any instruments?

I played the trumpet in third grade,
Staff Sergeant.

Played the trumpet in third grade? Good.

You still play?

A little, for small holiday concerts
and festivals.

Good. You ain't gotta be Chuck Mangione.

All I need is a bugler.

Somebody to play Taps,
Reveille, Battle March,

that type of shit, raise the morale.
Does that interest you?

Oh, yeah.

Good! Parade field, 0600.

All right, thank you,
Staff Sergeant!

My pleasure.

Can I get my book?

There's 60 of you. I only need eight.

That means 52 of you will perish.
Do the math.

There's no possible way
that all of you can make it.

If you think you're worth some shit...

Staff Sergeant Sykes!

Private Swofford reporting for bugle tryout!

Indoc! Atten-hut!

I don't give out too many special treats

but this morning,
we have a very special treat.

Private Swofford here
is going to play Reveille for us.

Okay, Swofford, play Reveille.

I don't have a bugle, Staff Sergeant.

- You don't have a what?
- I don't have a bugle.

Oh, no. No, no. Damn, damn.

You better play with your mouth.

What?

I said, play it with your goddamn mouth.

Fuck.

(IMITATING BUGLE PLAYING)

I love that tone. Sounds good to me.
My morale is lifted.

You know any Stevie Wonder?

You know
You Are The Sunshine Of My Life?

- Yes, Staff Sergeant.
- Good, that's a classic.

(IMITATING BUGLE PLAYING)

Will you shut the fuck up?
There is no bugle program.

You sizzle-dick motherfucker.

Who do you think you are,
some kind of Kenny G or some shit?

- No, Staff Sergeant.
- Good.

Now to the rest of you,
do you have what it takes

to be the meanest, the cruellest,
the most savage

unforgiving motherfuckers
in God's cruel kingdom?

ALL: Yes, Staff Sergeant!

SYKES: Will you be able to one day say,
"Yea, though I walk

"through the valley of the shadow
of death, I will fear no evil

"because I am the baddest
motherfucker in the goddamn valley"?

ALL: Yes, Staff Sergeant!

We shall fucking see!

- You still here?
- Yes, Staff Sergeant!

Yes, what?

Yes, I am still here, Staff Sergeant.

So fucking be it. Fall in!

- One mile!
- ALL: One mile!

- Ain't shit!
- ALL: Ain't shit!

- Two miles!
- ALL: Two miles!

Your mission is to kill me.

My mission is to Kill you first,
and I'm good.

Them paintball bullets, they hurt?

Oh, shit! Fuck, I can't see!

Back to the grunts, dick face!

SYKES: In order to engage your target,
you must see your target

but your target must not see you.

Shevitz.

You laugh, you die.
Scratch your nose, you die.

You shift your weight
to take a piss, you will die.

You want to shit,
you better shit in your pants.

- Still kind of cute, huh, Swoff?
- No, sir.

This suit will hide you.
You will become a tree. A rock.

You are mud, sand, and dust.

- Still funny?
- No, sir.

SYKES: In order to fire accurately

you must be able to judge
distance and wind direction.

How far are those trees?

- 500 yards.
- No.

- 600.
- 300.

- 300. How did you figure that?
- Three football fields.

Three football fields, that's right.

You take what you know
and then you multiply.

Please don't use your dicks.

They're too small,
and I can't count that high.

I don't wanna hear, "400,000 inches."

Now, wind. You use what you have.

Use a flag, use a plume of smoke,
a little bit of dust.

Spit on your finger and hold that bitch up.

These are formulas that you can use

but in the end, you have to trust your gut.

SYKES: Details, gentlemen.

Details is gonna be the difference
between you Killing your target

and your target killing you.

We've all been taught that,
"Thou shalt not kill."

But hear this:

Fuck that shit!

Now, consider your target.

If you are lucky, in that window
will one day emerge

the figure of the enemy.

The JFK shot.

The pink mist.

TROY: Fire, fire, fire.

Hit.

Fire, fire, fire.

SYKES: The sounds that you are hearing
are live rounds.

You will get the fear out of you.
Keep moving.

If you pick your head up,
you will get fucked up!

Let's find out if we have any bitch in youl!

You guys crawl like old people fuck!

Keep moving! Get the fear out of you.

Keep moving! Do not bunch up!

- Keep moving!
- I can't!

SYKES: Keep your head down!

- Come on, man!
- Move!

- SYKES: Keep it moving.
- Just fucking move!

- Come on!
- No!

SYKES: Keep moving! Don't bunch up!

You can do it!

- You can fucking do it!
- Keep moving! Come on!

- I can't!
- Keep moving! Don't bunch up!

I can't! No!

- Cease-fire!
- Cease-fire!

Corpsman!

Shit!

Shit.

I told you to keep your fucking head down!

If you listened to me

you would still be fucking alive right now!

Stupid fuck!

SYKES: God help me.

You are now scout snipers.

Now, I know you've heard this but
I'm going to tell it to you again:

Snipers do not work alone.

You work as a team.

Spotter, shooter.

Spotter, shooter.

Spotter, shooter.

Spotter, shooter.

You may now open your case,
pull out your M40A1 rifles.

Once you've done that,
you will repeat after me.

- This is my rifle.
- ALL: This is my rifle.

There are many like it, but this one is mine.

ALL: There are many like it,
but this one is mine.

- Without my rifle, I am nothing.
- ALL: Without my rifle, I am nothing.

Without me, my rifle is nothing.

ALL: Without me, my rifle is nothing.

SWOFF: The grunt dies
for 15,000 poorly placed rounds.

Fucking right.

SWOFF: The sniper dies

for that one perfect shot.

Hit.

Fire, fire, fire.

SWOFF: I was hooked.

Hit.

Fire, fire, fire.

Hit.

Fire, fire, fire.

Hit.

SWOFF: I wanted the pink mist.

Good evening. Iraq invaded and took over

its tiny neighbor, Kuwait, today.

That set off worldwide protests
and drew sanctions

from the United States,
Great Britain and the Soviet Union.

The government
of dictator Saddam Hussein

claimed it went in at the invitation
of revolutionaries

who had overthrown
the Kuwaiti government.

We have appealed to all our friends
around the world,

including the United States

to come to our aid and assistance.

We're going to fucking war.

(TRIUMPHANT MUSIC PLAYING)

(ALL SINGING)

(ALL CHEERING)

Come on, start running, motherfucker.

Fuck.

Shoot that motherfucker!

Die!

Run, Charlie!

ANNOUNCER ON PA:
Now hear this. Now hear this.

All personnel from 2-7

are to report immediately
to your company area.

Get some, Marines. Get some!

Me, I had a choice,

either join the Marines or go to jail.

And you know what the shit of it is?

- Yeah, if you'd gone to jail...
- Don't spoil the joke, asshole.

If I'd have went to jail,
I'd be getting out today.

- Would you like some nuts?
- No, thanks.

Yes, are they warm nuts?

No, I believe
they're room temperature.

Well, maybe later
you can come and warm up my nuts.

You know, I don't really like the little ones.

- Okay, is that all?
- Yeah.

Would you like some nuts?

You poor bastard.

I bet your recruiter promised you
a whole wide world of pussy, huh?

You fucking A.

Cocksucker knew the price of every
whore from Olangapo to Stockholm.

And here we are, headed to the desert.
No pussy in 1,000 miles.

Fucked by the green wienie again.

What would you be doing
if you were a civilian?

Staying up late, jacking off,

playing Metroid,
trying to get to that 9th level?

You know what happens
when you get there?

Nothing. You just start all over again.

How long you think we'll be there?
Two weeks?

Less, man. We'll be back so fast,

we'll still be shitting out those nuts.

Good luck, now. Goodbye, now.

Good luck, now. Goodbye, now.

Want to keep me company for two weeks?

Goodbye, now.

- You don't know what you're missing.
- Yeah, yeah.

Damn!

Attention on deck!

Take your seats.

- Good afternoon, Marines.
- ALL: Good afternoon, sir!

Jesus, did you just land
in a war zone or a funeral parlor?

- Good afternoon, Marines!
- Good afternoon, sir!

I just felt my dick move.

For those of you who don't know me

I'm Lieutenant Colonel Kazinski,
your battalion commander.

We are now a part of
Operation Desert Shield.

Now, just north of us

Saddam Hussein's got one million
Iraqi soldiers.

And some of those boys have been fighting

since you were nine or ten years old.

They are tough.

They will stop at nothing.

They've used nerve gas
against the Iranians and the Kurds.

Now, here's a picture.

I know what you're thinking.

You're thinking,
" et's kick ass and take names

"and end this shit
the day before yesterday."

ALL: Yeah!

But the bureaucrats
have a lot of jawboning to do.

So for now, these Iraqis
who have raped and pillaged,

poor little Kuwait
are not yet in our gun sights.

Our current mission
is to protect the oil fields

of our good friends
in the Kingdom of Saud,

until further notice.

And gentlemen, I'm talking a lot of oil.

A lot of oll.

So you will hydrate, you will train,

you will adjust to this desert,
and you'll hydrate some more.

And you will be ready.

You will maintain a constant state
of suspicious alertness

and one day soon

Saddam Hussein is gonna regret
pulling this sorry shit.

ALL: Ooh-rah!

We're gonna kick some Iraqi ass!

What did you say?

We're gonna kick some Iraqi ass, sir!

Oh, hell, son.

What, you gonna win
the Medal of Honor all by yourself?

What's the rest
of my battalion gonna do?

Kick some Iraqi ass!

You know, [ think it's time for me to retire.

I can't hear a fucking thing!

Kick some Iraqi ass!

Oh, boys, I just got a hard-on!

Man, this defensive position shit
sucks, huh?

We need to get out
of this shit hole soon.

I need to shoot something!

You're gonna get all you want
soon enough.

First to fucking fight!

(ALL HOOTING)

Yeah. For what?

I've been around
these old white fuckers all my life.

They got their fat hands in Arab oil.

The motherfuckers drink it
like it's beer.

That's why we're here,
to protect their profits.

You're full of shit. He's full of shit.

Who do you think gave Saddam
all his fucking weapons?

We did!

Fuck politics, all right? We're here.

All the rest is bullshit.

Yeah.

Everyone else is unpacking, man.

I'm taking a break.

- What you got?
- Photos.

- She's hot. Yours?
- Yes, man.

You better shoot yourself in the foot

and get a ticket home

because Jodies are
gonna be all over her!

Look at her! Ain't she an animal!

They won't leave her alone!

- That's nice for a white chick, man.
- Thank you, man.

Nice? Come on.

I'd drink a gallon of her pee
just to see where it came from.

All right, all right, all right.

This is hardcore right here.

This is close to porn. Let me see that one.
Let me see.

She's got a baby fist down here.

Dream on, brothers, dream on.

I'm storing that for later, man.
I'm storing it for later.

Hey, y'all horny fucks
wanna see a beautiful woman?

- Yeah!
- Let's see it. Let's see it.

- Give it up!
- Check this out.

- Yeah, boy!
- Give it up, give it up.

No, no, no.

Oh, no! Please don't love me!

Now, tell them how many tortillas
she had before that picture.

Hey, she's pregnant, man.

That's why she's so beautiful, man.

This is what it's all about right here, man.

Hey, fuck you guys!

(ALL BOOING)

I'm telling you, married guys
lose brain cells by the billions.

If the Corps wanted you to have a wife

they would have issued you one.

Yeah, they would have
issued you one.

Yeah!

No family photos, Swofford?

- Hey, can I see your pictures?
- Yeah, sure, man.

Thanks.

- Fergus, right?
- Yeah.

She have her own clothes?

Well, ain't this cozy as fuck?
You guys get settled in?

ALL: Yes, Staff Sergeant!

Well, if you're not too busy...
Gas! Gas! Gas!

Right now! I'm talking about gas! Let's go!
Let's move it!

Come on, guys,
what the fuck are you doing?

Let's go! Get it on!

Right now your dicks are falling off!

Your skin is bubble wrap! Let's go!
Move it!

You sorry motherfuckers,
I told you, "Don't get lazy."

Didn't I tell you not to get lazy?
Let's go!

- Let's go.
- What are you doing?

That's your fucking sleeping bag,
you moron! Let's go!

It's been 30 seconds.

What the fuck are you doing? Get it on!

You stay ready, you ain't got to get ready!

You nasty motherfuckers are so lazy!
I told you to stay on point!

That's 45 seconds! What you doing?
What you doing?

You better get
your motherfucking ass in gear!

You gonna be the first motherfucker
I kick up in the ass.

- Get it on!
- I'm trying!

They packed mine wrong!

SYKES: Retarded motherfuckers,
let's go! Put it on!

Let's go! Stop! Stop it right now!

Luke.

Come over to the dark side, Luke.

55 seconds. You're all dead.

And since you're all dead,

I guess you wouldn't mind
taking a little run in these suits.

Let's go!

(COUNTRY MUSIC PLAYING)

Swofford, if you don't pick it up

I'm gonna shoot you
in your fucking foot! Move it!

SWOFF: The price of crude oil
has nearly doubled.

President Bush sends in more troops.

Us, six times a day,
we gather for formation.

Drink it down, all of it.

And we hydrate.

Now, hold them up.

We patrol the empty desert.

Get down!

And we dehydrate.

We throw hand grenades

into nowhere.

We navigate imaginary minefields.

We fire at nothing.

And we hydrate some more.

You will hydrate till I get full.

There you go. Hold it down.

Now, hold them up.

SWOFF: And we look north,
towards the border

and we wait for them.

This is our labor.

We wait.

I got one! A white one!

Master race.

(EXCLAIMING)

Check her out. It's beautiful.

Chango's reign of terror is over! Over!

(ALL CHEERING)

Come on!

It's over, you fucking pussy, Chango.

Hey, come on, Chango.
Come on, Chango!

Now you're gonna see a fight, kid!

Come on! Come on!

Come on, whitey!

Come on. Come on.

Pay me my money, motherfuckers!

All right!

I told you, I told you!

Go, Chango!

(CHANTING) Chango! Chango! Chango!

(CHANTING CONTINUES)

Fucking asshole.

SWOFF: Suggested techniques
for the Marine to use

in the avoidance
of boredom and loneliness:

Masturbation,

rereading of letters from
unfaithful wives and girlfriends,

cleaning your rifle,

further masturbation,

rewiring Walkmen,

arguing about religion and meaning of life,

discussing in detail every woman
the Marine has ever fucked,

debating differences,
such as Cuban versus Mexican,

Harleys versus Hondas,

left- versus right-handed masturbation,

further cleaning of rifle,

studying of Filipino mail-order
bride catalog,

further masturbation,

planning of Marine's first meal
on return home,

imagining what the Marine's girlfriend

and her man Jody are doing in the hay

or in the alley

or in a hotel bed.

- Is she up there yet?
- What?

Get the fuck off me, man.

Don't worry, she will be.
She'll be right there.

She's gonna look beautiful up there.

Yeah. Thank you.

I wonder what she's doing right now.

No way to know.

SYKES: Now, here are the rules.

When you talk to these reporters,
you do not get specific.

Tell them that there's
no better shooters in the world

than Marine snipers.

Tell them that you're happy to be here.

You're proud of the mission. All right?

And you can't wait to mash
the fuck out of these Iraqis.

Anything other than that
comes out of your mouth

I get fucked up.

And if I get fucked up,
I'm gonna fuck you up.

Take your shirts off. Show your muscles.

- You've been working out.
- This is censorship.

- This is what?
- Censorship.

You're telling us what we can
and can't say to the press.

That's un-American.

Yeah, what about freedom of speech?
The Constitution?

No, you signed a contract.
You don't have any rights.

You got any complaints,
you complain to Saddam Insane

and you see if he gives a fuck.

Why, that's exactly
what Saddam Hussein does.

You're treating us the same way.

You are a Marine.

There's no such thing
as speech that is free.

You must pay for everything that you say.

CAMERAMAN: We're rolling. Sound, speed.

INTERVIEWER: You're a Marine
here in Saudi Arabia.

Are you glad to be here?

Oh, yes, ma'am, I'm glad to be here.

My uncle and my father served in Vietnam

so I'm proud to serve my country here.

I have supreme confidence
in all my leaders

you know, from my team leader
to my President.

I'm very proud to serve my country, yeah.

So, who's waiting for you back home?

- Can I give a message to my brother?
- Sure.

- Tim, hey. He's gonna get this?
- Mmm-mmm.

Tim! What's up?

I got your letter, man,
and you are a maniac.

(SHOUTS)

You're crazy. He'll understand that.

You're a Marine here in Saudi Arabia.

How do you hope
the Kuwaitis will greet you?

How do you feel about the Iraqis?

They're the enemy.
Do you have nightmares about them?

How do you...

(CLEARS THROAT)

I love it out here. This is what I want.

'Cause I count for something.

Back home...

I'd be working some nowhere job.
Nobody would even know I was alive.

"We burn the fat off our souls."

Hemingway, he said that.

Who's waiting for you back home?

Well, you know,
I have a girlfriend waiting for me.

Anything you'd like to say to her?

Yeah, sure. Yeah.

Hi, Kristina.

Here we are.

(CLEARS THROAT)

Are you scared?

Yes, ma'am, I'm very happy to be here.

I love my country.

I miss my parents. Hey, Mom, hey, Dad.

They're treating me all right here.

It was an opportunity for me
to defend America

the country which has given
freedom to me and to my family.

And it is an honor to fight for that freedom.

To defend my country

and to serve my country

and to learn skills to eventually
go into law enforcement.

Are you scared?

Look,

I'm 20 years old

and I was dumb enough to sign a contract.

I can hear their fucking bombs already.

I can hear their bombs.

And I'm fucking scared, yeah.

Don't tell my Staff Sergeant,
though, all right?

INTERVIEWER: So in case of
a chemical attack

what provisions do your men have for that?

This is what we call the NBC suits.

That's nuclear-biological-chemical
protective suits.

We also have a mask.
This is the M17A1 mask

which is fitted with a drinking tube

so these guys can drink from their canteens

without taking off their masks.

- Oh, really?
- Want to try it?

- No, thanks, but can I hold it?
- Yeah, sure.

- It's heavy.
- Yeah, it is.

But you know, we need these
in order to protect us.

They fight with all this in all this heat?

Yes, they do. They fight with it and...

As a matter of fact, let me give you
a small demonstration of that.

Kruger, get rid of the ball.

Get rid of the ball.

Kruger! Get rid of the fucking ball.

- SYKES: Ball.
- Fuck.

SYKES: Give me the ball.

All right, listen up, guys,
today is your lucky day.

These reporters want to see
how your NBC suits work.

All right, so we're gonna continue
this little football game

in full chemical gear.

(SYKES LAUGHS)

- That's right. Come on, let's go.
- It's 112 degrees.

Then I guess you won't be needing
your parkas, will you?

Let's play!

(HEAVY BREATHING)

I'm gonna hurt you, Swoff.
I'm gonna hurt you so bad.

Do you like pain?

Hut!

- Swoff!
- Where's the fucking ball?

Swofford, what is that?

Swofford, I guess you call that
using your head, huh?

Using his head.

Hut.

Hut!

(YELLING EXCITEDLY)

Cortez!

Fuck you! Fuck you, bitch!

- Who got me? Who got me?
- No, no, I want him.

You want the Mexican leprechaun?
Well, let's take him.

Yeah, I'll take the fucking midget.

I'm the midget?
Let's go, you squishy-faced retard.

Don't you ever call me a squishy-face.

Squishy-face. Let's go, baby, squishy-face!

- Let's go, squishy-face.
- Motherfucker!

(WHISTLE BLOWING)

All right, that's it! That's halftime!

Put the masks back on. Bring the water.

We're gonna further
this demonstration.

Men, these M17A1 drinking tubes

are designed to work perfectly
with your canteen and your mask.

Take the narrow part of the tube

with your fingers extended and joined

and place it into the appropriate receptacle

- on the canteen lid.
- The lid on my canteen's fucked.

Watch your mouth.
I got another one for you right there.

My hydration tube is busted,
Staff Sergeant.

- We're gonna die of dehydration.
- We're not gonna die. Just cool it.

Staff Sergeant, my drinking tube fell off

at the gas chamber at Pendleton.
It's been four months...

I understand that, and
I want everybody to understand this!

- Fucking piece of shit!
- l want you to play fucking ball!

Oh, that's a pick.

(ALL CHEERING)

Kruger of Arabia!

- Kruger, field fuck.
- Field fuck?

Field fuck!

It's just good old American...

Shit.

SYKES: Stop it. Stop it, you assholes.
Stop it!

Put your clothes on!

Come on, bring the camera.

You're gonna put your clothes on
and quit acting like monkeys.

You stupid motherfuckers.
Put your clothes on, assholes!

Come on.

Let's go check out the artillery
and everything.

- INTERVIEWER: Field what?
- He said "field fun."

That's one of the exercises
that we run here in the field.

(DANCE MUSIC PLAYING)

The armory.

- Why don't we have a look at that?
- Yeah, let's...

(ALL HOOTING AND CHEERING)

Come back soon, now, you hear?

I don't hear you laughing now.

(FORCED LAUGHTER)

I can't hear you.

That's better. Sounds jovial.

Platoon! Atten-hut!

- Lance Corporal Swofford!
- Yes, Staff Sergeant!

- On top of the world, huh?
- Yes, Staff Sergeant!

Well, I have
more important things to do

like play with my balls.

But guess what, you guys are scheduled

for a little two-day vacation
back in the rear,

so I suggest
you get your shit together.

You can start by taking all that down.

MARINE 1: Fuck!

MARINE 2: Yeah, whatever.

Come on, Swoff, pack up.

Your mommy again, Fergie.

- What are you listening to?
- My mom's Christmas tape.

You're a retard.

TROY: Fergus, you and your mom
got fire watch tonight.

2200 to 0200.

FERGUS: Man, that's two straight weeks.
Why does it have to be me?

- 'Cause you're so boot.
- You are boot.

Oh, yeah.

- That's the third fucking time, man.
- What's that?

I just want it to say "no preference."

Is that so fucking hard?

What difference does it make?
God knows you're "no preference."

At least they got the blood type right.

I mean, which would you rather get?
The wrong prayer or the wrong blood?

FOWLER: One lonely pink letter
from Sacramento.

Kristina. I wonder what she's up to?

Now, I dare you...

Go jerk off outside.

CORTEZ: Oh, my God.

What?

Oh, my God, man, I have a son!

I got a fucking son, man!

- I got a little boy!
- Let's see.

Look at that cute kid.

You better check the mailman, bro.
This baby's a gringo, man.

No way. That's definitely Montezuma Jr.

I don't care, as long as
he's not a Cuban with a little dick.

Cortez, can I see him?

Here you go, Pinko.

He's beautiful, man.

(ALL CHEERING)

I'll put my little boy up.

Doesn't look good.

- Kristina has a new friend, man.
- She got a new friend?

He's the night manager at her hotel,
and she says he's a good listener.

- Man! This is getting worse.
- He's fucked, man.

Oh, I told you. I told you.

She's one of those girls
with a military fetish.

Yeah, and she's getting off
when she tells the Jody

that her boyfriend's a jarhead.

- Yeah, man, fuck.
- All right, fuck off.

I can see it. I can see it now.
She works in a hotel.

She goes into a vacant room, right?

Grabs onto the pole and goes,
"Jody! Jody! Six-foot-four!"

(SWOFF YELLS)

Go pull the legs off a spider.

Okay, Corporal.

Hey, Swoff. That's right.
Cheer up, man.

We heading back to the rear.
We'll get some AC,

shit in a flush toilet,
you can use the phone.

- I'm gonna call her.
- You fucking A.

Even if she is fucking someone else.

Root beer shower! No more monkey ass!

Root beer shower!

(ALL HOOTING)

- What? Where are you going?
- To work.

Where you going?

Hey, look, it's a cock, but smaller.

Fuck!

Fuck!

KRISTINA: Hello?

Kris, it's me.

- Hello?
- Hello.

Oh, my God, Tony.

How are you? I'm good.

Missing you.

I'm all right. I'm missing you, too.

I saw your mom.
We went to visit your sister.

- How is she?
- Your mom?

No, Rini.

She's doing better.
She's doing really good.

- So this guy...
- Did you get the pictures?

Yeah, I got them. They're great.

Did you see the one of you and me?

- The guy at the hotel...
- Who?

How well do you know him, Kris?

(KRISTINA LAUGHS)

Who, Carl? He's just a friend.

How well do you know him?

Tony, he's just a friend.

- Hello?
- Yeah, I'm here.

- Hello?
- Kris?

- Tony?
- I'm here.

- Tony!
- Kris?

- God.
- Kris?

(DIAL TONE BEEPING)

(SOFT ROCK PLAYING)

(WATER RUNNING)

(GASPING)

You were making
some pretty weird sounds, man.

Dettman's wife sent him Deer Hunter.

Let's go watch it.

Put it on!

Shut up, Fowler, you fucking shit bird!

Shut the fuck up.

You shut up already.

Yeah!

Get your boot off my fucking chair,
you fucking boot.

Rude motherfucker, Swoff.

What the fuck?

That's my wife.

That's my fucking wife!

Oh, fuck. That's my wife.

That's Clancey.
That's my fucking neighbor.

I lent him my fucking car.
That's my wife.

That's my fucking wife!

(WOMAN GROANING)

You fucking bitch!

No! You slut! No!

Fuck!

- You don't need to see this shit.
- Oh, fuck, baby.

You don't need to see this. Swoff, come on.

- Take him outside.
- Come on, Dettman. Come on.

Fuck! I wanna go home!

I wanna go home.

Who's fucking around now, Brian?

(ALL EXCLAIMING)

Fucking fagot, man! Let's watch it again!

(ALL CHEERING)

That's enough! That's enough!

- No, no, no! Why?
- That's his fucking wife!

(BOOING)

No fun!

What are you doing?

I'm waiting for you to leave
so I can watch it again.

Why do you want to watch it again?

I want to watch it again.

Why?

I want to see what it's like

to watch somebody else
fuck your girlfriend.

Come on. Get your shit.

Come on. We're going back.

SWOFF: For most problems,
the Marine is issued a solution.

If ill, go to sickbay.

If wounded, call corpsman.

If dead, report to graves registration.

If losing his mind, however,

no standard solution exists.

No

standard

solution

exists.

- What's up, buddy? Merry Christmas.
- Yeah.

I hear you got some good shit.

Fly, rumor, on winged feet.

Here

read this.

- What is it?
- It's a love letter for the Major.

I write all of his letters.

"Dear sweet Gloria,
I wish I was up in you now

"with a finger in your ass.

"Love you, Captain Skinboat."

I studied classics at Dartmouth.

It's a good school.

$40, five gallons.

(WHISTLING)

Hey, Swoff. Which way do I mount this?

What does it say?

- "Front toward enemy."
- Oh, yeah.

- Got to be a clue.
- Thanks. Sorry.

SWOFF: Fergus, you take my watch tonight,
I'll pay you back.

- Not again. It's Christmas Eve.
- I'll send you out a fucking tree.

Oh, great, a tree. Merry Christmas.

(RAP MUSIC PLAYING ON RADIO)

(RAPPING)

(HOOTING AND CHEERING)

(COUNTRY MUSIC PLAYING ON RADIO)

Shit!

Shit.

Oh, shit!

(SHOTS FIRING)

What the fuck?

Come on! Now!

Let's get some!

What the fuck is that?

It's time to do it all! It's time for me to...

Sorry, guys. I'm really sorry.

It was my sausages.

Fucker's fucked now.

So do you have all
of that unauthorized beverage

out of your system?

Whose watch was that, Swofford?

- It was mine.
- It was yours.

But since you don't know
how to handle responsibility

we are demoting you.

You are now a private.

You think you're the only one
that's bored around here?

Because when this war begins,
and it will begin,

I don't want you covering my ass.

So guess what's next?

SWOFF: Instructions for the
effective burning of shitters.

The Marine will need the following:

One metal fence post,
one pair of welder's gloves,

five gallons of diesel fuel,
and one box of matches.

Hold it right there, Marine.

So you are the fucking idiot
who tried to burn down my camp.

Yes, sir.

Stick that back in there.

It's already full
of diesel fuel, sir.

I don't care if it's full of Chanel No. 5.

I'm not going to the other side
of this camp for my morning glory.

Stick that fucker back in there.

(FLIES BUZZING)

LINCOLN: I'm waiting.

I left you a little gift in there.

Not too hard, not too soft.

Perfect.

Thank you, sir.

Happy holidays, Private.

Done.

Done.

Again.

Again.

- Done.
- Done.

- How many is that, Cortez?
- Twenty-six in a row.

What would you say if I told you
I was gonna kill you

for fucking me over like that?

I already told you, it was an accident.

An accident.

Right. Like when this trigger slips.

Of course, your nice little
mom and dad are where?

- Cottonwood Falls.
- Cottonwood Falls. They'll be sad.

They won't have their little boy
to send fucking cookies to.

I'll say it was an accidental discharge.

I might even spend some time in the brig

but I'll end this fucking waiting.

And I'll know what it's like to kill a man.

What are you doing?

I'm in the firing position
known as the sitting position.

After the prone position,
it is the platform most likely

to enable a Marine
to effectively kill his target.

His target being a human,
generally an enemy

but sometimes a friend or friendly.

We call this friendly fire, or friendly fucking

or getting friendly fucked.

Come on, Swoff, it was your watch.

It was Christmas Eve, and I was just
sitting there thinking about home.

- That's it.
- What do you think, Cortez?

You think I'll accidentally Kill
your homeboy from boot camp?

Sure you'll kill him. Accidents happen.

- You don't see shit, right?
- I don't see shit.

This ain't even my tent.

As a matter of fact, I ain't even here, Swoff.

(SHUSHING)

What are you doing, man?

The M16A2 service rifle is a lightweight,

air-cooled, gas-operated,
magazine-fed shoulder weapon.

It fires a 5.56 mm ball projectile,

muzzle velocity 2,800 feet per second.

This is my rifle. Repeat after me.

Repeat after me.

Repeat after me!

- This is my rifle.
- There you go. That's right.

Say the fucking words!

- There are many like it.
- There are many like it.

But this one is mine.

Without my rifle, I am nothing.
Say it, you fucking idiot!

- No.
- This is my rifle!

There are many like it, but this one is mine!

- Without my rifle, I am nothing.
- This is...

- No, come on!
- Shut the fuck up.

Shut the fuck up.

Shut the fuck up and repeat after me!

Without me, I'm...

This is my rifle. There are many like it!

Without me, my rifle is nothing!
Fucking say it! Repeat after me!

Repeat after me!
Without my rifle, I am nothing!

- I am nothing!
- I am nothing.

- Shut the fuck up.
- I'm nothing.

Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up.

Get up.

Fuck, shoot me, then. Fucking shoot me!

- Shoot me in the fucking face!
- I don't want to.

Do you fucking see how hard it is?

You shoot me in the fucking face,
you fucking fagot!

- No, I don't want to.
- Friendly fucking fire!

- Shoot me, you fucking pussy!
- No.

Fuck!

Fuck.

So you had a round in the chamber?
You were locked and loaded?

I messed up, man.

Look at him. He's fucking shaking.

- Fergus, get up here.
- I messed up, man.

Okay.

Look at him.

You!

You fucking do that again,
and I will shoot you myself.

All right?

Well?

I'm sorry, man.

(DISTANT GUNFIRE)

What was that?

It might be an echo.

No, it's not. I hear it, too.

Call it in.
See if there are friendlies in the area.

Lima 2 Charlie.

Lima 2 Charlie.

This fucking shit is fucked, man.

Army has satellites,
and we have this fucking shit.

Better off sending smoke signals, man.

All right, guys, spread it out.

SWOFF: (WHISPERING) Troy. Troy.

- Who are they, man?
- I don't know.

They got RPGs under their robes, man.

If they've got anthrax in there,
we're gonna fucking melt.

(SPEAKING IN SPANISH)

(MUMBLING IN ARABIC)

Form a line!

Okay.

What do we do now?

SWOFF: Looks like they wanna talk.

Yeah? How you gonna do that?

(SPEAKING IN ARABIC)

That's his left hand. Shoot him!

- Easy, easy, easy.
- Hold your fire.

TROY: Swoff, what are you doing? Swoff!

Guys, cover him.

MARINE: Fucking crazy motherfucker.

(SWOFF SPEAKING IN ARABIC)

What's up, man?

(MAN SPEAKING IN ARABIC)

What?

What is he doing?

SWOFF: Calm down.

What the fuck is he doing?

Don't fucking touch the rifle!

Back up! Back the fuck up!

No fire.

No fire!

(CAMELS GRUNTING)

- What did he say?
- Someone shot their camels.

- What?
- Someone shot their camels, man.

TROY: Eight men for five camels.

Swoff spoke Arabic.

Sounded like a duck fucking
or something, but he spoke Arabic.

Oh, yeah, yeah.
But at least we finally saw something.

You guys should see what the .40 does

to the head of a fucking camel, though.

What does the .40 do
to the head of a camel, Fowler?

It turns the head inside out
in about three fucking knots.

The head shot's like a motherfucker, too.

It's easy shot, slow...

Boom!

(IMITATING SPLATTERING)

(LAUGHING)

(HORN HONKING)

Oh, shit!

Wow! Here they are! My lady love!

Show's starting, boys!

Hey, teach me some of that Arabic.
What's, "Come suck my dick"?

(SPEAKING GIBBERISH)

...ducks fucking...

Drop the zero, get with the hero.
I like you.

- Sit down, Fowler.
- That's the one. You saw.

- She'll never forget me, man.
- It's not funny, man.

That bitch wanted me. Did you see that?

- You truly are an asshole.
- Come on, man.

You just haven't got to kill anything yet.

- That's your problem, man.
- Don't fucking touch me.

You'll get to kill something sometime.

Your day will come, man.
Your day will come.

Listen up!

I'm about to read to you
what Mr. Saddam Hussein

has just said to the Iraqi people.

And you better not consider this
a bunch of bullshit.

"The mother of all battles is upon us.

"The sacrifices the Iraqi people will make

"are equal to the importance of the victory.

"Kuwait is the branch
that must be returned to the tree.

"The blood of the infidels
will flow like a river.

"Jihad is the way of all Arab people."

We are now Operation Desert Storm.

And we're the fucking
righteous hammer of God.

And that hammer is coming down.
It's real now.

We're going to the border.

MARINES: Ooh-rah!

Let's go! Let's move it!

Let's punch in this clock.
We got work to do.

Let's go. Let's move.

Come on! Let's go!

Move.

Listen up.

When we cross this berm tomorrow

we expect as many as
30,000 casualties the first day.

There will be gas. It will be fucking nasty.

These atropine-oxime injectors
go along with your PB pill packs.

In the event that you're attacked
by nerve agents such as soman

these agents will produce
casualties immediately

if you do not deploy these
countermeasures fucking ricky-tick.

Why in the fuck, if we've already
taken a set of PB pills

and just now been issued
the fucking injector?

Shut the fuck up. I'm sick of your shit.

All right, all right, man. Calm down.

Look, they don't want chemically
dead fighters on CNN.

Just sign it, Kruger.

- What the fuck is this?
- It's a waiver.

It says these pills aren't proven.

It says you won't sue if you get fucked up.

Okay, yeah, sure, fine.

I'll take the fucking pills, and a year later

my asshole will turn inside out
and start fucking talking to me.

- It's all a bitch.
- These pills ain't worth a shit.

Kruger, you country motherfuck!

In 1987, Saddam Insane
used chemical weapons

against the Kurds, and he killed
thousands like fucking that.

The ones that lived,
their kids came out fucked up.

Eight toes to one foot, no anal opening,

retarded, blind.

Such fucked up little motherfuckers

they should have
just killed them all anyway.

You want that, don't take the pills.

You don't want that,
sign the fucking waivers

and take the fucking pills!

All of you, get your pills in your hand.

Get them out. Get them so I can see them.

(DISTANT EXPLOSIONS)

Now take the pill and put it on your tongue.

Swallow the pill.

Now let me see your tongues.

Now, doesn't that feel better?
Don't we all feel better?

- Yes, Staff Sergeant!
- Good.

Now, dig your sleeping holes.

Dig your holes with the hands
God gave you.

(JETS ROARING)

Fucking zoomies.

They're gonna win the war
all by themselves?

They'll be sleeping
in their own beds tonight, too.

So what, man? We're scout fucking snipers.

When the shit hits the fan,
we lead the fucking way. Ooh-rah!

Sure, look around. You hear those planes.

This war is gonna move too fast for us.

All right, we can shoot 1,000 yards.

To go that far in Vietnam,
that would take a week.

In World War I, a year.

Here, it's gonna take
about 10 fucking seconds.

By the time we have our rifles dialled

the war is going to be a mile down the road.

Wake up!

Jesus!

- What the fuck is going on?
- Get out of my sleeping hole.

We're about to go in the shit,
and you're fucking with their heads.

Get out of my sleeping hole.

SYKES: Lucky day! Listen up!

We've got our orders.
We leave tomorrow, 0900.

Swofford, you got to sign
your waiver again.

I can't read your fucking handwriting.

Yes, Staff Sergeant.

Done.

I don't give a fuck, Swofford,
I could read it the first time.

Your boy, Troy
got turned down for re-enlistment.

What? You're fucking with me.

Hey, watch your mouth.
I don't need your fucking attitude.

But that's all he wants, is to be in the Suck.

I know that, but the Suck doesn't want him.

He had a criminal record. He lied about it.

And he lied about it on his application.

So when we get back home, he's out.
He's out.

The reason I'm telling you is so
you can keep him from fucking up.

You think you can manage that?

Can you manage that?

(HELICOPTER WHIRRING)

- What?
- So you weren't even gonna tell me?

What?

Why don't you just shut the fuck up
and mind your own business?

What the fuck is this, man?

CORTEZ: Bet it smells good, man.

She sent it back, man.

Sent it back like you send back a ring.

- What did she write?
- "I'll always love you, Kristina."

- What's the fucking problem, then?
- Nothing stays the same, Swoff.

Not our girlfriends,
not our families, not anyone.

Time doesn't stop back in the real world

'cause we're about to
go in the shit. We're Marines.

- Nobody gives a rat's ass.
- SWOFF: No, we're jarheads.

Yeah, what the fuck do you know?

I know you're a fucking jarhead,
and that's all I need to know.

Jar-fucking-head.

Hey, jarhead,
what's the Marine Corps birthday?

- Marine Corps birthday?
- November 10th, 1775.

- Older than the USA.
- Fucking A.

- Birthplace?
- Tun Tavern, Philadelphia.

That's the city of brotherly love.

A. Tarawa?

ALL: Bloodiest battle of World War Il.

Dan Daly?

ALL: Killed 37 Chinese by hand
during the Boxer Rebellion of 1900.

- The greatest weapon on earth?
- ALL: The Marine and his rifle!

- You wanna win your fucking war?
- ALL: You tell it to the Marines!

(ALL CHEERING)

SWOFF: Get the brand! Get the brand!
Now! Now! Now!

Get him down!

(SCREAMING)

(ALL CHEERING)

He's yours.

You earned it, man.

SWOFF: We turned the inside of our tent

into a circus.

'Cause inside of our circus,
we cannot be injured.

Inside of our circus, we cannot be touched.

But we are insane

to believe this.

Incoming!

Corpsman!

(MARINE SHOUTING)

Get the fuck in here!

Get the fuck down here!

Incoming!

SWOFF: My combat action

has commenced.

MARINE: Corpsman!

Corpsman!

Are you all right?

What the fuck, man?

I pissed myself.

- Got to find the fucking FO.
- What?

The forward observers,
they got us dialled in.

We gotta find the fuck... Get down!

- Fuck!
- Swofford, you get on the binos.

You get your binos and you find him.

- Troy, get on that radio.
- Radio's dead.

Go to the com truck! Look up!
And get some batteries!

- Where is it?
- It's over there!

- Jesus!
- It ain't getting no closer.

Get the fuck going!

Fuck!

Corpsman!

Do not fucking die! Do not fucking die!

Do not fucking die!

Do not fucking die!

This fucking hole isn't deep enough!

- What are you talking about?
- We need batteries for the 77.

- Fuck!
- Man, we are fucking dying!

I need a fucking battery for the 77.

Why are you fucking arguing with me?

What are you doing?
Those are dead batteries!

Shut up!

- What took you so long?
- Fuck you.

Here are the coordinates, call that fucker in.

I just ran through incoming
to get a dead fucking battery.

Welcome to the Suck.

Fuck!

Damn, you was too fucking slow!
They're already retreating!

Sykes says we're going after them!
We're gonna get some!

(JETS ROARING)

That was A-10s. Warthogs, baby.

Those things are fucking tank killers.

- That shit's a fucking monster.
- Yeah, no shit, Fowler.

(SINGING) Off they go
into the wide blue yonder

Let's go, zoomies!

Let's drop that righteous hand of God!

Fowler, get back in formation.

- They're about to drop those bombs!
- Fowler, stay in position.

They're gonna drop the hand of God
all over the Iraqis!

- Fowler, stay in your formation.
- Yeah!

Fowler, get...

Are they supposed to come back?

Get in formation!

Incoming!

(MARINES SHOUTING)

Quebec 4 Delta, this is Echo 5 Charlie.

Request medevac, priority.

Marines down, in grid 671584.

We'll mark with smoke, over.

FOWLER: What are they doing?
Supposed to be flying.

Fucking assholes.

Call those Humvees up. We keep moving.

They fucking thought we were Iraqis?

Keep moving.

(DISTANT EXPLOSIONS)

(MARINES TALKING)

SYKES: Keep moving.
They could be over this next berm.

Now listen up, let's stay focused.
We're heading north. Let's move out.

Keep your eyes open.

(METALLIC CLANKING)

- What are you doing?
- They were trying to get away.

Fuck it, man. Come on.

Fergus, here.

Thanks.

Staff Sergeant, I gotta take a shit.

Stay in voice range.

Spaghetti marinara.

(FLY BUZZING)

One fucking hell of a day, huh?

- You all right?
- Yeah.

What's over there?

Nothing.

TROY: Holy shit!

- What?
- TROY: Oil wells.

They lit up the oil wells.

(DISTANT RUMBLING)

It's raining oil. It's raining oil, fellas.

You ever see that movie Giant?

You've seen the movie Giant.
James Dean, man.

"My well came in, Bick.

"I'm rich, Bick. Richer than you."

Come on, shut your trap.
That shit's poison.

Come on.

The earth is bleeding.

Well, you'd better get used to it,
'cause we're gonna be living in it.

Dig those holes, boys.

Shit.

Shit's stinging my eyes.

My eyes is burning! Shit!

Oh, fuck! Fuck, it's in my eye, I can't see.

Oh, shit, it's burning! It's burning!

- TROY: Swoff, get me some water.
- Fuck, it's burning!

- Calm down. It's okay.
- What are you doing?

TROY: Don't rub your eyes.

Shit, it's burning!

Hey, just close your eyes.
Swoff, I need that towel.

All right, there you go.
You want me to wipe your ass too?

- Shit!
- Put them back on.

- You're okay, man.
- Put them back on.

- You'll be fine, perfect.
- Thanks, man.

Hey, listen up!

The wind's changed.
We're moving out this shit.

Let's move!

I came here to fight.

I've just got to get out of this fucking oil.

Let's go, man. Let's go.

(BLUES ROCK PLAYING ON RADIO)

That's Vietham music, man.
Can't we get our own fucking music?

Hey, Krug,

what's Fowler doing
digging way over there?

He ain't digging.

Fowler, what are you doing?

Fowler!

What are you digging over there?

Nothing.

Our orders are to dig over here.

Mind your own fucking business.

Hey, Fowler, H207?

Hey, Fergie, come here.
I gotta show you something.

This is my new best buddy, man.

- Who's under there?
- Just my friend.

Ta-da.

Jesus Christ, Fowler.

Ahab the Arab, huh?

- Oh, Jesus.
- Get that out of here.

Fuck, Fowler.

$5 to get your picture taken with it, guys.

Check out what I put in his mouth.

(LAUGHING)

What's the matter, Swoffy?
Swoff doesn't like Ahab.

You don't like Ahab? This is war, man.

This is war. You can't handle it?
What are you, a fag?

If you fucking touch me,
I will beat your fucking head in.

I swear to God.

Get it out of here.

The whole goddamn desert
is shitting dead ragheads.

Have we done anything?

Have we done anything
but walk around in the sand?

I didn't kill him. He's dead.

Move.

(SIGHS)

Fuck you.

There's tons of crispy critters
around here, man.

I'll get as many as I want.

You won't get this one.

Yeah, but I'll get as many as I want, man!

'Cause I don't even fucking want that one!

I don't.

Fowler,

stay sharp.

(HORSE SNORTING)

(HORSE BREATHING HEAVILY)

It's all right.

You're gonna be all right.

It's all right.

Whoa.

You're covered in this fucking oil.

(SIGHS)

The Army may pull this type of shit,
but the Marines don't.

When we get back, Fowler will be
passing out shit-paper.

I could be working
with my brother right now.

He's got a dry-wall business in Compton.

Does the inside of office buildings.
You know, the metal studs.

I could be his partner.

Said he'd give me that brand new
Dodge Ram Charger.

You know, the 318 Magnum? The beast?

All indoor work, too. Lots of AC.

I could sleep with my wife every night.
Fuck her, maybe.

Take my kids to school every morning.

And I'd run his crews, too.

Probably increase productivity 40 to 50%.

Make $100,000 a year.

Do you know why I don't?

Because I love this job.

I thank God for every fucking day
that He gives me in the Corps.

Ooh-rah.

I mean, who else gets a chance
to see shit like this?

You know what I'm saying?

Yes, Staff Sergeant.

Do you?

Listen up.
Colonel says he wants my best snipers.

God help me, it's you two.

We've had beaucoup surrenders,
whole fucking units,

but the Republican Guard is still out there

and they are most definitely hardcore.

So you keep your shit together.
Go over there.

Yes, Staff Sergeant.

Thank you, Staff Sergeant.

- What?
- Thank you.

Don't thank me, just don't fucking die.

Let's go.

(ENGINE STARTING)

Fucking A.

Get a kill, you fucking pussies.

- Sykes thinks you boys are good.
- TROY: Yes, sir.

Well, if it comes from him it's not bullshit.

I got the kind of mission

scout snipers
would pop their grandmother to get.

We got 750 Republican Guards
dug in around a control tower

at airfield Al Jabar.

Grid 703003.

The recon reports two
high-ranking officers in the tower.

All my air is tied up farther north till 1800.

So if you could take out those officers

maybe the cannon fodder will white flag it

and save me having to take
the whole battalion

hey, diddle diddle, right up the middle.

Aye-aye, sir.

This is not Rambo time.

Before you take a shot,
you must get clearance, understood?

- Yes, Sir.
- Outstanding.

Some of my officers think
that scout snipers are prima donnas.

They think STA stands
for Sun Tan Association.

- Are they right?
- BOTH: No, sir.

Then fucking show me.

Clear.

SWOFF: Oh, shit!

There's no one in the tower, man.

The sun's going down. Shit!

Wait.

Thank you, Jesus.

Romeo, Golf, Charlie.
Romeo, Golf, Charlie.

This is Lima 2 Sierra. Over.

Officers in control tower. Over.

That's what they look like, huh?

Range?

900 yards.

Wind is?

Five to seven, west to east.

Romeo, Golf, Charlie.
Romeo, Golf, Charlie.

Requesting permission to take the shot.
Over.

- Set.
- We have the shot. Over.

Affirmative. Out.

Permission to fire.

Fire.

Fire.

Fire.

- What the fuck frequency are you on?
- Oh, fuck.

We got air. I'm calling it in.

We have permission to take the shot.

Tough break, you were just
gonna shoot one guy.

Watch this, it'll blow your fucking minds.

Bad knees. College football.

Requesting permission to take the shot, sir.

Request denied.

You never know how many chances
you're gonna get to do this.

Wait, wait, wait.

Sir, just let us take this one shot
right before the air comes in.

Those aren't my orders, Marine.
Hitman 45...

No, wait, wait, wait.

- Hitman 45...
- Wait, wait, wait.

Wait, sir, we won't tell anybody.

We don't need to tell anybody.
What difference does it make?

We have a perfect shot. Just let us take it.

Negative.

We have permission from the Colonel, sir.

Hitman 45. Hitman 45.
This is Bravo 4...

God damn it, he's dead anyway!
Just let us fucking do it!

- You are way out of line, Corporal.
- Troy.

- What difference does it make?
- Give him back the handset.

If it doesn't make a fucking difference

why the fuck do you have to do it?

Because we have the goddamn shot!
That's why we're here!

- Give me the fucking handset!
- Fucking fuck!

Fucking stop!

- Stop it!
- That's my kill!

Fuck! That is my kill! That is my Kill!

You fucking desk jockey!

He's a fucking prick.

You don't know what we go through, hell!

It isn't done!

Let go of me. Just fucking let go of me.

(GASPING)

I was trying...

(SOBBING) I was trying to explain...

Fuck!

Oh, man.

You STA boys
are some weird motherfuckers.

Hitman 45. Hitman 45. This is Bravo 4 Lima.
Over.

(RADIO CHATTERING)

Are we ever gonna get to kill anyone?

Fuck if I know.

When are they gonna kick you out?

Two weeks after we get back.

I already have my separation papers.

You got any ideas?

I'll sell some crack. Sling some dope.

Yeah, all you want is in.

All I want is out.

Welcome to the Suck.

Where's our pickup?

Shit.

(JETS ROARING)

Fucking Scuds, man.

Motherfuck, it's gotten the battalion.

We don't know that. They could be friendly.

You ever hear friendly fire like that?

Fuck.

- Jesus, you hear that? What is that?
- Screaming.

Republican Guards, man, over this berm.

Ready? Are you ready?

Let's fucking get those motherfuckers.

I'll cover you. Go! Go! Go!

(MEN SCREAMING)

(HIP-HOP MUSIC PLAYING ON RADIO)

(MARINES CHEERING)

Shit.

You motherfuckers were still out there?

- Sarge?
- You didn't get the memo, did you?

Having a little party.
You're a little overdressed.

This shit is over, motherfucker.
You didn't die.

Have a cigar.

It won't kill you.

Party on!

Hey, motherfuckers,
did you get a fucking kill?

- Did you get a fucking kill, man?
- No.

Oh, shit.

Well, fuck it.
This fucked up rodeo is over!

We're going home!

Get your jungle camies, boys.
I'm burning all these.

We don't need them anymore.

We killed Saddam, man!
He's fucking history!

Yeah, he's fucking history!

We never have to come back
to this shit hole ever again!

(ALL CHEERING)

I never shot my rifle.

You do it now.

SWOFF: Four days.

Four hours.

One minute.

That was my war.

(PEOPLE CHEERING)

(BAND PLAYING)

(ALL CHATTERING)

MAN: You want some beer?

Look here, I got a beer.

(MARINES CHEERING)

The party's started now.

Semper Fi, Marines!

Semper Fi, Marines!

MARINES: Ooh-rah!

You did it.

You did it clean.

You made us proud.

Semper Fi.

Semper fucking Fi.

Welcome home, Marine.

Welcome home.

Welcome home, son.

Welcome home, Staff Sergeant.

You mind if I sit down in your bus?

SWOFF: Every war is different.

Ooh-rah.

Every war is the same.

(SOFT MUSIC PLAYING)

Hey, where you going?

Yeah?

- Fergus?
- Hey, man.

Hey, man, how you doing? Nice haircut.

- Good, thanks.
- Come on in.

FERGUS: I got some bad news, man.

(BANGING)

SWOFF: A story.

A man fires a rifle for many years

and he goes to war.

And afterwards he comes home

and he sees that whatever else
he might do with his life,

build a house,

love a woman,

change his son's diaper,

he will always remain,

a jarhead.

And all the jarheads,

killing and dying,

they will always

be me.

We are still

in the desert.

(HIP-HOP SONG PLAYING)

(MARINES SINGING)