Original subtitles

On July 10th, 1943,

a unit from Oklahoma,

composed of Mexican-Americans, Native Americans and Dust Bowl cowboys,

most of whom couldn't drink together in the same bars back home,

landed in Sicily and began a brutal 500-day trek through Nazi-occupied Europe.

This is the story of those men.

A group of soldiers known…

as the Thunderbirds.

How the hell can Coldfoot see anything? I can't even see my fuckin' boots.

- What's he lookin' at? - He's looking at the fog.

The fog? What the fuck does that mean? We can all see the fog.

Shut up, Spigs.

Just make sure you can see him.

Yes, sir, Captain.

Get down!

- Spigs, get down! - I'm tryin'! Ah! Shit! I'm hit. Fuck!

Oh, fuck.

Two Panzers, four platoons of infantry, 500 yards ahead.

Fall back to that ridge.

E Company, fall back!

Incoming coordinates.

2-6…

Nagles, shut up!

2-6-7-E-A-5-1. Over.

All right. Let's go, Nagles, come on!

No, no, no! Don't go under the trees. Stay out in the open!

Thanks, Cap.

Garcia, Rosa, check out that barn.

They fell back two miles south and they're still moving.

What's our damage?

Six dead or missing. At least ten wounded.

I wanna know where the Germans are sleeping tonight.

Look out for booby traps.

Watch your feet.

Shit! What was that?

A rat?

Nah, man.

Too big.

Must be a dog.

He was hiding in the barn, sir. He won't shut up.

We need Spigs to tell us what the hell he's saying.

Found this in his hiding place.

Give me it. Give me it.

Give me it. Give me it.

All right, get him inside. Get some food in him.

Where the hell is Spigs?

Spigliani.

- Do you speak Italian? - Yes.

Charlestown, Massachusetts.

Yes.

- But you know Boston? - Mh-hmm.

Yes.

Boston.

Park the car in Harvard Yard.

Fenway Park.

Paul Revere.

Where did you learn to swim, Private Spigliani?

Fuck.

- Swim? - No, let me guess.

The boys' club on 2nd Street.

Yeah.

How the hell do you know that?

I told you.

I was a graduate student at MIT.

I lived on Maple, near the intersection of 4th.

And I dated a girl…

named Hammel…

Gloria.

She had these…

beautiful breasts.

Sparky Hammel's sister, yeah.

Damn!

You and me in Charlestown

at the boys' club.

- It's a small world, isn't it? - You can say that again.

Akacheta.

Carmona.

Kawacatoose.

Indians and Mexicans

and a wop from Boston?

Yeah. 157th Regiment from Oklahoma.

I got attached at Salerno as an interpreter.

And their leader, he is an Indian, too?

Capt. Sparks? No.

He's a cowboy. From Arizona.

Things must be getting desperate in America

if they're allowing these types into your army.

Red men and Mexicans. Inferior races.

We don't see 'em that way.

They're Americans.

Like me.

Really?

I've been to Oklahoma, Corporal,

and the bars have signs out front that say…

"No Indians Allowed. No Mexicans."

I've also been to Georgia.

They make their Negroes there drink from separate water fountains.

So don't tell me they're Americans just like you.

Strange.

To fight for a country where you can't even enjoy a beer…

at the same bar as your fellow soldier.

So… please now tell me about the ponds.

Ponds?

Yes, I need to know what you did about the ponds.

What ponds? I don't know what the hell you're talking about.

- Jesus Christ! - Ponds!

- What did you do with the ponds! - We didn't see any fucking ponds.

- You're lying! - Jesus Christ, I'm telling you the truth.

Your company crossed three ponds in two days.

Here, here and here.

What are the conditions of those ponds?

Ponte. Br... Bridges. You're talking about bridges.

Yes.

Bridges.

I used the Italian word, didn't I?

My mistake.

Jesus Christ.

What are the conditions of those bridges?

We didn't touch the bridges. They're all there.

Relax, Spigliani.

The war for you is over.

You may even get to enjoy swimming in Charlestown again.

But by this time tomorrow, your cowboy and Indian friends will all be dead.

Hey, Captain.

The kid's looking at the photos on your gun.

My family.

Family. Do you understand?

Where's yours?

I have no family. Everyone is dead.

- Jesus. Does anybody here speak Italian? - Yeah.

Yeah, I know a little.

Antonio.

He says his name is…

We, uh, we got that part.

He says his, um, mother and father died.

He's been living here with his grandfather. Till he died.

He's been hiding from the Germans for the last month.

We lost them, sir. They're using the rain to screen their movements.

Ask him if he knows where the Germans are.

He says he doesn't know.

He's lying.

Well, he's scared as shit, man.

- Jesus, Gomez, what did you do to him? - I didn't do anything.

What the hell's so funny?

Ah, the Germans, man. They told him that first we were gonna feed him

and then we were gonna do it to him.

Do what?

Cut off his nuts.

Hey, man, tell him we're not interested.

- Tell him we already bagged our limit. - Tell him they're too small.

Tell him it's a lie.

Tell him the Germans aren't coming back.

We guarantee it.

Sir, are you sure you want me to tell him that?

Tell him those men…

are the grandsons of the greatest Indian warriors

to roam the American Plains.

They've killed mountain lion, hunted buffalo.

Tell him those men…

they're the descendants of the powerful Mexican army

that defeated the French on Cinco de Mayo.

And those men…

they're sons of Texas Rangers…

who brought the rule of law

to places where only killers and thieves lived before.

Tell him the Nazis are never gonna hurt him again.

Because tomorrow, we're gonna find 'em and stop 'em.

There now. Doesn't that feel better?

No man should have to walk around covering his privates.

He actually made the kid believe we could do it.

Wasn't the kid he was convincing.

Sir?

A gift from our young friend.

It was his grandfather's. He wants you to have it.

I cut down the barrel to make it more practical.

He also told me where the Germans are.

- Be safe out there. - See ya, kid.

Thank you.

You're welcome.

Watch the grass in the middle.

It's not movin'.

Tank.

Panzer, two o'clock, 50 yards.

Let's go!

Come on!

Medic!

Get the Jeep.

Captain's been hit.

- We need to take him to a field hospital. - Hold this.

Gomez?

Hurry!

All right. Hang in there. Hang in there. Stay still. Come on!

- Get him outta here. Now! - Here we go. Come on. Get him up.

Easy. Easy.

Keep that up.

Stop!

Go! Go!

At ease, Lieutenant.

It's not Honolulu, is it?

Honolulu's overrated, sir.

Really?

Don't spoil my fantasy.

Finished a stint in Hawaii, then three years of college.

Why'd you re-enlist?

I ran out of money, sir.

Give the Army another couple of years, then go back and graduate.

That's the plan, sir.

You did hear there might be a war on the horizon?

I caught wind of that, yes, sir.

If that happens, we're gonna need every good officer we can get our hands on.

If that happens, I intend to be one of them, sir.

What got you in the Army in the first place?

A sandwich, sir.

I had to leave home when I was 17.

Hunted all over the west for work,

ended up skinny and starving in San Francisco.

Army recruiter bought me a meal,

said that if I signed up, I'd get three just like it every day.

Your previous CO said you're good at handling problems.

Well, I've got one. One of my companies, J Company,

has failed every live fire test for the past three months.

- Do you think you can shape them up? - Yes, sir.

Good.

You've got one week.

Hey.

- I'm looking for J Company. - Uh, over there.

Turn off that fucking gringo music.

As you were, Corporal.

Who's in charge here?

- Um, Lt. Danalli, sir. - Lt. Danalli is now relieved.

My name is Sparks. I want a list of all prisoners and charges.

Uh, right away, sir.

Follow me, sir.

Cordosa.

Drunk and disorderly.

Red Feather.

Assault and battery.

Gomez.

Assaulting an officer.

Hallowell.

Assaulting an officer.

We get a lot of that in here.

Why are the men segregated?

The Indians and the Mexicans don't like each other much.

And they both hate us more.

Open the doors.

Sir?

Open the doors, Corporal.

Cordosa, Miguel.

Clovis, New Mexico.

There's a river down there, the Caheesh.

Fishing any good?

Of course.

What's that?

Gila trout.

It's the best in the world.

Hallowell.

Wilsall, Montana. Sheep country.

What do you do about the wolves?

We shoot 'em.

You any good at that?

I never miss.

Gomez.

Who the hell gave you that?

My brother.

Shit, I don't want you. I want him.

Coldfoot.

Private Samuel Coldfoot.

My name is Lt. Sparks.

The fact that I'm talking to you in a jailhouse

tells me you didn't get on well with your previous COs.

Maybe you were told you're too stupid for this army.

Maybe you were told you got a problem with authority or…

maybe…

you were told you come from a race…

that's got no business wearing the uniform.

Whatever you've been told doesn't mean shit to me.

What matters to me…

is performance.

There's a live fire test at the end of the week.

Pass it…

and you can enjoy a weekend of freedom.

Forty-eight hours, not only outside this cage…

but off-post.

But…

like everything else in life…

this privilege must be earned.

Now, if you feel

that you and the US Army have reached the end of your journey together,

do not waste my time.

Or anybody else's.

But if you want the chance to prove

that everything that every asshole ever said about you is wrong…

you got two minutes to lace up and join me outside.

Shall we give them another minute, sir?

No.

It doesn't take another minute to figure this out.

Lock 'em back up.

Who's missing?

Only Coldfoot, sir.

All right, Corporal.

- Line 'em up. - Were you bullshitting me

or can you really get us off-post?

Only if the whole group passes.

J Company, attention!

Marks.

Sir?

- What's the story with Coldfoot? - What story, sir?

He's been in the Army over three years. Why is he still a private?

Coldfoot got demoted, sir.

He used to be corporal. Up for a promotion to sergeant.

What happened?

He got turned down.

He blamed some NCOs,

and it ended in a big fight.

The colonel…

busted him down to private.

He got in a fight because he was denied promotion?

It was his third rejection, sir.

Coldfoot is an Indian with pride, Lieutenant.

It's… it's not a very "healthy combination around here.

No wonder you feather-heads lost all your land.

Here I thought it was 'cause you couldn't hold your liquor.

But all this time, it was 'cause you couldn't shoot worth a fuck.

What mojado taught you to fire a gun, Gomez?

Was it your melon-pickin' mother?

You got a problem with something, boy?

Well…

will you look who's back, boys?

It's Corporal… …I mean, Private Chillyfoot.

I thought we got rid of you, prairie nigger.

Trust me, it is just a matter of time...

Master Sergeant, can my men get a little more of your instruction

and a little less of your commentary?

Beggin' your pardon, sir.

I forgot you're new around here.

See, this here is my firing range.

That means when your men step onto my range,

they become my men.

That's funny, Sergeant, 'cause the way I see it is…

when I bring my men onto your range…

you become their instructor.

So far, all they've gotten from you is a dissertation on their diets

and the sexual habits of their mothers, so…

how about doing a little work?

See, now,

where I come from,

a man don't toss words around like that…

unless he's willing to back them up.

What goes on behind that shed

stays behind that shed.

Very well, Sergeant.

Lead on.

You'd better start thinking how you're gonna explain these bruises, sir.

What bruises?

Fair warning, boys. You go back there, you'll have company.

He still alive?

Barely.

Good.

I was wondering how I was gonna explain that.

Shall we pick up where we left off, gentlemen?

Attention!

Good work, Lieutenant.

- Best scores of any group. - Thank you, sir.

We credit the master sergeant with our success.

Excellent work, Master Sergeant. Sorry to hear about your little accident.

- Bring in the next group. - Yes, sir.

Come in.

There's a problem with Coldfoot. He's going into town.

- Yeah, he's got a pass. - It's where he's going that's a problem.

Whatever you're planning…

don't.

They'll only call the MPs, have you thrown in jail.

What'll that prove?

That nothing in this army leads to anything good.

That's not true.

What if I told you I'd put you up for sergeant this week?

No offense, Lieutenant, but I've been up for sergeant before.

You wait and wait and then they give you an excuse and tell you no.

- I ain't waiting anymore. - You don't have to.

Get in the car, Sergeant Coldfoot.

Is that your wife, Captain?

Yeah.

Lucky man.

On a lot of fronts.

The shrapnel went through your abdomen and sliced open your liver.

- You wanna tell me what the lucky part is? - You should be dead.

Quick action by your men saved your life.

If you ever see them again, I suggest taking them out for a steak dinner.

Speaking of seeing them…

when do I go back to Italy?

Maybe after the war.

Your combat days are over, Captain.

Next stop for you is home.

Congratulations, Captain. You've got a million-dollar wound.

Oh, Popeye, I got a surprise. Mwah!

Left guard, right step, present arms, step!

Face the person.

- Mwah! - As you were! Attention! Right up!

Italy, 1944.

With winter setting in, the fighting south of Rome continues.

Allied troops are dug in, waiting for the next German counterattack,

which is expected any day.

The going is tough, but so are our boys.

Ask any one of them and they'll tell you

it'll take a lot more than a little rain and mud

to get these GI Joes down.

I need transportation, Captain. I'm not that damn particular. You'll do.

Okay, now that you've seen it…

I'm thirsty. Let's get a drink.

It happened a week after you were wounded.

My Jeep hit a mine.

It threw me 20 feet in the air, took off everything below the knee.

Congratulations on your stars, sir.

Thank you.

Truth is, Felix…

in this war, getting promoted is easy.

The hard part is staying alive.

Any news on the 157?

They're stuck on the Gustav Line south of Cassino.

It's cold, wet and shitty. They're hangin' tough.

Who'd you send in for me?

Kettleman.

He's a good soldier.

He's not you, but he's okay.

When are they, uh, sending you home, sir?

Next week.

I was going to offer to take any letters back for you,

but I hear that won't be necessary.

You're right after me.

Yeah.

Don't act excited or anything.

I know this sounds crazy.

I feel I should be in Italy. I oughta be with my men.

Go home, Felix. Go home to Mary.

See your son, raise more babies.

You've done your duty.

Safe travels, sir.

See you back home, Felix.

No, no. I'll get it.

My dearest Mary…

I've never been a good letter writer, so I don't know if I can explain this.

Hell, I'm not sure I can explain it even to myself.

When I left you to come over here,

I was scared of losing you.

Scared of not coming back.

Scared of dying.

I'm not scared anymore.

Sir?

There's an Army captain out there.

He wants to hitch a ride back to Italy.

I guess the only way to explain my decision

is that it isn't my time to come home yet.

Captain, what are you doing?

What's it look like I'm doing, Doc?

You're not ready for discharge.

You walk out of here, Captain, you'll be AWOL.

- Take care, kid. - Captain!

I know you want me home. Make no mistake, I wanna be home.

Desperately.

I wanna hold my son in my arms

and lay with you on a quiet desert night beneath the stars.

But I owe something to a group of men.

Men who…

before the war…

I'd probably never have known,

and now I know as well as I know myself.

If I came home, I could never live with myself,

knowing I owed a debt to them and ignored it.

So I have to complete this journey I've started.

I cannot quit.

Anything less would leave a hole in my conscience

that I could never repair.

Capt. Sparks, 157th Regiment, 2nd Battalion.

Orders, Captain.

I was just released from a hospital in North Africa, sir.

I was hoping to be reassigned to my old company.

What happened to your orders, Captain?

I didn't like 'em, sir.

They were to send me home.

Mary, I don't expect you to understand.

I'm having a hard time understanding it myself.

But I have never been more sure of anything in my life

and I have to trust that.

So, please…

my darling Mary…

my dearest wife…

forgive me.

Get back to your foxhole, soldier. That's an order.

Dios mio, it's the captain.

What are you looking at, Sergeant?

Give me your report.

♪ Can't read the daylight ♪

♪ It could be dusk It could be dawn ♪

♪ Can't tell which way the sun's gone on ♪

♪ You can't believe ♪

♪ Your very own eyes ♪

♪ Spirits do deceive ♪

♪ Just before the sunrise ♪

♪ Play the cards we're dealt ♪

♪ Hearts are breaking All the way to hell ♪

♪ Distant voice you might have heard ♪

♪ Calling from another world ♪