All language subtitles for The Rat Patrol S01E12

Now, what's an American convoy
doing this far behind enemy lines?

Come on.

Sergeant Troy.

And you must be
Sergeant Moffitt.

Welcome.

What about my men? Why
aren't they coming with us?

Please don't worry about them.
They'll be taken care of properly.

You're all my guests, but
you two are traveling first class.

Well, it's not much,
but I call it home.

It's been a long, hot day, gentlemen.
I think refreshments are in order.

Well, let me see.
For Sergeant Troy,

and icy cold glass of beer.

And a dash of salt.

For Sergeant Moffitt,

a Kebling, made with equal
parts of rum, lime juice...

and whiskey.

For me... milk,
for the old ulcer.

Cheers.

You seem to know a
lot about us, Mr... Uh...

Cunningham...
"Ned" to my friends.

If I do, it's because, to date,
your Rat Patrol has cost me,

conservatively speaking,
over a half-million dollars.

- That's a lot of money.
- Man, what are you
talking about?

On August 11, a munitions convoy
almost crossed the bridge to Messwan.

You blew it up.

Uh, three trucks,
two Jerry half-tracks...

A tank and a weapons carrier.

- That convoy was mine.
- And whose were the soldiers?

Also mine... dressed as Germans.

- On September 4,
the fuel depot at Al Guahir.
- Yours too, huh?

On September
27, a shipment of...

Um, point's made.

To coin a phrase,

"This desert simply isn't big
enough for the both of us."

You know something, Moffitt?

Maybe there's worse
than the Jerries.

What do you think of an American who sells
ammo to 'em to blast his own countrymen?

Simple curiosity, Cunningham.

How does someone become
your special kind of creep?

Practice.

If you're really interested...

All right, gentlemen.
Step right this way.

This is what we
might call Exhibit "A."

United States Army
Air Force flying jacket...

circa November 1942...

belonging to one Lieutenant
Edwin "Ned" Cunningham.

Fourteen missions
over North Africa,

shot down three times,

Purple Heart,
decorated for bravery.

You sure I'm not boring you?

Hardly. Anything but.

Fine. Now we have Exhibit "B."

One pigskin wallet, also belong to the
aforesaid Lt. Edwin "Ned" Cunningham.

Notice this small hole.

It was caused by a
Spandau machine gun bullet.

At the time of impact, the wallet
happened to be in Lt. Cunningham's...

left shirt pocket.

But instead of going right through
his heart, that bullet hit money.

And that's when Mommy's
little boy Ned saw the light:

that the life of a war
hero wasn't for him.

And just like that, quick as
you can say "Adolf Hitler,"

from a clean-living,
upright citizen,

he turned into a traitor.

End of story.

Fade out.

So that's all you
are... A traitor.

A "defector," please.

Hello. You must be
Ned's new partners.

I'm Fay.

Oh! Has Mommy
jumped the gun again?

Well, you just go right ahead.
Don't pay any attention to me.

Go right ahead. Now, you must
tell them about your medals, Ned.

He always skips the best part.

If Mommy doesn't stop, she'll
go to bed without her supper.

Well, it's true now.

Not everybody can
do what you did.

Crash-land your own plane
with your best buddy aboard...

in order to sell them
both to the Jerries.

Don't make me tell you twice.

I'm enjoying myself.

Besides, you like me to
entertain your friends, don't you?

Gentlemen, you're not drinking.

'Tis all very entertaining,
Mr. Cunningham,

but surely not why
you brought us here.

What's the pitch? Oh, I'll
tell you what the pitch is.

You are muscling in on
his territory. You see...

Fay does have a certain
flair for the vernacular.

What she means is this:

The Rat Patrol has been making me poorer
without making itself one cent richer.

I want to change that.

- I wanna make you rich.
- Not interested.

Just a moment, Troy.
Let's hear him out.

Thank you, Sergeant
Moffitt. Sergeant Troy,

give me credit for one
thing: I'm not simpleminded.

Someday this war will be over,
and you're going to have to go home.

Where will you be then?

Kids who were too young for the
draft will be holding down your jobs.

The girls you knew will be
married and have families.

I think you'll find there's very little
call for middle-aged commandos.

What will you do then?

Big hero with a
chest full of medals.

I'll tell you. You'll stand in line
at the neighborhood pawnshop,

waiting to trade those medals
in on a three-dollar spree.

I suppose you
have an alternative.

Why spoil a perfect day?

Ahmed, champagne,
well chilled. Wait.

Wait. Just hold it a minute.
We haven't said "yes."

- But you're not saying "no."
- There are two others
to consider.

I'm sure you can handle
Mr. Pettigrew and Mr. Hitchcock.

All right. Fine. But I'd still like
to get a look at your operation.

That is if Mr. Cunningham
doesn't... Ned.

- That is if Ned doesn't mind.
- Nothing could give me
greater pleasure.

Right this way, gentlemen.

Mommy, you go see
about making dinner.

Make sure it's superb.

Anything you say, Nedsie.

Unfortunately, you
won't see very much.

Most of my merchandise is
stored in depots or caches, really.

All within a radius
of a hundred miles.

Like the oil at
Al Guahir? Right!

The shipment that you saw being loaded
when we arrived is one of my biggest yet.

Two hundred bazookas,
a dozen .105 howitzers,

a hundred thousand rounds
of ammo. Who is it for?

- A friend of yours.
- Friend?

That's right. He and his men
will be here later to take delivery.

What friend?

A German fellow.

Name of Dietrich.

Please excuse me. Business. It
shouldn't take more than a minute.

Come on. Let's
go. I don't like it.

It's too easy.

All right. Let's go.

Gentlemen.

They won't start without these.

Oh, come on, Sergeant. Eat
something. Don't be such a bad loser.

Mommy here slaved over a hot stove all
afternoon to fix something extra special.

And you won't even
taste it. She'll be offended.

How about you, Sergeant Moffitt?

I-I should warn you, those
German prisoner-of-war camps...

are notorious for their
rather slipshod cuisine.

This may be the last decent
meal you have for years...

Assuming, of course, that the Germans
lose the war and that you're liberated.

Ned has a wonderful way of making
you feel right at home, doesn't he?

Mommy! I'm only telling
the gentlemen to eat hearty.

Tomorrow you die.

Why, Faysie, I'm surprised
and delighted at you.

You haven't just
been raiding the liquor

cabinet, you've been
raiding the library as well.

You know, there was a time
that Faysie couldn't even read?

By the way, have I told
you how I first met Mommy?

Ned.

Oh, come on. Why not?

We still have a few minutes
until Captain Dietrich arrives.

I'm sure the gentlemen would enjoy
hearing our tender, romantic saga.

Wouldn't you, gentlemen?

In that case, I'll tell you.

Our story begins in Casablanca.

Poor Fay was
performing at the time,

singing in one of the rather
less-exclusive nightclubs.

- Don't!
- Unfortunately,

Faysie had entered into a somewhat
untidy arrangement with the management.

It seems that...

in addition to her
duties as a songbird,

she had an obligation to make the
customers drink more than they should.

The kid was good at it!

So good that the management was extremely
reluctant to part with her services.

But picture this
scene if you will:

a little Arab and myself,

bargaining and haggling
away half the night over Faysie.

And that's how I rescued Mommy.

Poor Fay.

Reading hasn't
improved her manners.

You can forget about Dietrich.
He's not comin' out in this storm.

Speak of the devil.

Greetings and welcome, Ibrahim.

May Allah bless you, Cunningham.

My daughter Zubaida.

Worthy of such a father.

This way, please.

What brings you out on
such a night as this, Ibrahim?

My enemies are many, Cunningham,

my weapons few.

I wish to buy what do
you call... the half-track.

A half-track?

But you haven't paid for the
last shipment yet, Ibrahim.

Patience, Cunningham.

Miss Morgan.

Why do you put up with him?
Why don't you pack up and leave?

Where would I go?

This is the only
game in town, baby.

Hmm.

Besides, don't let
appearances fool you.

Deep down, Ned and I have
a marvelous relationship.

He loathes me and I despise him.

We're even.

Agreed.

Mommy, I have a real
nice surprise for you.

People, I want you
to meet Zubaida.

This is Mommy's
new little helper.

Isn't that nice?

Isn't that thoughtful of me?

Oh, and another thing:

her daddy tells me that Zubaida is
a whiz at making my favorite dish...

Eggs Benedict.

Gentlemen!

I'm up here.

I told you this desert wasn't
big enough for both of us.

Mommy...

Sure, Ned, baby.
Anything you say.

Cry! Cry!

Cry on Mommy's little helper's
shoulder if you wanna cry!

Hello. Good-bye.

Well, I wanna thank you.

Oh, it was nothin'.
Anytime... Anytime at all.

I guess it was the only way.

- You think they'll
give me life?
- Yeah. Yours.

Listen. You've got a couple of
good witnesses in your corner.

I wouldn't worry much.

Well, if I don't get off, will
you come and visit me?

Yeah, and I'll bring a cake
with a saw in the middle.

- No eggs Benedict.
- Promise. No eggs Benedict.

Okay, Lieutenant.
She's all yours.