All language subtitles for Land of Bad 2024.[eng]

♪ They say there's a price ♪

♪ On my head ♪

♪ And that I'm better
off dead ♪

♪ But that sheriff ♪

♪ Better keep this in mind ♪

-There a problem, Sergeant?

-No, sir... Sorry,
I was just, uh--

-Get your shit together.
We lift off in five.

-Yes, sir.

-Hey, you're HALO qualified,
yeah?

-HALO? No, sir.

Are we doing a HALO jump?

-You'll be fine.

I'd go Froot Loops.
My daughter loves them.

-Ah, fuck.

♪ I bet you're gonna
Love the way I'm gone ♪

Going after a CIA asset
that's been captured.

The plan is to extract him
with minimal casualties.

He was gathering intel
on Alexander Petrov,

a Russian arms dealer
and former KGB.

♪ I ain't too concerned
With my name ♪

♪ 'Cause I know
It won't be on my grave ♪

What's up?

-That your family?

-Nah, just a pic that
came with the helmet.

Yeah. Wife and kids.

-Nice.

Are those the new
5.11 tactical gloves?

You know the ones
with the Kevlar knit?

-Yeah, yeah. Kevlar knit.

-Awesome.

-JTAC...

just try to relax, okay?

on the Euro
and gets that one to go.

And the whistle too...

-That bad?

Yeah, that bad.

-Do you wanna talk about it?

-Wanna hug? We can hug.

-You need me?

-Yeah, I wanted to
ask you something, but...

-Okay. Coffee?

-Sure.

Okay.
- Yeah.

Cool.

-So, uh, you know
the wedding's coming up, right?

-Yes, I do.
Twenty-third.

-That's right.

-You're not gonna
change the date, are you?

- What?
- I've got everything organized.

I got the kids in place.
I got the ex-wives in place.

Lucy will be
out of the hospital.

- Reaper.
- I had--

-I'm not going to
change the date.

I, um, actually wanted to

talk to you
about something else.

I wanted to ask--
- Who moved my shit?

-Airman...
who moved my shit?

-Huh?

-Coffee pods.

-I-- I don't know, sir.
I use the drip.

-Well, I can't trust a word
you say then, can I?

I take the time.

Every goddamn morning.

I do it for efficiency,

easy recognition,

and organization.

Is it appreciated? No.

It is respected?
I think not.

But I do it

for the morale of the squadron.

You were saying?

-Op starts in 15.

-Yeah, yeah. I thought you
wanted to talk about something.

-It can wait.

Shit.

You lose something?

-Ah, just my cereal.

-Your what?

-Froot Loops.

I had a box of Froot Loops.

I don't know what I did with it.

Jesus Christ,
Air Force.

Barely started this op

and you're already sweating
about a box of Frosted Flakes.

-No, no. It was--
It was Froot Loops.

-Huh?

-Froot Loops,
not Frosted Flakes.

-This kid for real?

-Don't be an asshole.

-That's cute.

-Thanks, man.

Fucking Fruit Loops.

How old are you, Air Force?

-Twenty-seven.

-Ah...

-Bishop, how old's
your daughter now? Twenty?

You should set Air Force up
on a date.

Yeah.

I will shoot you in the dick,
Abell. I swear to God.

No, honey. I can't.

I can't come.

'Cause I gotta be here at work.

Yeah. Look,
just get your sister to go.

What about your mom?

All right.
Well, why don't you call...?

Oh, you called Judy?

Uh...

look, okay, okay.

If it's only a couple of things.
That's fine. That's fine.

But right now, I gotta go
'cause I got a mission, yeah?

Zegler a little teardrop.

You know I don't like
that shot in college, right?

It's made about thirt--

Yeah, it's made about
37 percent of the time.

-Fuck.

Zegler just settled for

a tough floater on
the first side of the floor.

-Guys.

I got a favor to ask you.

My wife is pregnant.
While I'm on OP,

if she goes into labor,
she's gonna call that phone.

All right?

You need to answer it,
and you need to come and get me.

Copy?

Thank you very much.

And why don't we just keep
this volume down to a low level?

Because this is a professional
work environment.

Now, now.
Just because your team

delivered the biggest choke
in March Madness history,

doesn't mean the rest of us
can't still enjoy ourselves.

-It's about Lucy.
Virgil, it's important.

-I know.

Notice the, uh,
pseudofolliculitis barbae

hasn't cleared up.

-Not yet, sir. No.

-Well, you just let me know
when you're ready to shave.

- I will, sir.
- All right.

Go, Vols!

Warhawk, this is
Blackbird approaching drop zone.

Headed to 15,000 feet.

Six minutes to the DZ.

Winds are five knots
and to the southeast.

Skies are clear.

Happy hunting.

-All right, boys.
Six minutes.

Here we go.

Fruit Loop,
now's the time

to be checking your weapon.

-I'm good.

-Not your Gameboy.
Your actual weapon.

Hey, look, I'm
in charge of the drone. So...

if we wind up in a situation
and I'm shooting,

we got big fucking problems.

You're not wrong.

JTAC's only good for one thing
and that is...

"Bringing the rain."

-Is this your first mission
in theater, JTAC?

-Second.
But first with operators.

What?

-Hell, I'll say it.

Um... we're about to head
into a shit storm.

You still look like you kind of
need someone to wipe your ass.

So just... do me a favor.

Keep up and don't fuck up.

Last thing we need in this op
is to have to save your ass.

-Nah, he's good.

Hey, remember your training.

Talk to the planes.

When they start dropping bombs,
make sure it's on the bad guys.

-Yes, sir.

You're not
going to need these.

This is a sterilized op.

Be advised
we are approaching--

All right, boys.

Let's put our masks on.
Let's get to work.

Hey, JTAC,

this might sound stupid but
don't forget to breathe, yeah?

Stay on your comms.

When that hits 3,000,
deploy your chute.

It's just the same as airborne,
only way fucking higher.

Good to go.

I'll see you fuckers
on the beach.

Yee-haw.

Hey, walk in the park.

Fuck.

You good?

Let's go. Come on.
Get up.

That ridge.
Four clicks by 0800.

Let's go. Let's move.

All right.

Thank you, Miller.

Okay, team has landed.

Operators are en route.

The drone is ten mics out
from rendezvous point

and Warhawk is switching comms.

This carriage is about to
turn into a pumpkin.

-This is not my chair.

- Yes, it is.
- No, it is not.

-Oh, my god, Reaper,
I did not take your chair.

-I know you didn't
take my chair.

It will be these commie assholes

from Shadow Flight.

-You finished?

-No, I'm not.

Eat a bag of dicks.

Now I'm finished.

-Okay.

-All right, let's take
this lady to the dance.

-Playboy 06, this is
Reaper 1 -0 checking in...

You have 1 MQ-9 in the air.

1 by BLU 118 on board.

Eight hours
of playtime ahead.

Reaper 1 -0,
this is Playboy 0-6.

Stand by
for grid, over.

-Roger. Standing by.

Grid as follows,

November,
victor, 7, niner,

5-7-1-8.

That's a friendly grid.

Roger, Playboy.
I have visual on friendly grid.

I am your eyes in the sky
and the bringer of doom.

Over.

Reaper is airborne.
Our location is confirmed.

What's the ordinance?

-Two hellfire's
and a BLUE-118, sir.

-Lose the sir shit.

I work for a living.
It's Sugar or Sug.

-All right.

-Makes him feel old.

He is old.

Thanks, Air Force.

Hey, JTAC.

What rock did they
find you under?

In Guam
on a training exercise.

Missed the flight out.

That was nine hours ago.

How'd you miss
the flight?

-I had some stomach issues.

Wait.

You're here
'cause you had the shits?

Well, I hope
you got that all cleared out.

You shit your pants on an op,

that stain
will follow you for life.

Did you get briefed?

-Yeah, but I'm
a little confused.

What about?

-Well, I'm not tier one.

-Yet he walks amongst us.

I thought operators
don't go out

without tier one personnel.

-We don't.

So why am I here?

-A JSOC asset
disappeared two weeks ago.

Believed to be kidnapped.

We've got intel
on a possible locale.

-So this is a rescue op?

Potentially.

Ah. You can never
keep up with these CIA spooks.

-Either way... here we are.

So to answer your question...

no, you shouldn't be here.

And, yes, Delta
doesn't usually go out

without their tier one
personnel.

And, yes, if our guy is here,

then we'll go in
and fucking get him.

-Translation...
step up your game.

-I need someone to cover.
Yeah.

I gotta check in with Lucy.

-How's she doing?

-She's fantastic.

Got the baby brain
going on though.

I gotta repeat everything
five times.

It's amazing.
Absolutely huge.

-Got the same thing
about this wedding.

-Uh, it's understandable.

There's a lot of detail.
You think about it.

A wedding is probably

the greatest social ritual
humanity has.

You know, most important day
of your life.

Might as well get it right.

You're only going to do it once.

-Reaper,
you've been married four times.

-Yeah, that's just me though.
I'm a romantic.

What did you
want to ask me before?

- Oh, I--
- Hold that thought.

- Thank you, Miller.
- Reaper.

-Hey, what's up?

-Ah, this fucking frag
is a pain in my ass.

-Thought you got that
patched up.

-I did.

So why are you still
bitching about it?

There's still a fucking
hole in my leg, asshole.

-What happened?

I.E.D.

Some kid triggered it
from half a click out.

We never stood a chance.

Therein lies
the problem, Fruit Loop.

All this tech,

it takes the human element
out of warfare.

And what happens
when all that shit fails?

Well--

-Well, what?

I don't know. I mean,
I think this tech saves lives.

In a way, it's takes
the barbaric nature out of it.

Barbaric nature?

Lipstick on a pig.

You really think you dropping
a bomb on 50 people

is any better than us
shooting them in the head?

No. War is barbaric.

It ain't never gonna
fucking change.

-It already has.

-Listen up, Fruit Loop.
Let me tell you a story.

You can fight
with all your robots

and your reapers
and cell phones you want.

The end of the day,

when the technology fails
and all your--

Your batteries and your bullets
and your bombs run out,

you know,
and the fucking sun explodes,

war comes down to
one very simple thing.

And that's man killing man.

Just takes one shit day to
change your whole perspective.

That's a fact.

Welcome to the land of bad.

-Fucking great story, man.

Really fucking good,
rich and compelling.

- What do you got?
- I got movement.

Hundred meters. Just
the other side of those rocks.

-I need eyes over that ridge.

Hundred meters northeast.

-Reaper 1 -0,
this is Playboy 0-6.

Got suspicious movement

a hundred meters
northeast of our position.

Can you check it out?

-Roger that,
Playboy. Standby.

Hundred meters southeast.

-Got good handshake.

Reaper 1 -0,

can you zoom in?

-Copy that.

Yeah, oh, that's sexy.

-Pan left, 50 meters.

What the fuck?

-Reaper, I'm hollow. Over.

-Roger. Standby.

-Systems malfunction.

-Goddamn piece of shit.

Playboy, we have
a systems malfunction

on the bird.

-Copy that.
Is the pod inop?

We got to get this
piece of shit back to base.

-That is a negative.
We'll fix this one up

and get it back to you stat.

-Reapers down.
No other UAV's available.

Broken Reaper, huh?

Ain't that some fuckin' irony?

-Looks like we're gonna
have to clear this ridge

the old-fashioned way.

Abell, you're on point.
- Copy.

Bishop, you're left.

-Copy.

-What's the rest
of our air support?

-Hornet's on standby.
Thirty mikes out.

What do you want me to do?

-Nothing.

I got nothing on my end.

-Same here.

Looks clear.

-Wait.

Wait, I've got movement.

Ten meters.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

It's a fucking oink oink.

-What the hell's an oink oink?

-A fucking pig, dumb-ass.

Pretty sure you got a picture
of her in your wallet.

-Fucker.

-This is serious
bad guy lair shit.

-Got two tangos on the bridge.

A third on the far right.

Other side of the tent.

See a Starbucks
down there?

-I see number four

on the lower part
of the S-bend road.

Let's push down.

-Okay. Clear.

-Clear.

Okay.
We're gonna call this OP1.

Air Force, set up up top.

-Abell,

you stay put.
Set up your hindsight.

Bishop, you're with me.

We're gonna wrap
around southeast.

Three hundred meters.

-Hooah.

-You good?

-Yeah, I think so.

-Okay.
Go forth and conquer.

Call out what you see.

I want a head count
on that compound

before we move on it.

Sug?

When can we get
a nice gig in Hawaii?

Sick of swamp crotch.

I don't think they'd allow you

back in Hawaii since last time.

-Piece of shit. Fucking.

All right,
this sure looks like our guy.

-Bishop, can you confirm?

-Yeah, that's Petrov all right.

the asset's gotta be close.

-Thunderbolt Squadron?

No, it's not.

I'm sorry I can't
do that for you.

You're gonna have to
call the operator back.

If you ask for extension 141,
that's Thunderbolt.

Uh-huh. Yeah, no problem.

Guys...
what the fuck?

-What's the problem, Captain?

-I asked you to keep an ear
on this phone.

Some smartass turned
the goddamn ringer off.

-Why don't you turn it back on?

-I have.

-Is your wife
actually in labor, Captain?

-On the precipice, sir.

Water's broken?

-Impending.

Having any
of those, uh, contractions?

-Well, since you asked,
right now, 40 mics apart.

Last night, she was
tooting like a bugler

at a Gettysburg reenactment.

Currently, her cervix
is two centimeters dilated

and starting to yawn.

-All right,
that is too much information.

-Yes, it is, sir.

Airmen,
for the love of God,

make sure
that phone's turned on.

-Thank you.

Contact.

Multiple vehicles inbound.

Eleven o'clock.

-Oh, Petrov is on the move.

-Who the hell are these guys?

Don't know.

Local militia?

Kinda looks like
Abu Sayyaf.

Bishop, can you confirm?

-Yeah, I can't tell.

More guys with guns.

Sure as shit ain't taking
this compound 'til they leave.

-Check out the dude getting out

the left side
of the lead vehicle.

Tell me that doesn't
look like Saeed Hashimi.

Fuck.

-Who's that?

Sure he's here to buy guns.
Keep your eyes open.

Guns on safety.

JTAC, what's the status
of our air?

-Reaper still down,
Hornet on standby.

You want it airborne?

Negative.

Sit tight.
Let me work on a new game plan.

♪ Well tell me mama ♪

♪ What's goin' on ♪

♪ Tell me darling
What's goin' on ♪

-Yo,

drone's fixed.

Handover in five.

-I'm ready.

♪ I'd stay round here ♪

♪ But I believe
It's much too rough ♪

♪ I'd stay round here ♪

♪ But I believe
It's much too rough ♪

♪ I'm goin' back to Texas
I believe I've had enough ♪

Fuck.

this is Reaper 1 -0,
back on station.

Checking in.

Requesting permission
to establish overhead.

-Copy that.
Good to have you back, Reaper.

Grid is as follows,

November,
Victor, 1-1-4-8-

7-6-3-5. Over.

-Copy grid, Playboy.

I have contact.

Open circular compound,
one large

concrete structure,

and a road heading north
crossing a dam.

Confirm target area.

You have target area in sight.

I didn't know Hashimi
was in bed with Petrov.

-Oh, Hashimi's a terrorist.

He's got to
buy his guns from somewhere.

-The missus doesn't look
too thrilled about it.

Yeah, this guy's
definitely a creeper.

She's getting stranger danger
vibes for sure.

♪ Hashimi and Petrov
Sitting in a tree ♪

♪ K-I-S-S... ♪

-Fuck.

Run! Run, run, run.

-Oh, fuck.

What are we doing?

-Warhawk, this is Alpha 1.

Have hostiles
engaging with civilians.

Requesting updated

R-O-E. Over.

-Fuck me.

-Jesus Christ!

Petrov...

-Fuck this, Sugar,
I ain't watching this asshole

lob off the kid's head.

-Kinney, stand by
for potential diversion.

-Reaper, we need weapons effects
between the compound

and the tent.
Over.

-Reaper 1 -0. One by hellfire
missile, copied.

Papa!

-Abell, Bishop, you got a shot,
you take it.

Kinney, drop that fucking bomb.

Say again, you are cleared hot!

-Copied.

Target acquired.

Weapon's away.
Impact 30 seconds.

-Don't have thirty.

Run, kid. Run!

Guys?

Kinney, you've got hostiles
directly below you.

Do not move.
Do not even breathe.

Abell, Bishop,

I need sights on targets.

Abell, you taking center.

Bishop, extreme left.

I'm on extreme right.

On one...

two, one.

Kinney!

Fuck!

-Shit. Abell, you've got

five hostiles on your six.

Fifty meters.

Bishop, move.

On me!
- All right, Abell.

-Kinney, I need...

-Stay still, asshole.

-Trying, buddy.

Kinney,
I need you to lay down some

cover fire for Abell.

- Sug.
- Yeah.

- We got a situation.
- No shit.

-No, no, no. We got
another situation.

RPG twelve o'clock. Incoming!

Motherfucker!
Motherfucker!

-I got you, man.
I got you.

Okay.

You're good, man.

No, you're good, man.
You're good.

You're good. I got you.

Where's the med kit?
I'm gonna get you fixed up.

Come on, man.
Where's the med kit?

-Kinney.

Kinney.

-Abell, Abell.
No, no, no.

Fuck, fuck. Oh, fuck!

Abell is down.
Abell is down.

Hello?

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck.
Alpha 1, this Playboy.

Abell's down.
Abell's down.

-Kinney, listen to me.

We are taking heavy fire
from two two-man RPG teams.

I need
some bombs down there now!

-Wait, wh-what about Abell?

He's dead.

I need you to stay focused,
Sergeant.

Get yourself together.

-Oh, fuck.

-Reaper, we're taking RPG fire

on the southeast side
of the compound.

Two hundred meters
south of my position.

Give me
the biggest thing you got.

- Cleared hot.
- Copy that, Playboy.

We have eyes on the target.

1 by Blu 118.

Weapons away.

Impact 20 seconds.

-Where's that bomb, Sergeant?

-Twenty seconds!

-RPG incoming!

-Fuck! Sugar?
Sugar? Bishop!

Oh, shit.

Fuck!

-You got eyes on him?

-Lost him in the smoke.

-Fuck.

-Did he pop the smoke?

-I don't know.

Playboy, do you copy?

-I see him.

Stay with him.

Reaper? Reaper, you there?

Reaper?

Reaper, you there?

-We're here, Playboy.

Give me
the status of your team.

Uh, KIA.

-Okay, Playboy, let's do this
by the numbers.

Confirm your current
grid location.

-Yeah.

Uh, I'm headed northeast.

November, Romeo,
2-7-6-0-niner-3-2-2.

I'm, uh--

I'm approx five clicks
from the evac point.

I need you to
scan forward 500 meters

and make sure the area is clear.

-Copy, Playboy. We got you.

Scanning forward 500 meters.
Standby.

-Yeah, area's clear.

-Area looks clear.
You're good to move.

Playboy, do you copy?

Playboy?

-What's he doing?
Is he moving?

-He's freaking out.

You gotta calm him down.

-Hey, Playboy.

Good news.

Helicopter is
inbound to the evac point.

The cavalry is on the way.

You gotta get your ass
on the move, son.

You got to move, man.
Let's go.

Come on, soldier.

Get up and go.

-Here we go.
All right.

You scan forward.
I've got him.

-Scanning forward.

-Tell me what you see.

-Reaper,

I think
I'm hearing a truck.

-He's right.
I have contact from the west.

Truck on the road, half a click.

I have contact from the east.

Looks like they're converging
on Playboy's position.

-Playboy, be aware.

You have converging targets
east and west.

-How much ordinance
do you have left?

Air to ground 114.
Standing by.

You want those hornets airborne?

-Okay, Playboy, tally.

Eyes on target.
What you want to do?

-Keep eyes on it.

Reaper,
do you have eyes on hostiles?

Confirmed hostiles
from the east are armed.

- Are they Abu Sayyaf?
- They've got weapons.

Safe to assume.

-Can't talk right now.

-Ah, for fuck's sake.
Playboy, Playboy.

Canine coming your way.

-You gotta be shitting me.

Git.

-Fuck, Playboy.

Buffalo Bill has dismounted.

He is approaching
your position.

Looks like
he's coming towards Lassie.

Do not move.

-Playboy, Buffalo Bill

is above
your position.

Do not move.

-Okay, Playboy.

Looks like Lassie's going home.

Buffalo Bill has remounted.

Hostiles are leaving the party.
Stand by.

-Goddammit.

Buffalo Bill
and his buddy are gone.

The truck is gone.

You are clear tracking
500 meters to your north.

There's a path up
that ridge on your one o'clock.

Hey, Playboy,
how you holding up?

I'm all right.

-Ohio.

-No shit. Me, too. Brook Park.

-We're basically
fucking neighbors.

O-H.

-I-O.

Get home much?

Yeah.

Yeah, I was just there.

Had to bury my father.

-Oh, man. Sorry to hear.

-Yeah, it's okay.

-Yeah.

Yeah, he was a good guy.

-In Sweet Sixteen news,

the fucking Buckeyes
just shit the bed against VCU.

First round.

-Trying to depress me more?

Hey, you ever got up to
Mama Santas on Mayfield?

Are you kidding me?

I lived at that place
during high school.

-I know, right?

I met my first wife there
in '95.

-Oh, yeah?

We both ordered stromboli.

-Who the fuck orders stromboli?

I know, right?

I thought it was meant to be.
And it was.

Right up until it wasn't,
you know?

My current wife
hates the shit.

-She jealous?

-Nah, man, worse...
she's vegan.

-Ah, man. That is worse.

How do
you know if someone's a vegan?

How?

-They will tell you.

You're getting
really close now, man.

Just keep up the pace.
Good work.

-ETA on the helo?

this is Blackbird 2-5,

approaching LZ from east.
ETA three mikes, over.

-Copy.

Reaper,
how's my path to the LZ?

-Clear.

-Path is clear.

Time to get
the hell out of dodge, Playboy.

-Thanks for the eyes, Reaper.

Hey, drop me a line
next time you're in Vegas.

I have a solid hookup
for Disney on Ice.

You lost me.
I might pass on that,

but I'm at Nellie all the time.

I'm here, man.
Call CENTCOM.

Raven Squadron.
Eddie Grim.

Just ask for Reaper.

Will do.

Blackbird 2-5, I have a visual.
LZ is clear for extract.

Marking position with I-R.

I have your position marked.

-Contact! I'm hit! I'm hit!

-Playboy, are you injured?

-Negative!
Must have hit my plate.

Reaper, hostiles,
100 meters east.

Two hundred meters south.

Contact! Blackbird.

I have multiple targets
around the LZ.

Three more hostiles
on the west ridge.

Small arms and an RPG.

Better move your ass.

RPG!

-Shit!

Blackbird,
can you stay in the area

until we can find a secure LZ?

-Negative, Playboy.
LZ is too hot.

Back to you as fast as we can.

-Shit!

Reaper, west ridge.

-Contact, Playboy.

Three more trucks
right through.

-Reaper, need the bomb
300 meters to the west.

Cleared hot!

-Roger that, Playboy.
Tally. Eyes on target.

Stay where you are, assholes.

1 by hellfire,
air to ground 114.

Weapon away.
Impact 20 seconds.

Target is down.

Now get the fuck out of there.

-Fuck! Taking fire.

This ain't done.

Got another truck
coming in from the west.

-Jesus Christ, I'm pinned down.

How are they seeing me?

It's his strobe!
They must have night vision.

He's gotta turn his strobe off.

-It's your strobe, Playboy.
Turn off your strobe.

-Taking fire from the east.

Drop everything you have.

-Playboy, I am Winchester.
I'm out of bombs.

ETA on the hornets
is two mikes.

Playboy... this is Hornet 1.

Entering point out level.

I'm coming in
on an east west heading.

-Roger that, Hornet 1.

I'm 200 meters
north of target grid.

Keep all fire
south of target grid.

I say again, all fire south.

this will be danger close.
- Yes, yes. Cleared hot.

Copy.

Three, two, one!

-Shit!
Still taking fire from west!

Coming around for another run.

Fuck this!

-What do you want, Airman?

-Yeah, I'm doing
a Starbucks run.

Colonel Packett is springing.
- A what?

-Starbucks.

-Have you lost your mind?

-Airman, leave!

Eyes on that hornet.

Give me some fire
on the west ridge.

You're cleared hot.

Confirm. West or east?

-West! West!

This one is going to be
danger close.

We still do not have
visual on you.

It's fine. Just
drop it! You're cleared hot!

Be
advised, this is danger close.

Altitude.
Altitude.

Pull up. Pull up. Pull up.

Hornet 1 is RTB.

-Copy that.

Good shooting.

How's it looking, Reaper?

-Playboy, from what
we can see, it looks clear.

These fuckers know
we're up here now, so..

do not discount
any surprises.

-We got another LZ?

-There's a clearing
two clicks northeast

of your position.

You're not gonna like it though.

-You say northeast?

-Northeast is up
a big fucking hill.

-I know, man. I told you,
you weren't gonna like it.

I'm sorry,
but that is the closest

LZ option we have.

-Playboy, the helo is airborne.

ETA to the alternate LZ

is 90 mikes.

You copy?

-Yeah, I'm here.

-Pretty gassed.

-Yeah, no doubt.
Hang in there, okay?

Sorry about
the failed evac, man.

Now you know. Don't trust
Air Force Captains.

Traditionally,
we are full of shit.

-Captain?

Yeah.

-You said you met
your first wife in '95.

-Yeah, I am old as shit.

I should be a general by now.
I got three ex-wives.

I got eight kids.
I got a new wife.

I got a new kid on the way.

I need the active duty bonuses.

they'll make me an instructor,
so fuck that.

-You fly fixed wings
before the birds?

That is
a very long story, my friend.

But, yes, originally,
I did sign up to be a pilot.

But apparently,
the Air Force thought

my responses to authority
were not normal.

So that goat got fucked.

Subtle.

-What happened?

and I found myself
reassigned to USAF-SF

guarding shit in the middle
of nowhere for 20 years.

Eareckson Base
in the Aleutian,

Pine Gap in Australia...

Ah!

Playboy,
do you copy?

Playboy, do you copy?

-Yeah. Yeah, I'm here.

-What happened?

-Slid halfway down
a fucking mountain.

-Oh, fuck, man.
You okay? You hurt?

-Yeah. Just my pride.

-Uh, Reaper, I've got movement
in front of Playboy.

One hundred meters northwest.

Zoom in.

-Three armed hostiles.

-Playboy, you have
three hostiles

heading your way.
Find cover.

Oh, fuck!

Fuck.

-Shit. Scan forward.
Keep me with him.

Copy.

-Got him?

-I'm looking. I'm looking.

Fuck.

I got him.

He's heading downstream.

God fucking dammit!

Get me the colonel. Yeah.

Keep looking.

-I lost him under the canopy.

Fuck.

Reaper, what's the sitrep?

-This mission has gone to shit,
Colonel.

I got an op who's been taken.

We are 12 hours in.

I'm Winchester, but we cannot
leave the target area

because we have the only eyes.

Requesting permission
to stay in the chair

until we get the soldier home.

-How you feeling?

Are you feeling sharp?

-Oh yeah. Sharp
as an elephant's ass.

Staff Sergeant?

-I'm good, sir.

-Okay, Eddie. Stay in the chair.
Get it done, you two.

-Fuck you.

Come on, Playboy.

Come on. Talk to me.

-Oh, shit.

-You got him?

-No.

It's all radio chatter
about the JSOC asset.

Who?

-The reason those guys
are there, not confirmed,

but one says Borneo,

the other Yemen.

-Yemen?

That's halfway around
the fucking world.

You shitting me?

Who's saying that?

-Reading between the lines
with CIA or DIA.

-Man.

Alphabet soup motherfuckers!

You can't trust a word they say.

Hands!

Hands!

Hands!

Are you injured?

Look at me.

-I thought you were dead.

-Here. Drink this.
Drink. Drink. Drink.

Here. Put that on, okay? Okay?

An RPG exploded
on your position.

-Near, not on. Listen.
Bishop got captured.

He's injured pretty bad.
I gotta go.

We gotta go back and get him.
So, grab what you can, okay?

Here. Take this.

Here. Put them in here.
Put them in here.

Here take this.

Come on.
You following me, Sergeant?

Hey. Look, I get it.

This is not
where you want to be,

but you got to dig, okay?
It's not here. It's not here.

It's here.

Bishop's in trouble. We gotta
go back and get him. Okay.

You can still shoot, can't you?

Yeah.

Let's go.

-Still have your battery?

-No, I lost it in the fall.

-Let me see your knife.

-What for?

-I'm gonna call Warhawk.

-With a water bottle?

-Uh-huh.

Come on, you piece of shit.

Reaper,
this is Playboy.

-Playboy,
where the fuck are you?

I'm with Alpha one.

We're headed back
to the initial AO.

-No, no, no, no.
Negative. Negative, Playboy.

We have Intel
the asset has been found.

-We're not going for the asset.

-We're not going for the asset.

One of our team members
was captured.

We're going in to get him.

Playboy,
a QRF is being assembled.

Hold your position
until they're deployed.

-Negative, Reaper.
There's no time.

Get on the horn with CJSOTF,
and let them know our sitrep.

We're gonna
need planes on standby.

ETA to target area
is 6-0 mikes.

We'll confirm grid then. Over.

-What direction you heading,
Playboy?

Give me your bearing.

Playboy?
- Lost comms.

-Fuck!

Connect me to CJSOTF.

Well, I know it's unusual,
Eileen.

Just fucking connect me, okay?

-So where is he?

No idea.

-What's the plan?

-Drop some bombs,
create a diversion,

go in and get him.

Kill anyone
that gets in our way.

Where do you want the bombs?

-You're the JTAC. You tell me.

-Probably the best place

would be along those cave
entrances on this ridge line.

Space them out 15 minutes apart
while we go in.

Sound good?

-Sounds good.

-Find Bishop, make our move
when the first strike hits.

Second strike
should hold their attention.

-And the last one?

-Mass effect.

Let's turn those caves
inside out.

-Fuckin' A, kid. Fuckin' A.

-Yeah, I'm here.
What do you got?

B1 full payload?
That will do the job.

I will confirm the 9 line with
Bone 0-1 when received.

Roger.

-B1 in the air, Colonel.

Copy that.
Nice work.

-Reaper, this is Playboy.

Copy, Playboy.
I'm here.

Okay. Game plan is to use CAS

to strike a set of
cave structures

to the north of the compound
as a diversion.

I need three attacks
spaced approx 15 mikes apart

starting at 1100.

-Eleven hundred. Mark that.

-First strike, 1100.

is to hold their attention.

Final attack should
have enough ordnance

to neutralize
all enemy in the caves.

Type three BOC.

November, Victor,
1-1-4-8-7-6-3-5.

-Say again,
Playboy. Say again.

1-1-4-8-7-6-3-5. Over.

-Copy. Eyes on you.

Three strikes.
Eleven hundred. Diversion.

Eleven fifteen, diversion.

Eleven thirty, we're gonna
light that shit up

and blow it to fuck.
Confirm, Playboy.

-Oh, fuck.

Battery's dead.

-We good?

-Hope so.

Playboy, confirm?

-Lost comms.

Fuck.

-All right,
we all know the plan.

You both did some fine
work here today.

Get out of here.
- No, no, no, no, no.

We are not going anywhere.

-I wasn't asking.
You're done.

You're ten hours
over your eight-hour shift.

-Okay, Reaper.
Out of the chair.

Eat a bag of dicks,
Hawkins.

-Hawkins? It's Andrews.

Come on. Let me get you up.

No.

Exit the chair, Reaper.

-There's no fucking way
I'm off this op.

No fucking way.
I got one KIA. One MIA.

And I got two fucking nut jobs

trying to take on
an entire Abu Sayyaf camp.

That leaves one team, i.e. us,
to make sure this whole thing

doesn't go to hell
in a fucking hand basket.

You finished?

-I'm not finished.
I can keep going.

Then I suggest
you think very carefully

about the next words that come
out of your mouth, Captain.

-Oh, come on, Virgil.
You're gonna pull rank on me?

You told me
I could have this chair

until the op was done.
Go and watch the basketball.

-Sir, with all due respect,

this is Reaper's op.
We should be allowed to--

-I don't recall asking
your opinion, Staff Sergeant.

-Well, maybe that's
your problem, Colonel.

-I would strongly advise you
to not go down

the same rabbit hole
as your partner here.

-She did not say a
word, Colonel.

Mm.

-Not a single word.

-Exit the chair.

Exit the room,
and I will do my best to forget

this conversation ever happened.

-Don't fuck it up, Junior.

-You got it.

-First strike 1100.
It's just a diversion.

Second strike 11 --

Captain!

-I'm good. I'm good.

You're dismissed.

Eyes.

One guy in the tent.

Two guys on the balcony.

What's our time?

-Twenty.

-This is gonna get ugly.

I need you focused.
Head on a swivel.

If you see something I don't,

you say 'contact left,
contact right.'

Somebody comes from behind us,
you say 'six.'

I'll handle the rest.

Only shoot if it's necessary.

We got to keep this quiet
for as long as we can.

For what it's worth, you earned
your tier one status today.

-Does that mean I get paid more?

-Fuck no.
It just sounds cooler.

You ready?

-Nope. You?

-Always.

Let's do it.

Okay.

-Aah!

-Fucker.

-You good?

-Yeah.

Alright.

He's jammed.

Go, go, go, go!

Gun right. Right!

Move! Move!

- On me.
- On you.

Contact left!

-Drop down!

You good?

-Fuck!

Oh, fuck!

Grenade! Get down!

Hey, Sug.

-Bishop.

This your idea
of a rescue mission?

I think I got them
right where I want 'em.

You look like ass.

-Hey, how you doing, Bishop?

Talk to me.

Air Force,
I think we're in a bad spot.

-Yeah, we're in a bad spot.

-Hey!

Hey!

Hey, yo!

Yo!

Hey, listen to me, man.

They're gonna drop bombs
on these caves.

You understand?

Bombs on these caves.

If we don't get out of here,
we're all gonna die.

You understand?
Bombs on these caves.

Fuck! Stupid fucks!

Fuck.

-Boeing 0-1,
this is Sunburn 0-6.

We're tracking your position.

Be advised ETA
to first drone strike,

two mikes.

All right,
let's fucking rock and roll.

Zoom out 400 meters.

I think they know

I'm not gonna last much longer.

-Just-- just-- just hang on
a second, all right, man?

I'm gonna figure out
how to get us out of here.

-I'm already out.

Just get Bishop and get
yourselves out of here. Okay?

-Nah, you're good, man.
You're good, you're good.

-Don't fucking touch him!

Or I'll fucking fucking fuck!
Fuck!

Fucking pieces of shit!

Come on!

Get your fucking hands off him!

Fucking coward.

Sugar?

Get your fucking hands off him!

Hashimi, you like that?

Sugar?

Oh, fuck.

Sugar?

-I'm good.

-Fuck!

-Welcome to Guantanamo.

Go.

♪ It's just an old condition ♪

♪ It shouldn't last too long ♪

-You know Japan invaded
these lands in 1941. Hm.

Built these caves
with the intent to stay

but our Moro brothers
defeated them very quickly. Hm.

You know this dam they built...

it was a very forward step.

Was it this blood washed from
the land and into our mouths?

But not to me.

We answer to no one
but ourselves.

We were having
a fairly pleasant day.

Blessed by the.

Then, how you say?

Someone rains on our parade?

Removed one imperialist...

just to find another.

-This is not the conversation
we should be having right now.

-No?
What should we talk about?

-I told you.
There's more bombs on the way.

-Ah, I'm not interested
in your faceless bombs.

You see, real results
are created face-to-face,

interactions like what
you and I are doing right here.

-Where are the other
commandos located?

-There's no more.
It's just us!

-Your jets
are still in the area.

Someone must be
communicating with them.

-We were communicating
with them.

Listen, there's more strikes
on the way.

If we don't get out of here,
we're all fucking dust.

-No! You are dust!
Fucking dust!

-How does this feel?

To be this scared.

Too weak to do anything
about your own death.

You may think that I do this
without feeling anything.

That is wrong.
To kill affects me.

To embrace the brutality
of this affects me.

And that is the difference
between you and I.

I look a man in the eye,

and I make my choice intimate.

-The bomb!

-Excuse me?

-Sir?

-I got this thing here.

I don't even know--
I don't even know

if this is something
that exists.

My wife's written it down,
so she might have got it wrong.

It sounds a little crazy,
but, uh, I gotta ask, you know?

Do you have artisanal tree nut
fermented plant-based cashew

and tahini smoked
vegan new cheese.

Is that a thing?

-Yeah, right here.
Man after my own heart.

-Huh. I would have
bet money against that.

Thank you very much.

-All right,
let's fucking rock and roll.

Zoom out 400 meters.
It's fucking showtime.

Ready to fire.

Bombs away.

Six, five,

four, three,

two, one.

Impact.

Holy shit.

You JSOC?

Can you walk?

Who are you?

-I'm the cavalry.

Hey!

Ah!

Fuck!

-Fucking hell, Kinney.

-You good?

-Yeah, yeah.

Who the fuck's that guy?

-The asset... I think.

Come on. We gotta move.

- So soon?
- Let's go.

Which way?

I think it's this way.
Let's keep moving.

Fuck.

Yeah. Okay. All right.

Okay, okay.

Sit here for a second.
I'll be right back.

-Boeing 0-1,
this is Sunburn 0-6.

You are inbound to target.
Five mikes.

Let me know when I can cross
extend at 7-9-8-4-0.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Come on.

Fuck.

-Barbeque creepy peanuts.

-Yeah! Come on!

-Vegan sour cream.

-Come on! Yeah!

-Plant based feta.

-Oh, you motherfucker!
Fuck.

Come on, man. Come on.
Pick up the fucking phone.

-Get the phone, Sergeant.

Sergeant!
- Yes, sir.

-Yeah.

-Reaper. I need Reaper.

-702-166-4200.

Hello?

Fuck!

Come on, man.

-I'm looking. I'm looking
at all of the shelves.

All right.

Hey, hold on.

No, I'm looking at...
It was a number I didn't know.

I'm looking at all the shelves,

but they got real Mexican,
you know?

Cou-- but with meat in it.
No, I'm not...

Baby, okay? All right?
It's got meat in it.

Sorry I shouldn't have
used the word real.

Approaching target.

Come on. Move! Move!

-...tampon because I wanted to
buy a degradable,

and it holds way more blood.
You know what I mean?

-No problem.
Just go right ahead.

-Just... what's your problem?

-Nothing.

-Okay.

I need you to abort.
Abort the last strike.

I need you to abort the last--!

-Fuck!

Call SitComm.

I don't understand.

-Call SitComm, for fuck's sake.

Calling SitComm.

Yes! Come on!

-Come on, motherfuckers.
Answer the phone.

-Come on. Call SitComm.

Come on! Come on!

-Motherfucker,
answer the fucking phone.

Come on!

Come on.
Oh, fuck it. Fuck it!

Come on. Come on!

Move! Move! Right there.

-Guys! Come on, move!

-Abort the strike!

Seven...

six...

five...

three...

two...

one.
- Boeing 0-1, abort!

Boeing 0-1, abort!
Do you copy?

-What are you doing?

- They copy?
- Yeah.

-The operator
is still in the target area.

-Bullshit.

Zoom in.
Zoom in to the caves

where the strike was gonna be.

There he is. That's him.
That's Playboy.

-Sorry, man.

-Goddamn, Reaper.

-Ooh.

-Who are you waving at?

A friend.

-Fuck!

Who won the game?

-Vols, baby. Elite eight.

-That's wonderful, Colonel,
congratulations.

It's an excellent win for you

and the great state
of Tennessee.

-That's right.

-I just called that phone

five fucking times.
Ringer's off again.

Now it wasn't my pregnant wife.

But it was a life-or-death
situation

for a JTAC operator
in the field.

Our job is communication!

Our priority is protecting
the men and women who serve

this country.

So if you don't mind,

can we get back on
with the fucking job?

-Hell you think you're doing?

-You can take that out of my
active-duty bonuses, Colonel.

Hey, get some sleep.
See you in the morning.

-See you then. Uh...

you don't own a tux, do you?

A tux?
I do not own a tux, no.

Wedding is not black tie, right?

-No, not black tie.

The wedding party is.

-Are you gonna ask me
to be a bridesmaid?

No, Reaper.

I was gonna ask if you want to
walk me down the aisle.

-You serious?

-Yeah.

-Wow.

That would be one of the
greatest privileges of my life.

You know one thing I know...

one hundred percent for sure.

Your dad
would be so proud of you.

-Thank you.

-So, what are we
going to dance to?

- Dance?
- Yeah.

-Oh, no, I have not
thought about that yet.

-Okay.
Well, you got to pick a song

and then just listen
to my hands.

-I'm gonna listen to your hands?

- Oh, yeah. Yes, you are.
- Oh, okay. Whoa, okay.

- Run this round my back.
- This?

That way,
I know where it's coming.

- That's right. There you go.
- Okay, what's next?

Come back in and out.

Out.

- And back to me.
- Okay.

- Yeah. And then out.
- Out.

This time around.
Give me the other hand.

- Oh, okay.
- The other hand.

Walking over.
Oh, around.

Around my back.
Beautiful.

You have done this
many, many times before.

I've had a few
Dosey Does.

-Oh, you're pretty good.
You're pretty good.

Any other dances.
You know how to twerk?

-To who? To twerk?

To twerk.

-Uh, no.
I don't know how to twerk.

You better get
practicing. Yeah.

♪ They say there's
A price on my head ♪

♪ And that I'm better
off dead ♪

♪ But that sheriff
Better keep this in mind ♪

♪ I'll sure be hard to find ♪

♪ I give up so much of me ♪

♪ I should probably be
Charging a fee ♪

♪ You say that you don't
Like me, and I'm wrong ♪

♪ I bet you're gonna love
The way I'm gone ♪

♪ I ain't too concerned
With my name ♪

♪ 'Cause I know
It won't be on my grave ♪

♪ But I ain't gonna
Hang my head down and cry ♪

♪ 'Cause I know where
I'm going when I die ♪

♪ The bright lights
Shining in this city ♪

♪ Remind me of the time
When she was with me ♪

♪ It's the same old feeling
Nothing new ♪

♪ So I'm fixing to
Paint it blue ♪

♪ Blue ♪

♪ I might be down in Texas
After a while ♪

♪ Or Louisiana in style ♪

♪ But I'll tell you
What I'm really gonna do ♪

♪ I'm fixing to paint it blue ♪

♪ And I'm fixing
To paint it blue ♪

♪ Yes I'm fixing to
Paint it blue ♪

♪ You know I'm fixing
To paint it blue ♪

♪ Lord I'm fixing
To paint it blue ♪

Moonbow!