Now I want you to remember that no bastard won the war by dying for his country. He won by letting another poor fool die for his country. Guys, everything you've heard about America not wanting to fight and wanting to stay out of it is nonsense. Traditionally, Americans like to fight. All real Americans like the excitement of war. When you were children, you all worshipped the champion of pinball, the fastest runner, the players in major leagues and the strongest boxer. Americans like winners and will not tolerate losers. Americans always play to win. I don't care about a man who laughs when he loses. That's why Americans have never lost a war and will never lose. Because for Americans, the idea of failure is hateful. No, the army is a team. It lives, eats, sleeps and fights as a team. This kind of personality thing is a bunch of nonsense. Those big bastards who write personalized articles for the Saturday Evening Post know nothing about real fighting, just as they know nothing about adultery. Now, we have the best food and equipment, the best spirit and the best people in the world. God, I really feel sorry for those poor bastards we have to fight. God, I know. We're not just gonna shoot those bastards. We will gut them and use them to lubricate our tank tracks. We're going to kill those disgusting German bastards. Now, I know that some of you are wondering whether you will get cold feet under fire. Don't worry. I can assure you that you will all do your duty. The Nazis are the enemy. Go deep into it. Sprinkle their blood. Shoot them in the stomach. You will know what to do when you put your hand into a sticky thing that was just your best friend's face. Now I want you to remember another thing. I don't want to receive any news that we are holding our ground. We didn't take anything. Let the Germans do it. We are moving forward, and we are not interested in catching anything-except the enemy. We'll grab his nose and kick his ass. We will always kick his ass, and we will kick him like a goose! Now, there is one thing you can say when you get home, and you may thank God for it. Thirty years later, when you are sitting by the fire with your grandson on your lap, he asks you, "What did you do in World War II?" -You don't have to say, "Well, I shoveled shit in Louisiana." All right, you sons of bitches, you know how I feel. Oh, I will be proud to lead you excellent guys into battle anytime and anywhere. That's all. Brothers, there have been some gossip recently that we Americans want to stay out of this war and lack fighting spirit. That's a pile of smelly shit! Americans always like to fight. Real Americans like swords and shadows on the battlefield. There are three reasons why you are here today. First, you are here to defend your hometown and relatives. Second, you are here for honor, because you don't want to go anywhere else at this time. Third, you are here because you are real men, and real men like to fight. When all of you here today were children, everyone worshipped pinball champions, sprinters, boxers and professional athletes. Americans like winners. Americans never forgive losers. Americans despise cowards. Now that Americans have taken part in the competition, they will win. I laugh at those who laugh when they lose. Because of this, Americans have not lost a war so far and will not lose in the future. A real American will hate the idea of failure. You won't all die. Every major battle, you can only sacrifice 2%. Don't be afraid of death. Everyone will die eventually. Yes, the first time you go to war, everyone will be timid. If someone says he is not afraid, it is a lie. Some people are timid, but this does not prevent them from fighting like soldiers, because if other comrades who are equally timid fight bravely there and they stand by, they will be ashamed. A real hero is someone who fights bravely even if he is timid. Some soldiers will overcome their fears in less than a minute on the line of fire. Some take an hour. Also, it will take about a few days. However, a real man will not let the fear of death overcome his sense of honor, responsibility and glory. Fighting is the most courageous game for men who are unwilling to be alone. Fighting will force greatness and destroy smallness. Americans are proud to be the best of the best. They are the best of the best. Remember, the enemy is as scared as you are, maybe even more. They are not invulnerable. During your military career, you called exercise training "chicken shit" and often complained. These training exercises, like other military rules and regulations, have their own purposes. The purpose of training exercises is to cultivate everyone's vigilance. Vigilance must permeate the veins of every soldier. I will never be soft on those who let their guard down. You were all killed by bullets, otherwise you wouldn't be here today. You will be ready for the coming battle. Anyone who wants to come back alive must always be vigilant. As long as you have even a little negligence, a son of a bitch will sneak behind you and kill you with a piece of shit! Somewhere in Sicily, there is a cemetery with neatly arranged tombstones, in which the bodies of 400 fallen soldiers are buried. Those 400 people ascended to heaven only because a sentry took a nap. Thankfully, they are all German soldiers. We found their sentry dozing before those bastards. The combat team is a group. Everyone eats together, sleeps together and fights together in that group. The so-called personal heroism is a pile of horse manure. Those guys who have extra bile and shit in the Saturday night post all day know no more about real fighting than they do about women. We have the best materials, the best weapons and equipment, the most vigorous fighting spirit and the best soldiers in the world. To tell the truth, I feel sorry for those bastards who will fight with us. Really. My soldiers never surrender. I don't want to hear that any of my soldiers are captured unless they are injured first. Even if you are injured, you can fight back. This is not bragging about Daniel. I hope all my men will be like second lieutenants in our army when they fight in Libya. At that time, a German devil held a pistol to his chest. He threw down his helmet, opened the pistol with one hand, grabbed the helmet with the other hand and beat the devil half to death. Then, he picked up a pistol and killed another devil before the other devils could react. Before that, one of his lungs had been pierced by a bullet. This is the real man! Not all heroes are as described in the legend. Every soldier in the army plays an important role. Never idle away and think that your task is insignificant. Everyone has his own task, so we must do it well. Everyone is an indispensable link in the long chain. You can imagine what would happen if every truck driver suddenly decided that he didn't want to stand the threat of the roaring shells overhead, became timid, jumped out of the car and plunged into the ditch on the side of the road to hide. This cowardly bastard can make an excuse for himself: "Fuck it, the world goes on without me, I am only one in ten million." But what if everyone thinks so? So what should we do? What will become of our country, relatives and even the whole world? No, damn it, Americans don't think so. Everyone should finish his task. Everyone should be responsible for the collective. Every department and every combat team is important to the grand chapter of the whole war. Ammunition weapons personnel let us have guns and guns. Without the support staff to send us clothes and meals, we will be hungry and cold, because there is nothing to steal where we are going to fight. All the staff in the headquarters have their own uses, even an orderly who just boils water to help us wash away the dust. Every soldier should think not only of himself, but also of his comrades who fought and died together. Our army has no room for cowards. All cowards should be cut off like rats. Otherwise, they will sneak home after the war and give birth to more cowards. I am a hero and a coward. Kill all cowards and our country will be ruled by warriors. The bravest man I have ever seen is a signalman who climbed a telephone pole in a fierce battle in Tunisia. I happened to pass by, so I stopped to ask him, what are you doing climbing to such a high place at such a dangerous time? He replied, "Repair the wiring, General." I asked, "Is it too dangerous at this time?" He replied, "it's dangerous, general, but the line can't be repaired." I asked, "Aren't you tired of enemy planes shooting at low altitude?" He replied, "the enemy plane is not much, general, but you are in a mess." Brothers, that's a real man, a real soldier. He fulfilled his duty wholeheartedly, no matter how humble it seemed at that time, no matter how dangerous the situation was. And the truck drivers on the way to Tunisia, they are really something. They drove day and night on the broken road of the son of a bitch, never stopping, never deviating, accompanied by shells blooming everywhere. We can move forward smoothly because of these fearless American tough guys. Some of these drivers have been driving for more than forty hours. They are not fighting troops, but they are also soldiers and have important tasks to complete. They finished the task. It's fucking cool! They are part of a big group. Without everyone's joint efforts, without them, the battle may have failed. Just because each link has its own responsibilities, the whole chain is unbreakable. Remember, I've never been here. Never mention me in your letter. It stands to reason that whether I live or die, I should keep it a secret from the outside world. I am neither in command of the Third Army nor in England. Let those damn Germans find out first! I hope one day I can see those bastards become at a loss and cry, "Oh, my God! The third army got thousands of knives again! That son of a bitch Barton again! " We can't wait. The sooner we get rid of the evil Germans, the sooner we can turn our guns and go to the Japanese lair. If we don't hurry, all the honors will be taken away by that son of a bitch marine. Yes, we want to go home as soon as possible. We hope that this war will end soon. The quickest way is to kill the bastard who started this war. The sooner we destroy them, the sooner we can win. The shortcut to go home is through Berlin and Tokyo. When I get to Berlin, I will kill the paper tiger and the son of a bitch Hitler myself, just like killing a snake! Who wants to spend a day in the shell pit, let him go to hell! The Germans will find him sooner or later. My men don't dig cat ears, and I don't want them to. Cat's ear holes will only slow down the attack. We should continue to attack and not give the enemy time to dig holes in the cat's ears. Sooner or later, we will win, but victory will come only if we persist in fighting and are braver than the enemy. We will not only kill those bastards, but also gut them and lubricate our tank tracks. We're going to let the bodies of those damn Germans pile up into mountains and rivers of blood. War is bloody, barbaric and cruel. If you don't let the enemy bleed, they will make you bleed. Pick up their bellies and shoot them in the chest. If a cannonball explodes next to you, blowing your face to dust, you will know what to do when you scratch the fuzzy flesh and blood of your best partner! I don't want to hear the report saying, "We are holding our ground." We don't have any fucking places. Let the Germans hold on. We will keep attacking, and we are not interested in any other target except the enemy's eggs. We must catch the enemy's eggs and beat their souls to pieces. Our basic operational plan is to move forward and then move forward, whether we want to climb under the enemy or through them. We should be as persistent as squeezing out goose intestines or small excrement, so pervasive! Sometimes it is inevitable that some people will complain that we are too strict and unreasonable with soldiers. To hell with those complaints! I firmly believe in a golden saying, that is, "a cup of sweat saves a bucket of blood." The more determined we are to attack, the more Germans we will destroy. The more Germans we destroy, the less our own people die. Attacks mean fewer casualties. I hope everyone will keep this in mind. After returning home in triumph, all the brothers present here today will get a qualification to boast about. Twenty years later, you will be glad that you participated in this world war. At that time, you were by the fireplace, and your grandson sat on your knee and asked you, "Grandpa, what did you do in World War II?" You don't have to cough awkwardly, move your grandson to the other knee and say hesitantly, "Ah … Grandpa, I was shoveling manure in Louisiana." On the contrary, brothers, you can look him in the eye and say confidently, "Grandson, Grandpa, I fought with that son of a bitch george patton in the Third Army!"