Cpt. Nixon: Hitler's dead.
Joseph Liebgott: Holy shit.
Cpt. Nixon: Shot himself in Berlin.
Sgt. Denver 'Bull' Randleman: Is the war over, sir?
Cpt. Nixon: No. We have orders to Berghtesgaden. We're gonna move out in one hour.
David Webster: Why? The man's not home. Should've killed himself three years ago, saved us a lot of trouble.
Cpt. Nixon: Yeah, he should've. But he didn't.
Joseph Liebgott: [speaking with a prisoner] He said the guards left this morning, sir. Langsamer, bitte, langsamer.
["Slow down, please"]
Joseph Liebgott: They burned some of the huts first... with the prisoners still in them, sir... alive.
Cpt. Nixon: Jesus Christ.
Joseph Liebgott: Some of the prisoners tried to stop them... some were killed... they didn't have enough ammo for all the prisoners, so... they killed as many as they could... before they left the camp. They locked the gates behind them and headed south.
Cpt. Nixon: Someone in town must have told them we were coming.
Joseph Liebgott: Yeah, I think so.
Cpt. Nixon: Will you ask him, uh... will you ask him what kind of camp this is? What, uh... why are they here?
Joseph Liebgott: Was ist das hier?
Camp prisoner: Das, das, das, das hier? Das, das ist ein arbeitslager fur, fur, fur, fur Unerwuenschter.
Joseph Liebgott: He says it's a work camp for..."Unerwuenschter." I'm not sure what the word means, sir. Uh, "unwanted," "disliked," maybe?
Cpt. Nixon: "Criminals?"
Joseph Liebgott: I don't think "criminals," sir. Verbrecher?
Camp prisoner: Verbrecher? Nein, nein.
Joseph Liebgott: No.
Camp prisoner: Ärzte, Musiker, Beamter, Bauern...
Joseph Liebgott: Doctors, musicians...
Camp prisoner: Schreiber, Schneider, Intellektuelle...
Joseph Liebgott: Tailors, clerks, farmers, intellectuals. I mean, normal people.
Camp prisoner: Juden. Juden. Juden.
Joseph Liebgott: [softly] They're Jews.
Camp prisoner: Pole, Ziegeuner.
Joseph Liebgott: Poles and Gypsies.
Joseph Liebgott: [discussing their postwar plans] What about you, Web?
David Webster: I guess I'll finish school first, and then...
Joseph Liebgott: Wait a minute, *finish* school? You mean all this time you've been talking about "Harvard this" and "Harvard that" and you ain't even finished?
David Webster: For one thing, I haven't told you anything. But yes, yes, I haven't finished, so the fuck what?
Joseph Liebgott: All right, Web, breathe a little, Jesus. It's just the way you always talked, you know? We all figured that...
[trails off as Webster glares at him]
Joseph Liebgott: You know what, you're right. So the fuck what.
David Webster: Shut up! I said, shut up, you Nazi fuck!
German Baker: Ich-ich bin kein Nazi!
David Webster: Oh, you're not a Nazi? My mistake, you fat fucking prick. What about a human being? Are you one of those, or are you going to tell me that you never smelt the fucking stench?
[of the nearby concentration camp]
German Baker: Toten sie mich nicht! Bitte toten sie mich nicht!
["Don't kill me! Please don't kill me!"]
German Baker: Ich verstehe nicht was du da sagst!
Pvt. Joseph Lesniewski: Leave him alone, Web. He says he doesn't know what the hell you're talking about.
David Webster: Bullshit.
[Perconte and O'Keefe arrive at an observation post to relieve Hashey and Garcia]
Antonio C. Garcia: Hallelujah!
Lester Hashey: 'Bout time.
Frank J. Perconte: Yeah, well, consider yourself lucky. Nixon was givin' another current events lecture. So, tell me nothin's happenin'.
Antonio C. Garcia: Nothin's happenin'. Couple of artillery rounds at dawn, probably from across the river, but that's about it. It spooked Hashey, though.
[Hashey hands Perconte a book]
Lester Hashey: Here, Perco. Just finished it.
Frank J. Perconte: Yeah? Any sex in it?
Lester Hashey: Ain't that kinda book. See ya.
Frank J. Perconte: Yeah, see ya.
[Hashey and Garcia leave. Perconte sits down and starts reading, while O'Keefe nervously bustles around, making a lot of noise]
Frank J. Perconte: Hey, O'Brien. Relax, would ya? I'm tryin' to read.
Patrick S. O'Keefe: It's O'Keefe.
Frank J. Perconte: Is that right?
Patrick S. O'Keefe: Yeah, Patrick O'Keefe. My friends call me Paddy.
[he adjusts several things on the machine gun, cocks it, and looks down the sights while humming a song]
Frank J. Perconte: [annoyed] Hey, O'Brien. Shut up!
Patrick S. O'Keefe: I told you, it's O'Keefe.
[Perconte stares at him for a moment]
Frank J. Perconte: You know why no one remembers your name? It's 'cause no one wants to remember your name. There's too many Smiths, DiMattos, and O'Keefes, and O'Briens, who show up here replacin' Toccoa men that you dumb replacements got killed in the first place! And they're all like you! They're all piss and vinegar! "Where the Krauts at? Let me at 'em! When do I get to jump into Berlin?" Two days later, there they are, with their blood and guts hangin' out, and they're screamin' for a medic, beggin' for their goddamn mother. Them dumb fucks don't even know they're dead yet.
[O'Keefe tries to turn away, but Perconte grabs his arm]
Frank J. Perconte: Hey, you listenin' to me? Do you understand that this is the best part of fuckin' war I've seen? I got hot chow, hot showers, warm bed... Germany is almost as good as bein' home! I even got to wipe my ass with real toilet paper today! So quit askin' about when you're gonna see some action, will ya? And stop with the fuckin' love songs!
[O'Keefe dejectedly moves away from the machine gun and looks out across the river. Perconte thinks for a moment, then picks up some binoculars and sits next to him]
Frank J. Perconte: [more gently] When you ship out? A few weeks ago?
Patrick S. O'Keefe: [glumly] Yeah.
Frank J. Perconte: It's been two years since I seen home. Two years. This fuckin' war.