Patton

Ten-hut!

Be seated.

Now, I want you to remember...

that no bastard ever won a war...

by dying for his country.

He won it...

by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country.

Men...

all this stuff you've heard about America not wanting to fight...

wanting to stay out of the war...

is a lot of horse dung.

Americans...

traditionally love to fight.

All real Americans love the sting of battle.

When you were kids...

you all admired the champion marble shooter...

the fastest runner, big-league ball players, the toughest boxers.

Americans love a winner...

and will not tolerate a loser.

Americans play to win all the time.

I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed.

That's why Americans have never lost and will never lose a war...

because the very thought of losing...

is hateful to Americans.

Now...

an army is a team.

It lives, eats, sleeps, fights as a team.

This individuality stuff is a bunch of crap.

The bilious bastards who wrote that stuff about individuality...

for the Saturday Evening Post...

don't know anything more about real battle than they do about fornicating.

Now we have the finest food and equipment...

the best spirit...

and the best men in the world.

You know...

by God, I actually pity those poor bastards we're going up against.

By God, I do.

We're not just going to shoot the bastards...

we're going to cut out their living guts...

and use them to grease the treads of our tanks.

We're going to murder those lousy Hun bastards by the bushel.

Now...

some of you boys...

I know are wondering...

whether or not you'll chicken out under fire. Don't worry about it.

I can assure you...

that you will all do your duty.

The Nazis...

are the enemy.

Wade into them!

Spill their blood! Shoot them in the belly!

When you put your hand...

into a bunch of goo...

that a moment before was your best friend's face...

you'll know what to do.

There's another thing I want you to remember.

I don't want to get any messages saying we are "holding our position."

We're not "holding" anything. Let the Hun do that.

We're advancing constantly. We're not interested in holding on to anything...

except the enemy.

We're going to hold on to him by the nose and kick him in the ass.

We're going to kick the hell out of him all the time...

and we're going to go through him like crap through a goose!

Now...

there's one thing...

that you men will be able to say when you get back home.

And you may thank God for it.

Thirty years from now when you're sitting around your fireside...

with your grandson on your knee...

and he asks you:

"What did you do in the great World War II?"

You won't have to say:

"Well...

I shoveled shit in Louisiana."

All right, now, you sons of bitches...

you know how I feel.

I will be proud...

to lead you wonderful guys into battle anytime...

anywhere.

That's all.

The Arabs need food and clothing.

They strip our dead before we can even bury them.

Looks like the reports were pretty accurate.

Sixty-one armored vehicles, 45 tons of ammunition...

twenty-five 40mm guns, three self-propelled 105s.

Not counting mortars, machine guns, rifles...

pistols, telescopes, belt buckles, GI socks.

One thousand, eight hundred men.

Our people salute you, general...

for your brilliant amphibious landing on the continent of Africa...

and for your enlightened administration of our country.

I've enjoyed being here, Excellency.

Naturally, I'd prefer to be in Tunisia fighting the Germans.

"The lions in their dens tremble at his approach."

I appreciate that, Excellency.

Magnificent!

I wish our troops looked that good.

Tell me, general, what do you think of Morocco?

I love it, Excellency.

It's a combination of the Bible and Hollywood.

These men fight at Kasserine? Yes, sir.

For the American Army to take a licking like that...

the first time at bat against the Germans...

Up against Rommel, what we need is the best tank man we've got.

Somebody tough enough to pull this outfit together.

- Patton? - Possibly.

God help us.

Lieutenant...

where is the duty officer?

Sir...

- He said he's caught at shaving. - Why isn't he here on duty?

Guess he needed a shave.

We got a new commanding general due today.

Who the hell is kicking me in the butt?

Oh, sorry, sir.

- What were you doing down there? - Trying to get some sleep, sir.

Well...

Get back down there, son.

You're the only son of a bitch here who knows what he's trying to do.

Yes, sir.

- Brad, how the hell are you? - Fine, George. Good to see you.

We were all under the impression you wouldn't be here until 0900.

Yes, I gathered that.

- You know my boy, Dick Jenson. - Yes.

Brad, tell me.

- What are you doing here? - Ike wanted a report on Kasserine.

Meanwhile, I have to stay here as an observer...

but I report directly to Ike.

You're spying.

Get me General Eisenhower's headquarters.

Tell me, Brad...

what happened at Kasserine? I heard it was a shambles.

Apparently, everything went wrong.

We'd send over a 75mm shell, the krauts would return an 88.

Their tanks are diesels.

Even when we managed to hit one they kept on running. Our tanks...

The men call them "Purple Heart boxes."

One hot piece of shrapnel and the gasoline explodes.

I warned them about the tank.

I talked to one of the soldiers about the half-tracks.

I asked them if the machine-gun bullets pierced the armor.

And he said, "No, sir.

They just come through one side and rattle around a bit."

I understand they had a little trouble coordinating the air cover.

The trouble was no air cover.

- General Smith on the line, sir. - Excuse me, Brad.

Bedell?

Listen, I'm calling about Bradley and his job here.

I need a good number-two man, I want to make Brad my deputy commander.

You clear it with Ike?

All right, thanks, Bedell.

Now you're not spying for Eisenhower anymore, you're working for me.

- Okay? - Fine, okay.

Dick. You got those stars?

- Yes, sir. - Let's get them on.

What's the matter, Brad? I've been nominated by the president.

I know, but it doesn't become official until it's approved by the Senate.

Well...

they have their schedule and I have mine.

George...

if you were named admiral of the Turkish Navy...

I believe your aides could dip into their haversacks...

and come up with the appropriate badge of rank.

Anyway, congratulations. Premature congratulations.

You know...

I think those stars look better on a green shirt.

Did I ever tell you about the time I designed a uniform for tank crewmen?

It was green leather, it had red stripes...

and sort of a row of brass buttons down across here.

And topped off by a gold football helmet.

The Army rejected it, of course.

Goddamn, it was beautiful.

Lloyd Fredendall is just leaving.

George, there's one other thing I put in my Kasserine report.

Some of our boys were just plain scared.

That's understandable.

Even the best foxhound is gun-shy the first time out.

I can remember...

when nothing frightened me as much as the idea of...

a bullet coming straight for my nose.

I don't know why, but the image of a bullet coming right for my nose...

was more horrible than any other possibility.

Well, I can understand that, with such a handsome nose.

You want to know why this outfit got the hell kicked out of it?

Blind man could see it in a minute.

They don't look like soldiers. They don't act like soldiers.

Why should they fight like soldiers?

You're absolutely right. The discipline's pretty poor.

In about 15 minutes we're going to start turning these boys...

into fanatics, razors.

They'll lose their fear of the Germans.

I hope to God they never lose their fear of me.

Up bright and early, general? Breakfast?

Have all my officers finished breakfast?

We're open from 6 till 8.

Most of the officers are just coming in, sir.

Please inform these officers the mess hall is closed.

But, sir! It's only a quarter to 8.

From now on, you will open at 6 and no one will be admitted after 6:15.

Where are your leggings?