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"
You
still
keep
up
with
your
training
,
don
’
t
you
,
Sarge
?
"
"
Try
to
.
"
"
Would
you
mind
if
I
trained
with
you
?
"
"
You
attempting
some
kind
of
humor
,
Private
?
"
"
Nothing
funny
about
killing
,
sir
.
"
"
Well
,
there
’
s
something
funny
with
your
head
if
you
want
to
stuff
yourself
into
one
of
those
damn
Jackets
the
day
before
we
head
out
to
die
.
You
want
to
work
up
a
sweat
,
go
find
a
coed
’
s
thighs
to
do
it
in
.
"
Ferrell
’
s
eyes
stayed
on
his
laces
.
"
Dismissed
.
"
"
Sarge
?
With
all
due
respect
,
I
don
’
t
see
you
running
after
the
ladies
.
"
Ferrell
finally
looked
up
.
His
eyes
were
20mm
rifle
barrels
firing
volleys
at
me
from
the
bunkers
set
deep
in
the
lines
of
his
tanned
,
leathery
face
.
I
cooked
under
the
glaring
sun
.
"
You
tellin
’
me
you
think
I
’
m
some
sort
of
faggot
who
’
d
rather
be
strapped
into
a
Jacket
reeking
of
sweat
than
up
between
a
woman
’
s
legs
?
That
what
you
’
re
tellin
’
me
?
"
"
Tha
-
that
’
s
-
not
what
I
meant
,
sir
!
"
