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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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Jesus, Reiben, think of the poor bastard's mother.
Hey, I got a mother. Jackson, you got a mother?
So what? I've got three satchel charges, six gammon grenades, a dozen andahalf pineapples, and all my regular gear. You don't hear me complaining.
That's because, as I have pointed out on numerous occasions, you are a happy idiot.
No, I just happen to take the Captain's advice and look at the bright side of things.
Oh, Christ, now we gotta listen to that grandfather thing again.
As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, my grandfather got old, as grandfathers tend to do. He needed someone to take care of him. We move around all the time, going from one mine to another, so we had to put him in a home. Nice enough place but kind of depressing. But not for Granddad. He just convinced himself he was on a cruise ship, going to Tahiti, he had his own cabin, first class, with room service. It just so happened that the weather was always lousy, so he never bothered to go up on deck. Happiest guy you ever saw until the day he died.
Fine, you convince yourself you got a pack full of feathers and goddamned Private James Ryan can carry my fucking gear.
Reiben, you can be very unpleasant to be around sometimes.
You want unpleasant? Just wait, I can do much better than this.
Look at Upham, you don't hear him complaining.
Wade's right, it's some kind of scientific, magnetic thing, I can't explain it, but I've seen it.
We all have, he's got nine lives, or he's bulletproof, or some damn thing.
Hell, I don't mind this mission, sir, as long as there's something up at Ramelle for...
...for you to blow up, yeah, yeah, we heard that.
Private. I'm sorry about your brothers but staying here and getting yourself killed isn't going to help.
Sir, if the Krauts are holding this bridge when division shows up, our guys are going to be sitting ducks.
This bridge cannot be held. The Germans have two companies less than three miles from here. They have tanks.
The hell you aren't, you're comin' with me if I have to drag you every inch of the way. You hear me, Private?
I hear you sir, but I'm not leaving.
Thank you, sir.
Yeah, yeah. I want you right next to me, no matter where I go, you understand?
Yes, sir.
Alright, come with me.
I'd like to go, sir.
No, private, I want you to stay here, keep your head down, don't do anything brave or stupid.
Don't do that again.
I won't need to sir, it's already here, behind the barricade so...
You set? Sarge nods.
Yes, sir.
Is jumped on by one. Upham FIRES. KILLS the German.
Struggling with a pair of Germans.
Doesn't move. He just stares at Sarge's body.
Looks at Miller, sees him growing weak, starting to sway. He gently tries to move Miller aside.
FIRES THE EIGHTYEIGHT.
Races through the debris. Trailed by BULLETS.
Yes, Private.
Upham and Jackson, what were they like?
Upham? Good kid, smart, he was writing a book.
Yeah?
Jackson was from West Fork, Tennessee, he was going to be a preacher, his father and uncles have a traveling ministry out of the back of a stretch Hudson.
And Sarge?
Sarge? He was the best friend I ever had. Lemme tell you about Sarge...
Captain, can I put in for a transfer?
Sure, meet me at the top, we'll start the paperwork.
Sir, what if they send some other company into Caen ahead of us while we're pinned down here?
Don't worry, we're the only Rangers this side of the continent, we've got to be first into Caen.
So, you ever heard of employee discounts? My uncle sells shoes, gets twentyfive percent off everything in the line, got a closet filled with the best looking shoes you ever seen.
Just picture some French number been spending all day, every day, making creamcolored, shearbody negligees with gentlelift silk cups and gathered empire waists, what the hell you think she wears at night?
Reiben, how the hell do you know so much about lingerie?
Lingerie is my life, sir. My mother's got a shop in Brooklyn, I grew up in it, from the time I could crawl, we carry Caen lingerie, it's the best there is, it's all I been thinking about since the invasion.
There's a war on, good chance they're not still making lingerie in Caen.
Oh, Captain, they'll always make lingerie, it's one of the three basic needs of man food, shelter, silk teddies. Miller Dream on, private.
I don't think so, Captain.
Stay at it until you get fire control. Keep 'em down, wait for the navy.
Strides through the chaos, avoiding the passing vehicles. He sees his men and walks toward them. Reiben hurries up to Miller, pleading.
Please, sir, you can't take me to Ramelle, I gotta go to Caen, sir, please, I told you, they make Caen lingerie there, it's beautiful, it's the best there is, it's...oh, please, sir...
Sorry, I need a B.A.R. man, you're the best.
No, I'm not, Kaback is, honest. Or what about Faulkner? Or that little guy with the glasses?
Trust me, you're the best.
But, sir...
Captain, can I ask you a question?
Sure, Reiben.
Where are you planning on putting Private Ryan, sir?
Captain, I gotta tell you, the irony of this mission is fucking killing me.
Yeah, how so?
I should be on my way to Caen, sir. It's like Beethoven, the guy's one of the greatest composers ever lived and he goes deaf. Go figure, I mean, who'd he piss off? And here I am, the Beethoven of ladies foundation garments, one step away from Caen, the center of the known lingerie universe and instead, I'm going to Ramelle to save some fucking private who's probably already dead.
There's to be a bright side, look for it.
Sir, you know what Ramelle is famous for? Cheese. The rest of the company is going to Caen and we're going to the goddamned cheese capital of France. There is no bright side.
There's always a bright side.
I'm listening, sir.
Well, I, for one, like cheese.
General Gavin is going to be very irritated at you, Captain.
Stands on the edge of the woods, almost in a trance.
Jesus Christ, he's a natural!
Upham, are you sure you've never been in combat?
Captain, could you please explain the math of this mission to me?
Sure, what do you want to know?
Well, sir, in purely arithmetic terms, since when does six equal one? What's the sense in risking six guys to save one?
Ours is not to reason why.
Huh?
Never mind, don't worry, we'll pick up this kid, hightail it back to division, everything'll work out fine.
I'd much rather die in Caen than Ramelle, sir. It's a personal thing.
Reiben, there's a fairly good chance you're not going to die at all.
Easy for you to say, sir. Fucking James Ryan, I'd like to wring his fucking neck.
Well, maybe not the Captain, but the rest of us have mothers.
You have orders, too.
Reiben, what's the matter with you? I don't gripe to you. I'm a captain. There's a chain of command. Griping goes one way, up, only up, never down. You gripe to me, I gripe to my superior officers. Up, get it? I don't gripe to you, I don't gripe in front of you. How long you been in the army?
I'm sorry, sir, I apologize. But if you weren't a captain, or if I were a major, what would you say?
In addition, as I pointed out earlier, I have a fondness for cheese and I hope to have the opportunity to sample some of the Ramelle products, when we arrive there, to see if they live up to their excellent reputation. Moreover, I feel heartfelt sorrow for the mother of Private James Ryan and I'm more than willing to lay down my life, and the lives of my men, especially you, Reiben, to help relieve her suffering. The men thoroughly enjoy the performance.
Sir, if you were not a captain, I would compliment you, now, for being an excellent liar.
But I am a captain. If I were not a captain, I would thank you for the compliment and tell you that the ability to lie comes from being a topnotch poker player, which I am, having learned at the side of my mother who is, by popular acclaim, the best poker player in...
Any further thoughts on the subject?
Yes, sir, as a final note, I'd like to say, fuck our orders, fuck Ramelle, fuck the cheese capital of France and while we're at it, fuck Private James Ryan.
I'll make a note of your suggestions but I'll leave that last one to you, especially if he's already dead.
Sir, I've got an idea, let's go around.
We can't leave it here.
Goddamn it...Goddamn it...Goddamn it...
Is silent. Motionless. He gently closes Wade's eyes. His hand quivers slightly as he unclips one of Wades dogtags. He fumbles and drops it. Sarge notices.
Up. We're moving out.