Athletes Who Rock the World Page #9

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under the steam engine... That

was really cool, by the way.

And into the cistern

through the intake pipe.

But how, in the name

of Zeus's butthole,

did you get out

of your cell?

I only ask because

in our current situation,

well, it could prove

to be useful information, maybe!

Trade secrets, my son.

Wow.

General, two

operational rockets left.

One's at the lower lighthouse

and there is one on the roof.

And both of the birds

are ready to fly, sir.

- G-General, can you hear me?

- I heard you, Captain.

Oh, just makin' sure.

Should we prepare

for launch, General?

I'll handle the strategy,

Captain.

Yes, sir.

The hour is approaching, sir.

Just letting the general know

of the time, sir.

- I'm very aware of the time, Captain.

- Aye, aye, sir. Lettin' you know.

Me and my boys are ready to

cock, lock, and ready to rock.

Mason, where're you going?

Thirty years ago I vowed

I wouldn't die in this toilet.

You're not leaving! There's a madman in

there with his hand on a, on a button!

Shh. Some sniper's

gonna get his ass.

Stop moving, Mason.

Mason, stop moving.

Hummel won't do it.

He's a soldier, not a murderer.

- I read it in his eyes.

- You read his eyes?

Oh, well, then,

everything's just fine!

- I can't afford to take that chance.

- Why don't you talk louder?

Three minutes to go, sir.

- They're not gonna call, Frank.

- Oh, they'll call.

They'll call if we fire

one of our rockets up their ass.

Sir.

- Hummel.

- Hi, Frank. It's Al Kramer here.

- How's it going out there?

- How do you think it's goin'?

- Listen, on this end we're gonna

need another hour, Frank.

- You've got three minutes.

Listen, uh, Frank, we have

to get final authorization

from the president.

You've got three minutes.

Frank, please don't do

anything stupid.

They want another hour.

Well, that's bullshit.

That's bullshit, General. They're lyin'!

They're calling

our bluff, sir.

They're playing you

for a fool, sir.

Order the launch,

General.

Come on, General.

Let's be all we can be.

The mission's not complete!

Well, mine is.

When this is over,

you'll go back home,

driving Carla and your baby

insane in your beige Volvo.

And I'll be dead or back in

prison, which is the same thing.

You're not leaving.

All right,

I'll do it myself.

I got three weeks'

weapons training.

I'll kick the... Out of

a platoon full of Marines.

No problem.

- Major, patch me into Roof Battery.

- Aye, sir.

Fire open control circuit

coordinates to the roof, sir.

Let's go!

Laser powered up!

- Oh, no.

- I said, on your knees!

My name's Stanley Goodspeed. I'm a

chemical weapons specialist for the FBI.

- Uh, glass or plastic?

- What?

- Glass or plastic? Glass or plastic?

- Shut the f*** up!

Because if the winds change

after you launch those rockets,

- we're all gonna die.

- Shut up!

And you're gonna end up in either

a glass jar or a plastic bag.

So, what do you say you do

the math, h-hand over the gun...

- and let's go find some rockets?

- I said shut the f***...

- You made the right choice.

- I decided I didn't want your child...

growing up

without a father.

Hey, the last time I swam

this channel I was your age.

So, I'm f***ed either way.

So, come on.

Weapon is hot. I am standing by

for the launch command.

Man, killing Navy SEALs

is one thing...

- Is this for real?

- Hey, it's business.

Access code entered.

Weapon available for release.

Launch coordinates:

Six, seven,

five, four, five,

niner.

The weapon is hot. I'm

standing by for launch command.

That's affirmative.

Standing by for command.

I'm waiting for

launch command, General.

- Fire.

- Fire!

Missile loose!

Missile loose!

Origin:
Alcatraz,

- What's the goddam heading?

- Heading 185 degrees south southeast.

- Speed?

- Three hundred knots.

It's headed right at Oakland.

Football game.

Oh, my God.

Missile radically

changing direction.

New direction:
275 degrees west.

It's headed out to sea, sir.

Oh, Christ!

Missile losing altitude.

Falling.

Falling, 300 feet,

Bogey detonated

under water.

What the f***?

It missed.

- Well, that's great.

- Extremely great.

But there's still

one left.

What happened to the rocket?

What the f*** happened

to the coordinates?

What the f*** is going on?

Sir! Major!

- Captain, step outside.

- Talk to me, sir.

Captain, step outside!

Get me the Pentagon.

What the hell was that, Frank?

- I said, what the hell...

- I heard what you said! If

you're gonna be insubordinate,

- I'd appreciate it if you'd do

it with a little more respect.

- Cut the crap, General.

- What the hell are you doing?

- I'm not ready to kill these people.

- Call the Pentagon. Ask for more time.

- No!

Do it, Frank!

We're coming loose.

You're coming loose. The rest

of us are in complete control.

- We're askin' 'em. We're askin'

'em for a new deadline.

- Put the phone down.

- The men are falling apart.

- The men are Marines!

Are they?

- I wanna talk to General Kramer.

- You've been asked by an old friend.

- Put him on the phone right now.

- You've been ordered

by a superior officer.

- This is Major Baxter.

- Now you're being given your

last chance by a man with a gun.

Put the phone down.

- I thought you weren't ready to kill.

- I'm warmin' up.

At ease.

They need a decision,

Mr President.

These past few hours...

have been the longest,

darkest of my life.

How does one weigh

human life?

One million civilians

against 81 hostages.

And in the middle,

Frank Hummel.

That we have ignored,

abandoned or marginalized...

a great soldier

like Frank Hummel,

and that American boys have paid

for that neglect in blood...

is equally real

and equally tragic.

We are at war

with terror.

Fighting a war

means casualties.

This is the worst call

I've ever had to make.

Air strike approved.

Red Thunder to tower.

Request clearance.

With the amount of firepower

they're gonna drop in there,

- Tower this is Strike Leader.

Prepared to go.

- It'll be over in a few seconds.

Flight time to drop point:

Excuse me, General, sir,

with all due respect to you,

but what the f*** is going on?

- You changed the coordinates,

didn't you, General?

- That's affirmative, Captain.

So, now they think we're

gutless, the Feds? They think

we won't actually do it.

They're gonna come at us

with everything they've got.

Air and sea.

- They're gonna bomb our ass

back to the Stone Age.

- They don't know we missed on purpose.

Great. We're not gutless,

we're incompetent. That right?

I don't think I like your tone, Captain.

We planned for this contingency.

Load the V.X. Into the choppers,

take four hostages and evacuate.

The consequences of our actions

I'll face alone.

Excuse me, General, but what

about the f***ing money?

There is no f***ing money.

Mission's over.

Bullshit it's over.

You're talking to a general,

soldier. Maintain discipline.

I'm not a soldier, Major.

The day we took hostages we became

mercenaries. And mercenaries get paid!

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